The air was crisp with winter’s breath as snowflakes drifted lazily past the high windows of Jujutsu High. Inside, the warmth of the building was a contrast to the cold silence that seemed to linger in the halls. The bustling of students had faded into the background after the tragic events with Geto. Even the sounds of fighting in training rooms and the chatter in classrooms seemed quieter.

Aika Kurosawa, 21, stood in the faculty hall, her fingers tracing the edges of a worn-out book as she glanced down at the next mission briefing. Her dark brown eyes, almond-shaped and soft, studied the pages without truly seeing them. She wasn’t new to this life, not by any means. But the weight of it all… it was different now.

The weight of a loss that didn’t just belong to someone else.

Gojo Satoru had always been the brightest star in the room—unmistakable, untouchable. The strongest. The one everyone turned to, the one who always had a joke, always had a smile ready. But now, the halls felt emptier. His energy, once radiant and loud, now seemed to echo in fleeting moments when his presence passed through.

Aika wasn’t a sorcerer who demanded attention, and she wasn’t one who pushed to be noticed. She wasn’t like the students who sought Gojo out for his approval, or the other teachers who tried to keep up with his boldness.

She worked quietly, unseen most of the time, handling her assignments with precision. But she had noticed him. Always. She noticed how he would stop just outside the door to Geto’s old classroom, his posture rigid, his expression hidden behind his blindfold.

It was the little things that made her heart ache for him.

The way his lips would twitch in a small, unreadable smile when he walked past her desk. The way his eyes would momentarily meet hers before moving on, never staying long enough to make her feel seen, but always making her wonder if he noticed her too.

Aika didn’t let herself linger on that thought.

She couldn’t. Not when there were things to do, not when the world outside Jujutsu High still needed fighting, still needed saving.

But even as the weight of the day pulled her attention away from the hallways, she could feel him. Satoru Gojo. The strongest. And yet, somewhere deep inside, the most broken.

Her hands tightened around the mission folder in front of her, but she forced herself to relax. She could be patient. She didn’t need him to see her.

Not yet.

Mission reports piled up like snow outside the windows. Aika Kurosawa sat alone in the archives room, a dimly lit corner of Jujutsu High where old case files gathered dust and whispers of the past. Most didn’t come here unless they had to. But Aika liked the silence. It didn’t demand anything from her.

She was halfway through writing a report when the door creaked open.

At first, she didn’t look up. Footsteps—long, confident—echoed on the floorboards. Her pen paused mid-sentence as she felt it, that familiar hum in the air. Not cursed energy, not danger—something else.

Him.

"Didn’t know anyone still used this place," came the casual voice she knew too well.

She looked up slowly. Gojo Satoru stood in the doorway, blindfold in place, hands tucked in his pockets like he had nowhere in the world to be. But his head tilted slightly when he noticed her.

“I like the quiet,” she said simply, then returned her gaze to the page.

“Same,” he replied, but the way he said it… it sounded like he didn’t mean it.

Aika didn’t answer.

He didn’t leave.

Instead, he stepped inside, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. He wandered toward the shelves without looking at any of the files, fingers skimming the edges of books and old records, like he was searching for something he knew wasn’t there.

“You were at the memorial,” he said suddenly, voice softer now. “Weren’t you?”

Her hand stilled again.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“You weren’t really looking.”

There was a pause. Aika didn’t mean it to sound cold—it was just the truth. She’d stood at the back, like always. Watching. Quiet. Heart breaking not for herself, but for him.

Gojo chuckled lightly, but there was no amusement in it.

“Fair enough.”

He picked up a dusty report from a shelf, flipped through the pages without reading. She could sense it—he wasn’t here for a file. He was here to escape.

Aika closed her notebook gently and stood, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeves.

“Sometimes,” she said, her voice quieter now, “I come here when I feel like I’m slipping through the cracks.”

Gojo looked at her then. Really looked.

The moment stretched long. Heavy. Still.

And then—just like that—he smiled. That same small, unreadable smile she’d seen before.

“Good place for people like us, huh?”

She gave a slow nod. “People who don't like being seen... but don't want to disappear, either.”

For a second, something flickered in his posture. A shadow of recognition. A shared truth neither of them dared say out loud.

He didn’t ask her name. Not yet.

And she didn’t ask why he came.

They didn’t need to.

The silence was enough.

There was comfort in the quiet—the kind only the lonely ever truly recognize.

And in that stillness, they weren’t strangers anymore.

The morning sun filtered through the training yard, casting long shadows across the stone tiles. Aika stood at the edge, her stance calm, blade at her side, breathing steady.

The assignment had come unexpectedly: assist Gojo Satoru in overseeing a third-year sparring session. She hadn’t questioned it. She never did. But the moment she stepped outside and saw him already waiting, hands in his pockets, his blindfold catching the sunlight like silk—

Her chest had tightened without warning.

“Hope you’re not expecting me to go easy on them,” he said, voice light but with a subtle edge. He tilted his head toward her, that usual teasing tone laced with something more thoughtful. “Or on you.”

“I wasn’t expecting anything,” she replied, calm but not cold. “I’m just here to help.”

He smirked. “You say that like you don’t already know how to carry half the mission on your own.”

She didn’t answer. Just drew her blade.

The students began arriving, eyes flicking nervously between their two instructors. It was rare enough to be sparring under Gojo’s eye, but rarer still to see him paired with someone so quiet. Some of them whispered about Aika—how she didn’t speak much, how she always finished her missions with quiet efficiency. A third-grade sorcerer, but with an aura that felt deeper, older, like a storm waiting to break.

“Pair off,” Gojo ordered casually. “Try not to die.”

The session began. Aika didn’t say much. She corrected stances with gentle guidance, blocked a misfired curse without flinching, moved like wind through the yard. Meanwhile, Gojo sat at the edge, posture loose, observing.

But he wasn’t watching the students.

He was watching her.

He watched the way she touched their shoulders gently before giving instruction, how her smile was soft even when her eyes were sad. How she moved like she wanted to disappear—and how she never quite did.

As the session wound down, one student accidentally released a wave of cursed energy too wild to control. It tore through the air toward Aika in a burst.

She didn’t move.

Because she didn’t need to.

The air in front of her shimmered, cracked—and the curse dispersed instantly against the force of Gojo’s Infinity.

She turned, slowly, to find him standing beside her, hand casually lifted.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, but his voice was quiet now. Not joking. Not teasing.

Their eyes met, blindfold to gaze. He lowered his hand, and for just a second, she thought he might speak again.

Instead, he reached up and pulled his blindfold slightly to the side—just enough for one piercing blue eye to look at her directly.

And for the first time, Aika Kurosawa felt what it meant to be seen.

“You’re stronger than you let people believe,” he said. “But you don’t have to disappear to be safe.”

She didn’t respond—not with words. Her expression shifted softly, like something in her cracked a little.

Then she gave a small, almost invisible nod.

He smiled. “Good.”

And with that, the blindfold slipped back into place.

The courtyard was quieter than usual. Most students had gone inside, leaving the late winter air to sweep across the stone tiles.

Aika sat beneath a bare sakura tree, knees drawn up slightly, notebook open in her lap. She wasn’t writing anything. Just… sitting. Breathing. Letting the thoughts settle on her skin like frost.

She sensed him before she saw him.

Gojo’s presence was hard to miss, even when he wasn’t trying. That soft buzz of controlled power, the way the world bent slightly around him.

“I didn’t think anyone else came here,” he said casually, stepping into view.

“I don’t think anyone else needs to,” she replied without looking up.

He tilted his head, walking toward the edge of the tree’s shade, but stopping short of sitting beside her. Close—but not too close.

“You’re quiet,” he said, as if it were some kind of puzzle.

“You’re not,” she answered, just as gently.

That made him smile a little. “Guess we balance each other out.”

She finally looked at him. The sun caught the edge of his blindfold, turning it to silver.

“I don’t mind the noise,” she said after a beat. “I just don’t like being part of it.”

He didn’t answer right away.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I get that.”

There was something… slightly heavier in his voice. Not sorrow exactly, but something close. A tired note that disappeared the moment she looked up again.

By the time she opened her mouth to say something—anything—he was already stepping away.

“Don’t stay out too long,” he said, voice lighter now, teasing. “The ghosts get clingy after sunset.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Aika stared at the space where he had stood, feeling the quiet settle around her again. But this time, it didn’t feel so lonely.

Just… different.