Chapter Three: A Glimpse Beneath the Blindfold

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.

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