New school
Tokyo Jujutsu High wasn’t exactly what you expected when you first stepped onto the campus grounds. The air buzzed with an energy that wasn’t just from the cursed techniques woven into its walls. It was the people—the students, the sorcerers-in-training, the ones who were supposed to be the future of Jujutsu society.
And unfortunately, at the center of it all stood Gojo Satoru.
You knew his name before you even met him. Everyone did. He had that kind of presence, like a storm barreling through a quiet town, turning heads, leaving destruction in his wake. Strong, cocky, undeniably talented. The kind of person you could tell was never told “no” enough times in his life.
Your first meeting? A disaster.
It was during a training session, a standard sparring exercise set up by Yaga-sensei to get the newer students acquainted with each other’s fighting styles. You weren’t new to jujutsu, but you were new to this school, this world of rules and hierarchy. You had been prepared to prove yourself, to show that you weren’t just some transfer student to be overlooked.
What you weren’t prepared for was Gojo Satoru, grinning like he owned the place, standing in your way.
“Alright, Name, let’s see what you got,” he said, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. His white hair was messy, like he’d just rolled out of bed, and the way he stood—relaxed, confident—made something in you burn.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Suguru Geto, your assigned partner for the match, muttered beside you. Unlike Gojo, he seemed level-headed, eyes sharp with a kind of patience that suggested he was used to dealing with this.
You didn’t get a chance to ask what he meant before Gojo disappeared.
Your instincts barely had time to kick in before a hand was suddenly in front of your face, fingers just centimeters away from your forehead. You jumped back, twisting your body to avoid whatever he had planned, but
“Huh,” Gojo mused, tilting his head. “You’re kinda fast.”
Oh. You hated him already.
“I’m faster than you think,” you shot back, already moving. You weren’t going to just let him show off. You had a point to prove.
Your cursed energy flared as you launched yourself forward, aiming a strike at his ribs. You weren’t expecting it to land, not really, but you needed to at least make it look like you weren’t about to get humiliated on your first day.
Gojo sidestepped easily, laughing. “Cute.”
You gritted your teeth.
The next few minutes were a blur of movement. Every attack you threw, he dodged effortlessly. You knew he was strong, but this? This was insulting. He wasn’t even taking you seriously.
“Are you gonna actually try, or”
Your knee slammed into his stomach.
Or at least, that’s what should have happened. Instead, it felt like you hit a wall of nothingness, like the air itself had solidified between you and your target.
“What—?”
Gojo smiled. “Infinity.”
The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. His technique. The one that made it so nothing could touch him unless he allowed it.
“That’s” You clenched your fists, frustration crawling up your spine. “That’s so cheap.”
Gojo snickered. “Oh? Mad already?”
“Mad? I just think it’s kind of pathetic,” you said, voice steady even as irritation simmered under your skin. “Relying on a technique like that instead of actually fighting.”
Suguru sucked in a breath beside you. “Oh, they’re dead.”
Gojo’s expression flickered just for a second. Then he grinned, stepping closer. “You wanna say that again?”
You did. And you did.
And that was the start of the worst rivalry of your life.
————-
Weeks Later
Somehow, despite your mutual distaste for each other, you and Gojo kept getting paired together. Missions, training, even stupid school activities. If there was a worst possible outcome, it seemed like the universe conspired to make sure it was you and him, together, stuck in a never-ending cycle of arguments and near-death experiences.
“You’re actually unbearable,” you muttered one evening, walking side by side with Gojo and Geto through a dimly lit street. Your latest mission had gone fine—mostly—but only after you and Gojo stopped fighting long enough to focus.
Gojo snorted. “Oh, please. If you’d just admit that I’m better than you, we wouldn’t have this problem.”
“You’re not.”
“I am, though.”
“Can you two shut up?” Geto sighed, rubbing his temples. “For five minutes?”
Silence.
Then Gojo, ever the menace, leaned toward you with a smirk.
“You like me, don’t you?”
You shoved him into a lamppost.
————-
Months Later
Somewhere along the way, the hatred softened. You weren’t sure when it happened. When Gojo’s smug remarks became something you rolled your eyes at instead of something that made you want to punch him. When his relentless teasing stopped feeling like a fight and started feeling like
Well.
You weren’t going to say friendship.
But it was something close.
“You’re not that bad,” you admitted one evening, sitting on the rooftop of Jujutsu High. Below, the school was quiet, the world still for just a moment. Gojo sat beside you, his blindfold pulled up so you could see his ridiculously bright blue eyes, glowing even under the moonlight.
“Wow,” he said, hand over his heart. “That was almost a compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
He grinned. “No promises.”
Maybe, just maybe
Gojo Satoru wasn’t the worst person in the world.
But he was still incredibly annoying.