May 2nd, Monday.
A beautiful day begins with sweeping the floor.
The boys' dormitory that would accompany them for the next five years gleamed once more, spotless and renewed. Akiya pushed open the window, letting the crisp mountain air rush in like a cleansing wind, carrying away yesterday's staleness and scattering every last trace of displeasure.
He changed out of the old clothes he kept for cleaning and stepped into the bathroom for a shower. When the fabric fell away, the boy's frame looked almost fragile under the light—lean, with muscles barely hinted beneath the skin, far short of the solid builds his two classmates already carried.
Yaga-sensei had said it plainly: for sorcerers with good foundations, daily training of two hours or more would begin to show results in about a month. For those with ordinary constitutions, it usually took three months or longer.
Akiya belonged firmly to the latter group.
Born an ordinary human, frail by nature, with bones that lacked density and years of uneven meals etched into his very frame.
Yet there was still time to mend all of it. Fifteen was the age when the body, like a starving beast finally set loose in a banquet hall, devoured every scrap of nourishment it could seize. Pour in enough hours, enough money, enough stubborn will, and even a weak sapling could be forged into ironwood.
Youth itself was a vault of endless second chances at destiny.
One year later—one single year—and the same effort would yield only half the harvest.
"Good morning, my dear classmates."
Asou Akiya slipped the treasured photograph into the wooden frame he had polished until it shone, then set it gently on his bedside table.
In the picture taken beneath last month's falling cherry blossoms, three boys and one girl radiated the careless splendor of spring. On the far left, Gojo Satoru pouted with princely arrogance, lips pushed forward as though the whole world ought to indulge him. On the far right, Geto Suguru wore the serene mask of the honor student, eyes curved into gentle slits that revealed nothing and everything at once.
Standing front and center, Ieiri Shoko laughed as if sorrow had never touched her life.
"And—"
"Good morning, me."
In the back row, the black-haired boy claimed the second-best spot with shameless confidence, throwing up a bright V-sign. His eyes sparkled with a reckless, living fire.
At this age, Asou Akiya had dared to sweet-talk their teacher into bringing his wife along for cherry-blossom viewing. He had dared to steal Gojo's preferred place in the frame. He had dared to lean close to Ieiri and whisper gossip about Geto under the pink storm of petals. He dared every reckless social leap his previous lifetime had forbidden him.
At 7:20 in the morning, Asou Akiya—miraculously—prepared three lavish Japanese breakfasts.
Even the time-consuming tamagoyaki emerged from the pan in perfect golden rolls, sprinkled with bright green scallions and jeweled kernels of corn. Every side dish had been chosen with care, balanced to feed both body and spirit.
Carrying the trays, Asou Akiya knocked on the doors of his two classmates' rooms and offered breakfast with the morning's first smile.
"Morning. Never thought I'd be on the receiving end of your cooking," Geto Suguru said in his usual even tone, yet his hands moved with practiced grace to accept the tray. On his way past the kitchen, he reached out and clicked off the stove, relieved of the eternal question of what to eat.
"Geto, remember to wash your own plate. I want it back by lunch." Asou Akiya had no intention of spoiling Geto Suguru too much.
"Got it, you favouritism-eyed classmate." Geto Suguru smiled and closed the door with the soft finality of a curtain falling on a stage.
Asou Akiya arched a brow.
Tch. So the narrow-eyed classmate hadn't yet become a special-grade sorcerer, but he'd already mastered the temperament of one?
Just as Asou Akiya turned to head toward Gojo Satoru's room, the door behind him opened again. The faint clink of dishes being arranged drifted out, followed by Geto's voice, calm and warm. "In a good mood today, Akiya? Keep it up."
"Of course," Asou Akiya tossed back without looking over his shoulder. "Every day has to be a happy one."
The next instant he was pounding on Gojo Satoru's door.
"Open up! Breakfast delivery!"
A frantic scramble erupted inside, like a flock of startled birds beating against the walls.
Lately Gojo had taken to lingering in bed, but he still possessed enough shame not to show his face before washing up. That was a good sign. Asou Akiya was more than happy to see a pristine, well-groomed Gojo forever, rather than some spoiled young master who collapsed into uselessness the moment the servants vanished. After all, no matter how strict the Gojo family's rules, they would never raise a slovenly heir.
He waited on tiptoe for a moment, and at last the door swung open to reveal the Gojo Satoru who had spent the entire weekend tearing through the city like a storm.
One glance was enough. He hadn't gained weight, hadn't tanned; his lips were still that soft, childish pink. Clearly he had slept like the dead.
What a dazzling, sparkling white-haired creature.
"What kind of look is that!" Gojo's hair practically bristled as his instincts flared in exactly the wrong place.
"The look that drags you out of bed and forces a healthy sleep schedule on you," Asou Akiya replied, utterly unafraid now. He nudged Gojo's blocking body aside, slipped into house slippers, and carried the tray straight into the room himself.
Gojo dropped into his chair like a lord taking his throne, one leg crossed lazily over the other, yet the moment the chopsticks touched his fingers his knees snapped together with impeccable manners.
He ate slowly, delicately, never once turning his face toward Asou Akiya.
But Asou Akiya knew those Six Eyes were watching him all the same, ceaselessly, whether Gojo wished it or not.
And that, Asou Akiya admitted without hesitation, was what he loved most.
Far better than the slippery, invisible hearts of ordinary people; those tireless Six Eyes gave him the solid proof of being seen that he craved.
Humans are creatures of desire.
To live fully in the moment and not betray his youth—that was his greatest desire right now.
As for whether Gojo's brain was in agony beneath the weight of limitless perception, Asou Akiya offered no cheap sympathy. Pity was boring, the sort of thing you wasted on fragile porcelain. Power this immense always demanded its toll; that was only fair.
For now, their relationship remained that of ordinary classmates, plus the fact that Asou Akiya was technically the live-in companion paid for by the Gojo family.
He had called him "Satoru" exactly only once.
Ever since then, Asou Akiya had quietly reduced the number of times he used the full name "Gojo".
Akiya spoke while the other boy's mouth was occupied with food and his face looked like a painting too beautiful to disturb.
"Will you walk to the classroom with me and Geto today?"
Silence.
"If you don't answer, I'll take that as a yes."
More silence.
"On the way there we can talk while we walk. High-school stuff. Comics, games, and that actress every high-school boy is crazy about right now—Inoue Kaka. She made a guest appearance this year in Divorce Lawyer Woman. I haven't watched it yet; it aired at the beginning of the year. I wonder if Geto knows anything about it…"
Asou Akiya was deliberately guiding Gojo Satoru toward the existence of Inoue Kaka.
A proper teenager should not limit his world to punching other boys. He needed aesthetics, shared topics, a horizon broader than blood and curses.
His preliminary investigation of the twenty-five-year-old actress had turned up nothing scandalous. She was not an AV performer; her public image was that of the gentle, dependable big-sister type.
Since Inoue Kaka was collapse-proof, Asou Akiya had no intention of stopping Gojo from appreciating mature, curvaceous women. It was right; it was inevitable. A healthy male mind had to acknowledge every kind of beauty this world offered.
Anything less, and he risked raising another Zenin Naoya—another arrogant relic pickled in the vinegar of feudal values.
Not wanting to appear ignorant, Gojo Satoru pricked up his ears and drank in the knowledge his peer was offering.
Unnoticed, several new entries etched themselves into the private dictionary he kept about Asou Akiya.
[Little Tangerine who knows a ton of stuff.]
[Little Tangerine who supports me making friends.]
[Little Tangerine who always helps me and never screws me over.]
Recalling something Asou Akiya had once said about himself, Gojo added another line with faint amusement: [Little Tangerine whose fist techniques suck and whose power is trash, but who tries hard and never drags anyone down.]
Gojo neither liked nor disliked that sort of person. After finishing the meal, he tossed out a single cool sentence.
"I'll tell the old tangerines at home to raise your pay."
"No need."
Asou Akiya refused at once. Gojo couldn't be bothered to argue; he could always raise the allowance later, once he inherited the Gojo estate.
In his mind he shrugged: I'm this strong anyway. Clinging to my thigh is only natural.
That was how all three great families operated.
Malice without cause existed everywhere. Kindness without cause did not.
Thanks to the extravagant sprawl of Tokyo Jujutsu High's grounds, the walk to the classroom building was neither too short nor too long—just long enough for Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru to finally breach the wall of zero conversation and trade words on certain topics.
Gojo launched in with bright enthusiasm. "I've never read Naruto. The old tangerines back home said it's all made-up nonsense that criticizes the government, and there's this huge idiot in it who massacres his entire clan for the sake of the village."
Geto Suguru was quietly stunned by the sheer feudalism of the Gojo household. "It's just a manga."
Gojo Satoru kicked at a pebble on the path, his face twisted in distaste. "They're terrified I'll turn into that kind of person."
Geto Suguru thought for a moment before venturing, "Uchiha Itachi?"
Gojo shrugged. "Something like that, yeah."
He noticed Geto's mind didn't leap the way his own did, so he turned the second half of the question toward Asou Akiya instead. "Is that weasel guy really popular?"
Asou Akiya answered without hesitation. "Quite popular, don't worry. He's a character whose personality is as far removed from yours as a horse is from an ox."[1]
The elders of the Gojo clan were overthinking it.
The two weren't entirely unalike; at most they both belonged to the broad category labeled "human."
Gojo let out an impressed "Whoa," recognizing the idiom at once, and shot Asou a surprised sideways glance. "Nice use of a Chinese allusion."
Asou Akiya smiled faintly. "Thank you for the compliment."
Geto Suguru's curiosity stirred. "Asou, are you good with multiple languages? How's your English?"
Asou Akiya graciously revealed a little of his background. "I taught myself Chinese, French, and English. My grades at school were always near the top. Everyday writing is no problem for me, though my spoken fluency still leaves something to be desired."
Geto sounded genuinely impressed. "English alone is exhausting for me. You've clearly put in far more effort than I have."
Asou Akiya continued, "Someone once said that learning a language gives a person a second soul. That line is what drove me to study them. If we're talking about sheer time and frustration, French is harder; it kept clashing with the English I already knew. But the reward is worth it. Once I could read French, entire worlds of literature opened in their original tongue. Reading the classics as their authors wrote them is an entirely different experience."
No Japanese person is wholly immune to the spell of France; the very term "Paris Syndrome" was coined by Japanese psychiatrists for their own countrymen.
Geto tilted his head thoughtfully. "I heard that in French the letter H is silent. So how do they laugh?"
Asou Akiya gently dismantled the foreigner's stereotype. "Laughter is a borderless sound; it springs from the deepest instinct of being human, the same way children in every country on earth learn to say 'Mama' without being taught."
Seeing Gojo remain unusually quiet, Geto turned to him in surprise. "Gojo, you don't speak French?"
For one perilous instant, Gojo Satoru felt the cold grip of clan-induced self-doubt. Was all that brutal studying still not enough to keep up with the times?
This was bad.
He didn't know French. He didn't even understand French.
Gojo dug in his heels with stubborn pride. "I studied classical Japanese, Chinese, and English."
The first was to read the scrolls locked away in the family vault; the second was to keep up with the newest mathematical theorems published abroad.
Unacceptable. He would cram French until his brain bled. From now on, whenever the subject came up, only the one with the stupid bangs would be left out.
Asou Akiya had no worries about Gojo's monstrous learning speed. He spoke directly to Geto instead. "I hear there are far fewer sorcerers overseas. We might be sent abroad on missions someday. One more language makes everything smoother when we travel."
In the original story, Gojo Satoru would one day zip across the globe like a comet; Okkotsu Yuta had been dispatched overseas by his teacher; and even Geto Suguru, after founding the Pan-Star Cult, frequently crossed oceans to recruit sorcerers.
Now it was the turn of this young, overwhelmingly powerful high-school Gojo to have the floor.
"Only first-grade sorcerers get sent overseas."
As a certified first-grade sorcerer, Gojo Satoru pulled out his student ID and waved it like a triumphant banner. "You two are just… too… weak…"
Geto Suguru stared at him in silence.
Asou Akiya reached over and gently closed his fingers around Geto's wrist, his voice rich with the patient tone of an elder brother. "There's a classic saying in Chinese."
He blended consolation and provocation into a single, flawless breath. "He's still young. He doesn't know any better. Forgive him."
Geto Suguru let out a low, dangerous chuckle.
[Very well.]
The anger rose like a tide, and his fists grew harder than steel. To have classmates like these, what a blessing.
[1] {Note: The Chinese idiom “风马牛不相及” (fēng mǎ niú bù xiāng jí), literally “the wind of a horse and the ox have nothing to do with each other,” is a classical expression meaning “completely unrelated,” “as different as chalk and cheese,” or “not even remotely connected.” It originates from a passage in the Zuo Zhuan (a commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals) describing how the mating calls of horses and oxen, even when carried by the wind, would never reach or affect the opposite species because they are simply too far apart in nature.}