Getou Suguru braced himself against the door without locking it, relying purely on physical strength to resist the person outside who was pushing to get in.
He was grateful he was wearing his Tokyo Jujutsu High uniform—the black version, with its loose, lantern-shaped pant legs—at least they concealed his overly intense physical reaction.
"Open the door!" Asou Akiya couldn't push it open, so he switched to knocking.
"Asou, this really isn't okay this time," Getou Suguru said, deliberately showing weakness to his enemy. "Please, let me off."
"Getou—" Asou Akiya was even better at this tactic than he was. He softened his voice, as though the sense of threat carried through the door were nothing but an illusion, striking straight at Geto Suguru's heart—at the part of him that loved to protect the weak. "Let's not waste it, okay?"
"..." Getou Suguru wavered shamefully, just for a split second.
"Still not okay," Getou Suguru said, clutching his ear and rubbing it, forcibly suppressing the lingering panic from earlier.
"I really suggest you don't try this with Gojo," Getou Suguru added, speaking from personal experience and earnestly thinking of Asou Akiya's comparatively delicate constitution. "He might jump up and punch you."
"I don't believe it," Asou Akiya replied, leaving only that sentence behind before turning and heading back.
When he heard the footsteps outside fade away, Getou Suguru finally straightened up, no longer pressing his back against the door.
He glanced outside guiltily, like a thief afraid of being caught.
Then quickly shut the door.
After that, he irritably raked his fingers through his topknot, tugged the hair tie loose, locked the door, and walked toward the bathroom. "Even though I'm close with Asou and Gojo," he muttered to himself, "if I had to say it outright… that would be way too far ahead."
On the desk, an old red cord lay where he had casually tossed it aside. The curtains were drawn but not fully closed as he went to take a shower.
Japanese people placed great importance on a sense of distance. Getou Suguru had understood this since long ago, believing that even with family and classmates, one must maintain appropriate boundaries—only then could he remain a good child in his parents' eyes, and a well-rounded, exemplary student in the eyes of his peers.
After enrolling at Tokyo Jujutsu High, he began to wonder—what even was this thing called "keeping one's distance?"
At his side were two male classmates who could cross boundaries with ease—one relying on sheer intellect, the other on nothing more than his eyes.
The rules of the mundane world no longer carried any authority.
The weight of the jujutsu world, of jujutsu sorcerers themselves, grew heavier in his heart with each passing day, as though the first fifteen years of his life had been idled away in vain.
He could not ignore the excitement surging within him, and from the bottom of his heart, he felt—exhilaration.
Inside Asou Akiya's single-occupancy dorm room.
The reality was completely different from what Getou Suguru had imagined. It was Gojo Satoru who lay sprawled on the sofa, receiving ear cleaning from Asou Akiya.
"It's a little itchy… but it's fine."
Gojo Satoru was clearly enjoying himself, even asking for more.
Gojo Satoru was an exceptionally clean person, body and mind alike. His "Limitless" technique guaranteed an almost absolute purity, and the Gojo family had cultivated impeccable living habits in him since childhood. Asou Akiya had always believed that Gojo Satoru during his Tokyo Jujutsu High days would be an otherworldly, untouchable divine child with an extremely sensitive body, but the man before him shattered that expectation yet again. He was indeed the Gojo family's divine heir—but he was not Tokyo Jujutsu High's divine child.
Asou Akiya inwardly sneered at Getou Suguru once again. Just who, exactly, was the sheltered "Six Eyes" here?
With the second test subject—Gojo Satoru—Asou Akiya rediscovered the simple pleasure of ear cleaning. Sensing that this guy was clearly accustomed to being waited on, he asked how ear cleaning was done at home.
Gojo Satoru lounged with one leg propped up, eyes closed as he rested on the sofa, and answered lazily, "You think I don't know how to clean my ears? My pinky finger is enough. When I got a bit older, I started using my technique to repel secretions on the surface of my body—cosmetics don't work, only a single point of contact, and I'm still not that skilled. Most of the time, though, that man comes over to curry favor with me and cleans my ears."
Asou Akiya blinked in surprise. "That man? Not a maid?"
Asou Akiya silently complained about Gojo Satoru in his heart. What kind of bizarre statement is that? If I didn't know you were an only child, I'd think you had an older brother named Uchiha Itachi.
Gojo Satoru cracked one eye open and swept a lazy glance over Asou Akiya, muttering under his breath, "Aren't you supposed to know everything?"
He gestured vaguely, sketching the outline of a wizened old orange in the air, and emphasized with unmistakable certainty, "That man. I mean that man."
Asou Akiya: "..."
Among the Three Great Sorcerer Clan, the Gojo clan appeared far less frequently in the original work than the Zenin or Kamo clan. It existed mostly as the shadowy force behind Gojo Satoru himself, making only a single concrete appearance in Volume 0 of the theatrical release. When fifteen-year-old Okkotsu Yuta stayed temporarily at the Gojo estate, he encountered only one elderly figure who guided him to dine in a spacious tatami room. From waking up and getting dressed, to eating breakfast, to finally stepping outside, Yuta felt as though an inordinate amount of time had passed—yet he still hadn't reached the front gate of the Gojo residence.
As a mere background character within the original narrative, even Asou Akiya couldn't immediately guess who Gojo was referring to.
Japanese men often carry traces of patriarchal pride, and within feudal families that tendency only grows more severe. For an adult man—one who was clearly looked down upon—to personally clean Gojo Satoru's ears… that had to be someone extraordinarily close to him.
A spark of realization flashed through Asou Akiya's mind.
Oh. The poor clan head.
Asou Akiya had handled Gojo Satoru's phone before. Among the call records, any conversation lasting over an hour wasn't with him, nor with Getou Suguru, but rather with one very specific "unlucky soul" within the Gojo family.
For people Gojo deemed unimportant—or simply irritating—even if they were clan members, he wouldn't bother mentioning them at all.
That man had long since been molded by the Gojo household into someone with an overwhelmingly condescending temperament.
"Old tangerines" was merely a collective term.
Puzzled, Asou Akiya said, "The head of the Gojo clan treats you pretty well, doesn't he?"
Gojo Satoru bristled instantly, irritation flaring as if he'd expected solidarity instead. "Why are you speaking up for that old tangerine?"
The moment Gojo shifted restlessly, Asou Akiya immediately stopped the ear cleaning, swiftly moving the potentially dangerous tools out of the way.
Deprived of the gentle, soothing sensation inside his ear, Gojo Satoru quieted down again. He turned onto his side so that his face was directly opposite Asou Akiya, who was crouched beside him. The distance between them was extremely close, yet those sky-blue eyes—eyes said to see through everything—still carried a chilling sense of detachment, as though they belonged to a faraway firmament.
"When I was little, there was an accident," Gojo Satoru said flatly. "The maid responsible for cleaning my ears developed malicious intent toward me, and was repelled by the 'Limitless' technique."
He continued, as if recounting something utterly mundane. "After that, the family stopped assigning maids to do it. That man would occasionally get the whim to visit me, copy the maid's movements, and have me rest my head on his lap while he cleaned my ears."
As he spoke, Gojo Satoru glanced at Asou Akiya, the look in his eyes saying plainly: You skipped the lap pillow.
Asou Akiya ignored the look entirely. Hearing this story, his heart sank. "How could a personal maid betray you like that…?"
If even the maids personally selected by the Gojo family were untrustworthy, then who could be trusted at all?
Kenjaku had planted countless hidden nails within the Three Great Families, lying dormant and biding their time, and in theory had already abandoned any attempt to assassinate the Six Eyes.
Gojo Satoru, however, felt annoyed that Asou Akiya's concern was veering in the wrong direction. "It wasn't killing intent—it was malicious intent. They're similar, sure, but the latter is nothing more than a drizzle to me. There's too much of it in this world to guard against completely."
Asou Akiya: "?"
Gojo Satoru spoke calmly of human malice. "So close to the brain, one of the most vital organs—she only needed to stab hard once with the ear pick, and the Six Eyes that appear once every five hundred years would be gone. The Gojo family's hope would have ended right there."
A life for a life.
For just one fleeting instant, the maid must have thought it was worth it.
In an oppressive, feudal family, everyone harbored darkness in their hearts—along with the moment when it might finally erupt.
Asou Akiya tightened his grip around the ear scoop.
Gojo Satoru smoothly changed the subject, suddenly animated again. "What I use most at home are cotton swabs, little bamboo sticks, and horn scoops. Your tools all look weird as hell, but damn, they feel amazing when you're cleaning my ears."
Asou Akiya couldn't stand the other man's careless nerves and lowered his voice to warn him, "People all have two sides. Good and evil are separated by a single thought. Haven't you already learned that lesson once? How can you still relax so easily—aren't you worried that I might also have a flash of malicious intent toward you?"
Gojo Satoru scoffed. "You think I'm stupid? The Six Eyes are watching you in a full three hundred and sixty degrees, no blind spots."
It is the unknown that truly inspires fear.
Getou Suguru's tension stemmed largely from the fact that he couldn't see the ear-cleaning process itself.
Gojo Satoru tugged at Asou Akiya's sleeve. The wrist beneath had fully recovered now, no longer dehydrated or shriveled, and around it was tied a red cord—clearly the festival gift Gojo Satoru had given him during the Moon Viewing Festival.
"See?" Gojo Satoru said smugly. "I've been watching you this whole time. Every bit of affection you've shown me has been real."
"Tell me, Akiya—what are you giving me as a return gift next month?"
Gojo Satoru opened those sky-stretched blue eyes wide, demanding that his friend make good on his promise.
His lips spoke of delight.
Soft…
Matte-toned…
Especially when they carried a faint fragrance—strawberry-scented lip balm applied on top.
Asou Akiya forcibly cut off his train of thought and silently repeated to himself three times: DK Gojo is a classmate, a companion, a friend.
He began thinking seriously about the return gift. Next month would be Gojo Satoru's birthday, and there was no way he could let a sixteen-year-old's birthday slip past unnoticed. An official Jujutsu Kaisen illustration surfaced in his mind—the birthday art for that spicy-tempered teacher, where he shyly covered his face, flustered like someone being proposed to, as he accepted handshakes from underclassmen and students alike, from everyone who placed their trust in him.
"December seventh," Asou Akiya said quietly. "Can you make time to come back to the school?"
"Whoa, that's my birthday!" Gojo Satoru grinned. "No problem at all."
He grabbed Asou Akiya by the arm, no longer interested in prying into what kind of birthday gift awaited him next month. "Hurry up and keep cleaning my ears."
Asou Akiya sighed in helpless resignation. "It's already been fifteen minutes. Do you want to switch to the other ear?"
Gojo Satoru protested immediately, taking issue with the time limit. "I'm not done enjoying it yet."
He knew exactly what Asou Akiya was worried about—nothing more than the fear of accidentally hurting him.
To squeeze out a little more indulgence, Gojo Satoru crooked his finger at Asou Akiya, speaking with the practiced ease of someone casting bait. "You keep going until I tell you to stop, and I'll tell you a secret—"
Asou Akiya, just as expected, took the bait.
Gojo Satoru was smug. No matter how clever Akiya was, it didn't matter—anything involving tricks and schemes, he mastered them effortlessly.
"My pain tolerance is amazing."
Suddenly, the ear pick inside his ear twitched and scraped painfully against the inner wall. Gojo Satoru's face went ashen as he let out a piercing scream.
"Asou Akiya! I said I have a high pain tolerance, not that I'm immune to pain—ahhhh!!!"
The person crouched beside him flushed crimson.
The black-haired boy apologized guiltily. "I'm sorry. I'm still a beginner. I'll be more careful next time."
Afterward.
Asou Akiya began combing through all kinds of medical literature, searching for documented aftereffects caused by skin deprived of external stimulation.
What he discovered left him stunned: people who remain in long-term isolation, whose skin lacks external stimulation, do not become more sensitive—instead, their nerve endings grow dull. The nerves in the skin, just like those in the brain, require constant stimulation and training; without it, they grow sluggish and inert. Those who are truly sensitive are often the opposite—people who have long lived alongside pain, whose minds are as tightly strung and hypersensitive as their nerves. Someone like Getou Suguru.
So in his previous life, anyone who had mistaken Gojo Satoru for having a sensitive constitution had been completely wrong.
What nonsense—this guy was astonishingly insensitive!
Abandoning the idea of staying up all night, Asou Akiya lay on his bed, tossing and turning, still unable to make sense of this rare and contradictory case.
He murmured to himself, "If that's true… then why is his wrist sensitive?"
If it wasn't physical, then was it psychological?
Asou Akiya gripped his own smooth wrist, staring at it for a long moment before leaning closer to the skin.
He kissed his wrist.
The sensation was entirely normal—his lips felt slightly dry, a faint itch lingering where they touched.
He sucked lightly, leaving behind a small red mark.
Nothing.
Asou Akiya frowned, studying it for a moment, his face calm and his heart unflustered, deliberately approaching the matter from an academic perspective as he substituted himself into Gojo Satoru's psychology.
"He's been waited on by countless people," he reasoned, "but that kind of service is distant, formal, always keeping a line drawn… Pure goodwill and unfiltered fondness are what make such a faint touch stand out, turning it into something entirely different."
"Gojo Satoru is the loneliest 'Six Eyes' in the entire world."
"That loneliness only deepened his curiosity about his own wrist—secretly nibbling at it, rubbing it again and again, unconsciously heightening its sensitivity."
"He never had a properly qualified guardian, and he just happens to be at an age of adolescent exploration…"
"Isn't this completely reckless?"
In the Gojo household, human contact should have been a necessity for a child's growth. Ten thousand sticks of chitose-ame could never compare to a single gentle embrace!
Are they still living in ancient times?
Gojo Satoru is not a god—he is a living, breathing human being!
Asou Akiya let out a heartfelt sigh, scooped up the cursed doll Mii-chan that had been shoved to the side, and pressed a firm kiss against it.
"Next life, it'd be better to be a cat."
Author's Note:
From a purely academic perspective, a fifteen-year-old Gojo Satoru could not possibly be considered someone with a naturally sensitive constitution; he has simply lacked sufficient external stimulation.
So please don't think of him as someone with sensitive skin, okay~.