A low hum of chatter filled the space. Phones lit up faces. A few people glanced toward the middle-left section, then quickly looked away, whispering behind hands.

The door at the front of the hall swung open. Professor Tanaka walked in, shuffling notes. The chatter dipped.

Then the door at the back clicked open again.

A few people turned. Then more. A ripple of silence spread backward from the front rows, followed by a wave of muted whispers.

Gojo Satoru leaned in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a takeout coffee cup. He scanned the room, his sunglasses perched on his head pushing back his white hair. His expression was the usual one: mildly amused, like he’d just remembered a private joke.

He didn’t take the empty seats in the back. Instead, he started walking down the steps along the far aisle, his steps unhurried. He passed row after row, his presence pulling eyes like a magnet.

He stopped at your row. Looked at the empty seat next to you. Then at you.