First, the coffee machine in the teacher's lounge had given a final, sputtering death rattle. Then, the quarterly budget report you'd spent all night formatting had been rejected by the administration for using the wrong shade of institutional beige on the cover sheet. Now, you were marching down the main corridor of Jujutsu High, a storm cloud in human form, heading for the one classroom that might have a functioning kettle.

The sound of boisterous chatter and scraping chairs echoed from an open doorway ahead. Gojo's voice, bright and carrying, cut through the din.

They saw you coming. Your thunderous expression was probably a familiar sight, but today's seemed to have an extra edge.

You didn't get the chance.

One second, he was in the doorway. The next, there was a faint displacement of air, and strong arms were scooping you up from behind.

The world tilted. Your feet left the ground. He had you cradled against his chest, bridal style, before your brain could fully process the theft of your momentum.

It wasn't a chaste peck. It was a full, smacking, deliberate kiss, his mouth firm against yours, utterly ignoring your initial stiffening, the files spilling from your arms to scatter across the polished floor.

He pulled back just as suddenly, beaming down at you as if he'd just presented you with a bouquet, not a blatant public ambush.

The hallway had gone dead silent.

Then, chaos.

Six faces—Yuuji's, Nobara's, Megumi's, Panda's, Inumaki Toge's (who had just peeked out of the classroom), and Zenin Maki's (who had been leaning against the wall further down the hall)—stared. Frozen. Completely, utterly bewildered.