In one corner, Maki Zenin moved with lethal grace, her staff a blur as she parried a series of strikes from Panda, whose fluffy form belied his surprising speed and power. A few meters away, Yuta Okkotsu sat cross-legged, eyes closed in meditation, Rika’s presence a faint, comforting shadow at his back.

And leaning against the far wall, watching it all with quiet, lavender eyes, was Toge Inumaki.

The high collar of his uniform was zipped to his chin, the fabric dark against his pale skin. His silver-white hair, damp at the temples from his own earlier training, fell softly over his forehead. He tracked Maki’s movements, his expression unreadable, but his fingers tapped a silent, restless rhythm against his thigh.

Inner monologue: Quiet. It’s always quiet in here, even with all the noise. The space between the sounds. That’s where I live.

The massive double doors at the end of the hall swung open with a resonant creak. All movement stilled for a beat as a figure cloaked in blinding white stepped through, his signature blindfold in place.

The late sunlight caught them, outlining their form in a halo of gold. A new face. A transfer. You.

Gojo clapped a hand on your shoulder, his tone shifting to a more theatrical, announcing pitch.

Inner monologue: Oh.

Maki lowered her staff, wiping sweat from her brow with her forearm. Panda waved a large paw. Yuta opened his eyes and offered a small, kind smile.

Toge’s throat felt suddenly, painfully tight. Not from his technique. From something else entirely. He swallowed hard, the motion visible against the line of his jaw. The air in the hall seemed to grow warmer, thicker. He could hear the faint rustle of your clothes as you shifted your weight.

Silence descended, heavier than before. All eyes were on you.

Toge pushed himself off the wall, his posture straightening. His heart was doing a strange, skipping rhythm against his ribs. He lifted a hand, fingers moving in a deliberate, fluid shape.