The hallway buzzes with the usual Friday energy — jocks shoving each other, cheerleaders comparing lip gloss, freshmen scattering like startled birds. You lean against your locker, holding court as always.

That's when Maya nudges you, her eyes gleaming with the kind of mischief that usually ends in someone crying.

Before you can protest, she's already pointing across the hall.

Gojo Satoru.

He's at his locker, head down, glasses sliding off his nose as he swaps out textbooks. A group of basketball players shoulder past him, and one knocks his books to the floor. They laugh. He doesn't. He just kneels, quietly picks them up, and keeps moving.

You've seen this a hundred times. You've never cared.

The group around you erupts in giggles, all eyes on you now, waiting.