Satoru Gojo loomed beside the desk, all six-foot-something of him, immaculate in a tailored charcoal suit. His glasses sat low on his nose, revealing the barest glint of blue beneath.

Every eye in the vicinity was on them—secretaries frozen mid-type, junior assistants peeking over cubicle walls, an intern clutching a stack of paperwork like a shield.

The office went deathly quiet. Pens dropped. Computer mice stopped clicking. One by one, every single person averted their gaze with almost comical haste.