Scene 3
It was mid-afternoon.
Aimi prepared for her martial arts class, tying her black belt securely and setting up the equipment. The faint sounds of students getting ready echoed softly through the hall.
"Aimi-sensei, are we practising a new stance today or continuing last week's?" a student asked.
"That depends on how well everyone performs today," Aimi smiled. "We'll recap last week's technique first. If the class does well, we'll move on to something new."
"Then we'll try our best!"
Excitement buzzed through the dojo.
Just as the lesson was about to begin, the sliding door creaked open.
Gojo Satoru stepped in casually, his tall frame casting a long shadow. He wore his usual tracksuit-style uniform. His silver-white hair caught the sunlight, and his blindfold was securely in place.
Aimi paused. Then let out a quiet sigh.
"Yo," Gojo greeted with a relaxed wave.
"Satoru."
The students exchanged confused glances. Aimi-sensei was strict about uninvited guests. Yet this man walked in like he belonged.
"Aimi-chan, long time no see," Gojo said, approaching slowly. "I've been busy."
"Why are you here?"
"To watch you."
"Not now." Her tone was firm. "This dojo is for martial arts students and instructors. You can't just walk in."
"Consider me an instructor then," he said, grinning. "I can help."
"Do you have a license or certification?"
"Don't need one if I can beat you, right?" he said smugly.
"Satoru," her patience thinned. "You can't beat me. And even if you could, you'd still need one."
"I can, though."
The students looked back and forth between them, tense.
Aimi was quiet for a moment. Then she spoke.
"Fine."
Her students blinked.
"Watching a fight helps students learn better," she said. "It gives them something to strive for."
She stepped into the center and clapped. "Everyone, form a circle."
The students moved quickly, forming a ring. Aimi stretched calmly.
Gojo smirked wider. This was exactly what he came for.
He stepped into the circle, hands still in his pockets.
Aimi's stance was sharp. The air grew tense.
Then they moved.
Their speed was staggering. Each strike cracked like thunder through the hall. Wind stirred with every motion. They were holding back—but only just.
She launched a high kick toward his head. He blocked it with a twist of his arm. Smirking—but internally, stunned.
For the so-called strongest, it was rare to be matched physically. Without cursed techniques, he was just a man. And she was something else.
Her raw strength and grace rivalled any sorcerer. She dodged effortlessly, moving like water, kicking off the walls with precision. His brows furrowed. What even is she? She reminded him of Toji Fushiguro… but even more unpredictable. No cursed energy. And yet—
He pulled down his blindfold.
She noticed instantly. His gaze sharpened. His moves became faster, tighter.
What does he do…? Aimi's mind raced. His presence shifted. She could feel the gap.
He was stronger. That much was clear.
But it didn't stop her.
She kept moving.
The fight peaked when Gojo launched a powerful kick. Aimi leapt onto his leg, using it as a platform, and countered with a direct strike to his face.
He dodged at the last second, the force of her foot brushing past his cheek, blowing his hair back.
They both landed.
Aimi was breathing hard.
She straightened. "Enough."
Whispers exploded from the circle.
Gojo slipped his hands back into his pockets. "You're done? Admit defeat already?"
She didn't answer.
Inside, her body ached. Her thoughts spun. Is it even human to fight like that?
"Everyone, stand up. Get in line."
She walked to the front. "This is Satoru. He'll stay and observe today. Does anyone have a problem?"
"Gojo Satoru," he added with a grin, like his name should mean something.
"Sure. Gojo Satoru," she said dryly. "Anyone?"
The class glanced at him, then shook their heads.
"No, Sensei!"
"Good. Now get into your stance. Show me what you've learned last week."
The lesson resumed. Aimi's eyes flicked to Gojo. She caught him flexing his hand—probably bruised from blocking.
Thirty minutes passed.
She called for self-practice. Then walked over to him.
"Show me your hand," she said.
He placed it into hers.
She lifted his sleeve, expecting a bruise. Nothing.
"Your bruise is gone."
"You noticed."
"I notice everything."
"You don't seem surprised."
She shrugged. "It's not the first time I've seen something like that." Her gaze flicked up. "I heal fast too."
His eyes narrowed slightly. That positive energy again...
"Now you don't seem too surprised."
He laughed and shrugged. "Maybe I'm getting used to you."
"Why the blindfold, anyway? Can you even see?"
"I can see everything—but you," he said, raising her hand slightly. "Still adjusting."
She tilted her head. "Is that a training technique of yours?"
Before he could answer, students approached.
"Excuse us, Gojo-san, but… how did you block that kick earlier? It looked so fast!"
Gojo tilted his head. "Reflexes, mostly." He leaned in. "Want me to show you?"
"Yes, please!"
Another added, "And that counter! How did you pivot without losing balance?"
"You've got good eyes," he said. "Alright, come closer."
The group tightened around him. Gojo crouched slightly, demonstrating form.
"Keep your center of gravity low. If your stance is solid, even fast moves won't throw you."
They nodded, mimicking him.
Aimi watched from the side, arms crossed, a faint smile on her lips.
"Your kicks are so powerful," one said. "How do you get that much strength?"
Gojo stood straight, tapping his temple. "Confidence."
That earned a mix of laughs and groans.
He added, more seriously, "Power comes from your core. Not just your arms or legs. Use your whole body."
"Can you show us?"
Gojo guided them through more techniques, shifting between joking and genuine instruction. The crowd around him grew.
5 PM
The dojo slowly emptied. The students' voices faded down the hall.
Aimi stayed back, packing equipment. Her shoulders ached from sparring.
She glanced over. "Why are you still here?"
"Waiting for you," he replied, a grin tugging at his lips.
"Don't you have work today?"
"Hopefully not. My phone's been quiet."
"Convenient."
"I delegate," he hummed. "I've got others to pick up my slack."
She brushed past him. "I'm going to shower."
"You don't have to. I don't mind a little stinky—"
A pair of boxing gloves flew toward him.
They bounced harmlessly off Infinity. She didn't notice. She wasn't looking.
The dojo bathroom was modest, but clean. The hot water melted the fatigue from her limbs.
When she returned, towel-drying her hair and dressed casually, Gojo was still there. Sitting cross-legged, flipping a coin.
"Done?"
"Done with you," she muttered, packing her uniform. Her hair clung to her skin.
"Let's go eat," he said, standing. As she shoved the towel into her bag, he reached out and began drying her hair.
"I'm starving."
He was surprisingly gentle.
Aimi's heart gave the smallest flutter.
"You didn't need to."
"Need to what?"
"Dry my hair."
"Doesn't matter," he said simply.
They stepped into the crisp evening air. Warm streetlights flickered on, washing the road in gold. Aimi led the way.
Gojo walked beside her, as if he'd always been there.