The moment stretched.
Not long—just enough to settle into the room and make itself noticed.
Masamichi Yaga finally loosened his arm and released the white-haired boy. The grip disappeared as efficiently as it had formed, leaving no drama behind it. The boy staggered forward half a step on instinct, then caught himself, straightening with exaggerated dignity as he rubbed at his neck.
"That was uncalled for," Gojo said at once. His tone carried wounded pride more than pain. "I was making a reasonable argument."
"You were yelling," Yaga replied. His voice hadn't changed in volume or pitch. "And you were wrong."
Gojo scoffed, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off dust rather than a principal's arm. "I was advocating for optimal resource placement."
"You wanted a vending machine closer to your room."
"Exactly."
Yaga looked at him.
It wasn't sharp. It wasn't angry. It was the kind of flat, patient stare that suggested this exact conversation had happened before—and would, inevitably, happen again.
"You'll live," Yaga said.
Gojo opened his mouth, already halfway into another rebuttal, then stopped. His head tilted slightly, almost as if something had tugged at his attention from the corner of his awareness. The playful indignation slipped, replaced by focus.
His gaze drifted back toward the doorway.
Izana.
Gojo hadn't taken his eyes off him since the interruption—not really.
He straightened slowly, posture still loose, but alert now in a way it hadn't been moments ago. The sunglasses remained in place, black lenses hiding his eyes but doing nothing to soften the intensity behind them. He looked Izana up and down openly, unashamed, cataloging details with the confidence of someone who had never once doubted his right to do so.
"Okay," Gojo said finally, the word drawn out. "So."
Yaga didn't follow his gaze right away. "So?"
"So you're just going to let him stand there?" Gojo gestured vaguely in Izana's direction, thumb flicking through the air. "Because that's rude. And also weird."
Izana didn't move.
His hands rested at his sides, relaxed, fingers loose. His posture wasn't stiff or defensive—just neutral. Dark red eyes remained steady, meeting Gojo's attention without flinching, without rising to it. He watched the exchange like someone observing weather: present, but untouched.
Across the room, Geto shifted his weight slightly, arms still crossed. His gaze flicked between Gojo and Izana, thoughtful rather than confrontational.
"He's new," Geto said calmly. "Obviously."
"Obviously," Gojo echoed, lips quirking. "I just like knowing who's in my space."
"This is not your space," Yaga said.
Gojo waved the comment away without looking at him. "Semantics."
Yaga turned then, attention finally settling fully on Izana. There was no scrutiny in his expression. No judgment. Just confirmation—quiet, settled. The same look he'd worn years ago in a narrow alley, as if nothing about this moment surprised him.
"You made it," Yaga said.
Izana nodded once.
"Good."
Gojo blinked. "Wait. You know him?"
"Yes."
Gojo's head snapped back toward Izana, curiosity sharpening into something keener. "You know him, know him? Or like… principal-knowledge know him?"
Yaga didn't answer. Instead, he glanced at Izana again. "You're early."
"I walked," Izana replied simply.
The words landed without weight or pride—just fact.
That earned him another look from Gojo. Brief this time. Surprised. Then, faintly amused.
"Huh," Gojo said. "Weird choice."
Izana didn't respond.
The silence settled again—not awkward this time, but expectant. Something had shifted in the room, subtle but undeniable. The balance had changed, even if no one could yet say how.
From where he stood, Izana watched them all quietly, taking in voices and posture and space. He didn't feel out of place.
Not yet.
Gojo moved before anyone could stop him.
One moment, he was leaning back on his heels, arms loose at his sides, posture casual. Next, he crossed the space between them in three quick strides and stopped directly in front of Izana, well inside any reasonable measure of personal space.
He grinned.
Up close, the effect was sharper. Gojo was tall, all loose limbs and easy confidence, the kind of presence that demanded attention without asking for it. The black sunglasses hid his eyes, but Izana could feel them—focused, searching, pressing against him like hands.
Gojo tilted his head slightly.
"Huh," he said again, quieter this time.
Something flickered behind the lenses. A subtle widening. Interest sharpening into something closer to recognition.
Izana felt it then—the faint tug at his cursed energy, the instinctive awareness of being looked at properly. Not stared at, not judged. Examined.
Gojo straightened a fraction, grin widening.
"Your technique," he said. "It's tied to your eyes, isn't it?"
He sounded pleased with himself, like he'd solved a puzzle no one else had noticed yet. "Figures. Guess great minds really do think alike."
From the corner of the room, Geto let out a slow breath and dragged a hand down his face, fingers pressing briefly into his brow.
"This is why we don't let you talk to new people," he muttered.
Gojo ignored him.
He stuck out a hand, not offering it—just gesturing broadly, theatrically. "Satoru Gojo," he announced. "The honored one."
Izana stared at him.
Not blankly. Not confused.
Just… steadily.
For a second, he wondered if he'd misheard. If this was some kind of joke he wasn't in on. Gojo's grin suggested he very much was in on it, and that made it worse.
"That's arrogant," Izana said.
There was no heat in the words. No challenge. He stated it the same way someone might comment on the weather—an observation, nothing more.
Gojo blinked.
Then Izana stepped to the side and walked past him.
No hesitation. No glance back. Just a clean, unremarkable motion, as if Gojo had never been standing there at all.
Geto winced audibly.
"Oh no," he said under his breath. "You upset him."
"I did not," Gojo said automatically, turning to follow Izana with his gaze. His grin hadn't faded yet, but something else had crept in beneath it—confusion, threading through his certainty like a hairline crack.
From behind, Yaga watched in silence, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Izana approached the others calmly, posture unchanged, attention already shifting away from Gojo entirely. The room felt tighter now, like the air had been pulled a fraction thinner.
Gojo stood where he was, hand still half-raised, grin finally faltering.
For the first time since he could remember, someone had looked straight at him—and walked away.
Gojo moved again.
There was no warning this time—no grin widening, no shoulder roll or exaggerated step. One moment, Izana was walking toward the others, attention already drifting away, and the next, Gojo was simply there, appearing in front of him as if the space had folded to accommodate him.
An arm shot out.
Gojo's hand stopped inches from Izana's chest.
"Hold on," Gojo said lightly, palm open. "You're not going anywhere just yet."
Izana stopped.
Not because he wanted to.
His body simply… wouldn't go forward.
The sensation caught him off guard. There was no pressure, no resistance he could feel in a normal sense. Just an invisible boundary, a space that refused to close no matter how much he leaned into it. His foot hovered mid-step, muscles tense, confused by the lack of feedback.
What is this?
He glanced down briefly, then back up at Gojo's hand. It was just there—open, relaxed. Nothing special about it. No grip. No force.
And yet.
Izana tried again, shifting his weight forward.
Nothing.
Gojo smiled, pleased.
"See?" he said, tone easy, almost friendly. "That's not polite. You don't just walk away from people. Especially not when we're about to be classmates."
Geto let out a quiet, resigned sound behind them. "Gojo…"
"What?" Gojo replied without looking away. "I'm being welcoming."
Shoko leaned off the pillar slightly, cigarette still resting unlit between her lips, eyes narrowed in interest now. "This is your version of welcoming?"
Gojo waved that off with his free hand. "Details."
He leaned in a fraction, sunglasses catching the candlelight. "What's the rush, anyway? We should get to know each other. Don't you think?"
Izana stared at him for a moment longer than necessary.
Up close, the barrier felt stranger—like standing in front of a wall made of absence. Something that existed by refusing to exist. His chest tightened faintly, not with fear, but curiosity.
"That's annoying," Izana said.
Gojo laughed softly. "You'll get used to it."
Izana exhaled once, slow and measured.
"Maybe later, dude."
Something changed.
It was subtle at first—a shift in the air, a tightening behind Izana's eyes. The dark red of his gaze deepened, color pooling as if drawn inward. Not bright. Not flaring. Just denser, like old blood catching light.
Gojo felt it.
His smile stilled.
He could see it now—the sudden rush of cursed energy threading toward Izana's eyes, focused and deliberate. Not wild. Not explosive. Controlled.
"Oh?" Gojo murmured.
Izana took one step forward.
Gojo's hand didn't move.
Infinity didn't falter.
And yet—
Izana walked through it.
There was no impact. No resistance. No distortion. His shoulder passed cleanly through Gojo's palm, his body slipping forward as if neither the hand nor the space it guarded had ever been there at all.
He emerged on the other side, untouched.
For a moment, no one breathed.
Geto's hand lifted instinctively, finger pointing toward Izana as if trying to anchor what he'd just seen. His mouth opened—then closed again, words failing to form.
Shoko's cigarette slipped from her lips, hitting the polished floor with a soft, forgotten tap.
Yaga's eyebrows rose a fraction.
Behind them, Gojo hadn't moved.
His arm was still outstretched. His hand still open.
He looked down at it.
Then, at the space Izana had occupied.
Then back again.
His grin faltered, confidence draining from it in real time as his mind raced, recalculating, rejecting possibilities that refused to fit.
"That's…" Gojo said slowly.
Izana didn't look back.
He continued walking toward the others, posture calm, eyes already returning to their muted shade, as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
Behind him, Gojo remained frozen—hand out, certainty shattered—staring at the place where something impossible had just passed straight through him.
Izuna stopped a few steps in front of them.
Behind him, Gojo still hadn't moved.
His arm remained outstretched, palm open, fingers slightly curled like he was waiting for resistance that never came. His head turned sharply—Izuna, his hand, Izuna again. Back and forth. Back and forth. Fast enough to look almost frantic.
"…Huh?" Gojo said.
It wasn't accusatory.It wasn't angry.
It was genuinely lost.
Izuna didn't acknowledge it.
He looked instead at the others—at the boy with his hair tied back and the calm eyes that hadn't left him since the moment he'd stepped through the room, at the girl who was now staring openly at him, cigarette abandoned on the floor like she'd forgotten it ever existed, and finally at Yaga.
Izuna inclined his head slightly. Not a bow—just enough to be polite.
"I'm Izuna Miyamura," he said.
His voice was even. Clear. Like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
"You can call me Miyamura," he added after a beat, then glanced between them. "Or Izuna. Either's fine."
The boy with the tied-back hair blinked once, then recovered first.
"Suguru Geto," he said, uncrossing his arms. His tone was calm, measured, but his eyes were sharp now—assessing, thoughtful. "Nice to meet you."
Shoko exhaled softly, finally breaking her stare. "Shoko Ieiri," she said, nudging the fallen cigarette aside with the toe of her shoe. "Guess you picked an interesting day to show up."
Izuna nodded. "Seems like it."
Behind them—
"No, no, no," Gojo muttered. His head snapped down again to his hand. He flexed his fingers once. Twice. Slowly this time, like he expected to feel something different if he just tried hard enough.
He looked back at Izuna.
Then at the space between them.
Then at Izuna again.
"…That doesn't make sense," he said, louder now. "That really doesn't make sense."
Geto glanced back at him. "You okay?"
Gojo didn't answer.
He took a step forward, then stopped himself, hand lifting again halfway before freezing, like his body had finally caught up with his brain and decided maybe—just maybe—that wasn't a good idea.
Izuna remained still, attentively watching the people in front of him. He tilted his head slightly, curiosity edging into his expression for the first time.
"So," he asked, honestly, "you all… see weird things too, right?"
The room went quiet.
Geto's gaze sharpened.
Shoko studied Izuna with renewed interest, something thoughtful slipping into her expression beneath the casual exterior.
Yaga watched it all without comment.
And behind them, Gojo let out a sound that was half laugh, half disbelief.
"…No way," he said.
For the first time since Izuna had walked through the door, the room wasn't just reacting to him.
It was recalibrating around him.