Destined or not

Scene 1

The wooden dojo hall was alive with the rhythmic sounds of students practicing their strikes, kiais echoing through the space. At the front of the class stood Aimi, her long black hair tied into a high ponytail.

She moved effortlessly among the students, her sharp eyes catching every flaw in their stances. 

Aimi wasn't just good—she was extraordinary. Her strength, agility, and skill bordered on the inhuman, resulting from relentless hard work and incredible talent. She had inherited "crazy genes," as her instructors once whispered behind her back.

Her natural talent defied logic, her body capable of feats most couldn't dream of. Despite her petite figure and understated appearance, she was the strongest person in the dojo—stronger even than those who had trained her.

Aimi's strength was a survival mechanism, one she honed out of necessity.

Her parents had pushed her into martial arts at a young age. They had left her behind at 12 to work overseas, cutting almost all ties and only delivering impersonal letters and monthly deposits.

The anger and betrayal she felt toward them lingered for years. But at a certain point, the bitterness got too exhausting. She chose to free herself from misery and live for the little package of happiness. It wasn't easy to choose to live, but she did it, eventually.

The sky outside the dojo began to glow with the deep orange and red hues of sunset as Aimi wrapped up the session. She dismissed the students with a bow, packed her belongings, and headed to the showers. 

As a university student, she had a full schedule of assignments and readings.

Aimi's life was slow and quiet, but it was never idle.

By the time she arrived at the library, night had fully fallen. Her bag was weighed down with textbooks and notes. Inside, the library was quiet, the hushed ambiance soothing as she found her usual corner. She pulled out her books and got to work.

Hours passed, the steady rhythm of her pen scratching against paper filling the silence. This was her routine. It was a life others might call lonely, but to Aimi, she had carved out a world she could exist on her terms.

When her work at the library was done, Aimi packed her things and headed home. The streets were quiet, and the emptiness of the train station felt soothing. Walking down the familiar residential path toward her house, she let her thoughts drift.

But tonight, something was different. She had noticed a presence trailing her for most of the day—subtle at first, but she dismissed it, assuming whoever would lose interest and leave her alone.

The air shifted. The feeling of being followed was no longer subtle—it was deliberate. Aimi halted mid-step.

"Okay, it seems like you don't intend to leave me alone," her tone unbothered but tired. "Haven't you watched enough?"

"Oh, so you did notice,"

A figure emerged. Gojo Satoru. He wasn't in his casual attire this time; instead, he wore what looked like a tracksuit-looking uniform, his eyes hidden beneath a strip of fabric. His white hair spiked upward rather than attractively flowing back and forth across his eyes.

How does he even see with that on? she wondered, confused.

"It's you," She had expected someone dangerous—perhaps a black-market kidnapper or something equally threatening. 

Gojo pulled the fabric from his eyes, revealing his oceanic blue gaze that shimmered under the streetlights. His hair returned to its original position, rustling down, "You look disappointed hahaha-" he laughed, stepping closer.

"Why are you following me?" 

"I caught a glimpse of you this morning and decided I had some time to spare," he said with a smirk. "So, I thought I'd see what Aimi-chan does in a day."

"This is a crime and it's called stalking."

"I call it following your heart," he shrugged.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Stop this. Stop following me. What do you want?"

"I just want to know more about you," he leaned down slightly to meet her gaze.

She scoffed, a smirk of mockery forming. "For what?"

"I like you," he said casually, the words lacking romantic weight and more clinical, which grated her nerves.

"I'm not some science experiment for you to investigate," she snapped. "I just want to live my life, so leave me alone, Satoru."

His eyes widened slightly. "So you do remember my name." He laughed. It's been a long time since anyone called him by that name. Suguru Geto was the only one who did. But well, he never told her his full name anyway, and neither did she.

"I remember everything," she said, tapping her temple. "I don't top my department for nothing."

"I like this energy coming from you," he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, amusement visibly growing.

"Stop treating me like a subject of interest. I'm a person," she reached out to push him back.

Gojo had instinctively activated his Infinity barrier, but just like before, her hand passed through it effortlessly, making contact with his shoulder. His expression froze for a moment, blank as he stared at her hand.

"You really are a phenomenon…" he murmured, more to himself than to her.

"And you just don't know how to listen," she took a few steps back,

but before she could walk away, his hand caught her wrist. "Say, Aimi-chan," he began with a grin, "do you wanna be my girlfriend?"

"No."

"Ouch." He placed a hand over his heart in mock offense.

"If that's all you wanted, then it's settled," she said, turning on her heel. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going home."

She resumed walking, her footsteps steady against the quiet residential street. Yet, she soon realized the sound of footsteps behind her hadn't stopped. He was still following her.

Her energy drained, Aimi gave up arguing. When they reached her house, she unlocked the door, stepped inside, and moved to shut it—only for Gojo to block and invite himself in. His trademark smirk of arrogance hadn't budged.

Aimi sighed, resigned. She had already decided he wasn't a threat, at least not physically. "Do whatever you want," she muttered, moving inside.

She dropped her bag and began her usual routine: unpacking her things, washing her hands, tidying up.

Her home was modest but cozy—a two-story house with a small living room, kitchen, and two bedrooms upstairs. It was meant for a family, but Aimi lived here alone. The space was quiet, orderly, and unmistakably hers.

Gojo, uninvited but undeterred, trailed behind her. She ignored him as she went through her motions—packing her books, and checking for forgotten items. Even when she headed to the bathroom to change into her pajamas and complete her skincare routine, he stayed put in her living room, casually flipping through TV channels.

When she returned, her expression as neutral as ever, Gojo glanced up with a grin. "Nice place you've got."

"Thanks," she said flatly, turning her attention to something else.

She walked to the kitchen, opening a cabinet to grab a mug. As she poured herself a warm cup of milk, she called out, "Tea, coffee, milk, water?"

"Tea," he replied casually from the living room.

She returned a few moments later with two cups, setting one down in front of him. Without a word, she sat beside him on the couch and snatched the remote control from his hand. With a flick of her wrist, she turned on her favorite anime.

"You like this kind of show?" his tone playful.

"Zip it," she muttered, her eyes glued to the screen.

"Hmmm," he hummed, leaning back lazily.

The silence stretched, save for the cheerful theme song playing on the TV. Aimi sipped her milk, her attention focused entirely on the show.

"How long are you planning to stay here?" she asked finally, breaking the quiet.

"I planned to sleep with you," he replied, his tone laced with teasing as he flopped his head backward, resting it on the couch's backrest. His tall frame made the movement almost comical as he turned to look at her, his gaze fixed on her profile.

"Neither my bed nor my couch can fit you," she did not glance once in his direction.

"Oh, so you've stopped resisting me," he said, his grin widening.

"I can't afford to waste more energy," she said, sipping her milk with complete indifference. "Do whatever you want. I don't care anymore."

"I see," he replied, his amusement unshaken.

The moment was interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. He sighed before even picking it up, clearly recognizing the call's purpose. "Where?" he asked immediately upon answering, his tone clipped.

After a pause, he hung up and turned back to her, his usual teasing expression slipping back into place. He pulled his long legs onto the couch, sitting cross-legged like a child. "Aimi-chan, I've got work."

"I'm thrilled," she replied, her tone flat, eyes never leaving the screen.

Grinning, Gojo leaned over and patted her head affectionately. "Don't miss me too much."

She didn't respond, sipping her milk without a flicker of acknowledgment.

With a dramatic sigh, he stood, making his way to the door. The moment it clicked shut behind him, the house returned to its usual quiet. Aimi exhaled softly, basking in the peace that settled over her once more.

She leaned back on the couch, staring at the TV as her favorite characters filled the screen. For now, everything was back to normal, just the way she liked it.

———

Scene 2 

It was a typical afternoon at the university. Aimi sat in her usual corner of the library, her textbooks and notebooks spread neatly in front of her. The quiet hum of turning pages and muffled footsteps created the perfect backdrop for her to concentrate. Her pen moved steadily as she worked through another set of dense chemistry problems.

But then, she felt it—a ripple in the air.

Before she could react, a familiar figure approached her table. Even in the subdued light of the library, Gojo Satoru stood out. His tall frame, silver hair, and sunglasses perched carelessly on his nose immediately drew the attention of nearby students. She could hear the faint whispers around her.

"Who's that?"

"He's so tall!"

Aimi groaned inwardly.

Gojo slid into the seat across from her, pulling off his sunglasses with a flick of his wrist and revealing those striking blue eyes. The moment he locked eyes with her, she sighed audibly.

"You're kidding," she muttered, refusing to look up from her notes. "What are you even doing here?"

"Visiting," he said casually, leaning back in the chair like he owned the place.

Her pen stilled, her brows furrowing as she glanced up. "Don't you have work or something?"

He shrugged, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Not right now."

She sighed and went back to her notes, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze—and the attention he was still drawing from the other students.

Gojo rested his chin in his hand, watching her scribble away. He didn't say much, but his presence was impossible to ignore. Every now and then, she'd catch him tilting his head or poking at one of her highlighters, like a bored child.

"What are you even doing?"

"Looking at you," he said simply, twirling a sticky note between his fingers.

She sighed.

It was true—Gojo had been watching her, but not just for amusement. She exuded no cursed energy, none at all, and what intrigued him even more was her ability to cancel out cursed energy entirely. Earlier, he had sneakily sent small pulses of cursed energy toward her. She hadn't reacted at all, not even flinched. Did she not notice? Or was she just immune?

Questions piled up in his mind. What would happen if he tried domain expansion near her? Would his techniques even work? And then there was her very presence—calming, soothing like it healed the soul itself. Her existence felt as if it were drenched in positive energy, untouched by the corruption of curses.

Gojo's thoughts darkened slightly as he studied her. If word of her existence reached the wrong ears, she'd be in grave danger. The higher-ups, the more cunning sorcerers—they'd never leave her alone. She was a living anomaly, someone who could cancel curses and heal by mere presence. What else was she capable of? He was growing more intrigued by the day.

Minutes passed, and Gojo's presence loomed. He didn't talk much, but his actions were loud enough—tapping the table, sliding her pens around, and occasionally leaning over to peek at what she was writing.

"How long are you planning to sit here?"

"Dunno," he said, slouching further in his seat.

"Okay." Aimi groaned softly.

"Aimi is fun to bother," he teased, "you don't run away."

"What's the point."

The tension finally broke when Gojo's phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up without a word, glanced at the screen, and sighed. "Work."

"Good," Aimi said, already waving him off. "Go."

Gojo chuckled, slipping on his sunglasses and standing to his full height, towering over her. As he adjusted his coat, he leaned down briefly and patted her head. "Later, Aimi-chan."

Truthfully, she was growing a little curious about his work. The nature of his job didn't seem like any other regular one. What exactly does this idiot do? she wondered to herself.

He waved and strolled out, his exit just as disruptive as his arrival. Aimi caught the faint smirk he threw over his shoulder, and her eye twitched.

"Why me..." she muttered, pulling her notes closer in an attempt to salvage the rest of her day.