Destined or not

Scene 3 

It was mid-afternoon, around 3 p.m., as Aimi prepared for her martial arts class. Clad in a simple martial arts uniform with a sleek black belt tied securely around her waist, she unpacked the equipment and set everything in place. The faint murmurs of her students preparing for the session filled the hall, a comforting backdrop to her meticulous routine.

"Aimi-sensei, are we practicing a new stance today or continuing last week's?" one of her students asked.

"That depends on how well everyone performs today," Aimi replied with a gentle smile—an expression people rarely saw but cherished. "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!"

The dojo was filled with anticipation as the students readied themselves for class. But just before the lesson began, the sliding door creaked open, drawing everyone's attention.

Gojo Satoru stepped in casually, his tall frame casting a shadow across the room. He wore the same tracksuit-like uniform, his spiked silver-white hair gleaming under the afternoon light. His trademark eye mask was secured in place, adding to his usual aura of mystery.

Aimi froze for a moment, then sighed softly.

"Yo!" Gojo greeted, raising a hand in a carefree wave as he strolled inside like he owned the place.

"Satoru."

Her students exchanged confused glances. Aimi-sensei was strict about intruders, and yet this man had walked in so casually.

"Aimi-chan, long time no see," Gojo drawled as he sauntered closer. "I've been busy."

"Why are you here?" she asked, ignoring his unnecessary explanation.

"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 with a wide grin. "I can help."

"Do you have a license or certification?"

"Don't need one if I can beat you, right?" he said, sounding condescending.

"Satoru," her patience was thinning. "You can't beat me, and even if you could, you'd still need one."

"I can, though," he said simply, his hands still tucked casually in his pockets.

The students were frozen, their gazes darting between the two. None dared to whisper, knowing how serious Aimi-sensei could be about disruptions, but their intrigue was palpable.

Aimi remained silent for a moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she spoke. "Fine."

Her students blinked in surprise.

"Watching a fight can help students learn better," she explained. "It gives them something to strive for."

She stepped into the center of the dojo and clapped her hands. "Everyone, form a circle."

The students moved quickly. Practice combat among instructors was rare, so they were quite excited. They gathered around as Aimi began stretching.

Gojo's smirk widened. This was exactly what he wanted—a chance to see her in action properly. Without saying a word, he stepped into the circle, his hands still tucked.

Aimi's stance was perfect. The tension in the room grew as the fight began.

The two clashed, their speed evenly matched. Each punch and kick seemed to cut through the air, creating gusts that rippled through the dojo. Despite the intensity, it was clear they were holding back to avoid damaging the property.

She launched a high kick aimed at the side of Gojo's head, but he blocked it just in time. His smirk widened, but inwardly, he was stunned. For the strongest sorcerer alive, being nearly overpowered in a physical fight was unheard of. Without the use of his cursed techniques, he was just a regular man, and Aimi was a force to be reckoned with.

Her raw strength and agility were beyond anything he'd encountered before. As she dodged his strikes with uncanny grace, jumping so high her feet nearly grazed the ceiling, What even is she? he thought. For one to be this powerful with no curse enhancement... She reminded him of Toji Fushiguro—but one that could cancel out curse energy completely.

As the fight continued, Gojo's smile faltered slightly. He pulled his blindfold down, revealing his piercing blue eyes. Aimi's presence was impossible to fully sense, and predicting her attacks without his sight was proving to be a challenge even for him.

Aimi noticed the change immediately. His gaze sharpened, and his movements became more precise. She was shocked. What exactly does he do? she wondered, struggling to process his sheer skill and strength. She had never met anyone who could go toe-to-toe with her like this, and yet she could tell—he was still holding back.

Despite the apparent equality of their fight, it was clear to her that Gojo was stronger. His casual ease belied a power that she couldn't fully comprehend.

The fight reached its peak when Gojo sent a powerful kick her way. Aimi leaped onto his leg with impossible precision, countering with her own kick aimed directly at his face. He barely dodged, the force of her attack blowing his hair back. For a moment, they both recoiled. Aimi was breathing heavily.

She straightened. "Enough."

The students erupted into whispers, unable to contain their awe. The battle they had just witnessed was legendary.

Gojo grinned, his hands once again finding their way into his pockets. "You're done?" he joked. "Admit defeat already?"

Aimi didn't respond, her face composed. Inside, though, she was reeling. She was tired, her body sore, and her mind racing. Who is this man? Is it even human to fight like that?

"Everyone stand up and get in line," she called, continuing the lesson. Gojo walked to stand next to her. "This is Satoru—he'll stay here and watch for today. Does anyone have a problem?"

"Gojo Satoru," he revealed his full name as if it meant something to her… though it did sound briefly familiar.

"Sure. Gojo Satoru." She nodded. "Does anyone have a problem with him joining?"

Everyone looked at Gojo. He was grinning.

"No, Sensei!" they shouted.

"Alright then, get into your stance! Show me what you've learned last week."

And so, their lesson resumed. Aimi's eyes glanced over at Gojo as she instructed the class. She noticed his hand was bruised, probably from blocking her attack earlier. She should have held back. The atmosphere of the class returned. Gojo watched quietly from behind. After 30 minutes, it was time for the students to self-practice. Aimi trailed toward Gojo, who was standing there with a cheery, relaxed expression. His blindfold was back to cover his eyes.

"Show me your hand," she asked.

"Hmm?" He placed his hand into hers. She pulled up his sleeve to check for the bruise just now, but it was gone. "???"

"Your bruise is gone." She didn't sound too shocked.

"You noticed," he remarked.

"I notice everything."

"You don't seem too surprised."

"Well, it's not the first time I've witnessed something like this," she looked up at him. "I heal fast too."

"Is that so." His eyes narrowed a little. Hmm... It must have something to do with her overwhelming positive energy embodying her existence.

"Now you don't seem too surprised."

"Hahaha," he chuckled childishly and shrugged.

"Why do you wear the blindfold anyway? Can you even see?"

"I can see everything—but you," he laughed. "I'm adjusting, though."

"Is this a training technique of yours—"

A group of students approached them and cut off their conversation.

"Excuse us, Gojo-san, but… how did you block that kick earlier? It looked so fast."

Gojo tilted his head, grinning. "Oh, that? Reflexes, mostly. And a little bit of luck." He leaned down slightly. "Want me to show you?"

The students' eyes lit up. "Yes, please!"

Another chimed in eagerly. "And that counter! How did you pivot so quickly without losing balance?"

His grin widened. "You all have good eyes. All right, come closer." He motioned for them to gather around.

The students formed a tight semicircle as Gojo crouched slightly to demonstrate. "It's about keeping your center of gravity low. If your stance is solid, even the fastest moves won't throw you off balance." He shifted his weight, showing them the subtle motion.

The students nodded eagerly, some attempting to mimic his movements. Aimi watched from the side, arms crossed but with a faint smile on her lips.

"Your kicks are so powerful," another student said, still in awe. "How do you get that much strength?"

"Easy," Gojo said, straightening up and tapping his temple with a finger. "Confidence." He winked, earning a mix of laughs and groans from the group.

"But also," he added more seriously, "it's about using your whole body. Power comes from your core, not just your limbs. Want me to show you?"

"Yes!" the students chorused.

As Gojo guided them through a few techniques, his usual playfulness blended seamlessly with moments of genuine instruction. Despite his carefree attitude, the students hung on his every word, eager to learn.

Aimi shook her head slightly, amused by the sight.

As the session continued, the group around Gojo grew larger.

The dojo gradually emptied as students filtered out, their chatter lingering faintly in the hall. Aimi stood at the front, packing away the equipment, her muscles aching from the earlier sparring session.

"Why are you still here?" she asked, her tone carrying both curiosity and exhaustion.

"Waiting for you," he replied simply, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Don't you have work today?"

"Hopefully not," he said with a shrug. "My phone's been quiet."

"Convenient."

"I delegate," he admitted. "I've got others to pick up my slack."

Aimi brushed past him. "I'm going to shower."

"You don't have to," he teased. "I don't mind a little stinky—"

Without looking, she threw a pair of boxing gloves at him. They didn't hit, of course, bouncing harmlessly off the invisible barrier of his infinity. She didn't notice.

The dojo's bathroom was modest but clean, and the warm water felt heavenly against her tired body. When she returned, refreshed and dressed in casual clothes, he was still there, sitting cross-legged on the floor, flipping a coin idly.

"Done?" he asked, looking up with his trademark grin.

"Done with you." She packed her dirty martial uniform into her bag, her damp hair clinging to her face as she shifted back and forth.

"Let's go eat," he suggested, standing and strolling toward her. As she shoved a towel into her bag, he reached for it and began drying her hair. "I'm starving."

He was surprisingly gentle. Aimi's heart fluttered in silence, but she let him continue. "You didn't need to."

"Need to what?"

"Dry my hair."

"Doesn't matter," he said, laughing it off.

They stepped out into the crisp evening air, the streets illuminated by warm streetlights. Aimi led the way, her steps purposeful, while Gojo fell into stride beside her, hands tucked into his pockets. For a moment, neither spoke, the quiet of the night settling around them.

They reached a small, bustling eatery tucked into a quiet alleyway. The savory aroma of grilled meat and spices wafted through the air.

"How modest," he commented as they entered.

The two found a table near the back. The cozy atmosphere was comforting, much like Aimi's presence.

They ordered, and as they waited for their food, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Do you like fighting?"

"No."

"Liar." His smirk grew sharper, his eyes glinting. "You love fighting." That grin she had carried during the sparring session, the fiery determination in her eyes when she found a worthy opponent—those were unmistakable signs of someone who loved the thrill.

"It's annoying how you act like you know me when you barely know anything," she was as straightforward as ever.

"Heh…" He hummed, his tone unserious.

Their food arrived, and they ate in relative silence. At one point, Gojo suggested swapping dishes to taste each other's meals. It was an unusually forward request, especially considering Japan's cultural norms, but Aimi agreed without hesitation—simply because she wanted to try his.

They quickly finished their meal and left the restaurant.

"I'm going home now," Aimi said.

"How about a sleepover?" he suggested cheerily.

"No."

"Hahaha, okay. Then I'll just walk you home."

"It's fine. You don't have to."

"I never have to do anything."

"…"

They walked to her home together, the crisp night air quiet around them. Gojo didn't invite himself inside. Instead, he turned to leave when they reached her door.

"Bai bai~ see ya, Aimi-chan."

A small smile tugged at her lips. "See you." She stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

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Scene 4

The night was quiet, the faint hum of city life barely audible through the closed windows of Aimi's small home.

Humming softly, she soaked in the warm bath, the sound of the faucet a soothing backdrop. She leaned back, letting the heat ease the tension in her muscles. Steam curled around her, cocooning her in serenity. For once, her thoughts were quiet, the weight of her long day melting into the water.

"Aimi-chan~!"

The tranquility shattered as Gojo's unmistakable sing-song voice rang through her house. Her eyes opened slowly, her fleeting peace replaced by resigned exasperation. She stared at the ceiling, willing herself to remain calm.

"Aimi-chan, where are you?" His footsteps echoed through the hall, growing closer.

"Satoru," she called out flatly.

"Ah—there you are!" His voice brightened, accompanied by a light knock on the bathroom door. "You in there?"

"Yes."

"Good. I thought you weren't home yet. That'd be sad."

"I'm bathing. Go sit somewhere and wait."

"Okay~"

Sighing, Aimi sank deeper into the water until only her face remained above the surface. She closed her eyes again, pretending he wasn't there. But no amount of wishful thinking could erase Gojo Satoru from her life. She had learned that much by now.

Thirty minutes later, Aimi stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in an oversized shirt and shorts, her damp hair cascading around her shoulders. She found Gojo sprawled lazily on her couch, flipping through a book from her shelf with one hand while the other tossed a coin into the air.

"You're getting water everywhere," he remarked without looking up.

"And you're trespassing," she replied, towel-drying her hair.

"Not trespassing if you leave your window unlocked."

"Windows are not invitations."

"To me, they are." He grinned, his oceanic eyes peeking over the rim of her book.

Aimi plopped onto the armchair across from him, tucking her legs up. "Why are you here?"

"To see you, of course." He shut the book and tossed it onto the coffee table. "You're always so busy. I missed you."

"Missed…" She furrowed her brow. "You saw me three days ago."

"So? Three days is too long." He stretched, his limbs taking up far too much space. "You should feel honored. The great Gojo Satoru has decided you're interesting enough to visit regularly."

"I am so happy," she deadpanned, standing to grab her hairdryer from the cabinet.

Gojo tilted his head, watching her with an amused smile. "You're not even trying to kick me out this time. Is Aimi-chan finally giving up?"

"I realized there's no point."

"Extremely smart." He walked over, plucked the hairdryer from her hands, and guided her to sit in front of him. "Let me."

She didn't resist as he began drying her hair. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers weaving through her damp locks with care. But then his hand snagged on a tangle.

"Ouch," she shot him a glare. "That hurts."

"My bad," he said with a laugh. "Didn't realize you were made of paper."

"Give it back." She tried to snatch the hairdryer, but he held it out of reach.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, turning to face him.

"Doing what?"

"Drying my hair."

"Because I want to."

"Why do you want to?"

"I like your hair." He twirled a strand between his fingers before resuming. Drying her hair felt oddly soothing because of the aura of positive energy she exuded. Unlike the reverse-cursed energy sorcerers generated to produce positive energy, hers was natural, almost otherworldly.

When he finished, Aimi returned to her armchair while Gojo reclaimed his spot on the couch. The silence that followed was surprisingly comfortable. He flicked the coin between his fingers while Aimi leaned back, her eyes fluttering shut. For a moment, the soft hum of the room felt peaceful.

He broke the quiet. "Do you have any snacks?"

"Kitchen," she mumbled without opening her eyes.

He bounded off the couch with far too much energy. Aimi listened as he rummaged through her cupboards, muttering something about her being "way too boring for good snacks."

He returned a few minutes later with a bag of chips, plopping back onto the couch with a satisfied crunch. "You need better snacks."

"Go buy them."

"Let's go." He stood up, pulling Aimi to her feet.

"What?" She resisted briefly before standing.

"Let's go buy food," he said, holding her hand. "You haven't eaten dinner, have you?"

"Why are you holding my hand?" Her eyes fixed on their connected hands.

"I like holding your hand," he said, his smile deepening as he intertwined their fingers.

"Do you like me or something?" she asked flatly.

"I told you. I like you," he replied, his tone casual, his smile never faltering.

"…"

"You ask so many questions, Aimi-chan," he commented with a rather defeated tone. "So, what have you eaten?"

"I haven't."

"Let's go then."

Without another word, he led her out the door, their hands still clasped. Aimi rarely shared such moments with anyone, let alone someone like Gojo. She hadn't realized it before, but it was… warm.