the gatekeeper - chapter 5
word count: 7k words | master list
summary: after finally settling in at columbia, you find out that satoru gojo takes up the exact same degree. as if sharing a few classes with him wasn't enough, your attempt to protect your best friend from the campus playboys backfires spectacularly. while you were busy worrying about himari's secret year-long situationship with a frat boy, gojo also drops the news that he’s the very man arranged to be married to your best friend.
[tags] veryyyy vulgar & immature reader, immature gojo, kashimo cameo, sukuna side character, shoko, suguru, super immature, arranged marriage, reader & gojo always in a disagreement
photos used r not mine, cttro. lyrics r from spotify.
Finally having settled in, you found a moment of peace. Tucked away in a corner of one of the libraries—a spot you had grown to love for its high ceilings and the comforting, dusty scent of old knowledge. The light hitting the tables was perfect, so you snapped a subtle photo. No face, just your open textbook, a steaming latte, and the grand windows of Columbia University in the background.
After much hesitation, you opened Instagram. You weren't a social media person. Himari practically hijacked your phone to set up the account before you left Japan but you felt a sudden urge to document this.
Might as well use it once, you thought, hitting Post before you could second-guess yourself. You didn't even waste time putting on a caption.
You set your phone face-down, intending to get back to your research. But barely five minutes later, it buzzed with a notification. Someone had liked it and commented instantly. You tapped the screen, expecting Himari, but the handle made your heart skip a beat.
@kashimo.hajime
You didn't tell me you were studying at CU now!!
You stared at the screen, a smile tugging at your lips.
The two of you had actually stayed in touch after the national quiz show. It turned out that once the high-stakes pressure of the competition was gone, Kashimo was actually decent company. He’d followed you the moment Himari forced you to go public, and you’d followed back without hesitation. He’d even been one of the first people to send you a genuine Congratulations when you graduated as Salutatorian. No backhanded compliments included. You tapped out a reply to the comment, keeping the tone light but curious.
@justascholar.1
is it that obvious?? i made sure the photo was subtle tho
You set the phone back on the library table, but the screen lit up almost instantly.
@kashimo.hajime
The library is literally iconic. Hard to miss. Anyway, I'm actually in the city for a few days! We should grab coffee and talk shop. I promise no lightning-round physics questions this time. ⚡
@justascholar.1
ill think abt it !! still settling in, haven't met the profs yet
Your phone began to vibrate violently against the wood.
It was Himari.
Thank goodness you’d kept it on silent. In the suffocating silence of the library, a ringing phone was practically a death sentence. You ducked your head, sliding the answer bar and pressing the phone tight to your ear, shielding the sound with your hand.
“You didn't tell me you were planning to head to the library!” her voice rang out so loud you had to frantically thumb the volume rocker down before the person at the next table could glare at you.
“You were sleeping in!” you whispered harshly, leaning under the table. “It’s a weekend, Himari. I’m just taking my time to get to know the place.”
“By staring at books on a Saturday?” she huffed, and you could practically hear her rolling her eyes while probably picking out an outfit. “I found this amazing brunch spot in the Upper West Side. You are coming. No excuses. I’m not letting my best friend become obsessed with books again in the first week.”
You sighed, looking at your stack of textbooks. The nerd in you wanted to stay and study until your eyes bled, but the part of you that had just survived a fourteen-hour flight knew she wouldn't take no for an answer.
“Fine,” you muttered. “Give me twenty minutes.”
You packed your bag and left the campus to meet her, expecting a lecture on your lack of a social life. Instead, the moment you saw her, she looked like she was ready to set the sidewalk on fire.
“MY PARENTS ARE TELLING ME THEY WANT TO SET ME UP IN AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE!” were the first words out of Himari’s mouth before you could even say hello.
Your jaw dropped. You stood there, frozen on the busy sidewalk, as students buzzed past you. “But you just got here! First year. At Columbia. This was our ticket to freedom! It's... kinda unnecessary.”
“I know, right?!” Himari blew out a frustrated breath, her shoulders sagging despite her perfectly curated outfit. “Ugh. I even chose the major they wanted at this university just so they’d agree to let me come. And now, they’re choosing who I’m marrying? It’s just so unfair.”
She started walking toward the brunch spot, her heels clicking aggressively against the pavement. “I thought if I put an ocean between me and Japan, I’d finally get to breathe. But they're acting like New York is just a waiting room until I'm ready to be a damn bride.”
You walked beside her, the news slowly settling in heavy. You had been so focused on avoiding Gojo and your plans in class that you hadn't realized Himari was fighting a different kind of deadline.
“Who is it?” you asked quietly. “Do they even have a name for him yet?”
Himari let out a dry, bitter laugh. “They haven't told me the name yet. Just that he's from a distinguished family and he's currently studying in the States too. Like that's supposed to make it better.”
“Hmm, sounds terrible,” you sighed, giving her a sympathetic look. You knew Himari—if you let her spiral now, she’d be fuming until dinner. “Let's just go eat, yeah? The place you told me about? Come on, I'm starving.”
You managed to steer her toward the brunch spot, and the change of scenery worked its magic. After a solid meal and a few rounds of iced lattes that she mostly bought for herself, the tension in Himari’s shoulders finally began to melt away. She leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone until a bright grin spread across her face.
“You're finally using Instagram!” she beamed, waving her phone at you like a trophy. “I saw your post. And wow, look at you getting attention already.”
She nudged your arm, her mood completely flipped from the marriage drama. “A comment from Kashimo? And it’s actually... cute?”
You felt a flush creep up your neck. “We're just friends, Hima. We've talked a bit since graduation. He's just being nice.”
“Nice? Please,” she teased, swirling her straw. “Anyway, I’m just glad you’re finally showing the world you exist outside of a textbook.”
“Is it really that bad?” you asked, scrunching your nose as you looked at your reflection in the restaurant's window. You weren't exactly used to being perceived online—you preferred the anonymity of it all than having the spotlight of a feed.
Himari rolled her eyes, her expression softening into that genuine look she only reserved for you. “Of course not. Okay, maybe a little,” she teased, before her tone turned serious. “But it’s efficient, right? It gets you somewhere.”
She reached across the table, tapping the back of your hand. “You’re a wonderful scholar who doesn’t have to rely on family money to be here. I just... I find it sad sometimes, you know? That you’re always so busy making things work for everyone else.” She let out a small, wistful sigh, looking out. “I wish you’d just exist for you for once. Not for a grade, not for a rank, and definitely not to prove something to anyone back home.”
You went quiet, the condensation on your cup dampening your palm. Himari always had a way of cutting through your defenses.
“I’m existing,” you muttered, though even to your own ears, it sounded a bit defensive. “I’m in New York, aren’t I?”
“Barely,” she countered with a pointed look at your phone. “But replying to Kashimo is a start, though. Even if it’s just for coffee.”
...
“Hello, New York!”
The cheerful shout didn't match your internal panic. You squinted, your eyes stinging against the aggressive morning sunlight streaming past Himari’s expensive curtains. You scrambled for your phone, your heart doing a frantic double-tap against your ribs when the lock screen lit up.
“Oh my goodness!” you shouted, the realization hitting you like a cold splash of water.
It was already past 9 AM. You had exactly enough time to get ready if you skipped breakfast and sprinted. “Himari! You could've woken me up earlier!”
She didn't even look up from her vanity, calmly blending her concealer as if the world wasn't ending. She made a face at you in the mirror, completely unbothered. “My first class doesn't start until eleven. Sorry, not sorry.”
“I hate you,” you muttered, though there was no heat in it. You punctuated the sentiment by raising a middle finger at her back as you grabbed your towel.
“Love you too, scholar!” she chirped.
You ran straight to the bathroom, the steam from the shower already calling your name. As you twisted the handle, your mind was already racing through your syllabus. First day. First impressions. You couldn't afford to be late. You weren't that kind of person.
It felt like a cruel joke from fate. You burst through the doors of the lecture hall at 9:28 AM, your chest heaving from the sprint across the quad.
Introduction to Econometrics and Statistical Inference. The first hurdle of your degree.
The room was a sea of students, glowing laptop screens, and even endless nervous chatter. You scanned the rows, your heart sinking—the place was packed. As if by some divine prank, only two seats remained vacant in the entire hall, right in the middle of a row near the front.
You scrambled over a few pairs of legs, panting slightly as you dropped into your seat. You barely had time to click your pen and open your notebook before the clock struck 9:30 AM.
But... a familiar scent of expensive cologne seeped into your senses. Your internal alarm bells rang immediately.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” The voice was gravelly, smooth, and laced with that signature confidence that never ceased to exist. You turned your head slowly, your eyes meeting a pair of blue ones shielded behind prescribed frames.
Satoru Gojo was standing in the aisle, one hand tucked into the pocket of his trousers, the other resting casually on the back of the empty chair next to yours. He didn't look like he had sprinted anywhere. He looked like he had just stepped off a runway.
You froze. Your grip tightened on your pen until your knuckles turned white. Of all the universities in the world, and all the seats in this hall...
The same class, too?!
“Yes,” you said, your voice dropping into a flat, glacial tone.
You didn't wait for a reaction. You immediately snapped your gaze forward, fixing your eyes on the professor who was just beginning to scrawl supply and demand curves on the board. You acted as if the air next to you was empty, but you could feel his presence, warmth radiating off him and mocking your attempt at a fresh start.
The professor’s closing remarks were still hanging in the air when you snapped your notebook shut. You stood up frantically, didn’t even wait for the person in the row behind you to move. You shouldered your bag, the strap digging into your collarbone, and began a desperate scramble toward the exit. Your heart was hammering, not from the sprint this time, but from the suffocating proximity of the person sitting next to you.
You didn't look left or right. You kept your eyes locked on oak door, your mind screaming a single command:
Get out. Get away. Do not let him speak.
Not like he'll speak to you, but still...
You were halfway to the door, going past a sea of sweaters and expensive bags, when a familiar, lazy stride easily matched your frantic pace.
You’re practically at the door when a pale hand reaches past your shoulder to hold it open for you.
“Thanks,” you bit out. You didn't look up, desperate to keep your momentum, only to walk straight into a firm chest.
“Whoa, careful there,” a calm voice said.
You stumbled back, your eyes widening as you looked up. “Geto?”
Suguru Geto stood there, looking far too composed for a Monday morning in New York. He seemed to have been leaning against the hallway wall, clearly waiting for Satoru to finish class. When he realized it was you, his surprised expression quickly melted into a genuine, polite smile.
“You also go here?” he asked, his dark eyes flickering with genuine interest before drifting over your shoulder toward his best friend.
“Yes,” you managed, adjusting your bag strap. “Financial Economics.”
“I didn't know you were planning on studying in NYC, though?” Suguru went on, his tone friendly and curious even as the familiar shadow of Satoru loomed behind you.
“Yes, well, it was a last-minute decision,” you lied smoothly, your pulse still racing. You could still feel Satoru’s presence, that arrogant energy that seemed to take up all the oxygen in the hallway. “I have to head out for lunch, though. It was nice seeing you, Geto.”
You gave him a sweet, lingering smile—the kind you used to reserve for people who actually treated you like a human being. Then, you shifted your gaze just an inch to the side, catching Satoru’s eyes for a fraction of a second. You let the smile drop instantly into a cold, wordless glare before turning on your heel and walking away into the crowded corridor.
...
The week that followed was a slow-motion car crash of realization. You had spent months meticulously planning your escape, calculating the distance between Tokyo and New York down to the last nautical mile, only for the universe to laugh in your face.
You were grumpy the whole week.
Every morning, you walked into the lecture hall hoping the seat next to you would stay empty, and yet every morning, that familiar scent of expensive cologne arrived exactly at 9:29 AM. You discovered that Satoru Gojo was taking up the exact same degree.
Financial Economics.
So much for hoping you’d never see him again!
You spent your Friday afternoon hunched over a laptop in a corner of the student lounge, stabbing at your salad with a plastic fork as if it were his arrogant face. New York was supposed to be the city where the name Gojo didn't hold any power over your blood pressure.
Instead, you were back in the trenches, only this time the stakes were in dollars and the skyscrapers were probably even taller.
“Is it just me or,” Himari’s voice drifted from across the table. She was looking at you with a mix of pity and amusement. “You look like you could kill anyone right now?”
“Nah, it's just someone I met in campus,” you hissed, not looking up from your spreadsheet. “Seeing their face pisses me off.”
Just as you say that, your phone pings on the table. It’s a notification from the class group chat for your upcoming group project. The weekend was supposed to be your rest, but the universe had other plans. Your mood plummeted even further when the notification finally popped up. It was a full-blown group project.
You were teamed up with him and a bunch of other students. Holy fuck.
You could already picture what would happen: him doing 90% of the work in his head while looking at you like a useful little sidekick.
A pet.
You spent the rest of the afternoon staring at the group chat, resisting the urge to leave it before it even started.
Himari, ever the social butterfly, chose that exact moment of peak irritation to drop her own bombshell. She leaned over your shoulder, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“If you're ever free this weekend—which you are, because I'm making you free—I'm dragging you to this party.”
“Who invited you?” you asked, not even looking up from your screen.
“Some people from class,” she grinned, already scrolling through potential outfit options on her phone. “It’s being held by a fraternity. But it’s open to all. Might as well go like it's a mandate, you know?”
“I’m not going,” you snapped, clicking your pen shut with a finality that should have ended the conversation.
“Oh, come on!” Himari pleaded, grabbing your arm and giving it a persistent tug. “You’ve spent the whole week looking like you’re ready to bite someone's head off. You need a drink, some music, and a room where the ceiling is higher than a library's. Besides, I heard the guest list is... exclusive.”
You looked at her, a sinking feeling starting to settle in your chest.
“Please?” she pouted, using the full force of her best-friend guilt trip. “Just for an hour. If it’s boring, we leave and get late-night pizza. Deal?”
You eventually caved—mostly because Himari is relentless—and found yourself standing in the foyer of a crowded, thumping townhouse in the West Village.
Expensive perfume. Cheap beer. And the literal vibration of a bassline that felt like it was trying to reset your heartbeat.
“Hima... What the hell am I supposed to do here again?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the music.
The whole thing was already exhausting. Himari was in her element, dragging you deeper into the fray and stopping every five feet to greet people. You were forced to nod, smile tightly, and offer awkward half-acquaintances to strangers whose names you forgot the second they spoke them.
“You’re supposed to socialize! Duh!” she insisted, leaning in close so you could hear her. She looked at you, taking in your outfit and the way you were practically trying to merge with the nearest wall. “You’re so pretty! Come on, let’s dance!”
“I don’t dance, what the fuck—” Your eyes widened as she grabbed both of your wrists, pulling you toward the makeshift dance floor in the center of the living room. “Hima, don’t fucking embarrass me!”
You tried to plant your feet, but the crowd was shifting, pushing you forward. You were trapped between a group of boisterous upperclassmen and Himari’s infectious energy.
“Just move a little! No one is watching, I promise!” she laughed, spinning away from you for a second to catch the beat.
You were about to snap back that the entire room was watching when a shadow fell over the both of you.
“What do we have here?”
The voice was rough. You looked up to see a guy who looked like he’d stepped straight out of some form of literature—sharp eyes, a dangerous smirk, and hair a shade of pink that shouldn't have looked that good on a frat boy.
Was this a fever dream or what.
“Sukuna!” Himari’s face lit up instantly, a deep crimson bloom spreading across her cheeks. You’d never seen her look that flustered, not even back home. “Yeah, I—this is my friend, she’s—”
“No one,” you cut her off, forcing a tight, pained grin. You could still feel the phantom heat of your own awkward dancing from seconds ago, and the last thing you wanted was to be introduced while your dignity was still recovering. “You two can go talk. Just... forget I’m here. Totally invisible. Don't mind me.”
You started to back away, looking for any exit that didn't involve more social interaction, but Sukuna didn't look away.
His gaze lingered on you for a second too long before he turned his attention back to a stuttering Himari. “Invisible, huh?” Sukuna chuckled, the sound low and mocking. “In a place like this? Good luck with that.”
You didn't stay to hear the rest. You turned on your heel, desperate to find the kitchen or a bathroom—anywhere that wasn't the center of the dance floor.
But Himari wasn't about to let you disappear. Even as she clearly vibrated with the thrill of flirting with Sukuna, she refused to leave your side, trailing after you into the hallway.
“You’ve gotta enjoy the party!” you insisted, glancing back at her. “I know you liked that pink-haired guy. Sukuya? Sukina? Whatever his name was.”
“He’s Ryomen Sukuna,” Himari corrected, her voice a mix of awe and correction. “He’s in one of the most popular frats at Columbia.”
“Yep. Like I care,” you muttered, weaving through the crowd.
“Ugh, then let’s just drink!” Himari countered, grabbing your wrist and dragging you into the kitchen.
The kitchen reeked of spilled punch. You bumped into a few people from a same lecture. Their faces lit up in brief recognition before they drifted away, telling you to “just loosen up.” You could only wince as you caught sight of a couple shamelessly making out against the refrigerator.
Weird. Definitely weird.
Himari was busy buzzing in your ear about Sukuna’s tattoos or his vibe when that familiar, expensive cologne suddenly dispersed through the air, enveloping your senses before you even saw him.
Satoru was suddenly there, stepping into your personal space and ignoring you entirely as he took Himari’s hand in his with effortless charm.
“I’m Himari Tsukino,” she greeted him, her eyes wide as she gestured toward you. “And this is my best friend—”
“I know,” Satoru cut her off, his voice a lazy drawl. “We take the same class.”
You immediately stepped closer to Himari, posture beyond stiff and defensive.
Satoru didn't miss a beat, turning his attention back to her with a pleasant, blinding smile that you knew was 100% performative. “I’m Satoru Gojo,” he introduced himself. “You mind if we dance?”
“She’s not dancing with anyone,” you interrupted, your hand tightening on Himari’s arm as you tried to tug her back.
Himari frowned, looking between your glaring face and Satoru’s calm face. “He was just being polite. I don’t think it’s—”
“Trust me. He’s a nuisance,” you argued, speaking about him as if he weren't standing right in front of you.
As if on cue, a familiar, tired voice drifted from the doorway.
“He really is,” Shoko Ieiri sighed, leaning against the doorframe with a drink in her hand and dark circles under her eyes that made her look like the only sane person in the room. Her sudden appearance caught you off guard, momentarily breaking your defensive stance.
“Shoko!” Your face lit up, a genuine wave of relief washing over you. For a second, the thumping bass and the smell of cheap beer faded away as you threw your arms around her. Shoko was one of the only people from that entire high school circle who didn't make your blood pressure spike.
She chuckled, leaning into the hug briefly before pulling back to produce a cigarette and a lighter with practiced ease. “Geto’s not coming,” she said, her voice a low, tired rasp. “He said he had to study since his professor is a hard-ass. I’m actually surprised Satoru is here without him. But oh well, it’s his frat hosting, so he practically has to show his face.”
“He’s part of a frat?” You blinked, the mental image of Satoru in a letterman jacket being almost too much to process.
“Yeah? I mean, it’s expected, isn’t it?” Shoko exhaled a thin plume of smoke toward the kitchen ceiling. “High energy, ego the size of the Chrysler Building, and a family name that opens doors. Besides, it’s not like he’s got better plans for the future than running a campus social hierarchy.”
“Oh... I guess that makes sense,” you muttered, feeling a fresh wave of annoyance. You turned back to your side, reaching out to pull your friend back into the conversation. “Anyway, Shoko, this is my best friend, Hima—”
Your hand grabbed empty air. You spun around, your heart dropping into your stomach. The spot where Himari had been standing two seconds ago was vacant. You scanned the crowded, messy kitchen, then peered out toward the dark living room.
No way. Satoru had snatched her away while you were distracted. He not only ignored your warning but also waited for the exact moment you let your guard down to ghost right past you with Himari in tow.
“Looking for someone?” Shoko asked, sounding entirely too amused by your sudden panic.
“He took her,” you hissed, your grip tightening on your own cup. “He actually took her to the dance floor after I specifically told him not to.”
You felt Shoko’s hand on your shoulder, something firm enough that pulled you back just as you were about to bolt after them.
“Did something happen?” she asked, her voice loud enough to cut through the music. She didn't look judgmental, just weary. “I never really noticed until after graduation. But after that quiz show... you two barely spoke a word to each other.”
You paused, your heart hammering against your ribs. You stared at the doorway where they’d disappeared, the neon lights of the party reflecting in your eyes. “It’s nothing,” you said, though the lie felt heavy. “I was probably just tired. Burnout is real, Shoko.”
Shoko studied you for a long beat before slowly loosening her grip. “Alright. I’ll stop asking. But give them a few minutes to talk. It might do you a favor, too—letting someone else deal with him for a change.”
You hesitated, your jaw tight. “Shoko, I know you think it isn't a big deal because he's your friend. But I know what kind of person he actually is. So, don’t stop me from ruining his plans for once.”
Before she could respond, you stormed off, passing aggressively through the sweaty bodies on the dance floor. You expected to find him pulling some arrogant stunt, but when you finally spotted them near the edge of the room, you stopped short.
They weren't even dancing. They were standing awkwardly facing each other, the space between them filled with easy laughter. Himari was tucked into her own space, looking entirely comfortable, and Satoru actually had his hands in his pockets, listening to her with a look of mild, focused interest. They looked like they were having a... good talk.
The sight only made the bitterness in your chest flare hotter. You didn't care if it looked civil... you knew how he operated. You marched right into the center of their bubble, grabbing Himari’s wrist and physically dragging her behind you.
“Her time’s up,” you bit out, your voice cutting through the bass like a blade. You didn't give him the satisfaction of eye contact, keeping your gaze locked on the exit as you physically anchored yourself between them. “Say bye to Gojo now, Hima. We’re leaving.”
You didn't wait for her to agree. You gripped her wrist and began to pull, but Satoru didn't look angry. Instead, he tilted his head, that slow, infuriatingly knowing smirk spreading across his face as he watched you scramble to build a wall he’d already walked through.
“Now you're playing the bodyguard?” he called out over the music, his voice carrying that effortless, mocking lilt. “I didn't realize the scholarship came with a side hustle in private security.”
The comment hit a nerve you didn't even know was exposed. You stopped dead in your tracks, the heat from the crowded room suddenly feeling like it was centered entirely in your chest. You spun around, eyes flashing with a coldness that actually made the people nearest to you take a step back. “I don’t know what the fuck you want from my best friend, but it isn’t going to happen,” you snapped, the words sharp enough to draw blood. “Go find someone else’s pussy to fuck, Gojo. We're done here.”
The silence that followed in your immediate radius was deafening, even with the music still playing. You didn't stick around to see if the smirk stayed on his face or if you’d finally managed to wipe it off. You dragged Himari through the front door and out into the cool air of the West Village, not letting go until you were half a block away. Himari is dead silent beside you as you march down the sidewalk.
“He’s a nuisance, Hima,” you repeated, your voice trembling with a mix of leftover adrenaline and the sting of her words. “You don’t know him like I do. You don't know what he's capable of.”
“Then who is he?!” she pushed, stepping closer until she was right in your space. “Why does he piss you off so much?! Is he the reason you’ve been so grumpy all week? Is he the reason you haven't slept?”
You froze. The streetlights of the West Village blurred for a second as the memories of the quiz show, the ranking boards, and the effortless way he always seemed to stay one step ahead of your hardest work came rushing back.
Commoners. Charity work. A pet.
“Let’s just go back to the dorms, Hima—” you started, your voice dropping to a desperate whisper.
“Then you’ll tell me, right?” she demanded, her eyes searching yours. “No more ‘he’s a nuisance’ or ‘he’s annoying.’ You’re going to tell me exactly who the fuck he is to you.”
You looked at her, seeing the genuine hurt in her expression. “Yes,” you breathed out, a defeated sigh escaping your lips. “Yes, I'll tell you. Just... please listen to me. Let’s go back. Not here.”
Himari studied your face for a long beat, her anger slowly shifting into a wary concern. She finally nodded, signaling a yellow cab that was crawling down the street.
Once the dorm room door clicked open, Himari didn't even take off her coat when she spoke. She just stood by the desk and crossed her arms. “Start talking,” she commanded.
You sat on the edge of your bed, the adrenaline finally fading into exhaustion. You stared at your hands for a second before finally looking up. “Back in high school... we were fighting for the top,” you admitted. “That guy I used to rant to you about? The one who always seemed to be exactly one point ahead, no matter how much I studied?”
“Oh!” Himari’s eyes widened as the pieces clicked into place. “Wait, that was him? Satoru Gojo was the white-haired idiot on the leaderboard? But is that really the only reason? I mean, sure, you two were against each other, but—”
“It’s not just the competition, Hima,” you interrupted.
You told her everything. You told her about the way he’d dismissed your years of grinding, your sleepless nights, and your scholarship status as if it were just a hobby.
“He called me a pet, alright? He treated me like a charity project,” you spat, the memory making your skin crawl all over again. “He considered me a commoner who got lucky. He belittled every ounce of effort I put in, acting like his natural talent made my hard work irrelevant. That is the kind of person he actually is. Under the expensive cologne and the polite act, he’ll always just be the fucking heir to the Gojo clan—all about wealth, status, and looking down on everyone else. He’s not the real deal, Hima. He’s just a man-child with a silver spoon and a god complex.”
Himari went silent. She looked at you, her anger from the sidewalk completely gone, replaced by a look of dawning horror.
“He said that to you?” she whispered. “To your face?”
“To my face,” you confirmed, your grip tightening on your duvet. “And now he’s in my classes. Again. I told you, Hima—I chose the Ivies because I wanted to be thousands of miles away from him. I wanted a city where the name Gojo didn't mean anything. But the universe is a bitch. Now he’s everywhere. It’s like I can’t ever truly get away.”
Himari chewed on her lip, looking conflicted. She shifted on the edge of her bed, her gaze dropping to the floor before she looked back at you. “What if... what if he’s changed? He didn't say anything bad about you when we were talking.”
Your head snapped up, your eyes narrowing into a sharp, defensive glare. “You two were talking about me?” you hissed.
“Hey! Let me finish!” Himari held up her hands, stopping your internal spiral. “He said I should consider myself lucky to have you. He said it’s not every day you have someone so ‘diligent and consistent’ around. I didn't think anything of it! I just thought he was talking about your performance in your Econ class. Because, well, that sounds exactly like you!”
The words felt like a bucket of ice water.
Diligent. Consistent.
To anyone else, it would definitely sound like praise.
Ooh, look at her, she's so diligent and consistent.
But to you, it was the exact opposite. It was his way of saying you were a reliable little worker—someone who succeeded through grinding repetition because you lacked the natural brilliance he possessed. The privilege he possessed as someone from an elite clan. It wasn't a compliment but a classification.
“Diligent,” you repeated. “He’s mocking me, Hima. He’s telling you that I’m consistent because I’m predictable. He’s still looking down on me, but he’s just doing it with a smile now so you’ll think he’s a decent guy.”
Himari looked at you, her expression a mix of pity and confusion. “Are you sure you aren't just reading too much into it? He looked... I don't know, almost respectful when he said it.”
“Let him fuck himself,” you snapped, the words final as you paced the small space of the dorm room. “He’s probably just trying to get into your pants, Hima. He knows exactly who you are—the Tsukino heir. Don't be naive.”
You stopped and pointed a finger at her, your voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and genuine fear for her. “No more parties. Ever again. Got it?”
“But—” Himari started, her voice small but rising in defiance.
“Hima, I’m serious! Think about it!” you cut her off, gesturing wildly toward the window as if the West Village were still visible. “The entire place was a mess. There was so much kissing and... and sex happening right there in the open. It was too much. It was disgusting.”
“But that’s how college works!” Himari burst out, standing up to match your energy. She looked at you with a mix of frustration and disbelief. “People explore! They have fun! It’s not some arranged ceremony like back home!”
“Excuse me?” You recoiled as if she’d slapped you, your eyes narrowing into a cold, judgmental glare. “Is sexual intimacy just something you throw away everywhere now? Do you really think someone is worthy of getting you off just because they have the skill or the right family name?”
The air in the room turned brittle. It wasn't just about Satoru anymore. You were arguing about how you both viewed freedom as.
“You’re judging them,” Himari whispered, her voice hurt. “You’re judging me for even wanting to be there.”
“I’m protecting you,” you countered, though even to your own ears, it sounded like a desperate plea. “Because once you give that away to someone like Gojo or Sukuna, you don’t get it back. To them, you’re just another trophy for the collection.”
The room went deathly quiet.
“I’ve been talking to Sukuna for over a year now!” she finally screamed, the confession bursting out of her as if she couldn't hold it in for another second.
You froze, your hand still gripped around the edge of your desk. “A year?”
“Over the phone,” she admitted, her voice shaking but defiant. “He told me he was in New York, that he was planning to go to college here. So I... that’s why I worked so hard to get into Columbia. That's why I wanted this so badly. Because he’s here.”
The room felt like it was spinning. All those late nights studying together, the shared stress of applications, the excitement of moving to the city—you thought it was about your shared future. You thought it was about escaping the expectations of your families.
“I like him, okay?!” she shouted, her eyes glistening with tears of frustration. “It wasn’t just some random guy at a party. It’s him. It’s always been him!”
You felt a hollow sensation in your chest. You had been so focused on guarding the front door against Satoru Gojo that you hadn't realized the threat had already been inside for a year.
“A year, Hima?” you whispered, the hurt finally overtaking the anger. “You’ve been talking to a guy like that for a year and you didn't tell me?”
“Because I knew you’d react like this!” she cried, gesturing to the room. “I knew you’d judge him before you even met him!”
A year? You had spent 365 days thinking you were in sync, only to find out she’d been building a secret life with a frat boy while you were busy worrying about her wellbeing.
“I...” You were beyond flustered; you were short-circuiting.
Just what? A frat boy? With tattoos? The kind of guy who looked like he’d been kicked out of every prestigious school in Japan?
You wanted to scream, to lecture, to shake some sense into her but the words died in your throat. Instead, you let out a frustrated groan and ran a hand violently through your hair, completely ruining the style you’d spent an hour perfecting.
Without another word, you ignored her, storming off toward the tiny bathroom to change out of your party clothes. The silence that followed was louder than any of the music you’d heard that night.
For three weeks, you and Himari talked less and less, the air between your beds thick with unspoken resentment. She started going out to parties almost every other night, her heels clicking defiantly against the floor as she left, while you retreated into the stacks. You spent more time with the quiet, hollow-eyed regulars in the library than with your own best friend.
But the universe evidently wasn't finished mocking you.
The next time you sought refuge in the library, seeking the comfort of high ceilings and the dusty scent of old knowledge, you found a spot at the furthest, most isolated table. You tucked yourself away, jamming your earphones in to drown out the world with a lo-fi beat.
You didn't even hear him approach. You just felt it—that sudden, suffocating shift in the air that usually preceded a disaster. A shadow fell over your notebook. You looked up, and there he was, sliding into the chair directly across from you as if he owned the furniture. You immediately bristled, your expression hardening into pure hostility as you yanked one earbud out.
“You’ve got the notes for Monday’s lecture, right?” Satoru asked, leaning back.
You didn't answer. You just stared at him in deep suspicion, your pen hovering over your paper like a weapon.
“Don’t give me that look,” he added, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m not here to talk about stealing Himari from you. Just your insights on the capital asset pricing model. Since, you know... you’re the diligent one.”
Diligent.
“Fuck you,” you hissed, the words barely a breath but carrying enough heat to singe. You leaned forward, your shadow falling over his textbooks. “I’m never approving you. Not as a boyfriend, not as a friend, not as a person. I know her better than you ever will. I am above you when it comes to her, Gojo. Nothing you say is going to change how I feel.”
Satoru didn't flinch. He just blinked, those unnervingly blue eyes remaining calm and unsurprised behind his shades.
“Glad to hear you still think of me so much,” he drawled, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Your face dropped. The audacity of him twisting your hatred into some kind of twisted obsession made your blood boil. You’d just chewed him out, laid your cards on the table, and he’d treated it like a light flirtation.
“You think I'm messing with you? Hima consults me before she lets anyone into her life. Especially a damn boyfriend. Whoever it is, they have to go through me first. And you? You're already disqualified.”
“Well, I’ve got news for you, then,” he said, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned in across the mahogany table. The playful smirk vanished, replaced by a terrifyingly neutral expression. “Your best friend and I? We’re arranged. I’m marrying her in a year.”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. You stared at him, your heart stopping in your chest as he continued, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather.
“Our families reached an agreement last month. The least I can do is get to know the girl before the ceremony, don't you think? So... will you please be civil now? For the sake of your best friend's future?”
“What?” The word was barely a gasp.
The heavy silence of the library shattered as you shoved your chair back, the legs screeching against the hardwood floor. A few students at nearby tables looked up, startled by the sudden violence of the noise, but you didn't care.
“That’s bullshit,” you spat, your voice no longer a whisper. You stood over him, your shadow eclipsing his smug, relaxed posture. “You’re the lucky guy? And she’s the unlucky woman?”
Your hands were trembling—not from fear, but from the irony. You thought of Himari—vulnerable, hopeful Himari—confessing her love for Sukuna on a cold New York sidewalk, completely unaware that the very reality she was trying to outrun had already caught up to her. And here sat the monster, already counting down the days until he owned her.
“You think because your families signed a piece of paper, that’s it?” you hissed, leaning down until you were inches from his face, ignoring the expensive scent of his cologne that usually made your head swim. “She doesn't even like you, Satoru. She deserves a life, not a contract with a narcissist who thinks she’s some little thing to be collected.”
Satoru didn’t flinch at your outburst, his body language remaining insultingly loose. He just tilted his head, those blue eyes peering over the rim of his glasses that made you feel like a specimen under a microscope.
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” he said, his voice dropping.
“Right, because it’s ‘fate’ that two rich families are trying to reach an understanding?” you mocked, your voice dripping with venom. “I don’t give a flying shit about your traditions or your agreements. If you think I'm going to let you just walk into her life and lock the door, you've clearly forgotten who you're dealing with.”
ch 4. | ch. 6
