I settled into the room Nanami had arranged for me, a space not too far from the school. It was larger than I needed—spacious and tastefully simple, with neutral tones and a large window that let in soft, golden light. I dropped my bag near the door and took a slow look around, feeling the quietness settle over me.
Nanami had been insistent before he left. "Call me if there's any emergency," he'd said, his tone as serious as always. "I'm just a 15-minute walk away."
I couldn't help but smile at the memory. Cute! He was so proper, so concerned. Acting like a true gentleman, as always. I shook my head lightly, amused at how some things never changed with him.
The exhaustion of the day was catching up to me quickly. Every part of me ached from the whirlwind of travel, the tension with Yaga-sensei, and the weight of everything I'd agreed to. I glanced at the small suitcase near the bed, but even the thought of changing felt like too much effort.
With a long sigh, I kicked off my shoes, letting them clatter somewhere near the door. The soft bed called to me like a lullaby. I didn't even bother pulling up the blanket before collapsing face-first onto the mattress.
Before I knew it, sleep overtook me, pulling me under into a dreamless, much-needed rest.
I woke up groggily, my hand instinctively searching the bed for my phone. After a few clumsy swipes, my fingers brushed against it, and I picked it up. The screen lit up, showing 10:00 PM. I groaned softly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "What am I supposed to do now?" I muttered to myself, sitting up on the edge of the bed.
A thought crossed my mind, bringing a flicker of excitement. Why not roam Tokyo? It had been ages since I'd wandered the city at night. The nostalgia tugged at me, and my mind quickly landed on a place I hadn't thought about in years—the My World Club.
Back when I was eighteen, that was where I'd had my first taste of alcohol. The memory of Gojo flashed uninvited into my head—his playful smirk, the way he'd teased me for being hesitant. That night had been so carefree, so reckless. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the thought. Why does everything have to remind me of him?
I quickly messaged Nanami about my plan to visit the club. I knew he wouldn't join me. He was always so drained after his missions, and nightlife wasn't exactly his thing. But to my surprise, just as I was heading to freshen up, my phone buzzed.
"We'll catch you up after this mission."
I blinked at the message, feeling a pang of guilt. He's on a mission? I hadn't meant to bother him while he was working. I quickly typed back, "No need; I didn't know you were on a mission. Continue with that."
After that, I freshened up, slipping into a casual but comfortable outfit—blue baggy jeans and a white, fitted top. I tied my hair into a bun, not bothering to put too much effort into my appearance. Not that I need to. I always look good anyway. The thought made me pause, a faint smile tugging at my lips. It sounded like something Gojo would say.
With an exhale, I pushed the thought aside and grabbed my phone. This night is about me and my city, not him.
As I approached the club, I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me. The My World Club was still there, but its exterior was barely recognizable. The once plain facade was now modernized with neon lights and sleek designs. The place had clearly adapted to the times, but it still held the same charm that had drawn me to it years ago.
I stepped inside the club, the memories flooding back as I took in the new but familiar surroundings. The place had transformed over the years, blending modern aesthetics with its signature charm. The lighting was dim, accented with soft neon hues that danced across the walls. A large chandelier with an industrial design hung over the main floor, casting an ambient glow. The bass-heavy music thumped gently in the background, setting a laid-back but lively mood.
The bar counter stretched along one side of the room, illuminated by LED lights that shifted between shades of pink, blue, and purple. Shelves lined with an impressive collection of liquor bottles glimmered like a rainbow, and the counter itself was made of sleek black marble with golden accents. Behind it, the bartender moved with effortless precision, pouring drinks and chatting with patrons.
I took a seat at the counter, the leather barstool soft beneath me. The bartender, a young man with neatly combed dark hair and a friendly smile, greeted me.
"Good evening, ma'am," he said warmly.
I smiled back. "Bring me a strawberry tin," I replied, pulling out my phone. I snapped a quick photo of the counter, capturing the vibrant lights and polished glasses. As I sent the photo to my contacts, my attention drifted to the conversation happening beside me.
Two girls, likely in their early twenties, sat close, leaning toward each other as they spoke. Their voices, though hushed, carried enough for me—and apparently the bartender—to overhear.
"You knew I was tired of staying single," one said, her tone exasperated.
"So am I," the other replied with a laugh.
"But you have a boyfriend," the first one pointed out.
"Yeah, but don't tell anyone—I went on a date yesterday."
"With?"
"He was so handsome, like an angel," she gushed.
"Same! I also went on a date the day before yesterday. My date was handsome too. I bet you haven't seen anything like him. He has white hair."
The second girl froze. "Same! What a coincidence! My date also had white hair. I didn't know Japan had a trend of white hair."
The bartender, now mixing my drink, glanced at me with a knowing smile. I returned the smirk, both of us seemingly on the same page about what was happening.
"But my date was tall, over six feet," one of the girls continued.
"Same as my date! What a coincidence!"
I rolled my eyes, sipping my drink as they carried on, oblivious. Do they really not realize they're talking about the same guy? I thought to myself. The bartender stifled a laugh, clearly amused.
"But my date had beautiful eyes," one of them added dreamily. "Ocean blue, like—"
"Like you could swim in his eyes," the other interrupted, her expression equally dreamy.
The realization seemed to hit both girls at once.
"Wait, what does my date mean? How do you know?" one asked, her voice rising slightly.
"Because my date has the same eyes," the other snapped, crossing her arms defensively.
I tried to ignore their exchange, focusing on my drink instead. Maybe if I walked away, I'd be able to save myself from the ridiculousness of their conversation. They were both clueless, and honestly, I didn't have the energy for this drama.
But just as I was about to stand, I heard something that froze me in place.
"But my date works as a jujutsu sorcerer," one of them said, almost as if she were boasting.
"So does my date," the other replied, her voice laced with surprise.
My heart skipped a beat. My grip on the glass tightened slightly as the realization hit me. They weren't just describing someone vaguely similar—they were talking about him. I had ignored their earlier conversation, thinking it might just be some random guy with similar features. But now? There was no mistaking it.
They were talking about Gojo Satoru.
The bartender, who had been quietly listening, let out a low chuckle. "That guy already has the whole city under his charm," he said with a smirk, shaking his head as he polished a glass.
Something inside me twisted. Disappointment? Annoyance? I wasn't even sure what it was. I didn't want to care. After all these years, I thought I'd moved on, left that part of my life behind. But here I was, sitting in a club, listening to two strangers gush about the very man I was trying to forget.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Why am I letting him get to me? He doesn't even know I'm here.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I signaled the bartender for another drink. If I was going to deal with memories of Gojo tonight, I'd need something stronger than strawberry tin.
As I sipped my second drink, the chatter between the two girls continued, their voices buzzing like a persistent fly I couldn't swat away.
"But seriously, he's so mysterious. He didn't even tell me much about himself," one of them said, swirling her drink.
"Same here! It's like he's hiding something. But those eyes, oh my God, they make you forget everything," the other replied, giggling.
I rolled my eyes, clenching my jaw to suppress the urge to interrupt them. Gojo was anything but mysterious. If anything, he was an open book—arrogant, loud, and always showing off. The only mystery was why anyone fell for it.
Unable to sit there any longer, I slid off the barstool and tossed some cash on the counter. The bartender gave me a knowing glance but said nothing. As I walked toward the exit, the cool night air greeted me, offering some relief from the suffocating atmosphere inside the club.
I started walking aimlessly, the distant hum of Tokyo nightlife surrounding me. Neon signs flashed, and laughter spilled from nearby restaurants. My mind, however, was stuck in the past.
Gojo Satoru.
I hated how his name could still spark something in me—anger, frustration, and maybe a tiny sliver of something else I refused to name. He had always been larger than life, the center of attention wherever he went. And now, even after all these years, he hadn't changed.
"Still the same playboy," I muttered under my breath, kicking a stray pebble down the street.
But no matter how much I tried to shake him from my thoughts, the memories came flooding back. The way he used to flash that confident grin, as if he owned the world. The way he'd tease me endlessly, always pushing my buttons. And the way he'd look at me when no one else was around—like I was the only thing that mattered.
"Stop it," I said to myself, shaking my head. This wasn't the time to dwell on the past. I had come to Tokyo for a reason, and getting tangled up in old emotions wasn't part of the plan.
I looked up and realized I had wandered into a quiet park. The benches were mostly empty, save for a couple sitting under a lamppost. I sat on a bench far from them, the night sky above me offering a brief moment of peace.
As I leaned back, staring at the stars, I couldn't help but still hear bits and pieces of the girls' conversation from earlier. Their giddy voices echoed in my mind, pulling me into a pit of curiosity I didn't want to explore.
Why did I have to listen to them? If I hadn't, maybe I wouldn't feel this burning need to check on him now.
I sighed and pulled out my phone. My fingers hesitated over the screen, but before I could stop myself, I typed his name into Instagram.
Gojo Satoru.
His profile popped up immediately, with that familiar blue-checked verification symbol mocking me. I clicked on it, and there it was—a recent update, just 23 minutes ago.
A photo.
Gojo, flashing his signature grin, his blindfold pushed up to reveal those ocean-blue eyes, standing amidst what looked like the aftermath of a mission. Dust and destruction framed him like an action movie hero. The caption read:
"Still stealing the show. Miss me yet?"
My heart twisted involuntarily. Why did he always have to act like this? Like the world revolved around him?
I knew I should stop there. Close the app, put my phone away, and move on. But my traitorous fingers scrolled down to the comments section.
It was flooded. Thousands of comments filled with hearts, fire emojis, and flirtatious remarks. Girls—and even guys—gushed over his looks, his charm, his everything.
"Marry me, Gojo!"
"Those eyes could kill me, and I'd thank you."
"Drop the blindfold, king!"
I winced, my stomach churning at the sight of it all. And then I saw a question that stood out from the rest, nestled innocently among the chaos:
"Who was your first love?"
It was a simple question, probably meant to tease him, but for some reason, I couldn't look away. My breath hitched as I waited, even though I knew I shouldn't care.
And then, there it was. His reply.
"First love? Hmm… never really had one. I guess I've always been married to my work. Or maybe… I just don't believe in that stuff."
My chest tightened, and the phone slipped slightly in my grasp. Never had one?
It hit me like a curse technique to the gut. I thought we had something. I thought I had been something to him. But now, it felt like I had been nothing more than a fleeting presence in his whirlwind of a life.
My heart raced as I reread his comment, each word sinking deeper. Of course, Gojo wouldn't remember, wouldn't care. To him, our past was probably just another moment in his endless string of adventures. But to me, it had been everything.
I locked my phone and clenched it tightly in my hand, staring up at the night sky. Coming back to Tokyo had been a mistake. I had thought I could handle it, but clearly, I was wrong.
He didn't love me. He never did. It was all one-sided.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I stood up from the bench. "So much for closure," I muttered under my breath.
The bustling lights of Tokyo blurred around me as I walked away, my chest heavy with disappointment. This city wasn't the same anymore—and neither was I.