𝗰𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮 | 𝗷𝘂𝗷𝘂𝘁𝘀𝘂 𝗸𝗮𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗻

𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀

You can now wear the cursed glasses for more than five seconds with hunching over from the blinding pain, which you consider Herculean. (Maki can wear them indefinitely, but she is a statistical outlier and borderline not human in the most impressive way possible, so there's no point in comparing apples and oranges.) You still haven't seen a curse, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared.

The days blur into each other, running into one long training montage that spurs you on through your day and bleeds into your dreams at night. You don't mind dreaming about working out. It's better than the nightmares, which have become a thing of the past. Maybe that's the real benefit of exercise—you're too tired to think about scary stuff.

You don't have any meaningful way to distinguish yesterday from today or tomorrow, or to measure your progress. You're thrown a bone when Maki pins you against the tatami, blade close enough to your face that you can taste the metal through your shallow breaths. You lay limply, forcing each acidic inhale from your diaphragm the way she'd taught you.

"Hmph."

You tense your body and move before you can overthink the motion (another Maki teaching), drawing your knees up to your chest and kicking upwards as fluidly as you can. It feels right; Maki draws back a couple of centimeters, narrowly avoiding your feet, before rolling to the side and thrusting you into the air. It's faster than you can see—one second you're in the air, and the next you're being crushed under her sharp elbow, pinned down against the floor again.

"Nice," she huffs, digging harder against your sternum.

"I can't breathe," you choke out.

She grins. (You wonder what gave you away.) "You can't trick me twice."

"It was worth a try."

It's the first compliment you've gotten from your stern tutor; you tuck it away with Nanami's hum and Shoko's laughter, and feel a little less alone.

/

"I have a special mission for you today!"

You cringe, but refuse to look up at Gojo.

"That sounds suspicious. No thanks."

"You can't refuse," he sings, "because I'm the teacher!"

"We're supposed to be coworkers now," you remind him.

"I still outrank you!" You sigh and snap your book shut. "Don't worry—this is a joint mission! We get to work together as a team."

You'd only been suspicious before; now you are worried. That worry only increases when Gojo pulls you close to him—roughly, by the scruff of your neck like you're an animal he's wrangling up—and the empty classroom you'd settled in disappears around you. You want to knock his unwelcome touch off of you but when the world's vanished into nothingness, your instinct is to grip tighter onto his arm instead.