The Vending Machine
Later that evening, Miyuki found herself back at the vending machines. She couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the phantom pressure of the sarcophagus against her back.
She bought a cold can of coffee—black, bitter, just like her mood.
"You shouldn't drink caffeine this late," a voice said from the shadows. "Or are you planning on staying up all night?"
Miyuki didn't jump this time. She recognized the energy signature. It was like a thunderstorm bottled up.
"You're one to talk, Gojo," Miyuki said, not turning around. She cracked the can open. "You survive on sugar and arrogance."
Gojo stepped into the light of the vending machine. He wasn't wearing his blindfold. He had switched to the round, dark sunglasses he wore when he wanted to look 'casual'. He was wearing a loose black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. It was unfair how good he looked in loungewear.
He leaned against the machine next to her, looking at the drink selection.
"I wanted to apologize," he said.
Miyuki paused, the can halfway to her lips. She looked at him. "For which part? The closet? Or electrocuting me this morning?"
Gojo winced. "The static. That was... rude."
"Why did it happen?" Miyuki asked, turning to face him fully. "Maki said your Infinity filters everything. Why did it shock me?"
Gojo sighed. He took off his sunglasses, hooking them onto his collar. His blue eyes looked tired in the fluorescent light.
"The Limitless," Gojo began, staring at his own hand, "is automatic. I trained my brain to filter objects based on mass, speed, and cursed energy. Dangerous things get stopped. Harmless things get through."
"And?"
"And..." Gojo looked at her. His gaze was intense, stripping her bare. "Usually, 'people' are categorized as harmless objects. I let sound and light through, but I keep a thin layer of space between us. Always."
He took a step closer. This time, Miyuki held her ground.
"But with you," Gojo murmured, "my brain is... arguing with the technique."
"Arguing?"
"My instincts want to let you in," Gojo admitted, his voice low. "Completely. Zero distance. But my training says 'danger'. Not because you'll hurt me physically... but because you disrupt my equilibrium."
He reached out slowly. This time, he didn't aim for her shoulder. He aimed for her hand, holding the coffee can.
"The static," he whispered, "was the friction of my barrier trying to decide what to do with you."
Miyuki's breath hitched. "And now?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Has it decided?"
Gojo's fingers brushed hers.
There was no spark. No static. No invisible wall. Just the warmth of his skin against hers.
He gently pried the cold coffee can from her fingers.
"Yeah," Gojo smirked, the familiar arrogance returning, though his eyes remained soft. "It decided you're safe. Mostly."
He took a sip of her coffee, grimaced, and handed it back.
"Ugh. Too bitter. How do you drink this sludge?"
Miyuki stared at the can, then at him. He had just shared an indirect kiss with her, casually, after explaining that his god-like powers were having an existential crisis because of her.
"You're impossible," Miyuki breathed, taking the can back.
"I'm the strongest," Gojo corrected. He put his sunglasses back on, hiding those dangerous eyes. "Go to sleep, Arima. We have a mission tomorrow. And this time..."
He leaned down, whispering in her ear, bringing back the memory of the closet in a rush of heat.
"...try not to melt any national treasures."
He patted her head—a real touch, warm and heavy—and walked away into the night, whistling that same annoying pop song.
Miyuki stood there, clutching the cold coffee can, her heart beating a rhythm that felt suspiciously like hope.
"Safe," she whispered to the empty air. "He thinks I'm safe."
She took a sip of the coffee. It tasted bitter, but on the rim of the can, she could taste the lingering sweetness of cream puffs.
And for the first time since Ueno, Miyuki Arima smiled.
The New Normal
Three days passed since the "Static Incident."
To the casual observer, nothing at Jujutsu High had changed. Gojo was still late to every class. Nobara still complained about the humidity. Yuji still tried to convince Megumi to watch B-movies.
But to the trained eye—specifically, to Fushiguro Megumi's sharp observation—everything had shifted.
It was Tuesday afternoon. The first-years and Miyuki were in the classroom. Gojo was drawing a crude diagram of a "Domain Expansion" on the chalkboard, which looked suspiciously like a deformed potato.
"And that," Gojo said, tapping the chalk against the board, "is why you don't just walk into a barrier without a plan! Unless you're me, of course."
He turned around, his eyes covered by the black blindfold. He walked over to Miyuki's desk. She was taking diligent notes, her handwriting neat and precise, a stark contrast to Yuji's scribbles.
"Miyuki-chan," Gojo chirped. "Borrow your red pen?"
"You have a box of chalk, Gojo," Miyuki said without looking up.
"Chalk is dusty. I want the pen."
He reached out.
Megumi watched closely. Usually, when Gojo reached for something near a person, there was a subtle distortion—the Limitless bending the space, creating a microscopic lag as his hand approached. It was the "Do Not Touch" sign of the sorcery world.
But this time, there was no distortion.
Gojo's long fingers slid the red pen from Miyuki's hand. His skin brushed against her knuckles.
Miyuki didn't flinch. There was no static. No spark. She just sighed, letting him take it.
"Give it back when you're done," she muttered.
"No promises!" Gojo grinned, spinning the pen.
Megumi narrowed his eyes. The barrier is down, he realized. Only for her. He's consciously letting her into his personal space.
It was a terrifying level of trust from a man who trusted no one.
"Fushiguro!" Gojo called out, pointing the stolen pen at him. "You're staring. Am I too handsome today?"
Megumi looked away, scowling. "I was just wondering why you're teaching us basic barrier theory again. We know this."
"Review is important!" Gojo declared. "Especially since we have a new assignment."
The mood in the room shifted instantly. Yuji sat up straighter. Nobara smirked, twirling a nail.
"A mission?" Yuji asked. "Is it another museum? I want to punch another dinosaur!"
"No dinosaurs this time," Gojo said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "And no punching. At least, not at first."
The door slid open, and Ijichi walked in, looking more haggard than usual. He was clutching a tablet.
"Ijichi-san!" Yuji waved.
Ijichi bowed nervously. "Good afternoon. We have a... delicate situation."
He placed the tablet on the desk. It showed a photo of a grand, glittering ballroom. Chandeliers, people in tuxedos and evening gowns, and champagne towers.
"The location is the Imperial Hotel in Hibiya," Ijichi explained. "Tomorrow night, there is a high-profile charity auction. Rare antiques, cursed tools disguised as art, that sort of thing."
"Sounds rich," Nobara commented, eyes sparkling.
"It is," Gojo agreed. "But there's a problem. For the last three years, every time this auction is held, the highest bidder dies within 24 hours. No cursed residue found. Just... heart failure. Accidents. Suicides."
"A curse that kills without leaving a trace?" Miyuki asked, looking at the photo. Her analytical mind was already whirring. "That suggests a curse with a highly specific condition. A contract-based curse."
"Exactly, Arima!" Gojo pointed the red pen at her. "Ten points to Gryffindor."
"I'm a Slytherin," she muttered, taking the pen from him. "And we're not in Hogwarts."
Gojo grinned, leaning closer. "Even better."
"The window reports a Grade 1 curse is likely attached to one of the items up for auction," Ijichi continued. "We need to identify the item and the curse before it's sold."
"So we just barge in and exorcise everything?" Yuji cracked his knuckles.
"No," Gojo said, smiling a wide, predatory smile. "We can't cause a scene. This is high society, Yuji. Politicians, CEOs, foreign diplomats. If we start blowing things up, I'll have to write a ten-page apology report. And I hate writing reports."
He walked over to Miyuki, leaning down until his face was level with hers.
"We have to blend in," Gojo whispered. "We have to go undercover."
Miyuki felt a chill run down her spine. "Undercover?"
"Yep," Gojo straightened up, spreading his arms. "Get your formal wear ready, kids. We're going to a party."
He turned his gaze specifically to Miyuki.
"And you, Arima... since you're the only one who knows anything about art history and antiques... you're going to be the appraiser."
"Appraiser?"
"My personal appraiser," Gojo corrected, winking. "I'll be the eccentric billionaire buyer. You'll be my... assistant."
"Assistant?" Nobara raised an eyebrow. "Or 'date'?"
Gojo ignored Nobara, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Make sure you dress the part, Miyuki," Gojo said, sliding his black card across the desk toward her. "The dress code is black tie. Buy something expensive. I don't want you looking like a stray cat next to me."