The Dance of the Infinite
The arcade had gone silent.
It wasn't the silence of emptiness; it was the silence of awe. A crowd had gathered around the Dance Dance Revolution machine—teenagers, tourists, and a very confused elderly couple—to witness a battle of titans.
On the left: Aoi Todo. He had ripped off his Takada-chan shirt again (Nobara had given up trying to stop him). His muscles glistened under the neon lights. He was vibrating with the intensity of a man about to go to war for his goddess.
On the right: Gojo Satoru. He had not removed his jacket. He had not removed his sunglasses. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking bored, yet somehow radiating a terrifying amount of charisma.
"The song," Todo announced, pointing a calloused finger at the screen, "shall be 'Pop-Pop Love Explosion' on Nightmare Difficulty! It is Takada-chan's fastest single! Only true love can keep up with the beat!"
"Pop-Pop Love Explosion?" Gojo repeated, his lips twitching. "Sounds... complex. I'm trembling."
"Do not mock the idol arts!" Todo roared. He slammed a coin into the machine. "BEGIN!"
The music started. It was a hyper-speed J-Pop track that sounded like a squirrel on caffeine.
Arrows began to fly up the screen at a speed that the human eye could barely track.
Todo moved like a tank with the agility of a ballerina. STOMP. STOMP. SLIDE. JUMP. His feet were a blur. He was shouting the lyrics as he danced, tears of passion streaming down his face.
"LOVE BEAM! DOKI DOKI! I WILL PROTECT YOU!"
The crowd cheered. Yuji was jumping up and down. "GO TODO! USE YOUR GLUTES!"
Miyuki watched, clutching her giant panda. She looked at the other side.
Gojo Satoru wasn't stomping. He was... gliding.
He wasn't even looking at the screen. He was looking at her.
His feet moved with surgical precision, hitting every arrow the millisecond it aligned with the target. Tap. Tap. Slide. Spin. He did a 360-degree turn in the middle of a combo, winked at Miyuki, and landed perfectly on the beat.
He wasn't just dancing; he was mocking the concept of gravity.
"He's using the Six Eyes to track the pixels," Megumi muttered, looking disgusted. "And he's probably using Blue to increase his speed. He's cheating."
"It's not cheating if he looks that good doing it," Nobara admitted grudgingly, sipping a soda. "Look at those legs. It's unfair."
The song reached its climax—a barrage of arrows that required moving four limbs simultaneously.
Todo roared, sweat flying, hitting the pads with the force of a wrecking ball. PERFECT. PERFECT. GREAT. PERFECT.
Gojo yawned. He took a hand out of his pocket, checked his nails, and continued to hit MARVELOUS on every single step without breaking a sweat.
FINISH!
The machine exploded with confetti graphics.
Todo:985,000 Points (Rank S)
Gojo:1,000,000 Points (Rank GOD)
Todo fell to his knees, panting heavily. "Impossible... My rhythm... was pure..."
Gojo stepped off the platform. He didn't even catch his breath. He walked over to Todo and patted him on the sweaty shoulder.
"You possess passion, Todo," Gojo said, his voice dripping with condescension. "But you lack style. And also, I'm the Strongest. Did you forget?"
He turned to Miyuki. The crowd parted for him as if he were Moses.
He stopped in front of her. He looked at the giant panda in her arms—the prize Todo had won for her.
"Cute," Gojo said, flicking the panda's ear. "But it's just fluff. It won't last."
"It's soft," Miyuki defended, tightening her grip on the bear. "And Todo worked hard for it."
"I work hard too," Gojo murmured. He reached into his pocket. "I won. That means I get to give you a prize."
He pulled out his hand.
It was a small, plastic keychain he must have swiped from a crane game while everyone was watching Todo.
It was a white cat with blue eyes, wearing sunglasses.
Miyuki stared at it. It was cheap. It was silly. It was undeniably him.
"For your keys," Gojo said, dangling it in front of her. "So you don't lose them again. Or yourself."
Miyuki hesitated. She looked at the keychain, then up at his face. The arrogance was there, yes, but underneath it, there was that desperate, childlike need to be acknowledged. To be kept.
She slowly reached out and took the keychain.
"It's ugly," she said.
"It's limited edition," Gojo grinned. "Just like me."
The Trigger
The sun began to set, casting long, golden shadows over the city. The adrenaline of the arcade was fading, replaced by a comfortable, drowsy exhaustion.
"Alright, time out!" Gojo announced, stretching his long limbs. "My bladder is not infinite. I need to use the restroom. Don't go anywhere! If you get kidnapped while I'm peeing, I'll be very upset."
He tossed the bag of souvenirs to Megumi and sauntered off toward the public restrooms near the park entrance, whistling the DDR song.
The group sat on a row of benches near a small playground to wait for him. Yuji and Todo were arguing about the philosophical implications of an idol anime. Nobara and Megumi were sharing a bag of takoyaki.
Miyuki sat slightly apart, the giant panda next to her. She was watching the playground.
It was mostly empty, save for a few stragglers.
Near the sandbox, a little girl was crying.
She couldn't have been more than seven years old. She had messy black hair and scraped knees. She was alone, clutching a dirty stuffed rabbit, sobbing with that unique, heart-wrenching sound of a child who believes they have been abandoned forever.
Miyuki's smile faded.
The laughter of her friends faded into the background. The sunset turned grey.
Flash.
A memory, sharp and violent, stabbed her in the chest.
The smell of cheap alcohol. The sound of a door slamming.
"Get out, you brat! He doesn't like kids!"
Her mother's voice. Screeching. Slurred.
Miyuki gripped the edge of the bench. Her breath hitched.
She remembered the cold. The nights spent huddled under vending machines because the "uncles" her mother brought home looked at her with eyes that made her skin crawl.
She remembered the feeling of being small. Of being a burden. Of being something to be hit, or hidden, or ignored.
That was why she was like this now.
That was why she built walls of logic and silence. That was why she became a librarian—because books didn't hit you. Books didn't smell like whiskey. Books stayed where you put them.
She had spent twenty years building a fortress around that little girl. She learned to be cold, to be defensive, to bite before she was bitten.
But looking at that crying child, the fortress crumbled.
"Arima-san?" Yuji's voice was gentle. He had noticed her staring. "Are you okay?"
Miyuki didn't answer. She was staring at a specific bench near the sandbox.
It wasn't the bench that was there now.
It was a bench in a park in Tokyo, twenty years ago.
The Memory – Tokyo, 1997
The air was biting cold. It was December.
Six-year-old Miyuki sat on the wooden bench, her legs dangling, not touching the ground. She was wearing a thin coat that had a hole in the pocket. Her knees were bloody from where she had fallen running away from the apartment.
She wasn't crying. She had stopped crying an hour ago. Now, she was just angry. A simmering, feral anger that burned in her stomach like a coal.
She hated her mother. She hated the new man. She hated the cold.
"Hey."
The voice was annoying. High-pitched, arrogant, and bored.
Miyuki looked up.
Standing in front of her was a boy. He looked about her age. But he looked like he came from a different planet.
He was wearing a pristine, expensive dark blue kimono with a haori jacket that probably cost more than Miyuki's entire life. His hair was snow-white, defying gravity. And he was wearing small, round sunglasses that were completely unnecessary on a cloudy day.
He held a lollipop in one hand and had his other hand on his hip.
"You're in my spot," the boy said.
Miyuki stared at him. She sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
"Go away," she growled. Her voice was scratchy.
"No," the boy said, popping the lollipop out of his mouth. "I come here every Tuesday. This is the only bench that doesn't have bird poop on it. Move, peasant."
Peasant? Miyuki didn't know what the word meant, but she knew his tone. It was the tone of someone who had never been hit.
"I was here first," Miyuki snapped, clutching the bench. "Find another one."
The boy tilted his head. Even through the sunglasses, she could feel his eyes. They were weird. Like looking into the sky.
"Do you know who I am?" the boy asked, genuinely confused that she wasn't moving.
"I don't care who you are!" Miyuki yelled. The anger in her stomach flared. "You look like a giant Q-tip! Get lost!"
The boy's mouth dropped open. "Q-tip? I am Gojo Satoru! I am the Strongest! ...Well, I'm going to be!"
"I'm Miyuki!" she shouted back, standing up on the bench so she was taller than him. "And I'm... I'm really mad!"
"So?" Gojo scoffed. "Move. Or I'll make you."
He reached out a hand to push her.
Usually, no one could touch Gojo Satoru. Even as a child, the Infinity was there, a subconscious barrier. But he was eight. He was arrogant. And he didn't perceive this dirty, snot-nosed girl as a threat. His brain categorized her as 'harmless debris'.
That was a mistake.
Miyuki didn't wait to be pushed.
With the scream of a wounded lion cub, she launched herself off the bench.
She tackled him.
Gojo's eyes widened behind his glasses. He was so shocked that a 'peasant' had dared to jump at him that he forgot to reinforce his barrier.
They hit the dirt. Hard.
Miyuki was on top of him instantly, a whirlwind of scratching nails and biting teeth. She wasn't fighting like a sorcerer; she was fighting like a street cat.
"Get off!" Gojo yelped, trying to shove her away. His pristine kimono was getting muddy.
"You're mean!" Miyuki screamed, grabbing a handful of his white hair and yanking. "Take it back! Say sorry!"
"Ouch! Hey! That's my hair!" Gojo flailed. He managed to flip her over, pinning her to the ground. He was stronger, even then.
He sat on her stomach, breathing hard. His sunglasses were askew. There was a smudge of dirt on his cheek.
Miyuki lay there, panting, glaring up at him with fierce, tear-filled emerald green eyes.
Gojo stared down at her. He stopped struggling.
For the first time in his life, someone had touched him. Someone had knocked him down. Someone had looked at him not with reverence or fear, but with pure, unadulterated challenge.
"You're heavy," Miyuki spat.
Gojo blinked. A slow, delighted grin spread across his face.
"You're strong," he said, sounding surprised. "For a girl with snot on her face."
"I'm gonna bite you," she threatened.
"Try it," Gojo laughed. He got off her, offering a hand to help her up.
Miyuki slapped his hand away and stood up on her own. She dusted off her knees.
"I'm keeping the bench," she declared.
Gojo looked at the bench. Then at her. He shrugged.
"Fine. You can borrow it. But only because I have to go home and change. My nanny is going to kill me."
He started to walk away, then turned back.
"Hey! Green Eyes!"
Miyuki looked up.
"Next time," Gojo grinned, pointing at her, "I win."
He ran off, a white blur in the grey park.
Miyuki sat back down on the bench. She was still cold. She was still scared of going home. But the fire in her stomach felt a little different now.
She wasn't just a victim. She was the girl who tackled the white-haired boy.