Ms. Gojo thought she was dating an ordinary person's boyfriend.

Shoko stared at him for several seconds, trying to find a flaw in his ever-present nonchalant smile.

"You yourself said before that we were just friends." Shoko finally spoke, emphasizing the word "friends."

"We were indeed friends before." Gojo Satoru sipped his strawberry milk, a smile playing on his lips.

He took a large gulp of sweet milk and slowly added the second half of his sentence: "But it wasn't like that later."

As he said this, the corners of his mouth curved upwards, and even his dark sunglasses couldn't hide the smug, smug look emanating from him that made people grit their teeth.

Shoko's eyes twitched uncontrollably twice, and her face immediately showed a "Are you kidding me?" expression.

In response, Gojo Satoru put down the milk carton and returned her an incredibly sincere smile—if one could ignore the slight guilty conscience hidden beneath that sincerity.

Looking at him like this, Shoko felt a throbbing pain in her temples.

In an instant, countless questions flooded her mind like boiling water: When did you start dating? Why did you start dating that man? What exactly did you see in him?

There are so many questions I want to ask, so many thoughts intertwined, that they're stuck in my throat, and I don't know where to begin.

She finally just let out a long sigh and rubbed her temples wearily.

"Is it safe?" she asked.

Gojo Satoru knew what she was asking.

He is Gojo Satoru.

It is the strongest in the world of sorcery, a Damocles' sword hanging over the heads of all sorcerers and corrupt high-ranking officials.

He has made countless enemies, and countless venomous eyes are watching him day and night, wishing they could tear a piece of flesh from him.

And now, suddenly, there is an ordinary person by the side of such a person, who has no magic skills and not even the most basic ability to protect himself.

It's like a dragon deliberately placing a soft, unsuspecting rib on its own reverse scale.

is it safe?

Gojo Satoru thought for a second, then smiled.

"I'll handle it."

Shoko glanced at the faint glint of icy blue light emanating from behind his sunglasses and didn't press the matter further.

She glanced silently at the table—

The double-layered bento box, wrapped in a dark blue cloth, was still on the side of the examination table. The corners of the cloth were folded neatly, and the drawstring was tied in a sleek bow; it was clear that the person who made the bento was a meticulous person.

"Remember to eat that bento box." She picked up her pen, opened the report again, and said, "Don't waste the effort someone put into making it all morning."

Gojo Satoru paused for a moment, his gaze following Shoko's words to the dark blue bento box.

His eyes suddenly softened, and he stretched out his slender fingers, carefully untied the bow, pulled the lunchbox in front of him, and gently opened it.

The first layer is made of tamagoyaki cut into small pieces, the caramel-colored surface glistening with a slightly sweet sheen. Next to it are two triangular rice balls, and the seaweed is cut into the shape of a cat's face with small scissors.

The second layer consists of a few simple side dishes: tomatoes, okra, and pan-fried bacon rolls, all arranged in a clean and appealing color scheme.

There was also a strawberry daifuku wrapped in plastic wrap tucked in the corner.

Gojo Satoru looked at the large lucky charm and suddenly smiled.

I can almost picture Sumi Kichikawa standing in front of the kitchen counter, her brows slightly furrowed, thinking that it's not good for him to eat too many sweets, but also unwilling to see him disappointed, and finally compromising by stuffing a daifuku into his mouth.

He picked up his chopsticks and first took a piece of tamagoyaki and put it in his mouth.

It's sweet.

Gojo Satoru was taken aback for a moment, then laughed.

I clearly said before that I wouldn't make sweet dishes.

Shoko caught a glimpse of the corner of her eye of his mouth curving up as he ate, and couldn't help but pause in surprise—it was the first time she had ever seen that man show such a soft and happy expression.

She didn't say anything more and continued writing her report with her head down.

The only sounds in the infirmary were the scratching of pens on paper and the occasional soft clinking of chopsticks against lunchboxes.

weekend.

When Sumi Kichikawa was doing a thorough cleaning at home and opened the closet to put away her seasonal clothes, she paused.

The wardrobe was originally arranged entirely according to his personal minimalist habits, with frequently worn shirts and jackets hanging on the left and spare clothes folded on the right, all in black, white and gray.

But now, the right shelf of the wardrobe has been filled with things that don't belong to him.

Several soft white sweatshirts were neatly folded, next to a few light-colored shirts, and further in was a black uniform folded meticulously.

On top of this stack of clothes, there was a plush loungewear piece with an exaggerated white cat pattern.

Kikawa Sumi stood quietly in front of the wardrobe, looking at the colorful clothes that had suddenly invaded his territory.

He reached out and gently touched the fluffy fabric of the white cat-patterned loungewear.

The touch from my fingertips was soft and warm, and even carried a faint cedar scent that belonged only to Gojo Satoru.

Unbeknownst to her, a gentle smile unconsciously curved upwards on the usually rather indifferent face of Kikawa Sumi.

He didn't move the clothes away, but carefully placed his own clothes next to them, and then gently closed the closet door.

As she walked to the entryway with a rag, preparing to wipe the shoe cabinet, Sumi Kichikawa stopped again.

On the second shelf of the shoe cabinet, there are two pairs of identical slippers, one gray and one white.

Both pairs of shoes had their toes pointing outwards, perfectly aligned.

The shoes are worn with the toes pointing outwards; this is an obsessive-compulsive habit that Sumi Kikkawa developed over many years of living alone, so that it would be more convenient to put them on when going out.

He had never asked Gojo Satoru to do this, but at some point, Gojo Satoru started arranging his shoes exactly the same way he did.

The thought of Gojo Satoru bending down every day to carefully adjust the dark gray slippers so they were side-by-side with his shoes, facing outwards, filled Sumi Kikkawa's heart with a sweet feeling, like a piece of rock candy being thrown into warm water.

He stood up, picked up a rag, and began to look around the house where he had lived for several years.

On the refrigerator door in the kitchen, the certificate for "Excellent Temporary Helper" is still firmly held in place by a magnet. And next to the certificate, a photo booth picture has appeared out of nowhere.

In the narrow shot, the shoulders of two adult men are pressed tightly together.

In the photo, Gojo Satoru makes a funny face and puts his hands above his head to form rabbit ears; while next to him, Sumi Kichikawa still looks expressionless, but if you look closely, you will find that his slightly lowered eyebrows hide indulgence, and the corners of his mouth are also subtly curved upwards.

Our attention shifts to the living room.

The once empty beige sofa now has a huge, space-consuming blue-eyed white cat plush pillow lying haphazardly on it;

On the coat rack in the entryway hung the black trench coat that Gojo Satoru had casually taken off last night;

On the windowsill of the floor-to-ceiling window, there was a small, not particularly well-made, white cat gashapon figurine.

That was a gashapon machine that Gojo Satoru casually flipped when he passed by last time.

He said it resembled him, but after looking at it for a long time, Sumire Kikawa felt it wasn't even one ten-thousandth as cute as Satoru Gojo.

Gojo placed it on the windowsill.

She said, "Then I'll be the quiet version of myself."

Sumi Kichikawa did not object.

Thus, "Gojo No. 2" officially moved in and became the Kichikawa family's unwavering mascot.

At first glance, there are traces of another person everywhere in this house.

Standing in the living room, he found himself not resisting the change at all. In fact, looking at the extra colors, he felt a warm glow in his chest.

In the afternoon, a sudden rainstorm washed over the streets of Tokyo.

After the rain stopped, all that could be heard outside the window was the rustling of leaves in the wind.

The two snuggled up on the large sofa in the living room.

Kikawa Sumire was looking at a tablet with a complex English medical paper on it. To see the detailed diagrams and data clearly, he zoomed in on the screen to 200% and focused intently.

Meanwhile, Gojo Satoru was lounging casually in the thick sofa cushions, leaning against him like he had no bones, his fingertips swiping across his phone screen.

After a while, Gojo Satoru suddenly turned his head, nuzzled his chin against Sumire's shoulder, and said, "I forgot the clothes I'm supposed to wear tomorrow morning over there."

"Over there" refers to the apartment he used to live in.

Wu rarely went back, but it was still nominally his residence.

Sumi Kichikawa paused for a moment while swiping her tablet.

He lowered his eyelashes slightly: "I've already cleared out the right shelf in the wardrobe."

He paused for a second, then added, "Bring over all your usual clothes."

The air on the sofa seemed to freeze suddenly.

Gojo Satoru's thumb, which had been scrolling through his phone, also stopped.

The air was silent for two seconds.

Then Gojo Satoru slowly turned his head to look at him, pulling down his sunglasses a little.

Those azure eyes seemed to hold the starlight of a summer night; when they curved upwards, a smile spread from the corners of their eyes all the way to the corners of their mouths.

"OK."