The soft sound of wind brushing against the curtains woke me before the alarm. Golden light filtered through the white fabric, dancing slowly on the cream-colored walls. I opened my eyes gently, with that familiar first-day feeling: a mix of curiosity, nervousness, and the desire to start over.
In Tokyo, it was early morning, but a bit of jet lag still buzzed in me.
I sat up in bed, stretched gracefully, and placed my feet on the warm parquet floor.
I opened the small cupboard where they'd left me a welcome breakfast: soft Japanese bread, umeboshi jam, and a bottle of warm jasmine tea. As I slowly chewed, I looked out the window. The sky was clear, the trees in the garden swayed gently, and everything seemed ready.
Ready to welcome me.
After breakfast, I went to the bathroom, washed my face, and stepped into a warm shower. When I came out, I decided I wanted to feel more… powerful that day. Maybe because of Maki. Or maybe because I was now among elite sorcerers.
So I pulled my hair into a tight, high ponytail, letting my bangs fall lightly across one side of my face. I applied a touch of makeup—rosy blush, thin eyeliner, and cherry-tinted lip balm.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
I looked ready.
I put on my training uniform: soft charcoal pants, a long-sleeved pearl gray shirt that left just a hint of collarbone exposed. Then I stepped into black technical boots.
I felt a strange energy inside me—restless, waiting.
I walked toward Classroom 1-EF, a long, quiet corridor separating me from my first real lesson as a sorceress in Tokyo.
As I walked, the walls told stories: old photographs, newspaper clippings, small traces of those who had passed through before me.
Everyone had once feared they wouldn't be enough.
And then—they'd grown.
When I opened the classroom door, I found two familiar figures.
Maki and Yuta.
She was leaning against the window, arms crossed, one leg bent. He sat on his desk, hair slightly tousled, gaze fixed only on her. They were speaking softly, with disarming ease. There was an invisible current between them, a deep trust. I watched them for a few seconds before making myself known.
"Good morning! Uh… would I be ruining the moment if I came in?"
Yuta turned quickly, smiling.
"Rebe! Perfect timing. Sit here."
I sat down beside him, shooting a quiet glance toward Maki. She gave me a small nod. I didn't know if it was friendliness or a challenge. Maybe both.
Time felt frozen in that room.
Then, after a couple of minutes—he walked in.
He wasn't wearing his usual high-collared hoodie. He wore a fitted black short-sleeved shirt, clinging like a second skin, naturally outlining every detail. Toned muscles, the tight line of his arms, a sculpted chest, broad but not bulky shoulders. Even the curve of his collarbone seemed drawn beneath the fabric.
His pale skin was like porcelain, and the tattoo stretching across his cheek looked alive—a vein of ink trailing down his face, vanishing beneath the edge of his lips.
His white pants were loose and comfortable, shifting slightly as he walked, and each step was a controlled choreography.
He moved slowly, with the calm that was so uniquely his, gaze slightly averted. When he saw me, a small smile touched his lips.
He walked over to my desk.
Sat down beside me—saying nothing. Then quickly typed something on his phone and handed it to me.
"Did you sleep well?"
I read the message and raised an eyebrow, amused. I looked at him and nodded with a half-smile.
"Well enough. I'm still adjusting to the jet lag, but I feel calm."
His snowy lashes lowered slightly, head tilted. He typed again:
"If you need anything, ask me."
My throat tightened slightly. No dramatic declarations, no grand gestures.Just that message—whispered through a screen, with the gentle strength that was so him.
"Thank you," I replied softly.
I lingered on the sight of his tattoo. It followed the line of his jaw, trailing elegantly beneath his lips…I wondered if it hurt, if it was magical, or if it had a meaning.
But I didn't ask.
Not yet.
That's when the door flung open—boldly.
"Good morning, my beloved students…! And good morning to all those intense stares! Ahahaha! What's this? Did I miss an episode?"
Gojo-sensei.
His violet coat fluttered like a cape, sunglasses still on. He had an enormous coffee mug in one hand and a smile only he could get away with. He stopped mid-step as he saw us. His gaze moved from Yuta to Maki, then from me to Toge. Finally, to Panda.
"Wow. Wow wow wow wow."
He took off his sunglasses and set them on the desk. Pulled out his phone and snapped a photo.
"This class already looks like a romantic drama and it's only the first episode."
We all burst out laughing.
"Officially, welcome to the group, Rebecca."
"Thank you, Gojo-sensei."
"And today's first lesson: Theory of Cursed Perception and Aura Control."
He paused, theatrically.
"Before you ask: One, no, you can't sleep. And two, yes, this could save your life. Got it?"
The lesson unfolded in an almost surreal silence. Gojo-sensei taught with his usual disarming humor, but he knew how to be serious when explaining techniques. I took notes, even though my hand trembled slightly now and then. Toge wrote in a small notebook, neat handwriting. Our elbows brushed occasionally. He glanced at me from time to time.
At the end of the lesson, sensei smiled and closed the notebook.
"Now—team assignments. Fixed. No changes. No drama."
He turned to the board and wrote:
"Maki with Panda. Yuta with Rika. Toge with Rebecca."
My heart skipped a beat.
I turned slowly.
Toge was already looking at me.
Those lavender eyes—so intense.
And he spoke.
"Tuna mayo."
Nothing more was needed.
I understood.
—Bodies That Speak—
The afternoon sun streamed through the trees around the training field. The air was still warm, laced with a light breeze that tousled strands of hair and carried the sweet scent of crushed grass.
We all walked out in silence, each with our assigned partner.
I was beside Toge.
The field was the same one I had seen in old training videos: vast, bordered by distant cherry trees and marked with faint white lines across the packed dirt. Our steps crunched on the gravel. The sky was clear, without clouds.
"Hand-to-hand combat. No cursed energy. Just you, your instincts, and your endurance," said Gojo-sensei, flashing a cheeky grin before sitting at a distance, sipping from a can.
"Ready? Begin."
Toge and I looked at each other.
No words. No rushed movements.
Just a nod.
We raised our hands—like a slow dance.
Our bodies drew close—only centimeters apart.
I could feel the warmth of his skin before even touching him.
Then he struck—quick and fluid, a side blow. I blocked it, my hands brushing against his bare arms. His skin was smooth, warm like silk, but beneath it—trained muscle, coiled and ready.
I breathed softly.
Every touch from him felt like an extra heartbeat.
He pushed me gently backward—but not with force.It was an invitation.
So I accepted it. I spun at my side, grabbed his wrist. His hand closed around mine—firm, but not painful.
Just control.
Just attention.
We were searching for each other.
Our movements grew faster, more intimate.
He moved like a feather charged with strength. Every strike was precise, never violent.
Our legs brushed—sometimes even crossed. My breathing quickened as I tried to keep pace, trying to read the silent language of his body. At every contact, his skin responded. He didn't tremble. He didn't pull away.
He welcomed my touch as if he'd been waiting for it all along.
He lifted me suddenly, trying to unbalance me. But I reacted, spinning forcefully—and ended up behind him, an arm wrapped around his torso, trying to pin him.
His heart was racing—I could feel it under my fingers. The scent of his skin—fresh, almost spicy—hit my nose and clouded my thoughts.
For a second, he stopped.
Not from exhaustion. Not as strategy.
But because we were too close.
I felt him hold his breath.
The tattoo on his cheek seemed to pulse faintly.
We broke away only to breathe again—but our eyes… never parted. His eyes were slightly reddened from the strain, jaw clenched, chest heaving. He bent down briefly, hands on knees, then typed something on his phone and handed it to me.
"You're incredible."
I smiled.
"You're too quiet…but your body speaks perfectly."
He turned to the side, hiding a faint smile.
We resumed. More grapples, sliding steps, arms entwined like branches. In one burst, I ended up beneath him. He took advantage of it.
Pinned me to the ground—hands on my wrists, face just inches from mine. His breathing soft. It trembled.
I could have kissed the tattoo.
But I didn't.
The moment was already perfect.
Then he stood up, offering me his hand.
I took it.
His fingers wrapped around mine—tighter than needed.
Maybe he didn't want to let go.
I didn't either.
From a distance, Gojo-sensei whistled, amused, hands in his pockets.
"Not bad! Absolutely not bad!"
Toge lowered his gaze slightly. I turned away, pretending not to hear.
But the pounding in my chest…
had already become a new kind of language.