Chapter Text
Jujutsu High. The largest high school in the country, with its many different types of classes, qualified teachers, and students from all over the world, it’s safe to say that anything is possible here.
It’s Gojo’s final year, and he’s just about had it. The freshman keep managing to get more and more annoying every year, and apparently with annoying comes being terrible at sports. The freshman that turn to sophomores don’t get better, then they turn to juniors and are still bad. The varsity basketball team has become a pity league for all the juniors who just aren’t good enough, and Gojo has to carry the weight of it all. He’s been dreading his senior year, mainly since he doesn’t want his title of best high school boys basketball player to go down the drain because his team isn’t putting in any work.
Gojo sat in his car in the school parking lot, recalling the events of the summer. Nanami Kento, a junior on the varsity basketball team, practiced with him every day. He only decided to play because Gojo had begged him (which included going to his house every single day, basketball in hand, and wouldn’t leave until Nanami eventually agreed). In all, Nanami was Gojo’s last hope for the team.
Since it was Gojo’s last year, he made sure to pick the best classes. Seniors get a favor over everyone else after all. But when he looked at his new schedule a few weeks ago, he couldn’t help but gasping. Sewing 101. He did not sign up for that. Not only was it a stupid class to him, but the teacher he heard sucked. It also promised homework every day. He didn’t have time for homework! And sewing? When would he ever need that skill? Sure, he could probably learn it super quickly, hell, it would be a breeze, but he didn’t actually want to do it. It would take too long and he had to be passing all classes in order to play basketball. He had no choice but to suck it up and take the class.
“Fuck,” Gojo said under his breath while getting out of the car.
“What gotten you so shaken up?” said a voice about 2 car spots away. It was Shoko, and Gojo hadn’t seen her all summer. She went on a 3 month long vacation to Italy. She didn’t talk to anyone from school, but never failed to post on social media about how great the sunsets were.
“Hey, Shoko,” he replied, sighing, “I just don’t want to be here.”
“Tell me about it. I’d do anything to go ba-“
“I am aware you miss Italy. What classes are you taking?”
“Haven’t seen you all summer and you immediately resort to interrupting me,” she scoffed, “but I guess I’ll tell you. I have AP Biology, AP Chemistry, Pre Med, Physician Intermediate, AP Physics, and AP Calculus BC, why?”
Gojo had forgotten she wants to be a doctor. “Should have figured. I was put into Sewing 101 and I’ve only heard bad things about the class.” They began walking to the school together.
“Ah, so have I. Utahime said the teacher’s a real hag, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to get through it.”
“Most of my teachers already know me from my freshman year.”
Gojo’s freshman year was a shocker to everyone. Not only did he make it on the varsity team, but he was placed number one on the high school boys basketball player ranking. He was all over the school announcements the entire season, especially when his team won the championships.
“And I bet you she doesn’t. Mrs. Lakely doesn’t put on the announcements, nor does she talk to any of the other teachers. I think they’re scared she will take years away from their lives for herself or something like that.”
“Jesus, something like that.”
They parted ways, Shoko explaining her first class was on the other side of the building from Gojo’s. And with that, his last year of high school began.
Gojo’s first hour was Cooking Basics. Shoko had taken it last year, said all they ever made were cakes and cookies, and thought it more of a baking class than a cooking one. Gojo, being the sweet consuming messiah he is, heard the words “cakes” and “cookies” and immediately signed up for it. He regretted that decision when the teacher explained they had to do math and learn how to measure different ingredients. His first hour was already promising to be a pain in his ass. At least sweets were involved.
Second hour was a lot more fun, especially because it was Ceramics. He loved playing with Play-Dough as a kid, and thought clay wouldn’t be much different. Plus, the teacher said they could make whatever they wanted, as long as they met the requirements for that specific project. He walked out feeling satisfied, only to feel the rush of dread when he realized what the next hour was. Sewing 101.
Because he was thrown into a class he didn’t want, Gojo decided he was going to be judgmental. Upon walking in, he observed the teacher. Mrs. Lakely with oh so awful posture. Her room smelled old, and he could swear he saw the grim reaper smiling behind her. She won’t last another month, he thought to himself, then stifled a laugh that was forming in his throat. He looked around the room, once again seeing the old person affect from the yellow wallpaper and dingy curtains. He thought he was the first person in the class, but another look around and he noticed a boy already sitting in a front row seat. He had long black hair, he knew it was long because it was tied back in a big bun. A single strand hung in the front of his face, almost like he purposely cut it so it couldn’t fit in the hair tie. Gojo thought it was stupid, and hadn’t realized he was staring until the boy was staring back, an unamused look on his face. A weird feeling in Gojo’s stomach arose and he furrowed his brows and walked to an empty seat at the back of the class.
Mrs. Lakely couldn’t talk any slower. She was just about to get started with attendance when the bell to leave class rang (she took the entire half hour explaining how the art of sewing impacted her life). Gojo got up to leave, along with a few other students, but he should have known Mrs. Lakely was going to make them all sit there and wait. Perfect. Now he would already be late to his fourth hour.
Gojo watched the room while she took attendance.
“Suguru Geto?” she called, slow as ever.
“Here,” said the long haired boy. Suguru Geto. Gojo rolled the name around in his head a few times. His voice was exactly how he expected it to sound. Not that he was interested in the boy, but just because they had a good stare down at the beginning of class. Again, not because he actually was interested in him.
“Satoru Gojo?” Gojo was thinking how their first and last name started with the same letters, kind of in a daze.
“Satoru Gojo, not here.”
“Hey man, she called your name,” a student next to Gojo said, tapping on his shoulder.
“Ah shit, I’m here,” he said, almost in a panic. Almost.
“Mr. Gojo we do not say such words in this classroom!” She looked like she had been shot.
“My bad,” was all he said, eager to get out of the room.
“I expect more from a senior,” she continued, and Gojo began cracking his knuckles and jumping his leg, just for something to do.
After what seemed like hours, he was finally free. Fifteen minutes late to fourth hour, Computer Programming, and Mrs. Lakely didn’t even give him a pass. The teacher said it was fine, but wouldn’t let it go next time. Gojo decided he’d sneak out of class if she took that long again.
Fifth hour was the mandatory math class, Algebra Two. He was great at math, but never wanted to actually try. He always did enough work to just barely pass the class. His teachers explained how that could affect his college acceptances, but he explained to them how basketball would do all the work that his academic skills couldn’t do. It was ironic, really, the fact that Gojo does have all the academic skills, he just doesn’t put them to use. He ended the math class with a paper in his hand. Jesus, he already has math homework.
Sci-Fi, his sixth and final class. Gojo was most excited for this one. The description said it was a reading class, but he trusted the people who had already taken the class. They all said they only ever watched movies, and if they did read, they were interesting stories that they read aloud in class.
“I don’t believe in homework,” said the teacher, and Gojo smiled to himself.
The day was over before he knew it. Half days truly were a blessing. He got home and immediately got dressed to practice basketball at the park. The new season wasn’t starting until later in the school year, but Gojo had promised himself to practice all year round. When he got outside, he saw construction across the street. His neighbors had just recently moved away, the house never seemed to fulfill anyone’s needs. People came and people left, but no one ever stayed at that house. It was probably another old couple, Gojo thought, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw the boy pull into the driveway and climb out of the car. Geto. Gojo booked it to the park in fear of awkwardness. He decided he would try and forget he knew Geto just moved into the house across from his.
After practicing for a while, he headed home to get washed up and eat some food, it was probably time for dinner anyway. He was about to walk through the door (purposefully not looking at Geto’s house) when someone shouted at him.
“Your name is Satoru, right?” said the voice. Gojo froze, he knew that voice. He did not want to turn around. He didn’t know what it was, maybe Geto looked at him wrong? He didn’t know why, but he just didn’t like that boy.
“Yeah, why?” he replied, turning around slowly. He had his shirt in one hand and the basketball in the other.
“Nothing, I just didn’t expect you to be my neighbor was all.”
“Oh.”
“You’re on the basketball team.”
“Great observation.” He had no quilt for his sarcasm.
“Ha! Thank you. I heard the team took a downhill three years ago.”
“It was the stupid underclassmen refusing to try, and now the team sucks,” Gojo started ranting, “I even tried to get them practice over the summer, but no one ever fucking showed up!”
Geto laughed, Gojo remained annoyed.
“I’ll go to every game to see you lose,” Geto said, still smiling.
“Now I’m gonna win every game just to spite you,” Gojo replied, pointing at Geto while opening his door.
“Counting on it. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
“Yeah, see ya.” That… wasn’t awkward at all. Gojo still didn’t like him, Geto just got him to talk about something that annoyed him.
“Already flirting with the girls, Satoru?” Mrs. Gojo said, walking through the hall.
“What? No. Why would you think that?” Gojo asked, visibly confused.
“Your face is all red,” she teased.
…
Gojo ran upstairs and into the bathroom.
“I have dinner ready whenever you’d like,” she called from downstairs.
Gojo wasn’t listening, only staring at his flushed reflection in the mirror. I was just practicing, that’s all. It’s not like I like him or anything, right? he whispered to himself. Right?