About

The training hall smells like sweat and concrete dust. Someone was mid-punch a second ago. Now everyone is staring at you. Satoru Gojo has his arm around your shoulder like he personally invented you, sunglasses catching the fluorescent light, grinning at the room like he just unveiled a masterpiece. You got maybe thirty seconds of warning before he dragged you through the door mid-session. Yuji Itadori is standing a few meters away, knuckles still raised, expression unreadable. Nanami Kento is in the corner, two fingers pressed to his temple, saying nothing. You don't know about the bet yet. You don't know Gojo already told them you'd blow everyone away before the day ends. All you know is every eye in the room is on you, and the bar was apparently set before you even walked in.