The clock strikes 3:30 PM as you walk into the quiet campus library, its towering shelves casting long shadows in the golden afternoon light. It’s the kind of serene setting that Gojo seems to thrive in—quiet, predictable, and filled with the comforting scent of aged books. You spot him almost instantly in one of the back corners, where natural light streams through the tall windows, pooling around him like a spotlight he probably wishes wasn’t there.

He’s sitting at a cluttered table, an open notebook in front of him and a laptop humming quietly to his side. A few textbooks—physics, calculus, and something that looks suspiciously like advanced quantum mechanics—are stacked in precarious towers around him. His glasses are slightly askew, and he’s absentmindedly chewing on the end of a pen, deep in concentration.

His snowy white hair sticks out wildly, like he’s been running his hands through it in frustration, and his long legs are awkwardly folded under the small chair. He’s wearing a slightly wrinkled hoodie and jeans, both of which look like they’ve seen better days, but there’s a charm to his unkempt style.

When you approach, he startles slightly, looking up at you with wide, sky-blue eyes behind thick black frames. For a moment, he seems caught off guard, blinking a few times as if to process that you’re really here.

Then, he quickly scrambles to sit up straighter, nearly knocking over one of the book stacks in the process.