Vow of Temporal Perfection.
A Binding Vow that seemed reckless at first glance, but was far from it.
As long as he didn't lose, he could activate it again and again.
A temporary boost that pushed his body and cursed energy to extremes for exactly two minutes.
The catch?
Once the fight ended in his favor, the vow would forcibly drain half of his original cursed energy reserves as a price—ensuring it couldn't be spammed without consequence.
...
"HAHAHAHA!"
Naoya's laughter ripped through the clearing, raw and unhinged. Blood streaked his chin as he pointed a shaking finger at Gojo.
"You lost, Satoru!" His voice cracked with adrenaline. "Say it! SAY YOU LOST!"
Gojo didn't respond—his white hair fell over his eyes like a curtain.
'So this is what it feels like… to lose.'
He stood there, fists clenched at his sides, the dust still drifting around him in the aftermath.
All his life, he'd stood alone at the top.
Born special. Called a prodigy before he even understood the word.
The world shifted the moment he entered it—he wasn't just strong, he was the balance.
But now?
For the first time… he had lost.
And if this were a real fight, he'd be dead.
And Naoya?
Naoya's laughter grew louder—wild, unrestrained, borderline hysterical.
Geto glanced between them—Gojo, silent and trembling in place, and Naoya, grinning like a man possessed, drunk off victory.
"Tch…" Geto clicked his tongue, looking away in disgust. "You happy now?"
Naoya wiped a smear of blood from his mouth, the rush of battle still surging in his veins.
"More than ever."
Gojo finally lifted his head.
His eyes—half-veiled beneath pale bangs—met Naoya's directly.
No rage. No excuses.
Only calm, bitter acceptance.
"…You won."
A beat of silence followed. But both Geto and Naoya noticed it—
Something subtle.
Something off about Gojo.
His cursed energy was still present… but it felt heavier. Quieter. Colder.
Naoya's smirk widened. But for once, he didn't say a word.
He didn't need to.
Gojo admitting defeat said everything.
"This fight's over," Geto muttered. His tone was sharp, almost like a scolding. "Both of you—go to Shoko. Now. Your injuries aren't a joke."
Gojo didn't speak. He simply turned away, slow and deliberate, his back to them as he started walking—each step heavier than the last.
Geto watched him for a second longer than necessary.
"…I've never seen him like that," Geto said under his breath.
"Whatever," Naoya finally muttered, the grin on his face slowly fading as he turned and began walking away.
...
Later, at Shoko's clinic.
The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and blood—far more blood than she was used to seeing from these three.
Shoko stood there, arms crossed, cigarette forgotten between her fingers, eyes narrowing at the sight before her.
Geto leaned against the wall, arm wrapped in a bloodied sling. Naoya was seated with an ice pack on his shoulder, ribs clearly bruised, still breathing a little too hard. And Gojo…
Gojo sat silently on the farthest bed, head lowered, blood crusting his uniform, his expression unreadable beneath the mess of white bangs.
Shoko blinked twice. Then once more for good measure.
"…What the hell happened to you guys?"
Silence.
No one answered.
She looked at Naoya first, then at Geto. Her gaze finally landed on Gojo, and she frowned.
"Gojo, you have the most injuries out of the three of you. You're supposed to be untouchable—metaphorically and literally. So explain to me how the hell this happened."
Naoya answered before Gojo could even move.
"'It's none of your business, woman—"
"—that's what I wanted to say, but since it's good news, I'll bless you with it," he smirked, leaning back casually, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "But in short, we had a little... spar. Just the three of us."
He raised a hand, fingers slightly trembling as he pointed to himself with a bloody grin.
"And without a doubt—I won."
Shoko raised an eyebrow. "You won? Against Gojo?"
"Yup." Naoya didn't even blink.
"No Domain?"
"No Domain."
Shoko's eyes widened slightly, her gaze flicking back to Gojo, who still hadn't said a single word. He just sat there, silent, shoulders heavy, eyes hidden behind the curtain of his white bangs.
And yet… that silence said more than anything Naoya could ever brag about.
Shoko couldn't hide her disbelief.
Naoya won—without using his Domain?
Against Gojo Satoru?
Even if Gojo was only fifteen and hadn't unlocked his Domain yet, he was still Gojo. The strongest prodigy. The one with the Six Eyes.
If Naoya had used his Domain, maybe it would make some kind of sense. But this?
This was something else.
From the moment he first heard about Naoya and his so-called accomplishments, Gojo hadn't taken him seriously. Not even once. Even after meeting him face-to-face, he'd brushed him off—placed him somewhere near the bottom of the mental list of people who might be worth his attention.
But Gojo was raised like that.
When you're born with the Limitless and Six Eyes, when the world shifts the moment you take your first breath—everyone feels inferior. Not because you choose to see them that way, but because that's how they are.
And now?
Now he had lost. Not just bruised. Not just surprised.
He had been defeated.
For the first time, Gojo Satoru had a reason—no, a need—to become stronger.
A silence hung in the room like fog until Gojo suddenly stirred. He stood, slow and deliberate, his movements no longer heavy with defeat but laced with something else—resolve.
He turned toward the door, hand on the frame, before glancing over his shoulder.
"Noaya…" he said, voice calm. Too calm. "I had fun today. Fighting you."
Everyone turned toward him.
Naoya blinked.
Then Gojo added, eyes glinting faintly behind his bangs:
"…Don't expect the same thing next time."
The cursed energy around him flared for just a second—brilliant, sharp, and quiet like the edge of a blade—before he vanished down the hall.
And for the first time, Naoya didn't have anything to say.
…
A month passed quickly. Everything had seemingly returned to normal.
Gojo, back to his usual loud and cocky self, leaned back in his chair in the corner of their classroom, tossing chalk pieces at Geto while chatting aimlessly.
But then he noticed something strange.
Naoya was sitting at his desk, dead silent, eyes glued to a magazine, flipping each page with slow, deliberate focus. His brows were furrowed in deep thought, like he was studying for an exam that would determine the fate of the world.
Gojo blinked. "Yo, Naoya. What're you reading that's got you locked in like that?"
Naoya didn't even glance up. "None of your business."
Gojo, of course, leaned in anyway—his curiosity stronger than his respect for boundaries.
And then he saw it.
"…Is that a porn magazine?!"
Naoya didn't even flinch. He turned the page with the grace of a scholar flipping through sacred texts. "I said it's none of your business."
Before Gojo could recover, Geto slid in from the side, hands in his pockets, peering over Naoya's shoulder with a raised brow.
"…That's a good move," Geto commented casually.
Naoya remained stone-faced. "Tch. Amateurs."
Gojo blinked, still baffled. "You're seriously studying it like it's strategy?"
Geto gave a low chuckle, resting a hand on Naoya's desk as he glanced at the magazine. "Well, they do say knowledge is power."
Naoya didn't look up. He turned another page like it was the most normal thing in the world. "You two are exactly why I believe in superiority."
Gojo's lips curled into a lopsided grin. "I owe you an apology, bro. I wasn't familiar with your game."
Naoya side-eyed him. "You still aren't."
Just then, the classroom door creaked open.
Shoko stepped in, arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at the little group huddled together like middle schoolers caught doing something dumb.
"What are you guys gathered around?" she asked, casually approaching.
The second her eyes landed on the magazine in Naoya's hands—that magazine—she froze.
A long, heavy pause.
Then she blinked. Slowly.
And looked at them like they were the filth under her shoe.
"…Seriously?" Shoko said flatly.
Gojo scratched the back of his head, grinning like a fool. "It's not what it looks like—okay, no, it's exactly what it looks like."
Geto gave a sheepish shrug. "Educational purposes."
Naoya didn't even flinch. "You wouldn't understand."
Shoko sighed, turning around and walking back toward the door without another word.
"Trash. All of you."
The door shut behind her.
Gojo whistled. "Man, she looked at us like Naoya when he see a women."
"So true," Geto responded.
Naoya closed the magazine with an exaggerated flick of his wrist and stood up, ignoring them. "Did you guys hear about the Kyoto Sister Event coming up?"
Gojo immediately perked up, his usual cocky grin spreading across his face. "The Kyoto Goodwill Event, huh? Yeah, I heard about it. I also heard that the Kyoto students are pretty weak too."
"Is it actually going to happen? Even though they know it's going to be completely one-sided and unfair? I kind of feel bad for the Kyoto students," Geto said, his tone a mix of amusement and indifference.
Naoya snorted. "It doesn't matter if there's no balance. It's a tradition that must happen every year for some reason. They'd never stop it, even if they wanted to."
Gojo chuckled. "Yeah, they could try, but the old heads would never let it slide. It's like a pointless ritual at this point."
Naoya glanced at both of them with a small smirk. "I wouldn't call it pointless. They need a reality check, and this event gives them that. Besides, it's not like they're completely useless—just… vastly outmatched."
Gojo leaned in with a teasing grin. "Stop the cap, Naoya. You just want to bully someone." He kneeled on Naoya's shoulder casually.
Naoya didn't flinch. He simply shrugged, looking unfazed. "Isn't that what we're all here for? To remind them of their place."
Geto snorted, amused by the back-and-forth. "You two are something else," he muttered, shaking his head. "You must have some humility."