Standing in front of the classroom and looking at Gojo Satoru’s smug grin, Sherlock suddenly found himself agreeing with Nanami Kento more than ever.
Seriously.
Gojo was the kind of person who seemed tragic and cool when you watched him through a screen.
Meet him in real life, though?
You’d want to punch him in the face.
Naturally, Sherlock wasn’t the type to just accept his fate.
The moment he realized there was no way he could overpower the white-haired menace in front of him, his first thought was to activate Flying Thunder God and escape.
Over the past two weeks, Sherlock had placed marks across nearly every corner of the Tokyo campus.
If he wanted to leave, all it would take was a thought.
Against anyone else, he probably would’ve gotten away with it.
Unfortunately, the person standing in front of him was Gojo Satoru.
The bearer of the Six Eyes.
The instant Sherlock began circulating cursed energy, Gojo stepped forward and drove a fist into his stomach.
The impact instantly disrupted Sherlock’s cursed energy before his technique could activate.
It also folded him in half.
Sherlock dropped to the floor, clutching his stomach like a shrimp.
Gojo scratched his head in confusion.
“I barely hit you.” Sherlock’s eye twitched.
“Sherlock-kun, your hand-to-hand fundamentals are terrible.
Your cursed energy control isn’t much better, either.” Gojo crouched slightly.
“Your cursed technique is incredible, though.
What a waste.” Sherlock’s blood pressure nearly exploded.
With every last ounce of stubborn dignity he still possessed, he raised one trembling hand.
Then he gave Gojo the middle finger.
That was all he had left.
If he were strong enough to beat this white-haired bastard, Sherlock would’ve challenged him several hundred times a day.
Gojo completely ignored the gesture.
His smile never disappeared.
Seeing Sherlock curled up on the floor pretending to be dead, Gojo simply activated Blue and pulled him straight into his hand.
Then, once again, he carried Sherlock outside like an inconvenient package.
By now, it was almost April.
Unfortunately, winter hadn’t completely released its grip on Tokyo yet.
A freezing gust struck Sherlock the instant they stepped outside.
He shuddered violently.
Then, without hesitation, he threw away the last scraps of his dignity and looked up at Gojo with the most pitiful expression he could manage.
“Sensei~” Sherlock forced himself to imitate Gojo’s obnoxiously sugary tone.
“It’s really cold today.
Can’t we start tomorrow~?” The shame nearly killed him.
But if acting cute could save him from training, then so be it.
Unfortunately, Gojo was completely immune to his own tactics.
He raised one finger and wagged it while replying in the exact same syrupy voice.
“Nope~ Sherlock-kun~” Sherlock’s expression collapsed.
“If you run, you’ll warm up~” Before Sherlock could protest, Gojo tossed him onto the running track.
“Since you’re a beginner, we’ll keep it easy.” Gojo held up two fingers.
“Twenty laps.” Sherlock stared at him.
“And no cursed energy.” Sherlock slowly turned toward the track.
One lap was roughly four hundred meters.
Twenty laps…
Eight kilometers.
His soul left his body.
Eight kilometers?!
For someone whose preferred daily exercise consisted of walking between his bed, refrigerator, and computer, this wasn’t training.
This was hell.
Sherlock stood motionless at the starting line, looking like Unlimited Void had already fried his brain.
Gojo raised an eyebrow.
Then he casually formed a small Blue.
Sherlock’s eyes widened.
A glowing blue sphere about the size of a basketball shot toward him.
Survival instinct immediately kicked in.
Sherlock began gathering cursed energy.
Gojo’s voice floated over.
“If you use cursed energy or your technique, I’ll switch to Red.” Sherlock froze.
Gojo smiled brightly.
“Or I could chase you myself~” “YOU HEARTLESS WHITE-HAIRED DEMON!” Sherlock took off running.
“I’M DROPPING OUT!
DO YOU HEAR ME?!
I’M DROPPING OUT!” Gojo casually controlled Blue behind him, keeping the pull just close enough to Sherlock’s back that slowing down felt like being dragged backward.
Sherlock had no choice but to run with everything he had.
His body might have surrendered to the training, but his mouth certainly hadn’t.
He cursed Gojo with every breath he could spare.
Gojo didn’t care in the slightest.
In fact, Sherlock’s yelling seemed to improve his mood.
“Wow!” Gojo cupped one hand around his ear.
“A student insulting his teacher?” He grinned.
“Five extra laps!” Sherlock nearly tripped.
Gojo quietly increased Blue’s pull.
“YOU SON OF A…!” Sherlock’s face changed when the force behind him suddenly grew stronger.
“WAIT!
WAIT!
I TAKE IT BACK!” He immediately switched from swearing to begging.
“I WAS WRONG!
I’M SORRY!
SERIOUSLY!” “Muda muda muda muda!” Gojo struck an absurd dramatic pose.
“My dear Sherlock-kun!” He pointed toward the sky like some overenthusiastic anime villain.
“Feel the love of the greatest teacher alive!” “THAT’S NOT LOVE!” Their voices echoed across the nearly empty Tokyo campus.
Inside the medical building, Shoko briefly lifted her head from the study materials spread across her desk.
She listened to the distant shouting.
A faint smile appeared at the corner of her mouth.
“Idiots.” With that quiet comment, she put on her headphones and returned to studying.
Whether she meant Gojo, Sherlock, or both of them was impossible to tell.
Elsewhere, Masamichi Yaga happened to be standing beside a window in the academic building.
He could clearly see what Gojo was calling “training.” Yaga made no attempt to interfere.
He did feel somewhat sorry for Sherlock.
Still…
It had been a long time since he’d seen Satoru this openly cheerful.
And considering Sherlock’s personality and the nature of Flying Thunder God, this kind of ridiculous training might genuinely be the only way to force the boy to improve.
For a moment, Yaga couldn’t decide who was helping whom.
Was Sherlock somehow pulling Gojo out of the isolation he’d fallen into?
Or was Gojo dragging Sherlock, kicking and screaming, out of the life of avoidance he’d planned for himself?
Yaga shook his head.
Then he turned and headed back toward his office.
Sherlock, of course, knew none of this.
He had already become a source of entertainment for half the school without realizing it.
By the fifth lap, he couldn’t even speak anymore.
His lungs felt like they were burning.
Every breath scraped painfully through his chest.
His legs had become unbearably heavy, as though someone had filled them with wet concrete.
Every step required conscious effort.
Even then, Gojo showed no intention of letting him stop.
Instead, he suddenly vanished from the training field.
Sherlock almost cried with relief.
Finally.
Maybe he’d been granted a break.
He slowed down slightly.
Then he looked up.
His expression froze.
Gojo Satoru had returned.
He was wearing a helmet.
He was riding a tiny electric bicycle that very obviously belonged to a woman.
And beside the bicycle…
He was holding the leash of an enormous dog.
Gojo’s long legs were awkwardly folded around the tiny pedals, making the entire scene look completely ridiculous.
Yet the expression on his face was pure excitement.
Sherlock recognized the electric bike.
He even had a pretty good idea whose it was.
What he could not understand was where Gojo had found such a huge dog on such short notice.
Then Gojo started riding toward him.
The dog broke into a run beside him.
Sherlock stared in horror.
At that moment, one truth became painfully clear.
Gojo Satoru was someone best appreciated through a screen.
In person?
That damned white-haired bastard was an absolute menace.