Your Life As A Tokyo Jujutsu High Background Student

Chapter 1 - The day everything went wrong

It all started on that late evening.

You were nestled comfortably in your dorm room, flipping through the heavy Encyclopedia of Water-Based Curses balanced on your knee. The leather binding creaked faintly as you turned each crinkled page, scanning the elaborate illustrations of snarling curses and lengthy descriptions of their vicious powers. Your third bottle of mint chocolate milk sat sweating on the desk, the sugary scent mingling with old paper and worn wood polish.

Yes. That's your definition of chill. After all, you were a jujutsu sorcerer - any evening NOT spent fighting actual curses or running for your life totally counted as a chill evening.

You enjoyed learning new things and you loved a quiet room. It was shaping up to be an excellent evening. You were just starting to relax, enjoying the quiet solitude...

Until Gojo popped into your room. Literally. No knocking as usual. Screw this man and his teleport technique and his disregard for manners and politeness. A subtle displacement of air was your only warning. One moment your room was still and quiet, the next - a tall figure in crisp black outfit and tousled white hair was beaming down at you, his sudden presence nearly giving you a heart attack.

"Spices! I'm going to Sendai. I'll drop by Kikusuian while I'm there. Want anything?"

Gojo declared with his signature bubbly enthusiasm that never failed to make you cringe.

How typical that he'd invite himself in and then offer to buy you treats as if that made up for the disruption. 

You grimaced down at the pages in front of you, the illustration of a snarling water curse doing little to improve your mood.

Spices.

That stupid nickname had haunted you since your first month at the school, after Gojo overheard a particularly colorful outburst of yours. It wasn't your fault - learning about this entire jujutsu world that you hadn't even known existed until Gojo recruited you, the stress of training, of being in a new place with so many new people. You were worn thin.

But did the revered Gojo Satoru cut you any slack? Of course not. He latched onto your "spicy" language with delight, bestowing the nickname like a badge of honor.

Seriously? You might be a little bit impulsive with your choice of language occasionally. But most of the time, you were the picture of decency and good manners. Gojo had started it. Hakari and Kirara had adopted it with glee. And that's how the nickname stuck. Soon, your real name was forgotten. Even your underclassmen called you Spices.

Spices-senpai. How stupid is that? Now only Principal Yaga called you by your given name. All because of Gojo's nonsense.

Oblivious as always to your sour reaction, Gojo leaned casually against your desk, cheerfully babbling on about his impending snack run:

"How about I grab us your favorite, their Kikufuku mochi? The edamame ones, right? With sweet cream fillings?"

You leveled an unimpressed look in his direction. "You mean your favorite." 

Gojo laughed, waving a dismissive hand. The motion sent a waft of his expensive cologne your way - spicy oud mingling with bright bergamot.

"Details," he grinned. "We both know I have impeccable taste."

You barely refrained from rolling your eyes, knowing it would only encourage his antics. Arguing with Gojo was as productive as yelling at a brick wall. Still, you weren't one to turn down free food just to prove a point.

So you sighed, giving in. "Thanks, sensei." 

It's a truth universally acknowledged, that Gojo Satoru was a glutton for anything sweet who would shamelessly steal snacks from anyone within reach. So the moment he plopped down next to you, you immediately moved your mint chocolate milk to the other side, safe and sound from his grabby hand.