Your Life As A Tokyo Jujutsu High Background Student

Chapter 35 - Of bakeries and possibilities

You swore you'd heard somewhere that the hour people popped out of the womb held some kind of sway over their lives. Like, some lucky ducks got birthed under a benevolent, mojito-sipping star, while others... Well, the others were you. You spent an inordinate amount of time contemplating what kind of deranged, dumpster fire of a celestial body must have been hovering on the horizon the moment you tumbled into this plane of existence. Because holy shit, you never had a moment of peace to yourself.

Every. Single. Fucking. Day.

You would wake up to someone hollering at your door. It was like clockwork, except instead of a cute little cuckoo bird popping out to announce the time, it was an unholy chorus of people who couldn't grasp the concept of personal space, much less the sanctity of sleep.

Sometimes it was Gojo, his annoyingly cheerful voice echoing down the hallway, demanding you "Get dressed, Spices! Adventure awaits!" Which, knowing him, meant traipsing off to some godforsaken corner of the world where you'd inevitably end up sprinting for your life. "Field learning" he called it. You air-quoted the word with a grimace, recalling vividly the last "adventure/field trip" that involved a very angry swamp spirit with a penchant for projectile vomiting and an amused Gojo who'd gleefully poked and prodded it until it blew its top – literally. A blatant abuse of power and a serious lack of regard for occupational safety.

Other times, it'd be Maki, pounding on your door with the subtlety of a battering ram. "Sparring, now!" she'd bark, her tone brooking no argument. Apparently, you were the only one in this entire cursed school who could last more than fifteen minutes against her, mostly thanks to your ability to read her moves like a particularly violent book. She called it "beneficial practice for your lousy combat skills." You just hoped Yuuta would hurry back from his overseas training and resume his role as her personal punching bag.

But most often, the bane of your peaceful slumber was none other than Kugisaki Nobara. The queen of subtlety, she was not. Forget knocking, forget waiting for a response – the girl practically climbed into your bed screaming. Which was exactly how this lovely morning began. You woke up to Nobara screeching directly into your ears, her face inches from yours.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!" she hollered, yanking your blanket off with the force of a category-five hurricane.

You groaned, squinting at her through bleary eyes. "What the actual fuck, Bara? It's ass o'clock in the morning."

She rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. "It's 10 AM, you drama queen. Now get up! We're going shopping."

"That was a blatant lie. No way it could be 10 now," you muttered, still half-asleep and wondering if this was some kind of fever dream. "And when did I agree to go shopping with you?"

"Right about now," she declared, tossing some clothes at your face. "Come on, Spices. Don't make me drag you out of bed. You know I will."

You did know. And you also knew that resistance was futile. With a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of your soul, you sat up, running a hand through your bedhead. "Fine. But you're buying me coffee. The good stuff, not that vending machine crap."

Nobara's face split into a triumphant grin. "Deal. Now move your ass. We've got a whole day of retail therapy ahead of us!"

When Nobara deemed you sufficiently conscious and proceeded to drag you out of your room – by the collar, no less – the rest of your crew was already up and at 'em with their own shit.

Maki and Megumi were sparring in the courtyard, though "sparring" was a generous term for what was essentially Maki wiping the floor with the poor guy. Megumi looked about as miserable as you felt, his expression screaming that he'd rather drop dead than endure another minute of this torture. You couldn't blame him; Maki's idea of "training" was just a few notches down from outright murder.