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1618 goyuu where satoru’s always been praised like a prodigy, never like a person—so when yuuji tells him “you must have worked really hard,” and actually means it, satoru doesn’t know how to take praise without a catch and starts falling for the one person who sees effort.
Satoru is used to expectations.
Limitless. Six Eyes. Heir to the Gojo clan.
If he succeeds, it’s natural.
If he struggles, it’s shameful.
No one talks about effort. Only inevitability. Only what’s expected. Compliments always come pre-packaged.
“With your technique, it’s to be expected,” he hears constantly.
So Satoru starts bragging first.
If he calls himself the strongest, it feels less like a cage.
But training with Yuuji is different. Yuuji fights like every win is something he had to earn. And it makes Satoru want to try—not because he has to, but because he wants to. One afternoon, Satoru keeps Infinity up the entire session. Perfect control. Steady breathing. His technique—something he’s been refining for weeks—stays stable throughout the fight.
He waits.
For the usual.
The “of course, as expected of a prodigy.”
Instead, Yuuji stares at him, wide-eyed and bright. “You kept it up the whole time. That’s amazing, Gojo-kun. Seriously. You must have worked really hard to master your new technique!”
No teasing. No expectation. Just honest admiration. Genuine praise for Satoru’s effort. Satoru blanks. Mouth opens and closes. Words get stuck at the back of his throat. No one has ever sounded impressed like this before.
For half a second, Infinity falters.
Yuuji steps forward instinctively, rising slightly onto his toes, threading his fingers into Satoru’s hair.
Then he ruffles it.
Rough. Calloused. Warm. Nothing like Satoru’s own hands.
“Good job,” Yuuji says, smiling.
Good job.
Not “as expected.” Not “obviously.”
Just good job.
Satoru’s brain short-circuits. His face burns. He pushes his black round sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, trying to articulate anything coherent.
“I-it’s normal in Tokyo for senpais to praise their kouhais like this,” he blurts.
Yuuji pauses. Blinks slowly. Then laughs. “Alright, noted. Then I’ll make sure I do it often.”
And he does.
He praises Satoru for nearly everything. Every single word genuine.
Satoru feels like he’s floating. It only gets worse when he accidentally overhears the third years. He’s turning the corner and catches his name.
Kugisaki scoffs. “Aren’t you praising him a little too much? His ego’s already huge.”
Fushiguro hums quietly in agreement.
“Ehhh?” Yuuji says, smiling. “But Gojo-kun works really hard. Just because he’s gifted with incredible techniques doesn’t mean everything comes easy. He still practices. He still tries. People should get praised for that.”
No mockery. No exaggeration.
Satoru freezes.
Yuuji sees him working hard. Doesn’t dismiss his effort. Doesn’t chalk it up to being naturally gifted.
Kugisaki rolls her eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”
"You're being too kind," Fushiguro points out.
“I’m serious," Yuuji says. "Gojo-kun really puts in the work. It just doesn’t show because of how flashy his personality is.”
Satoru has to leave before they notice him. Ears burning. Chest tight in a way that has nothing to do with cursed energy.
After that, he starts trying in ways no one sees. Staying late. Refining techniques long after he’s mastered them. Not because he needs to prove anything. But because Yuuji already believes he works hard. And Satoru wants to deserve that belief.
He starts sticking close to Yuuji.
Spending more time training with the pink-haired boy.
Sometimes, Infinity flickers. Not from exhaustion. But from wanting to hear Yuuji say, “Good job, Gojo-kun.”
It definitely has nothing to do with the way his heart races when Yuuji looks proud, praising him with the sweetest expression.