Chapter Text
Utahime knew she was in trouble the moment she stepped into the meeting room and saw him lounging in a chair like he had nowhere better to be. Gojo sat with his legs stretched out, arms crossed behind his head, exuding the kind of overconfidence that made her want to turn around and walk right back out. His blindfold was pulled up, exposing those ridiculously bright eyes, and the smirk on his face widened the second he spotted her.
“Well, well, well,” he drawled, head tilting. “If it isn’t my favorite person in the world.”
Utahime exhaled sharply, already regretting everything. “What are you doing here?”
Gojo’s grin stretched wider. “Waiting for my girlfriend , obviously.”
She blinked. Then, slowly, her brain caught up to his words. “…Your what? ”
Before she could hurl something at his head, one of the higher-ups cleared their throat, motioning for her to sit. The room was filled with sorcerers of high rank, all seated around a long table, documents and maps spread before them. Gojo looked completely at ease, like this was all some grand joke. Utahime, on the other hand, felt a migraine forming.
She took the seat farthest from him, but it didn’t matter. His presence alone was enough to irritate her.
“Now that everyone is here,” the elder at the head of the table began, “we can discuss the details of the mission.”
Utahime straightened, ready to focus—until the next words shattered her composure.
“For this mission, Gojo Satoru and Iori Utahime will go undercover as a couple.”
Silence.
Then—
“Absolutely not,” Utahime said instantly, pushing back her chair like she was ready to bolt. “No way.”
Across the table, Gojo let out an exaggerated sigh, placing a hand over his heart. “Wow, Hime, that hurts. So eager to reject me?”
She shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel. “I’d rather be exorcised.”
“That would ruin the mission, though,” he pointed out, ever unbothered. “And come on, think about it—who else could pull this off with you?”
She turned to the elders, hoping for some semblance of reason. “Is this really necessary?”
One of them nodded solemnly. “The target we are after, Daigo Renji, is a former sorcerer turned arms dealer. He has strong connections to the underworld and is suspected of providing high-grade Cursed Tools to enemy factions. However, he is extremely private. He only interacts with high-profile couples—dating or married—and keeps his meetings limited to luxurious social events.”
Gojo let out a low whistle. “Fancy.”
Utahime ignored him. “Then why us ?”
A different elder spoke this time. “Because both of you fit the profile he would trust. Utahime, you come from a respected sorcerer family with old traditions—he values that. And Gojo—”
Gojo grinned. “I’m hot and rich?”
The elder looked vaguely pained but begrudgingly nodded. “He respects the Gojo name. More importantly, we need a pair that can handle the mission without raising suspicion. You two balance each other.”
Utahime clenched her fists. “Then pick someone else.”
Another elder shook his head. “It has to be you two.”
She gritted her teeth. Of course it did.
Meanwhile, Gojo was clearly enjoying this far too much. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, eyes twinkling. “Looks like we’re stuck together, Hime.”
Utahime wanted to throw the entire table at him.
By the time the meeting was over, Utahime had resigned herself to her fate—begrudgingly. The mission was simple in theory: infiltrate an exclusive engagement gala, gain Daigo’s trust, and extract information without raising suspicion. The only problem? They had to act like a convincingly in-love couple the entire time.
Which meant tolerating Gojo.
As they left the meeting room, he fell into step beside her, hands in his pockets, expression far too amused. “So, should we start practicing now? Maybe hold hands? Stare longingly into each other’s eyes?”
Utahime ignored him.
He continued anyway. “Or we could work on pet names. How about ‘darling’? No, wait—‘honey bun’—”
She came to a dead stop, turning to face him with the deadliest glare she could muster. “Gojo, I swear, if you say one more word—”
He held up his hands in surrender, though the grin never left his face. “Relax, Princess. I’ll behave.”
She highly doubted that.
But it didn’t matter. The mission had already begun. And Utahime had the sinking feeling that surviving it would be far harder than anything else she’d faced before.
Utahime wasn’t sure how much longer she could endure this madness. Less than twenty-four hours had passed, and already, she was standing in front of a luxury boutique that looked like it catered exclusively to celebrities and billionaires. The sleek glass doors reflected her skeptical expression as she folded her arms, glaring at Gojo, who, as expected, was far too pleased with himself.
“Why are we here?” she asked, already dreading the answer.
Gojo stretched, his hands lazily shoved into his pockets, his sunglasses sliding down slightly as he looked at her with a smirk that promised trouble. “Because, my dear girlfriend, if we’re going to convince the world that you belong on my arm, you need to dress the part.”
Utahime’s patience was wearing thin. “And what exactly is the part?”
Gojo tilted his head as if contemplating the question. Then, in a tone far too casual, he replied, “Elegant. Sophisticated. A little dangerous.” He glanced at her, amusement flickering in those ridiculous blue eyes. “Basically, the perfect woman to handle me.”
Her eye twitched. “Handle you?”
He caught her wrist just as she moved to smack his arm, though he released it just as quickly, laughing. “Relax, Uta. I just mean you need to look expensive.”
Utahime hated that he had a point. Their target was a high-profile businessman who surrounded himself with people who screamed status and wealth. She wasn’t exactly one to care about fashion, but even she knew that walking into their social circle in her usual attire would raise suspicion.
Still, the thought of letting Gojo play dress-up with her was unbearable.
“Fine,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Let’s get this over with.”
His grin widened. “That’s the spirit!”
The boutique was all polished floors, soft lighting, and an atmosphere that reeked of exclusivity. Utahime felt out of place the second she stepped inside. Everything was pristine, from the delicate display cases of jewelry to the rows of designer gowns hanging like museum exhibits.
The moment they entered, an employee appeared almost instantly, drawn to Gojo’s sheer presence, and probably his credit card limit. She smiled warmly, hands clasped together in perfect professionalism.
“Welcome! How can we assist you today?”
Gojo, as always, reveled in the attention. He slid an arm around Utahime’s shoulders before she could react, pulling her close with a grin. “We’re looking for something for my girlfriend,” he said smoothly, voice dripping with amusement. “Something that’ll make her unforgettable.”
Utahime elbowed him in the ribs hard enough to make him oof under his breath, though his expression remained infuriatingly smug.
The saleswoman, utterly unfazed, nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! Right this way.”
Utahime had no choice but to follow, silently plotting Gojo’s untimely demise.
The dressing room was large enough to be an apartment. Soft lighting, plush seating, a full-length mirror that reflected Utahime’s growing frustration. The moment she stepped inside, she was met with an array of dresses, each one looking more extravagant than the last. Deep reds, sleek blacks, silks and satins that she’d never even thought about wearing.
She knew immediately that this was Gojo’s doing.
Outside the room, his voice carried, teasing and insufferable. “Hime, I’m waiting~”
She rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw the past. With a resigned sigh, she grabbed the least offensive option—a dark blue dress that, at the very least, looked practical. She changed quickly, smoothing the fabric over her frame before stepping out.
The moment Gojo turned to look at her, something shifted.
He didn’t make a joke right away. He didn’t whistle or smirk or say something obnoxious. Instead, his gaze swept over her, lingering just long enough for Utahime to feel… unnerved.
She crossed her arms. “Well?”
Gojo blinked once, then let out a slow, deliberate hum. Finally, his smirk returned, though it wasn’t as teasing as before. “Not bad,” he murmured. “I’d almost believe you were in love with me.”
Utahime did smack his arm that time.
She turned back to the mirror, assessing the dress critically. It was… fine. Not too revealing, not too over-the-top. But before she could say anything, Gojo plopped down onto one of the lounge chairs and stretched like he had all the time in the world.
“Oh no, Princess. We’re just getting started.”
Utahime’s stomach sank.
The saleswoman, ever the enabler, appeared with a new round of selections. And just like that, the nightmare continued.
The first dress was red, silk, and entirely too tight. The slit was high enough to make Utahime question the boutique’s morals. She barely stepped out of the dressing room before Gojo hummed in approval, his head tilting as he took in the sight with an exaggerated expression of thoughtfulness.
“You should wear this to my funeral after you murder me,” he mused. “You’d look fantastic. Would kill to be alive again.”
Utahime didn’t dignify that with a response. She simply turned around and ripped the dress off in record time.
The second dress was a sleek black number with an open back. At first, she actually liked it—the fabric hugged her frame in a way that was elegant rather than excessive. But the moment she turned and caught a glimpse of just how much skin was exposed, she regretted her choice.
Gojo’s reaction only made it worse. He let out a slow whistle, arms crossing over his chest as he grinned. “Hime, if I didn’t already love you, I would now.”
She nearly threw a shoe at him.
The third dress was different. Soft lavender, flowing, and effortlessly elegant. Utahime wasn’t expecting to like it as much as she did. It was delicate but strong, understated but captivating.
What caught her off guard, however, was Gojo’s reaction. For once, he didn’t immediately crack a joke. He didn’t make a teasing remark or grin like a fool. He simply leaned back against the plush seating, arms crossed, eyes sweeping over her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.
“That one,” he finally said.
Utahime blinked. “Huh?”
His smirk softened, but only slightly. “That’s the one.”
For once, she didn’t argue.
With the dress finally chosen, Utahime felt a sense of relief—until Gojo slung an arm around her shoulder again as they walked out.
“Now we just have to work on our chemistry,” he said casually.
She came to an abrupt halt, making him pause as well. He turned, blinking at her in mock innocence.
“Satoru,” she said sweetly, stepping closer. Then, before he could react, she grabbed his wrist and twisted it just enough to make her point clear.
Gojo let out an exaggerated gasp. “Abuse! I’m being attacked by my own girlfriend—”
Utahime yanked him forward by the collar, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Touch me like that again, and I’ll make sure we never pass as a couple.”
He stared at her, his blue eyes gleaming with something unreadable. Then, slow as ever, his lips curled into a grin.
“Oh, Princess,” he murmured, leaning in just a little too close. “I think we’ll be very convincing.”
Utahime shoved him away.
This mission was going to kill her.