Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Advanced Corporate Finance
You arrive early because you like having options.
Not because you’re nervous. Not because you’re overprepared. You just hate being forced into bad seating choices by people who show up three minutes late and somehow still act inconvenienced by the concept of chairs.
The lecture hall is quiet when you walk in, sunlight slanting through the tall windows and landing in neat rectangles across the desks. You pick a seat a few rows up from the front, close enough to see the board without squinting, far enough back that you don’t look like you’re trying too hard.
You open your laptop. You don’t turn it on yet.
Nobara slides into the seat next to you a minute later, bag thudding against the floor, energy dialed permanently to loud.
“Please tell me you also regret this,” she says, kicking her boots forward. “I could be sleeping. I could be thriving.”
“It’s ten in the morning.”
“And I resent that.”
You smile, just a little.
Behind you, chairs scrape as people filter in. Someone laughs too loudly. Someone else drops a pen and spends a full thirty seconds chasing it down the aisle like it personally wronged them.
A few rows back, Yuji waves enthusiastically when he spots you, grin bright and unguarded. Megumi sits beside him, already hunched over his notebook like the class might ambush him if he lets his guard down. Choso is there too, calm as ever, posture straight, expression neutral in a way that always reads as deliberate rather than bored.
Your boyfriend looks up when you glance back, offers you a small smile that feels like home.
You return it without thinking.
“Group chat says the professor is hot,” Nobara whispers, peering at her phone. “And young. And terrifying.”
“Those words don’t usually belong together,” you say.
“They absolutely do in academia.”
You’re about to respond when the door at the front of the room opens.
Conversation dips, then dies entirely.
He walks in like he’s late to something more important, even though he’s exactly on time.
Tall, loose-limbed, white hair pulled back without much care, glasses perched like he forgot they were there. He’s carrying a coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other, looking relaxed in the way only people who know they’re competent ever are.
“Oh no,” Nobara murmurs. “That’s a problem.”
You watch him set his coffee down, tap his tablet, and bring the projector to life without looking at it.
Advanced Corporate Finance
Professor Satoru Gojo
He turns to face the room, scanning the rows with lazy curiosity.
“Good morning,” he says. “If you’re here because you think this class will be easy, feel free to leave now and save us both time.”
No one moves.
“Good,” he continues, smiling faintly. “That means either you’re brave or you’re stubborn. Both are useful.”
A few people laugh, cautiously.
Nobara leans closer to you. “I hate him already.”
You don’t respond. Not because you disagree. Because you’re busy listening.
Gojo doesn’t lecture the way most professors do. He doesn’t hide behind slides or drown you in equations. He talks like he’s having a conversation with the room, like he expects you to keep up.
“Finance education lies to you,” he says cheerfully. “Not maliciously. Just conveniently. It pretends markets are rational, that information is evenly distributed, and that people don’t make decisions based on vibes.”
Someone snorts.
He shrugs. “If vibes weren’t real, crypto wouldn’t exist.”
That earns a louder laugh.
He moves into capital structure like it’s a story rather than a formula, sketching concepts on the board with quick strokes. You follow easily, fingers finally tapping your laptop awake.
Then he pauses.
“All right,” he says, turning back to the room. “Someone tell me why WACC is useful.”
Hands go up.
He points at someone in the front row. The answer is… fine. Textbook. Safe.
“Okay,” Gojo says. “Now tell me why it’s misleading.”
Silence.
He waits. Lets it stretch.
Then his gaze lands on you.
Not dramatically. Not pointedly. Just… there.
“You,” he says. “Thoughts?”
Nobara makes a quiet choking sound beside you.
You don’t hesitate.
“Because it assumes stability,” you say. “In capital structure, in market conditions, in investor expectations. It’s helpful, but only if you remember it’s an estimate built on assumptions that stop holding the second something breaks.”
Gojo’s eyebrows lift, just slightly.
“And?”
“And people treat it like a fact instead of a framework,” you add. “Which is how you end up surprised when reality doesn’t cooperate.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Gojo smiles, slow and pleased.
“Yes,” he says. “Exactly. If your model can’t survive stress, neither can your strategy.”
Nobara stares at you like she’s reassessing your entire personality.
Yuji looks thrilled, like he’s just witnessed a magic trick. Megumi gives you a brief, approving glance before returning to his notes. Choso watches you with quiet pride, like none of this surprises him in the slightest.
The lecture continues, fast and sharp and genuinely engaging. Gojo peppers in dry humor, takes mild pleasure in dismantling bad logic, and makes it very clear he expects people to think rather than memorize.
When the class ends, there’s an audible release of tension as chairs scrape and bags zip.
“All right,” Gojo says, lifting his coffee again. “Reading is on the syllabus. Office hours are also on the syllabus. Please don’t come to either unprepared.”
He smiles, just a little. “See you next time.”
Nobara waits until you’re halfway out the door before grabbing your arm.
“Who are you,” she demands, “and why did you just become the main character?”
“I answered a question.”
“You answered it like you were negotiating a merger.”
Yuji catches up, still grinning. “That was awesome. I understood like… sixty percent of it, but it sounded cool.”
“That’s finance,” you tell him.
Choso falls into step beside you naturally as the group heads down the hallway, his hand brushing yours briefly, familiar and grounding.
“You did great,” he says quietly.
“Thanks.”
You don’t think about the professor as you walk out into the sunlight. You don’t analyze his smile or replay the way he said “exactly.”
You think about the workload. The project he mentioned. The fact that this class is going to be brutal.
And you think, not for the first time, that you’re very good at hard things.
By the time you make it outside, Nobara is vibrating with opinions.
“I’m just saying,” she announces, gesturing wildly with her iced coffee, “if I were him, I would absolutely abuse my power and teach nothing but hot takes and vibes.”
“That is what he just did,” Yuji says cheerfully.
Megumi adjusts the strap of his bag. “That’s worse.”
Choso walks beside you, unhurried, presence steady. The afternoon sun catches on his dark hair, and you lean into him slightly without thinking. It’s easy. It always has been.
“So,” Nobara says, swiveling on you like a spotlight. “Advanced Corporate Finance. Thoughts?”
“It’s fine,” you say.
She squints. “That was not a ‘fine’ answer. That was a ‘you’re lying to protect your peace’ answer.”
“It’s a hard class,” you clarify. “That’s all.”
“And the professor?”
“He’s… competent.”
Nobara gasps. “She’s being evasive.”
You bump her shoulder. “You’re dramatic.”
“Correct.”
Yuji laughs, hands laced behind his head. “I liked him. He made it feel less scary.”
“That’s how they get you,” Megumi mutters.
You file that away, amused.
The student center is busy, all movement and noise and overlapping conversations. You grab a table by instinct, already pulling out your laptop as everyone settles in around you.
Choso sits beside you without comment, knee brushing yours lightly under the table. Nobara plops down across from you, Megumi taking the seat next to her. Yuji hovers for a second, then drops into the last chair like he’s afraid it might disappear.
“So,” Yuji says, clapping his hands together. “Group project.”
You blink. “Already?”
“He mentioned it in passing,” Megumi says. “That means it’s happening.”
Nobara groans. “Why do finance professors do that? It’s always ‘this won’t take much time’ and then suddenly your soul is gone.”
You pull up the syllabus, scanning quickly. Sure enough, there it is: a semester-long valuation project with a presentation component.
“Okay,” you say. “It’s fine.”
Nobara stares at you. “Why do you keep saying that like it’s a threat?”
You shrug. “Because it is.”
Yuji leans over your shoulder, eyes wide. “Wait. This is worth how much of the grade?”
Megumi answers without looking up. “Enough.”
Yuji’s smile falters. “Oh.”
Choso tilts his head slightly, reading over the prompt. “It’s manageable,” he says calmly. “If we’re organized.”
You glance at him, appreciative. “We will be.”
Nobara points between the two of you. “I love watching you two become terrifyingly competent together. It’s like watching a heist movie.”
“That’s not reassuring,” Yuji says.
“It shouldn’t be,” Megumi replies.
You start outlining the project anyway. Not because you’re stressed, but because it’s satisfying. Breaking a big thing into smaller, controllable pieces always is.
Nobara watches for a minute, then sighs dramatically. “Okay, I’m going to let you do your thing because I respect you, but I will not pretend to understand any of this.”
“That’s marketing,” you tell her.
“Correct.”
Choso nudges your knee gently. “You don’t have to start now.”
“I know,” you say. “I want to.”
He smiles at that. Small. Warm.
Yuji looks between the two of you, grinning. “You guys are gross.”
“You’re welcome,” you say.
Later, when everyone splits off to their next classes, you and Choso walk together toward the business school. The path is familiar, lined with trees just starting to turn.
“You okay?” he asks casually.
“Yeah.”
“You seemed… energized.”
You laugh softly. “I like being challenged.”
“I know.”
There’s no accusation in his voice. Just observation.
“You were good,” he adds. “In class.”
“So were you.”
He shrugs. “You stood out.”
You roll your eyes. “Don’t start.”
“I mean it,” he says, still easy. “You always do.”
The business school building looms ahead, all glass and ambition. You stop at the entrance, adjusting your bag.
“I’ll see you later,” you say.
He leans down, presses a quick kiss to your lips. Comfortable. Familiar. Real.
“Text me when you’re done,” he says.
“I will.”
He watches you go, and you don’t think anything of it.
Inside, the building hums with activity. You grab a coffee, settle into a quiet corner, and open your laptop again. Emails flood in, mostly administrative nonsense.
Then one catches your eye.
From: Satoru Gojo
Subject: Advanced Corporate Finance – Project Groups
You blink.
You open it.
It’s efficient. Clean. Lists the groups, the deadlines, the expectations. No fluff.
Your name is there.
So is Choso’s.
And Yuji’s.
You snort quietly.
“Of course,” you mutter.
You skim the rest, noting the grading rubric, the presentation date, the line about office hours for framework feedback.
You don’t feel anything dramatic. No spike of nerves. No flutter.
Just… interest.
You close the email and get back to work.
Across campus, in a faculty office that smells faintly like coffee and printer toner, Gojo leans back in his chair and scrolls through his inbox.
Shoko is perched on the edge of his desk, flipping through a chart like it personally offended her.
“Your class is already buzzing,” she says. “Congrats.”
“Shocking,” Gojo replies dryly.
Nanami stands by the window, arms crossed. “You enjoy provoking them.”
“I enjoy teaching,” Gojo corrects.
Geto, lounging in a chair like he owns it, laughs. “You enjoy chaos.”
Gojo smiles. “Semantics.”
Shoko peers over at his screen. “You grouped the finance kid with the econ one and the athlete?”
“Balanced skill sets,” Gojo says lightly. “It makes sense.”
.
.
.
Back at your desk, you finish your notes, pack up, and head to your next class without a second thought.
You don’t replay the lecture.
You don’t think about his smile.
You don’t imagine office hours.
Not yet.
For now, it’s just a class.
Just a project.
Just another thing you’re good at.
And if something inconvenient is taking shape at the edges of your semester, well—
That’s a problem for later.
The first official group meeting happens two days later, and it goes exactly as you expected.
You’re already seated at a small table in the library when Yuji arrives, backpack slung over one shoulder, looking like he’s bracing himself for impact.
“I just want it on record,” he says, dropping into the chair across from you, “that I am deeply underqualified for whatever this turns into.”
“You’ll be fine,” you say easily.
“That’s not reassuring.”
Choso sits beside you a moment later, setting his bag down with quiet precision. He pulls out a notebook and a pen, posture relaxed but attentive, like he’s already accepted that this is happening.
“Did you read the prompt?” he asks Yuji.
Yuji groans. “I skimmed it emotionally.”
“That explains a lot,” you say.
Choso’s mouth twitches, just barely.
You don’t rush into anything. You let the silence stretch for a second, let everyone settle. You’re not in a hurry. This doesn’t need to be dramatic.
“Okay,” you say finally. “We don’t need to make this harder than it is.”
Yuji perks up. “I like that sentence.”
“We pick a company with clean public data,” you continue. “Nothing obscure. Nothing messy. We divide tasks based on what we’re actually good at. We don’t over-engineer.”
Choso nods immediately.
Yuji exhales like you just handed him a life raft. “Thank you.”
You angle your laptop so they can both see and pull up the syllabus, scrolling to the project breakdown. You don’t dominate the conversation. You don’t lecture. You just talk things through.
Yuji offers to handle research and background, clearly relieved to have something concrete. Choso volunteers for modeling without hesitation. You take synthesis and coordination, mostly because no one else argues and it fits naturally.
It doesn’t feel like leadership. It just feels… efficient.
An hour passes quickly. Yuji asks questions that are earnest and sometimes slightly off, but always genuine. Choso answers patiently, filling in gaps without making it a thing. You jump in when needed, mostly to translate ideas into something workable.
At some point, Choso slides his notebook toward you.
“I mapped out a loose timeline,” he says quietly.
You glance at it.
It’s clean. Thoughtful. Flexible.
“This helps,” you say. “Thank you.”
He shrugs lightly, like it wasn’t a big deal.
Yuji watches the exchange, grinning. “You two are weirdly in sync.”
“We’ve done this before,” you say.
“With life,” Yuji says solemnly.
“Exactly.”
Eventually, you wrap things up without ceremony. No grand conclusion. Just a shared understanding of next steps.
Yuji stretches, cracking his back. “Okay. That could have been worse.”
“That’s the spirit,” you tell him.
“I’m going to reward myself with a snack,” he announces. “And possibly a nap.”
“Deserved,” Choso says.
Yuji waves and disappears between the shelves.
That leaves you and Choso alone at the table, the library humming quietly around you.
You close your laptop.
He doesn’t rush to speak.
“You good?” he asks eventually.
“Yeah.”
“You seemed… relaxed.”
You tilt your head. “Is that bad?”
“No,” he says quickly. “Just…nice.”
You smile at that, softer.
He reaches for your hand under the table, thumb brushing your knuckle. It’s casual. Familiar. Intimate in a way that doesn’t need attention.
“You don’t get like that with everyone,” he says.
“Like what?”
“Calm.”
You consider it. “I trust you guys.”
“I know.”
He squeezes your hand once, then lets go easily when someone walks past. No tension. No secrecy. Just awareness.
When you leave the library together, it’s already late afternoon. The sky is pale blue, campus alive with movement. You walk close, shoulders nearly touching.
“You want to grab dinner?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Your place or mine?”
“Yours,” you decide. “I don’t want to cook.”
He smiles. “Fair.”
At his apartment, things are easy. Shoes kicked off. Music low. He cooks while you sit at the counter, scrolling through your phone and occasionally stealing ingredients.
“You’re going to mess it up,” he warns.
“I’m improving it.”
“You’re eating it.”
“That's an improvement.”
He laughs, quiet and genuine.
Dinner is good. Comfortable. You eat on the couch, legs tangled, talking about nothing and everything. Classes. Yuji. Nobara’s latest chaos. The project.
At some point, you lean your head against his shoulder without thinking.
He presses a kiss into your hair.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” you say again. And this time you mean it completely.
Later, when you’re curled together, lights dimmed, your phone buzzes on the coffee table.
You glance at it.
An email notification.
You don’t open it.
Choso notices anyway. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” you say. “Just school.”
He nods, satisfied.
You settle back into him, safe in the quiet normalcy of it all.
For now, life makes sense.
There’s class. Friends. A project. A boyfriend who knows you and chooses you without question.
You don’t think about office hours.
You don’t think about the professor.
You don’t think about lines or rules or how close things can get before they change shape.
That can wait.
For now, this is enough.
And you let yourself enjoy it.
.
.
.
You wake up the next morning to sunlight and a text from Nobara that reads:
u alive
finance didn’t kill u yet?
You smile into your pillow and type back.
tragically yes
Another buzz.
coffee before class or are u too cool now
You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling.
coffee. always coffee.
Choso stirs beside you, groaning softly as you shift. His arm tightens around your waist, instinctive.
“Morning,” he mumbles into your shoulder.
“Morning.”
“What time is it?”
“Too early.”
He hums in agreement and presses a lazy kiss against your neck, not trying to start anything, just existing in that quiet, familiar way that makes mornings feel softer.
“You have class?” he asks.
“Unfortunately.”
“Want me to walk you?”
You smile. “You have your own stuff.”
“I can still walk you.”
You tilt your head, considering, then nod. “Okay.”
Campus feels different in the morning. Less frantic. More open. People moving with coffee cups and backpacks, sunlight bouncing off glass and stone.
Nobara is already waiting near the café, looking offended that the universe had the audacity to make her wake up.
“You’re glowing,” she says immediately.
“Good lighting.”
“No,” Nobara says, squinting. “That’s boyfriend glow.”
Choso coughs lightly, pretending not to hear.
Yuji jogs up a moment later, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Morning! I got lost. Again.”
Megumi trails behind him, deadpan. “We’ve been here all semester.”
Yuji grins. “And yet.”
You grab coffee, chat about nothing important, complain about readings, laugh at Yuji’s dramatic reenactment of yesterday’s lecture.
You’re cheerful without thinking about it. Laughing comes easy. Talking does too. You don’t feel like you’re performing. You’re just… here.
When you split off toward your classroom, Choso squeezes your hand once.
“Text me later,” he says.
“I will.”
He kisses your cheek, quick and normal, and heads off.
Nobara watches him go, then looks at you. “I like him.”
“I know.”
“And I like you like this,” she adds. “Don’t let finance ruin you.”
“I’ll try.”
Class is calmer this time. Less nerves. Less anticipation. You take notes, half-listening, half-daydreaming about absolutely nothing important.
When Gojo enters, it’s the same as before. Easy confidence. Dry humor. Nothing dramatic.
He teaches. You listen. You answer one question, casually, with a smile and a shrug like it’s no big deal.
It really isn’t.
After class, you pack up without rushing. Nobara waits at the door, scrolling through her phone.
“Office hours,” she says suddenly.
You pause. “What about them?”
“Are you going?”
You blink. “Why would I go?”
She gives you a look. “Because you’re in a hard class.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She smirks. “Because you like feedback.”
You laugh. “I like not wasting time.”
“Same thing.”
You don’t decide right away. You head to your next class. You eat lunch. You meet Yuji briefly, who looks like he’s already regretting his finance minor.
Later that afternoon, you find yourself back in the business building, staring at the office hours sign-up sheet posted outside Gojo’s office.
You’re not nervous.
Just… curious.
You write your name in one of the middle slots. Not the first. Not the last. Sensible.
Inside, Gojo is leaning against his desk, scrolling through something on his tablet. He looks up when you knock.
“Yes?”
“Office hours,” you say brightly. “If now’s okay.”
He checks the time. “You’re on the list. Come in.”
You step inside, taking a seat across from his desk. Door open. Desk between you. Very normal.
“So,” he says, setting the tablet aside. “What’s up?”
You pull out your notebook. “Just wanted to make sure I’m not missing something obvious with the project.”
He nods. “Good instinct.”
You talk for ten minutes. About structure. About assumptions. About not overcomplicating things.
It’s… easy.
He explains. You nod. You ask a follow-up. You smile when something clicks.
At one point, he pauses, watching you.
“You enjoy this,” he says.
You laugh. “I enjoy not panicking.”
He smiles. “Fair.”
When you stand to leave, he adds, “You’re doing fine. Don’t overthink it.”
You tilt your head. “That’s my specialty.”
He chuckles. “Try not to make it one.”
You leave with a thank-you and a wave, heart steady, mood light.
Outside, you text Choso.
office hours went fine :)
He replies almost immediately.
told you
You head home feeling… good.
Not charged. Not unsettled. Just interested.