MHA; Gojo Vs Sukuna

Chapter Five: The System's Ultimatum

The first rays of morning filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Gojo Satoru's bedroom, casting golden streaks across the pristine white sheets of his king-sized bed. The room, a testament to both luxury and precision, was a masterpiece of modern elegance—minimalist yet filled with understated opulence. The walls were a calming shade of gray, interrupted only by sleek bookshelves and a single abstract painting that his mother had chosen.

Gojo stirred beneath the covers, his silver-white hair splayed out on the silk pillow like scattered moonlight. His long lashes fluttered slightly as he emerged from sleep, his body shifting lazily against the cool fabric. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of fresh linen and the lingering notes of his cologne from the night before.

Then, a sound.

It wasn't the chirping of birds outside his window, nor the distant hum of the city waking up—it was something else entirely. A whisper, rhythmic and melodic, like an old poem recited in the wind.

Gojo's eyes snapped open.

For a moment, he remained motionless, staring at the ceiling, his sharp blue eyes adjusting to the light. But then—

A soft chime echoed in his head, and a translucent blue screen materialized before him.

The text on it was crisp and neatly formatted, standing out against the morning light:

[Daily Mission Log]

100 Push-ups

5 km Run

50 Sit-ups

Gojo's brows furrowed. He blinked once, then twice.

"...Hah?"

He sat up, rubbing the side of his head as if he could physically shake away whatever this was. "What's the point of this? I don't even want to do these things," he muttered, his voice still laced with sleep.

But before he could wave the screen away, the text flickered. The list of exercises vanished, replaced by a new message in bold red letters:

[Warning: The player will receive a penalty if tasks are not completed within 12 hours.]

Gojo's lips twitched upward in amusement. He tilted his head, his white hair catching the sunlight as he read the message carefully. "Oh? You think you can control me?" he mused, his tone dripping with nonchalance. "That's cute."

With a dismissive chuckle, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, completely ignoring the floating screen. The warm wooden floor met his bare feet as he stretched lazily, his toned muscles flexing slightly beneath his loose pajama shirt.

As the system's warning flickered insistently, Gojo simply smirked. "Nice try," he said, standing up and slipping into his house slippers.

The bathroom was bathed in soft lighting, its marble countertops pristine and cool to the touch. Gojo stood in front of the large mirror, a toothbrush lazily hanging from his mouth as he examined his reflection. His striking blue eyes, sharp and otherworldly, studied himself with mild amusement.

He rinsed his mouth, splashed water on his face, and ran a hand through his snowy-white locks before stepping out, completely unfazed by the system's demands.

Descending the grand staircase, Gojo found the house alive with the familiar sounds of morning. The smell of fresh coffee, eggs, and something sweet—perhaps honey-drizzled toast—drifted from the kitchen.

At the long dining table, his little sister sat with her feet dangling off the chair, happily munching on a piece of fruit. Across from her, a tall man with dark hair and rectangular glasses sat, reading a neatly folded newspaper. Their mother, an elegant woman with the same silver-white hair as Gojo, stood by the stove, gracefully flipping pancakes.

"Morning," Gojo greeted, sliding into a seat with the ease of someone entirely at home.

His father lowered his newspaper, revealing sharp black eyes that studied Gojo in silence for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he set the paper down.

"You really have the audacity to run away and ruin an engagement meeting?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying a distinct edge.

Gojo lazily leaned back in his chair, picking up a piece of toast. "Ruin is a strong word. I prefer… postponing," he replied smoothly, biting into the toast with an air of indifference.

Their mother, ever the peacekeeper, set a plate of steaming hot breakfast in front of him and smiled gently. "Let's not dwell on it too much," she said. "He came back before the meeting, so no harm done."

His father exhaled through his nose, clearly displeased but unwilling to argue further. "Hmph. I'll overlook it this time," he muttered.

Gojo merely grinned as he dug into his breakfast, the warmth of family life momentarily soothing.

On the other side of the city, far from polished estates and luxurious breakfasts, the morning was far less gentle.

The sun hung low over a grassy field near the river, its golden light casting long shadows over the dewdrops clinging to the wildflowers. The scent of earth and damp grass filled the air, a stark contrast to the filth-ridden streets Sukuna had walked the night before.

With a quiet sigh, he slowly opened his crimson-red eyes.

The first thing he saw was fur—gray and slightly unkempt. Then, a rough, wet sensation against his cheek.

Sukuna blinked. A large, scruffy dog was licking his face, its bright eyes full of mischief and curiosity.

"...What the?" he muttered, sitting up groggily. The dog let out a soft howl, wagging its tail as if greeting an old friend.

Sukuna stretched his stiff limbs, letting out a low groan. "Damn… I forgot when I even passed out," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess it's morning already, huh?"

Then, just like with Gojo, a chime rang in his head.

A deep crimson screen materialized before his eyes, its bold red letters stark against the morning light:

[Daily Mission Log]

100 Push-ups

5 km Run

50 Sit-ups

Sukuna read the text, his expression blank for a moment. Then, he let out a short laugh.

"Training? Daily tasks? What am I, some game character?" he scoffed.

The text flickered, and the same warning appeared:

[Warning: The player will receive a penalty if tasks are not completed within 12 hours.]

Sukuna's grin widened, his sharp teeth glinting slightly. "A punishment, huh? I like that," he mused, cracking his knuckles. "Well… I could use the strength anyway."

Without another word, he lowered himself onto the damp grass and began his push-ups. The moment his body lifted, a counter appeared in the air—1/100.

The dog sat beside him, tilting its head as if trying to understand.

Sukuna smirked. "You're watching? Then count for me, mutt."

As he moved, the morning air wrapped around him, crisp and invigorating. By the time he finished his push-ups, his body was warm, his muscles awake.

Then, he stood up and took off running, the gray-furred dog playfully chasing after him. His feet pounded against the dirt path, the wind cutting past his ears. The scent of gasoline and city life mixed with the fresh scent of the river as cars zoomed by on the nearby road.

A new day had begun. And so had the game.

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