Shiro Sakamaki stepped into the Nakano residence, quietly switching into the slippers by the door. The five sisters were already waiting for him in the living room.
He took a quick glance at their faces. Compared to the day before, they looked more energized—alert, even. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Looks like yesterday’s efforts weren’t for nothing.
"Alright, time’s tight today, so I’ll skip the chit-chat. Let’s get started right away."
"Sisters—stand up!" Ichika called out dramatically.
The rest followed suit in unison. "Good evening, Teacher Shiro!"
With a smirk, Shiro popped the cap off his pen and flicked it lightly at Ichika’s forehead.
"Don’t think flattery will get you off the hook. There’ll be no skipping homework."
He ignored Ichika’s exaggerated pout and opened his bag, pulling out a stack of neatly prepared materials.
"These are your customized worksheets. The core concepts are the same, but each of you will get one subject tailored to your weak point."
"Tonight’s focus is math."
Time flew as he guided them through explanations, drawing diagrams and outlining formulas. After an hour, he noticed signs of fatigue creeping into their expressions—slight yawns, slower reactions.
He closed his book. "Alright, that’s enough theory for now. Go wash your faces. We’ll shift to practice problems next."
The sisters got up groggily, but once they began solving questions, they noticed something... different.
Their thoughts were clearer.
The problems they once struggled with seemed almost... simple.
What they didn’t realize was that Shiro had been using low-level mental resonance the entire time—synchronizing his intent with theirs, boosting comprehension. It was taxing, which was why he only maintained it for about an hour.
Still, the result was worth it. They weren’t just memorizing—they were understanding. Once they could apply this with confidence, their next monthly test results would turn heads.
When the session wrapped up, none of the girls moved right away. They were still basking in the clarity of that rare flow state.
This kind of studying—productive and strangely enjoyable—was something they’d never experienced before.
But as with anything meaningful, progress would take time. This was only the first step.
"Today’s lesson ends here," Shiro said, packing up his materials. "From here on, you’re on your own for review."
Back at the apartment, things were unusually quiet. Misaki and Kanna were both sprawled on the floor, intensely focused on the game console.
Shiro raised a brow at Misaki. She didn’t seem the type to study, and yet her grades were consistently top-tier.
No enhancements, no shortcuts. Just raw intelligence... and still time for art, animation, and whatever else caught her interest.
He was about to sit down and join when his phone suddenly rang. Curious, he pulled it out—only to frown at the name lighting up the screen.
They didn’t talk often. But every time they did, it meant trouble.
Without hesitation, Shiro silenced the call and tossed the phone aside.
"Not picking up?" Misaki glanced at the still-glowing screen.
"Nope. Whatever it is, he can handle it himself. Not my problem."
"Wanna play something?"
She handed him a controller. He took it, about to sit down—
The glass door leading to the balcony shattered.
Standing in the middle of the living room, completely unfazed, was Gojo Satoru—eye patch in place, his signature black-and-purple uniform fluttering lightly in the breeze.
Shiro didn’t even flinch.
Kanna, on the other hand, instinctively leaned in closer to him, wary. Misaki just gawked, wide-eyed.
This is the twelfth floor...
"You guys always greet your guests ?" Gojo asked, stepping over the broken glass as if it were glitter.
Misaki blinked. "Are... are you Masked Superman?"
Gojo paused, then laughed. "Haha, I mean... maybe? Sure, let’s go with that."
"That’s not a real answer."
"Neither is your question."
Shiro finally sighed, veins slightly bulging on his hand as he set the controller down.
"Explain. Now. Or I throw you back out the window."
"Come on, don’t be so cold. Aren’t we closest buddies?" Gojo grinned, completely unbothered.
Shiro rolled his eyes but still walked to the fridge, grabbed two beers, and tossed one over.
Gojo caught it, spun it around in his palm, then casually set it down.
"Eh, skip the booze. Got any sweets?"
Shrugging, Gojo slouched into the couch like it was his own.
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