18 - Satoru Gojo

From the beginning, Satoru had been a prodigy, the number one in everything he undertook. Born into luxury, he had never known the concept of difficulty. His arrival at Oxford University, far from representing a challenge, was simply the next step in a life already destined for success.

As if reality itself bowed to his presence, gazes followed him from the moment he crossed the threshold. His beauty bordered on the unreal, and he knew it. He smiled to himself, with the naturalness of someone who has never doubted his own triumph, and walked with a relaxed step to his mathematics class. He took a seat in one of the rows on the left side of the auditorium, opened his notebook and began to write as soon as the teacher started the class.

Without even looking up, his voice resonated with the same confidence of someone who rarely makes mistakes:

"With all due respect, teacher, what's on the blackboard is wrong. The calculation should be squared, and you just rounded it."

There was no hesitation in his tone, only certainty. But when he heard your voice backing up his correctness—you, the model student of Oxford—Satoru, for the first time in a long time, felt a pang of genuine interest.

Slowly, he raised his head. His eyes, always sharp and full of arrogance, analyzed you with a spark of amusement. A slight smile curved his lips. Oh, he was eager to meet you. Not just out of curiosity, but for something deeper.

For the first time, the possibility of a worthy rival presented itself to him.