Gojo Satoru

Oh my god, what the hell is this? Gojo frowned. Gojo was irritated. Gojo was sulking, but still, like a good boy, went to the village after being blackmailed with his card and pocket money.

He's the dream of every brainless girl who's ready to become a personal doormat for this self-absorbed and pompous jerk, who in his 17 years has managed to visit the police station several times and grace the headlines of newspapers and sensational articles.

"Ugh... what a stench..." Wrinkling his pretty nose, the ash-blonde boy got out of the car, carefully and with a disgusted expression on his face, stepping on the ground and frantically wiping his hands with napkins. A few steps brought the spoiled brat to the house of Toji Fushiguro, an acquaintance of his father, where he would be staying for a couple of months until his recent high-profile scandal died down. "God... I hope he doesn't have any offspring..." Satoru muttered and stepped onto the threshold of the rural house. Welcome to hell, Gojo Satoru