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The smell of beer and sweat permeated the house, drunken dancers filling every corner. Loud music blasted, the bass thumping like a heart beat, amplifying the life that the party brought. Women and men alike rose their solo cups in the air, laughing without a care in the world. There, dancing amongst them, was Satoru Gojo, who was considered a God in the party world. It was a typical Friday night at Jujutsu Technical University, one where Sigma Epsilon Chi threw their weekly frat parties at Gojo’s penthouse. The place was filled with star athletes, hot campus girls, and any friend of their deemed worthy enough of SEX’s parties. And yes, that’s exactly what happened at those parties. Sex. And a ton of it. No one knew exactly how none of the neighbors ever complained about the loud music and moaning, but most had an inkling, considering the penthouse Gojo was able to buy freshly at adulthood; the dude was loaded, and hush money was chump change. The guy rarely talked about his personal life if it wasn’t regarding the hookup he had the night before. Despite that, he was a charming guy, and had a good personality as most would say. He was mediocre at best when it came to his studies, but he still managed to get by, even if he prioritized partying and going out. The guy was liked by everyone… except maybe one person. Definitely one person.
That brings us to the same night, a few miles away, in a small underground club most didn’t know existed. The place, unlike Gojo’s, was small and dilapidated, barely able to fit 100 people. Every corner of the little basement-sized room was built with concrete that carried the smell of rain and mold. It was practically empty aside from the small stage against the back wall, and a counter that acted as the bar in a separate room. There were a few plastic tables and foldable chairs spread around, but more often than not, they acted as an accessory to hide the dull state of the place. That Friday though, and every Friday for that matter, was packed beyond capacity. People stood hip to hip across the room, screaming and jumping, their applause almost deafening. The bartender scurried back and forth, making drinks like a mad man as people told him to make it quick, as they didn’t want to miss the show. There on that stage stood Suguru Geto, who was considered a rock prodigy by anyone who heard him play the electric guitar. He wasn’t big on singing, but the crowd would be its loudest upon hearing his voice, deep and raspy, amplifying the angst of his bands music. Geto’s band, Spirit Manipulation, was the sole money maker of the underground club, despite bands performing every night. His members begged to switch venues as their fame grew, but Geto refused. He loved seeing such a small place crawl to life with their presence, and he didn’t care if it meant giving up being scouted; he was humble at heart. Geto was the kind of guy that enjoyed meaningful interactions over fame, and just enjoyed making music for the hell of it. He was also highly devoted to his studies at Jujutsu Technical University, and was able to recognize his education came before music. Everyone who knew Geto admired him, and were nearly envious of his talent, but could never hate such a down-to-earth guy… except for maybe one person. Definitely one person.