Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Why are these things always so stiff?” Yuuji mutters under his breath, shifting in his seat.

“It’s a ceremony, not a sleepover,” Nobara replies dryly from his left, legs crossed, posture impeccable. Her gaze stays fixed on the stage, her voice clipped but firm. “Deal with it.”

Megumi, seated on his right, doesn’t look up from the glossy program brochure. “Because it’s not for us. It’s for the board, the sponsors, the press,” he says flatly. "Don’t slouch.”

“I’m not slouching,” Yuuji lies but then immediately straightens his spine, rolling his shoulders back like he’s been caught.

Yuuji exhales, smoothing a palm over the lapel of his navy blazer. The tailored fabric sits neatly on him again, the collar crisp, the buttons sharp. Around him, the hall gleams — rows of polished chairs, brass fixtures glowing under soft lights, cameras quietly being set up in the back. Every school participating in the Golden Inter-Academy Cup is here, all lined up in full formal uniform.

It’s the first time in years that their school has hosted the tournament. The faculty seems determined to make it a spectacle.

Yuuji thinks it’s overkill. It’s just sports, after all, so why all the ceremony? But then, he hadn’t attended one in a while so maybe this is normal.

“I agree,” Toudou booms from the row behind, clapping a massive hand on Yuuji’s shoulder hard enough to make him jolt. “This ceremony would be far more interesting if my brother and I were out there instead of those two.”

At the front, in the honorary athlete section, Gojo Satoru lounges in his seat like the stage belongs to him, one long leg crossed over the other, the very picture of effortless arrogance. Beside him, Getou Suguru sits with composed elegance, his polite smile at odds with Gojo’s performative showmanship.

The two of them are the faces of their school’s basketball team — talented, untouchable, undefeated on home ground.

Yuuji chuckles quietly, shaking his head. “Right. What would we do if we’re there, Toudou-senpai?”

Toudou slams a fist to his chest. “With my strength and your good looks, we’d dominate both the court and the cameras!”

“You’re delusional,” Nobara mutters without missing a beat.

Before Yuuji can reply, Nobara nudges Maki who sits on her left subtly, tilting her chin toward the far right aisle. “Hey,” she murmurs, “isn’t that your cousin?”

Megumi looks up too, follows her gaze, and scowls instantly.

Zen’in Naoya strolls into the hall with Kyoto High’s delegation, cream blazer sharp under the lights, posture effortlessly confident, and a faintly smug smile curling his lips.

“Yeah,” Maki says flatly, her eyes narrowed. “Unfortunately.”

Yuuji follows Nobara’s line of sight briefly, spotting Naoya’s familiar sharp profile and slicked-back hair. He exhales softly, shaking his head. “Haven’t seen him since last winter,” he mutters.

“Let’s keep it that way,” Megumi says with his voice clipped.

Before Nobara can press for details, Megumi’s tone shifts, low and even: “Last school’s here.”

Yuuji glances toward the tall double doors at the far end of the hall, and the atmosphere shifts immediately.

A hush ripples through the audience. Not complete silence, but something subtler. A collective awareness, the kind of instinctive stillness before something significant enters the room.

Then Kamihara Academy walks in.

Their delegation is a vision — midnight-black blazers with gold buttons, crisp white undershirts, ties perfectly knotted. Every movement is sharp, disciplined, purposeful. They don’t just walk; they arrive.

Leading them is a student with razor-straight posture, hands tucked neatly behind his back.

Ryoumen Sukuna.

And just like that, the whole room seems to narrow.

His presence is magnetic, but not loud. It’s a gravity people lean toward without meaning to — quiet, inevitable, inescapable. Eyes turn without command, whispers start without cause.

He looks the same as always: striking, immaculate, unreadable. The kind of composed you only learn from years of family dinners where emotions are carefully hidden behind wine glasses and expectation.

Yuuji sits up straighter without meaning to.

He watches Sukuna lead his delegation down the aisle, unhurried and unshaken, like the entire room belongs to him. And then, mid-step, mid-glance, Sukuna’s eyes flick toward him.

Just once. Clean. Subtle.

But they meet.

And Yuuji feels it.

A flicker of recognition sharp as a silver cufflink catching the light. A silent acknowledgment, born from childhood dinners and stiff etiquette lessons, from matching tailored suits they never got to choose.

It lasts no longer than a heartbeat before Sukuna looks away, expression perfectly unchanged.

He takes his seat with his delegation, hands folded neatly, jaw tight.

The whispers begin almost instantly.

“Was that Sukuna?” someone murmurs behind Yuuji.

“He’s even colder in person,” another says.

“They say he’s a prodigy. Top of his class, star on the court.”

“I heard his family owns half the city.”

Nobara snorts loudly, leaning toward Maki. “I bet he uses steroids. No one gets a build like that naturally at this age.”

Maki raises a brow, unimpressed. “More likely he’s just genetically superior.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t trust people who look that perfect,” Nobara mutters.

Those two keep bickering, but Yuuji tunes them out.

He’s not surprised Sukuna’s here. He knew Kamihara was participating. He just didn’t expect him to… show up like this.

So composed.

So distant.

So exactly who their families always wanted him to be.

Yuuji swallows, the knot in his throat unfamiliar and unwelcome. It hits him then, heavy and quiet: Sukuna is going to be here. In these halls. Walking the same paths as where Yuuji’s daily life unfolds. 

So close.

And yet, not close at all.

-

The cafeteria hums with a soft undercurrent of voices, trays clattering faintly against polished marble counters. Sunlight streams through the tall glass windows, spilling warmth across pristine tables and catching on the sharp lines of pressed uniforms. With the Golden Inter-Academy Cup underway, the room feels fuller than usual. Students from several schools are scattered among Jujutsu High’s own, their distinct blazers adding streaks of unfamiliar colour to the crowd.

Yuuji sits at one of the long tables, surrounded by his closest circle. Gojo and Getou, recently freed from athlete obligations, have rejoined them. Their presence pulling more than a few glances from nearby students. The air around their table hums with easy conversation and laughter, their group drawing attention without meaning to.

Yuuji leans back slightly, an easy, charming smile tugging at his lips. He’s effortlessly at ease here, elbow propped on the table, posture relaxed despite the tailored navy blazer that fits him almost too well. “So,” he begins smoothly, voice low but warm, “Gojo-senpai, Getou-senpai—what did you think of the ceremony? That opening speech lasted far too long, didn’t it?”

Gojo lets out a dramatic groan, throwing his head back. “Don’t remind me, Yuuji-kun. My legs went numb halfway through. Do you know how hard it is for someone this beautiful to sit still for two hours?”

“You weren’t sitting still,” Megumi says flatly from Yuuji’s left, barely glancing up from his tray.

“I was fidgeting artistically,” Gojo counters, lips quirking into a pout.

Nobara nearly chokes on her drink, snorting. “If ‘artistically’ means looking like a toddler trying to escape daycare, then sure, Gojo-senpai. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Getou hides a small smile behind the rim of his cup, while Toudou suddenly slams his palm against the table with enough force to rattle the utensils. “WHO CARES ABOUT SPEECHES?!” he bellows, making Maki jump and nearly drop her fork. “THE REAL BATTLE IS ON THE COURT!”

“Do you ever shut up?” Maki mutters, rubbing her temple with obvious restraint.

Nanami sets his utensils down neatly, sighing. “The real battle is our hearing versus your voice.”

Yuuji’s laugh ripples softly around the table, the sound carrying just enough to draw a few passing looks from students nearby. His charm isn’t loud; it’s easy, lived-in, the kind that slips under the surface before anyone notices.

He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm. “Anyway,” he says lightly, “what about the other schools? Did you watch any of them play after the ceremony?”

Before anyone can answer, a soft voice interrupts him.

“Itadori-kun.”

Yuuji turns, blinking as a student from their school approaches, holding out a small packet of snacks with both hands. Their cheeks are faintly pink, eyes darting nervously between Yuuji and the floor.

“Oh,” Yuuji says, smiling warmly as he accepts it. “Thanks.”

The student nods, seemingly satisfied by the exchange, and slips back into the flow of the cafeteria. Yuuji unwraps the snack without thinking much of it.

Gojo leans over lazily, peering at the packet. “Another one? You’re collecting fans, Yuuji-kun.”

Yuuji waves him off, cheeks faintly warm. “It’s just a snack, Gojo-senpai.”

Getou smirks faintly. “Mm. Just a snack.”

Their conversation slides back into easy chatter, spilling into discussions about upcoming matches and rumours about rival schools. Around them, the cafeteria buzzes with energy—voices rising, footsteps echoing, trays clinking—but within their circle, time feels comfortably slow.

Somewhere across the room, a group of Kamihara Academy students passes by, their black-and-gold uniforms crisp and immaculate. They move with quiet precision, laughter muted, their presence commanding without asking for attention. Among them is a figure Yuuji doesn’t notice, though he should.

Sukuna.

He slips through the crowd easily, his height making him hard to miss, yet somehow he draws no reaction from Yuuji at all. Their table is too alive with noise, with laughter, with warmth, and Sukuna doesn’t pause long enough to be noticed. A passing glance here, a fleeting shadow there—but nothing lingers.

By the time Yuuji finally looks up again, Kamihara’s delegation has already moved on, and the moment is gone.

He turns back to his friends, picking up the thread of conversation without hesitation.

By the end of lunch, Yuuji has almost forgotten Sukuna entirely.

-

When the final bell rings, students spill from classrooms into wide, sunlit hallways, voices echoing faintly as they head toward the parking lot or the front gates.

Yuuji adjusts the strap of his bag, walking with Nobara and Megumi toward the usual pick-up area. Chosou should be waiting with the family car like always. He’s halfway through complaining about today's lessons when his steps slow.

Because Chosou isn’t there.

Instead, a familiar pale figure stands near the sleek black sedan parked by the entrance.

Uraume.

“Good afternoon, Yuuji-sama,” they greet him, bowing slightly, their voice calm and cool as glass. “Sukuna-sama is waiting for you in the car. He’ll be taking you home today—your driver has already been informed.”

Yuuji blinks, momentarily wrong-footed, but he recovers quickly, schooling his expression into something neutral.

“Right,” he says lightly, nodding once. “Thanks, Uraume-san.”

Nobara leans close, whispering just loud enough for Megumi to hear, “Wait. That Sukuna? He’s here?”

Megumi glances toward the car but says nothing, his expression unreadable but his jaw tense.

Yuuji waves them off, forcing a grin. “I’ll text you later.”

He makes his way toward the car, his pace steady even though his chest feels heavier with every step. Uraume opens the door for him, and the cool, faintly scented air of the vehicle wraps around him as he slides inside.

Sukuna is already seated.

He sits with one leg crossed over the other, posture sharp and deliberate, a hand resting lightly on the leather armrest. He looks up as Yuuji enters, eyes steady, face unreadable.

“Hey,” Yuuji says, trying for casual.

Sukuna inclines his head slightly. “Afternoon.”

The door shuts with a muted thud, sealing the space into silence. The partition between them and the driver closes, and the car eases smoothly out of the lot.

For a while, neither of them speaks. The hum of the engine fills the stillness, soft and constant, and sunlight filters in through tinted glass, slicing pale gold across Sukuna’s immaculate blazer. Yuuji stares out the window, watching the familiar scenery of the school slip by, strangely distant now.

“You didn’t have to send me home,” he says eventually, his tone even, almost offhand. He doesn’t look at Sukuna when he says it.

“I was already here,” Sukuna replies, his voice low, controlled in that way he always is. “I stayed to watch some of the matches. It was close to dismissal.”

Of course. Sukuna is just doing what’s expected of him. Always composed, always proper. Ever the perfect gentleman. 

Yuuji nods once, his gaze still fixed on the passing streets. “How were they?”

“Fine.” Sukuna’s answer is simple, efficient, stripped of any excess.

Yuuji exhales softly through his nose, leaning back into the seat. This is how it always goes — polite, minimal, precise. Sukuna talks like every word is weighed before being spoken, while Yuuji’s own spill out too easily, too warm against Sukuna’s cool restraint.

He tries again anyway.

“Your team looks strong,” Yuuji says, turning slightly toward him. “Are you excited for the match?”

There’s a small pause, just long enough to feel deliberate.

“Mm,” Sukuna hums, the sound low, unreadable.

And that’s it.

The conversation falls quiet again, stretching into something heavier than silence should ever be. Outside, the city moves as usual — streets lined with trees, the occasional shopfront, students spilling into crosswalks — but inside the car, the air feels still, contained.

Yuuji looks down at his hands, fiddling with the strap of his bag. It’s not frustration he feels, not exactly. More like… a kind of weight.

Because this is what it’s always been between them. Two names tied together by families, legacies, expectations neither of them asked for. 

And yet, somehow, Sukuna feels further away now than ever.

The car slows as they near Yuuji’s house, the tall gates gliding open on cue. The sedan glides into the driveway and comes to a smooth, controlled stop.

Sukuna finally looks at him, just briefly. “Let Uraume open your door.”

Yuuji hesitates, then nods. When the door opens, sunlight spills across the leather seats, and he steps out, pausing for half a second before glancing back over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

Sukuna’s head tilts slightly, his reply as composed as always. “No problem.”

“See you soon, then,” Yuuji adds, softer this time, though he doesn’t really expect an answer.

“Mm.”

And that’s it. No lingering goodbyes, no effort to bridge the distance. Just the soft click of the door closing and Yuuji’s footsteps fading against the polished stone.

The car waits. Always. Sukuna never leaves until Yuuji is inside.

Only when the door shuts behind him does the sedan roll forward, disappearing past the gates.

-

It’s impossible to avoid his friends after the bombshell he dropped yesterday.

The bell for lunch barely rings before Yuuji grabs his bag, but he doesn’t make it three steps out of his seat before Nobara spins on him so fast he almost crashes into her.

“You.” She jabs a perfectly manicured finger into his chest, her voice sharp but low, buried under the chatter of the classroom. “Don’t think for a second you’re off the hook.”

Yuuji freezes like a deer in headlights. “We… already talked about this last night.”

Nobara narrows her eyes. “No. You sent me a pathetic four-line text at midnight.” She punctuates each word with another jab to his chest. “That’s not talking. That’s hiding.”

Leaning casually against Yuuji’s desk, Megumi crosses his arms, his expression calm but his voice firmer than usual. “She’s right. You barely explained anything.”

Yuuji groans, dragging both hands through his hair like he wants to disappear. “I told you, it’s just… an arrangement. Between families. That’s it.”

“Uh-huh,” Nobara deadpans, crossing her arms. “An arrangement that just happens to involve one Ryoumen Sukuna?”

Yuuji flinches at the name before he can stop himself.

“The same Ryoumen Sukuna,” she presses, leaning in closer, “who’s basically a national treasure on the court? That Sukuna?”

Megumi, quiet until now, tilts his head slightly, his gaze sharp. “You said it’s an arrangement,” he says evenly. “But you didn’t say what kind.”

Yuuji hesitates. “It’s… complicated.”

“Try me,” Nobara challenges, folding her arms like she’s preparing to interrogate him.

He glances between the two of them. Megumi hasn’t said much yet, but he’s watching Yuuji closely, quiet in that way that makes lying pointless. So Yuuji exhales and starts talking.

“My grandpa and his grandfather were close. Business stuff, politics, all that legacy crap,” he says, avoiding their eyes. “They decided we’d be tied together someday, to… I dunno, keep the families aligned.”

Both grandfathers are gone now — Sukuna’s years ago, Yuuji’s just last winter — but the arrangement stayed, carried forward like an unspoken rule neither of them asked for.

Nobara blinks. “You mean betrothed.”

Yuuji winces. “…Yeah.”

Her jaw drops. “Holy—” She cuts herself off, but her hands are already flying wildly. Yuuji's thankful that the class is empty now. “You’ve been engaged this whole time and you didn’t tell us?!”

“It’s not—” Yuuji groans, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s not like that, okay? It’s not romantic. It’s just… something they decided. Without asking me. Without asking either of us.”

Nobara leans back, studying him. Her frustration softens — barely. “And you’re okay with that?”

Yuuji hesitates, staring down at his hands. “…I don’t know.”

Megumi looks at him sharply, like he’s about to say something, when a voice like thunder booms from the hallway:

“BROTHERRRRR!”

Yuuji jumps so hard he nearly trips over his bag.

In stomps Toudou, larger than life, his presence sucking the air straight out of the classroom. “Lunch break means one thing!”

Yuuji blinks, still halfway between panic and confusion. “Food?”

Toudou slams both palms on a desk hard enough to make the pens jump. “BASKETBALL!”

“Kamihara Academy is playing right now.” Toudou bellows, pointing dramatically toward the window like he’s directing an army. “The great Ryoumen Sukuna will demonstrate his unparalleled strength today!”

“God, here we go,” Nobara mutters under her breath, leaning toward Megumi.

Toudou whirls on her instantly, wild-eyed. “We must witness our enemy’s power firsthand!”

Yuuji groans, rubbing his face like he wants the floor to swallow him whole.

Nobara crosses her arms, muttering just loud enough for Megumi to hear, “Enemy, huh. Yeah. If only you knew.”

Megumi says nothing, but his gaze flicks briefly to Yuuji, sharp — which is much worse than Nobara’s frustration.

Yuuji swallows and pretends not to notice.

-

The gym is already packed by the time they get there, buzzing with energy and heat. The game’s been going for a few minutes, but Kamihara Academy’s name alone is enough to draw a crowd. Everyone wants to catch a glimpse of him.

Ryoumen Sukuna.

The name ripples through the audience like static — whispered under breaths, shouted across bleachers, carried in bursts of excited chatter. 

They weave through the edge of the crowd, but it’s hopeless. The front rows are crammed shoulder to shoulder, students leaning so far over the railing it looks dangerous. Up near centre court, Yuuji spots a flash of white hair — Gojo, eyes tracking every movement on the court, are looking more serious than usual. Getou sits besides him, eyes sharp as ever. 

“Ugh,” Nobara mutters, scanning the chaos. “No way we’re getting close to the front.”

Megumi’s gaze lingers on the court. “Then we stay back.”

They settle on the highest bleacher, slightly removed from the noise but high enough to see everything. From here, the court gleams under the harsh lights — sneakers squeak against polished wood, the sharp rhythm of passes and calls echoing up into the rafters.

Toudou sits beside Yuuji, taking up far too much space, vibrating with energy. Every time Sukuna moves, Toudou reacts like he’s watching a divine revelation. “Look at his footwork! Look at his precision! What a formidable enemy! That’s a god walking among mortals!”

Yuuji groans and shoves him lightly. “You’re embarrassing us, Senpai.”

“More like running,” Nobara says dryly, leaning forward with her chin resting on her hand. Her gaze is fixed on the court, but her voice has that sharp edge Yuuji recognises — the one that always comes before trouble. “So that’s him.”

Yuuji stiffens instantly. “Don’t.”

“Your little… arrangement.”

Yuuji groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Not here, Nobara.”

She puts it down for now, eyes glued to Sukuna’s every movement. “He’s insane.” 

On the court, Sukuna commands attention without even trying. Every pass, every feint, every shot looks effortless, his movements sharp and precise like they’re carved into muscle memory. Yuuji can’t help the excitement bubbling inside him.

It might’ve been fun, he thinks, being one of the players.

Yuuji had always been good at sports— quick on his feet, stronger than most, the kind of kid who got picked first without even trying. There were times he’d felt completely at home on a team.

Their families would’ve loved it. Him and Sukuna, side by side, golden boys on and off the court.

Yuuji doesn't want that. He wants to play for fun. Not for image, not for legacy, and definitely not to be measured against someone he’s tied to by an arrangement he has no say in.

Nobara leans back just enough to give Yuuji a sideways glance. “Damn, Itadori. You sure you’re not secretly aiming for him? ’Cause I’m seeing chemistry potential.”

Yuuji chokes. “What?!”

Toudou gasps like she’s committed blasphemy. “Chemistry?! With Ryoumen Sukuna?!” He looks between them, scandalised. “Brother, why didn’t you tell me this?”

“I didn’t— There isn’t— It’s not like that!” Yuuji hisses, shoving Toudou’s arm off his shoulder.

“Sure, sure,” Nobara says, smirking now. Her voice turns quieter. “All I’m saying is, if you’re tied to someone like that, maybe warn us next time. I almost feel betrayed.”

Yuuji slumps against the railing, silently praying for the floor to swallow him.

Through it all, Megumi hasn’t said a word, but Yuuji can feel his gaze on him every so often — quiet, steady, measuring. It’s not judgment, not exactly. More like Megumi’s keeping track of every flicker of expression Yuuji has, reading him without asking.

The game winds down with Kamihara dominating. The final buzzer sounds, and the crowd erupts into cheers when Sukuna lands the winning shot. Students surge toward the exits and railings, phones out, desperate to get closer, but Yuuji doesn’t move.

He keeps his eyes on the court until Sukuna disappears into the locker room, towel slung around his neck, surrounded by teammates and trainers. Untouchable. 

The bell signalling the end of lunch break finally drags them out of the gym and back into the buzzing halls.

Chapter Text

Yuuji doesn’t see Sukuna much over the next few days — only in passing, and even then, barely.

The first time is on a Wednesday afternoon, squeezed between two classes. With ten minutes to spare, Yuuji drifts toward the main gym, pulled more by the noise than any real interest. The stands are half full, students leaning forward with restless energy, voices rising above the steady rhythm of sneakers against polished wood.

Kamihara’s playing, and Sukuna’s on the court.

Even from the back row, Sukuna stands out — sharp movements, steady control, the kind of precision that looks almost effortless. Yuuji watches in silence, following the quick exchange of passes until Sukuna slips past a defender and lands a clean shot from the arc.

The crowd reacts instantly, a ripple of noise sweeping through the stands. Sukuna doesn’t acknowledge it. He barely reacts at all, jogging back without looking at anyone.

Yuuji checks the time on his phone, pushes himself up, and leaves before the whistle blows. He doubts Sukuna noticed he was there.

The next time is Friday morning.

Yuuji’s walking toward the cafeteria with Megumi when a low stir moves through the hallway.
A group of Kamihara players passes on the upper walkway, their black-and-gold jackets catching the light.

Sukuna walks at the centre, hands shoved casually into his pockets, shoulders loose in a way Yuuji isn’t used to seeing. One of his teammates says something, and Sukuna lets out a quiet laugh, brief, low, easy.

Yuuji almost misses it. It’s not unusual, probably. Sukuna must laugh like that often with people close to him. But to Yuuji, it feels strangely out of place. Like catching a glimpse of a room he was never invited into.

Before he realises it, his gaze drifts up, and for a fleeting second, Sukuna’s eyes find his. There’s a brief weight of recognition passing between them before they walk pass each other’s sight.

They haven’t spoken since the day Sukuna sent him home, and honestly, Yuuji’s fine keeping it that way.

School keeps him busy anyway. Classes, assignments, projects — it’s relentless, and most nights he crashes the moment he gets home. 

Life settles into something like a rhythm: mornings with Nobara and Megumi, lunch breaks in the cafeteria, sometimes joined by their upperclassmen. Gojo and Getou drift in and out depending on practice, loud and impossible to ignore whenever they’re around.

By the end of the day, it’s always Chosou waiting by the gates, scanning the crowd until his gaze finds Yuuji. The drive home is easy, familiar. Chosou lets him ramble or sit in silence if he wants, only chiming in when necessary.

But today feels different.

For once, there’s space to breathe. Classes are over, but the school is far from quiet. The Golden Inter-Academy Cup is still underway, and the air hums with a kind of restless energy, heavy and alive, seeping into every corner.

-

The main atrium of Jujutsu High thrums with late-afternoon chaos. Sunlight filters through the massive glass dome above, breaking into sharp reflections on polished marble floors. Students drift across multiple levels, a constant weave of motion and sound, their voices rising and falling like overlapping currents.

Yuuji sits on the edge of a low stone planter beneath one of the tall indoor trees, his bag resting by his feet, legs stretched out loosely. The school basketball team’s match has just wrapped up, and the atrium still buzzes with post-game chatter, students spilling out from the courts in waves of adrenaline.

Gojo and Getou are at the centre of it, fresh off the court and louder than anyone else. Getou lounges against the planter opposite Yuuji, wearing the smug look of someone convinced he orchestrated the entire win. Gojo gestures wildly mid-story, sunglasses sliding dangerously down his nose as he reenacts his “game-saving play,” embellishing it more with every retelling.

Yuuji isn’t really listening. He’s half-slumped against Megumi’s shoulder, head resting there lazily, letting Megumi’s quiet steadiness ground him amid the noise. Megumi, as usual, offers little more than occasional dry comments, unfazed by Gojo’s theatrics.

Nobara perches beside them, scrolling through her phone with an air of practiced indifference, though the occasional muffled snort betrays her amusement. Across from them, Toudou paces like a caged animal, passionately outlining “combat strategy” for the next match as though the court were a battlefield only he understands.

For the first time in days, Yuuji lets himself relax, letting the warmth and chatter of his friends blur into the background.

And then the atmosphere shifts.

It’s subtle at first. Conversations falter mid-sentence. Footsteps slow. A few scattered heads turn instinctively toward the glass walkway arching above the atrium.

Kamihara Academy’s basketball team is crossing.

Fresh off a match elsewhere on campus, they carry the leftover charge of adrenaline with them, their black-and-gold jackets sharp against the soft lighting. Their strides are measured, the quiet confidence of players who are used to winning.

And at the centre of them — Sukuna.

Yuuji feels it before he even sees him. That familiar, weighted awareness pricks at the edge of his thoughts. He shifts instinctively, glancing up, and their eyes meet.

It lasts barely a second.

Yuuji gives the smallest polite nod, almost automatic. Sukuna returns it with a faint tilt of his chin, expression unreadable. Yuuji drops his gaze quickly, hoping not to draw attention.

But Sukuna doesn’t keep walking.

He slows. Deliberate. He leans in slightly, murmurs something to one of his teammates, then breaks from the group without ceremony, descending the wide staircase toward the atrium floor.

Nobara notices first. Her scrolling halts mid-swipe, head snapping up, voice sharp but hushed. “He’s coming this way.”

Yuuji blinks, confused. “Who?”

Megumi doesn’t answer. His gaze locks on Sukuna instantly, jaw tightening. Gojo leans lazily against the planter, tilting his head like he’s settling in for a show. Getou straightens subtly, silent but attentive.

By now, the shift in the atrium is undeniable. Students nearby have noticed, whispers starting like sparks. Heads turn, following Sukuna’s path down the stairs. The sound of his shoes against marble is clean, sharp, unhurried. Each step measured enough to cut through the background noise.

When he stops in front of Yuuji, the quiet is almost total.

Sukuna stands loose but controlled, his presence filling the space effortlessly. His gaze sweeps once over the group — sharp, assessing — before locking onto Yuuji like a blade sliding into place.

“Yuuji.”

Just his name. Nothing else. But it lands heavy, taut with unspoken weight.

Yuuji straightens instinctively, forcing his voice steady. “Yeah?”

“I’m leaving soon,” Sukuna says, his tone smooth, low enough that only their corner hears. “If you’re done here…” A pause. “I’ll send you home.”

The words drop between them like a stone into still water, silent ripples spreading instantly.

Gojo’s grin sharpens, eyes glimming with amusement. Getou folds his arms, gaze unreadable but intent. Nobara’s jaw goes slack, uncharacteristically speechless, and Toudou’s expression explodes into pure betrayal.

Yuuji feels every gaze on him, heat crawling up the back of his neck. His throat tightens, his mind blank for half a second.

But Sukuna waits.

Yuuji draws a steady breath, turning to his friends with a small, carefully neutral smile. “Uh… yeah. Sure. I’ll head off first, guys.”

It sounds casual enough.

He rises, slipping his bag over his shoulder smoothly even when his chest is running. The murmurs swell immediately, chasing him as he steps away, falling into stride beside Sukuna.

And just like that, the two of them disappear into the slow roar of the atrium, leaving behind the weight of a hundred unasked questions.

-

The courtyard feels calmer than the atrium, but Yuuji still feels the weight of every glance that trails after them.

Before stepping fully outside, he pulls out his phone and quickly texts Chosou, letting him know he’s going with Sukuna.

The soft sound of the fountain carries on the breeze, sunlight cutting across the stone path in pale ribbons. Students move in scattered groups, voices low, laughter quick, but no one walks too close to them. Sukuna’s presence has that effect without effort.

Yuuji matches his pace without thinking about it, hands shoved into his pockets, bag slung over one shoulder. The silence between them isn’t uncomfortable but it’s heavy enough to make him aware of every step.

“Your friends,” Sukuna says simply, his tone even, “do they know?”

Yuuji nods once. “Yeah… some of them. But they all will now.”

Sukuna doesn’t respond right away, doesn’t even look at him, so Yuuji hesitates before asking, “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

For a moment, Sukuna studies him, not sharply, but with quiet focus. Something flickers behind his expression, before he replies. “Let people talk if they want to. Their opinions don’t change anything.”

Yuuji exhales a quiet laugh through his nose, relief softening his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess not.” It feels good to hear him say it, even if Yuuji didn’t realise he was waiting for the reassurance.

Sukuna steps away from the fountain and heads toward the parking lot.

“Come on,” he says over his shoulder, smooth, clipped. “I’m driving.”

Yuuji frowns, trailing after him. “Uraume’s not here?”

Sukuna glances at him briefly, one brow lifting. “No. Is there a problem?”

That shuts Yuuji up fast enough. He follows without protest, though the unexpectedness of it makes his chest beats strangely.

By the time they reach the parking lot, Sukuna’s car gleams beneath the fading sunlight. It’s different than the usual ones Yuuji had been into. Sukuna unlocks it with a flick of his wrist, sliding into the driver’s seat.

Yuuji hesitates for just a beat before climbing into the passenger side.

The car door shuts softly. Inside, it’s quieter.

Sukuna fastens his seatbelt, starts the engine, and the low hum fills the silence. He doesn’t look at Yuuji when he speaks next, voice smooth, almost casual.

“Hungry?”

Yuuji blinks, caught off guard. “Huh?”

Sukuna shifts into reverse, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift. “I asked if you’re hungry.”

Yuuji blinks again, mouth opening then closing. “I mean, yeah, kinda.”

Sukuna’s gaze stays on the road as he eases the car out of the parking lot, his voice even but leaving no room for argument.

“Then we’ll eat,” he says simply. “I’ll inform your parents.”

-

The drive is quiet, but not tense.

Yuuji can’t help but watch Sukuna. He breaks the silence again. 

“How was your match today?” It feels like the first day Sukuna came to his school and took him home all over again, but different somehow. More intimate.

Sukuna doesn’t look away from the road. “Fine.”

“What were the scores?” Yuuji doesn’t need to ask who won.

There’s no change in Sukuna’s feature, like he’s only talking about the weather. “Eighty-six to forty-three.”

“That’s insane,” Yuuji says, not stopping a small laugh from escaping him. Sukuna doesn't turn his head, but his eyes shifts away from the road for a moment. “I watched your first match. You were really good.” After a while he adds, “My friends thought so too.”

That earns him a sidelong glance, sharp, with something hidden underneath.

“You did?” Sukuna asks finally, voice dipping low. “Didn’t you have classes?”

Yuuji waves a hand dismissively. “It was lunchtime. I went to class after.”

Sukuna exhales through his nose, something caught between disapproval and amusement, but he doesn’t press further.

The conversation slips into silence again, but it feels different now. Less like an obligation and more like something left open-ended.

Sukuna drives smoothly, one hand resting on the wheel, navigating the city streets with practiced ease. Yuuji leans back in the passenger seat, watching the buildings pass by, and can’t help noticing how strange this feels already.

Normally, the only times they share a moment together is at family dinners or other long, orchestrated events where conversation is careful, expectations are unspoken, and someone is always watching. Here, though, there’s none of that. No polite small talk for appearances. No parents. Not even Uraume or Chosou hovering nearby. 

Just the two of them.

That thought sticks with him the entire drive.

That thought stays lodged in Yuuji’s head until the car slows outside a quiet, understated restaurant tucked between sleek glass buildings. Warm light spills from the windows, reflecting off polished pavement.

He raises an eyebrow as he steps out. “Didn’t think you’d pick a place like this.”

Sukuna locks the car with a sharp click, glancing at him briefly. “I didn’t pick it. I own it.”

Yuuji blinks, then exhales through his nose, half amused, half unsurprised. “Right.”

Inside, the restaurant is elegant but subtle — pale wood, soft lighting, and tables spaced generously apart. The kind of place meant for privacy without making a show of it. The hostess greets Sukuna by name and guides them to a quiet table by the window without hesitation.

When the waiter arrives, Sukuna orders without pause, his voice low and sure. He lists off dishes Yuuji hasn’t even looked at yet, and it’s only when the waiter leaves that Yuuji realises —

Every single thing Sukuna ordered is something he likes.

He blinks, raising an eyebrow as he leans back in his seat. “You just assumed I’d want this?”

“You’ve liked the same things since you were thirteen,” Sukuna says casually, unfolding his napkin with unhurried precision. “I see no reason to ask.”

Yuuji freezes mid-motion, towel halfway to his hands. “You remembered that?”

Sukuna doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at him. He sets the napkin neatly across his lap, as if the conversation never happened. And somehow, that says more than any response could have.

Yuuji leans back slowly, blinking at him — caught somewhere between confused and… something else he doesn’t have the word for yet. He swallows down the lump forming in his throat.

Still, a thought lingers: he feels a little bad. Because he doesn’t think he knows what Sukuna likes. Sukuna eats whatever is set in front of him, Yuuji thinks. Always polite and never complaining. 

The food arrives not long after, each dish arranged with meticulous precision. Sukuna doesn’t look up when he slides the sashimi plate toward Yuuji, an almost careless gesture.

He’s done this before, Yuuji realises — countless times, at countless family dinners. Sukuna has always passed him the things he prefers, as if it’s second nature. But only this time, Yuuji starts to think that it might not be as unintentional as he thought.

He hesitates for half a beat, fingers brushing the edge of the plate as he takes it.

For a while, they eat in silence. The restaurant is quiet, filled with the soft clinking of cutlery and low hums of distant conversation. Yuuji focuses on his food, almost grateful for the lull — until Sukuna speaks, voice smooth and casual. Too casual.

“The Zen’in heir,” Sukuna says, setting his glass down with quiet precision. “I’ve noticed you and he are close.”

Yuuji blinks, caught off guard. “Megumi?”

Sukuna doesn’t answer directly, but the slight tilt of his head is enough.

“Yeah,” Yuuji says after a beat. “We’ve been friends since middle school.”

“Friends,” Sukuna echoes, his tone perfectly neutral. But there’s a faint pause before the word, just enough to make Yuuji glance up.

Yuuji frowns faintly, chopsticks clutched loosely in his hand. “Why?”

Sukuna’s gaze meets his, steady and unreadable. “I’m simply curious.”

Yuuji raises an eyebrow. “About Megumi?”

“You spend a lot of time with him,” Sukuna says after a beat, his tone even, almost casual. “I’ve noticed.”

Yuuji blinks, chopsticks pausing mid-air. “Where?”

Sukuna doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he takes a slow sip of water, sets the glass down with deliberate care, and finally says, “At school. At events. Occasionally on your family’s grounds.”

The last part makes Yuuji pause — but then it clicks. Of course Sukuna would notice. Megumi’s around often enough: tagging along with Nobara when Yuuji’s parents host dinners, showing up at the occasional gala where the Zen’ins make an appearance, or dropping by Yuuji’s house after school. If Sukuna happens to be there too, even briefly, it makes sense he’d see them together.

Yuuji leans back slightly, watching him. “You two don’t even know each other.”

“I know enough,” Sukuna replies, his tone smooth, without edge.

Yuuji raises an eyebrow. “And what’s ‘enough’?”

Sukuna pauses for a moment, expression calm, before saying simply, “He’s the Zen’in heir. That alone says plenty.”

Yuuji exhales softly, shaking his head. “He’s not like the rest of them.”

Sukuna tilts his head, a faint hum slipping out, more thoughtful than mocking. “Is that why you’re close to him?”

The question lands lightly, and this time Yuuji doesn’t feel cornered by it. He hesitates only briefly before replying, “Megumi’s my best friend. That’s all.”

Sukuna nods once, as if accepting the answer, and leans back in his chair, resting an arm along the table’s edge. “Mm. I see.”

The simple response puts Yuuji at ease, though there’s still something unreadable behind Sukuna’s calm gaze — something Yuuji doesn’t know how to name yet.

He grabs another piece of meat, using it as a distraction. “You’re different today.”

Sukuna looks up lazily, eyebrow lifting. “Am I?”

“You’re acting… warmer, I guess.”

For the first time, Sukuna smiles — faint, sharp-edged, gone almost as quickly as it comes. “And that bothers you?”

Yuuji hesitates, shifting in his seat. “No. It’s just… confusing.”

Sukuna picks up his glass again, swirling the water lazily. “Not everything requires an explanation.”

The deliberate way he says it makes something stir uneasily in Yuuji, though he can’t quite put a name to it. He looks down at his plate, pretending to focus on his food.

This time, when silence settles between them, it feels different — not awkward, not heavy, but quieter somehow. Still, Yuuji has the odd sense that Sukuna’s attention lingers on him a little longer than necessary, like there’s something unsaid resting just beneath the surface.

-

The rest of the meal passes in quiet, the kind that isn’t exactly uncomfortable but leaves Yuuji unusually aware of every sound — the soft clink of dishes, the muted hum of voices from other tables, the faint scrape of Sukuna’s chopsticks against porcelain.

They don’t talk much after that. Sukuna doesn’t offer, and Yuuji doesn’t ask. There’s something unspoken sitting between them, and Yuuji decides, maybe for the first time, not to try and name it.

By the time they leave the restaurant, the city has settled into its evening calm. The drive back is quiet, lit only by the passing glow of streetlights washing over the car’s interior in fleeting bands of gold. The low hum of the engine fills the silence, steady and unhurried.

Yuuji watches the dark blur of trees slip past outside the window, stealing occasional glances at Sukuna, who drives with the same smooth precision he does everything else. It’s strangely grounding, though he’d never admit it.

Before long, the car rolls up the long driveway, the estate glowing softly beneath the night sky, pools of warm light spilling from the windows onto the polished stone path. Sukuna doesn’t slow until they reach the front steps, stopping the car with quiet ease, the engine’s low purr settling into silence.

Yuuji unbuckles his seatbelt, fingers drumming lightly against the door handle as though hesitating over something unsaid.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says finally, keeping his voice even. “And dinner.”

Sukuna leans back slightly in his seat, one hand still resting on the gearshift. “It’s nothing.”

Yuuji hesitates a fraction longer than necessary, glancing at Sukuna’s profile in the dim light. “Drive safe,” he mutters, and pushes the door open.

Cool night air slips in.

Just before he steps out, there’s the faintest tilt of Sukuna’s head, soft enough to almost miss.

“Good night,” Sukuna says, low and even.

Yuuji shuts the door carefully and walks toward the house without looking back. He doesn’t have to. He knows Sukuna is still there.

And maybe it’s ridiculous, probably is, but his chest feels lighter than it should.

Inside, the house greets him the way it always does: warm, quiet, lived-in despite its elegance. Golden light spills across marble floors, soft against pale walls, the faint scent of jasmine hanging in the air from a candle somewhere.

Yuuji toes off his shoes at the entryway and barely makes it past the staircase before his mother appears at the landing, one hand resting against the carved railing.

“Yuuji.” Her voice is smooth, lilting with effortless warmth. She leans lightly into the banister, silk blouse catching the soft light. “How was dinner?”

“Kaa-san.” Yuuji smiles as he climbs the steps, loosening the collar of his uniform. “It was good.”

Something eases in her expression, softening the elegant composure she always carries. “I’m glad,” she says, her voice gentle now. “It’s nice, you spending time with Sukuna-kun.”

When he reaches the top, she opens her arms, and he leans in without hesitation, hugging her briefly.

“We still didn’t talk that much,” he admits quietly against her shoulder.

Her hand smooths lightly down his back before pulling away to cup his cheek. “You don’t always have to,” she says, kissing his temple. “Sometimes sharing a meal says enough.” Her smile deepens, tender and certain. “Sukuna-kun’s a nice boy. He’ll take good care of you.”

Yuuji hums faintly, letting her words sit unchallenged even as they ripple somewhere deep in his chest.

“Is Tou-san home?” he asks, straightening.

“Yes,” she nods, smoothing the sleeve of his uniform almost absently. “He’s showering. You should too, love. Then finish your schoolwork and rest.” She squeezes his hand lightly, her gaze soft but knowing. “Tell us more tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Yuuji smiles faintly. “Good night, Kaa-san.”

“Good night, Yuuji.”

He slips down the hall to his room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

The silence inside feels heavier somehow, like the echo of everything left unspoken.

He drops onto his bed, pulling out his phone — and freezes at the endless flood of notifications lighting up the screen from his friends. Dozens of messages stacked one after another.

He exhales, dragging a hand down his face.

It’s going to be a long night of explanations.

Chapter Text

By Wednesday, things at school feel… different.

It’s not loud. Not obvious. But Yuuji notices it anyway — the way conversations pause a beat too long when he walks past, how polite smiles come with a flicker of curiosity behind them, how a few glances linger before darting away.

Yesterday’s scene didn’t go entirely unnoticed. Ryoumen Sukuna, walking up to Itadori Yuuji in broad daylight — the two of them leaving in the same car. Not everyone saw it, but the ones who did are talking. Quietly. Carefully.

Nobara drops into her seat, leaning over her desk just enough to mutter, “People have started talking about yesterday.”

Yuuji exhales, fingers tugging absently at the strap of his bag. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Megumi glances over, his tone flat but steady. “Ignore them,” he says. “It’ll die down.”

Yuuji nods, grateful for the reassurance, but his thoughts are elsewhere. Even with the quiet hum of gossip around him, it isn’t the whispers that stay with him.

It’s Sukuna.

-

The thing about Sukuna is that Yuuji understands why his parents like him.

Sukuna is everything they value: sharp, disciplined, and impossibly composed. He’s only two years older than Yuuji, but carries himself with the weight of someone far beyond his age — perfectly groomed, perfectly mannered, perfectly impossible to fault. Star athlete, top of his class, always knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.

He’s the kind of son Yuuji’s parents could brag about even if he weren’t their future son-in-law.

It isn’t just Sukuna, though. It’s the Ryoumen family.

The Ryoumens are old money, one of the oldest lines in the region. Their empire is built over decades of calculated alliances and deliberate power moves — real estate, investments, political influence. The Itadoris aren’t far behind, but the two families together hold enough sway to make headlines when they breathe the same air.

To their parents, this engagement isn’t just personal — it’s symbolic. A promise of stability. A statement to every investor, competitor, and whispering member of high society: the Itadoris and Ryoumens move as one.

Yuuji understands that. He’s grown up around these expectations, learned early how the game is played — the dinners beneath crystal chandeliers, the long speeches about duty and legacy, the soft negotiations tucked behind champagne glasses.

He understands it. But understanding doesn’t make it easier.

Because for Yuuji, Sukuna has never been a symbol. He’s just… Sukuna.

-

When they were younger, things used to be different.

Before the endless galas and boardroom dinners, before Sukuna learned how to hold a glass of wine without ever drinking it, before his polite smile became as practiced as a handshake — they’d been almost friends.

Yuuji remembers one summer at the Ryoumen estate. He couldn’t have been older than ten; Sukuna was twelve. Their families had gathered for some deal — Yuuji never knew what — but he remembered sneaking out of the stuffy dining hall with Sukuna, barefoot on the marble balcony, laughing quietly so their parents wouldn’t hear.

Sukuna had found a tray of mochi in the kitchen and handed one over without saying anything, just this small, awkward gesture like sharing contraband.

“Eat fast,” Sukuna had muttered, glancing toward the door. “If they see us, they’ll make us sit through another toast.”

Yuuji still remembers that — the soft way Sukuna spoke back then, like he hadn’t yet learned to flatten his voice into something smooth and distant.

They’d had other moments, too. A quiet game of shogi in the corner of a crowded gala hall. Whispered complaints about scratchy formal collars. Sukuna brushing snow out of Yuuji’s hair one winter night after an outdoor charity event, handing him his scarf without looking him in the eye.

Small things. Warm things.

But somewhere along the way, Sukuna had grown up.

The boy who used to sneak desserts and complain about stiff shoes became the young man who never slipped, never stumbled, never showed more than he intended. The Sukuna sitting across from him at family dinners now was polite, perfectly presentable — and utterly unreachable.

And Yuuji… Yuuji had gotten used to living with that distance.

Or at least, he thought he had.

Because ever since Tuesday night, Sukuna has been harder to ignore — his face slipping uninvited into quiet moments, into stray thoughts Yuuji would rather not have.

-

The next time Yuuji sees him isn’t at school but at another family gathering in the city, three days later.
Which is both nerve-wracking and a relief.

Nerve-wracking, because dinner three days ago still lingers in his mind — Sukuna had been… different, to say the least. And Yuuji still hasn’t figured out what to do with that.

A relief, because at least it isn’t school. Three days of relentless teasing and half-serious interrogation from his friends have been more than enough. His engagement to Sukuna has even become prime meme material in their group chat. The thought of dealing with them and Sukuna in the same room feels like nightmare fuel.

This time, the gathering is at one of the Ryoumens’ riverside villas. A sprawling, low property tucked away from the city noise, its architecture is clean and modern — soft concrete lines, expansive glass walls — yet the warm lighting spilling from within makes it feel lived-in rather than cold.

It’s smaller and quieter than the usual galas or charity functions: only the two families, a handful of trusted business partners, and familiar faces Yuuji has grown up seeing at events like these. Conversation drifts from the open living area, blending with the trickle of water from the terrace garden. Elegant, but not suffocating.

Yuuji arrives with his parents, dressed slightly less formally than usual. The atmosphere — the soft hum of chatter, the clink of glasses, the faint, lazy music floating in the background — feels more personal than most of these evenings ever do.

He spots Sukuna almost immediately.

Sukuna stands near the wide glass doors opening onto the garden, speaking quietly with his parents. Tonight, he’s dressed simply — a pale dress shirt, sleeves rolled neatly at his forearms. It’s different, less formal, less untouchable, but his composure hasn’t changed: effortless, controlled, unshakable.

Beside him, his parents carry the same weight in their own way.

Sukuna’s father stands tall, shoulders broad, posture precise yet natural. He doesn’t need to speak to command the room; authority radiates from him without effort, sharp enough to still the air, magnetic enough to draw every eye.

His mother contrasts him in deliberate ways. Elegance marks every movement — unhurried, measured, polished to perfection. She wears warmth like an accessory: soft smiles, gracious tones. But beneath it, there’s unmistakable control. Polite. Approachable. Untouchable.

Yuuji doesn’t need anyone to tell him Sukuna learned composure here.

As if sensing Yuuji’s gaze, Sukuna glances over. Just a flick of his eyes, but it’s enough to catch Yuuji off guard. Almost without thinking, Yuuji offers a small smile. It comes easier this time, natural in a way he doesn’t stop to question.

His mother’s hand brushes his arm, pulling him back. She’s the picture of quiet elegance tonight — cream silk draped over her shoulders, pearl earrings swaying gently with each step. “Come, darling,” she says warmly, nodding toward the Ryoumens. “Let’s go greet them.”

They weave through small knots of guests, exchanging bows and polite murmurs, until they reach the family. Greetings come smoothly, warm and practiced.

“Yuuji-kun,” Sukuna’s mother says first, her smile soft and genuine. “It’s so good to see you again. You’ve grown taller since last month, haven’t you?”

Yuuji laughs lightly, ducking his head. “Ah, really, Ryoumen-san? I suppose I have,” he says, though he doesn’t believe it. Still, he knows the right thing is to play along.

Sukuna’s father joins in, presence steady but approachable, resting a hand lightly on Yuuji’s shoulder. “How have you been?” His voice is deep, even.

“Sukuna mentioned your school’s basketball team is strong this year. Perhaps Sukuna will face them in the finals, hm?”

Yuuji hesitates, then offers a small, polite smile. “I’ve been well, thank you — just busy, so I haven’t been able to watch many of Sukuna’s matches.” His tone is smooth, respectful. “I did catch Kamihara’s first game, though. Sukuna was really good. Everyone was impressed.”

There’s a pause, faint but noticeable, and Yuuji feels it. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Sukuna looking at him — brief, unreadable — before Sukuna shifts his gaze away.

Before the silence can stretch, Yuuji’s father steps in, tone light and easy. Where Sukuna’s father is commanding, his own charm is effortless — the kind that smooths edges, draws people in without trying. “He told us about that match too,” he says pleasantly. “Sounds like you played brilliantly, Sukuna.”

Sukuna inclines his head slightly, his movements controlled, his smile polite but thin. “I did what was needed,” he replies simply.

“Some of my friends are on the school team,” Yuuji adds after a beat, casual, conversational. “It’d be fun to see them face Kamihara in the finals.”

That draws a low chuckle from Sukuna’s father, subtle but amused. “Ah, that would be Gojo’s boy, wouldn’t it? I’ve heard he’s talented.” His gaze slides briefly back to Yuuji, sharp despite his genial tone. “But tell me… if it came down to that, who would you cheer for?”

Yuuji pauses, weighing his words, then flashes a small, easy smile. “Sukuna already has the entire room cheering for him,” he says lightly. “I don’t think my voice would make much difference.”

Polite laughter ripples through the group — soft, measured. But when Yuuji glances at Sukuna, he catches it: the barest curve of his mouth, fleeting, gone before Yuuji can be sure it was real.

“If only you were playing too, Yuuji-kun,” Sukuna’s mother says then, her tone kind, smile openly warm. “Now that would be incredible. I’d come watch myself.”

Yuuji lets out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, I’d probably embarrass the family name, Ryoumen-san,” he replies, playful but respectful. Then, quieter, his smile curving, he adds, “But I’d like to think I could at least keep up with Sukuna. For the first five minutes, maybe.”

That earns another ripple of laughter, gentler this time. Yet Sukuna’s gaze stays on him. Sharp. Assessing. Yuuji looks away first.

Unexpectedly, Yuuji’s mother joins in, turning toward the Ryoumens with a proud smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he managed it,” she says warmly. “Yuuji’s always been quick on his feet. He just prefers other things over competing.”

Sukuna’s father hums softly, lifting his glass. His gaze drifts back to Yuuji, steady, unreadable. “Of course,” he says evenly, quiet approval threading his tone. “Yuuji has grown a lot.”

The conversation flows easily after that — business, acquaintances, familiar stories passed between the two families. Yuuji keeps his polite smile fixed, nodding when needed, answering when spoken to. It isn’t unpleasant, but it is predictable. Still, every now and then, without meaning to, his eyes drift toward Sukuna — and once or twice, he catches Sukuna already looking back.

And then, as these things always do, their parents’ attention shifts elsewhere.

One of the Ryoumens’ business partners arrives, and within minutes both sets of parents are drawn into an animated discussion about contracts and investments. Yuuji’s mother excuses herself with a soft smile, his father following close behind, leaving Yuuji standing beside Sukuna alone.

For the first time all evening, it’s quiet between them.

Sukuna shifts slightly, his gaze moving toward the sunken seating area just inside the doors — a low space lined with cushions around a short table. Without a word, he steps toward it, pausing just long enough to glance back at Yuuji.

“We’ll sit here,” he says, tone flat but final.

Yuuji nods and follows, lowering himself onto one of the cushions. Sukuna takes the one opposite with a single, unhurried motion, requesting tea from a nearby server without even glancing up. His presence fills the space with ease.

The air here feels calmer, quieter. Yuuji glances around, half-ready to comment on the décor, or maybe the weather, when Sukuna unexpectedly speaks first.

“How have you been?”

Yuuji blinks, caught off guard. Sukuna’s tone is low, even — casual, but intentional. He doesn’t look away, his gaze steady.

“Pretty good,” Yuuji answers after a moment, shoulders lifting in a small shrug.

Sukuna hums faintly, the sound more acknowledgment than response, before turning his eyes toward the garden beyond. A moment passes, quiet but weighted, before he speaks again.

“How about your friends?” His voice is smooth, calm. “They know everything now?”

That draws a quiet laugh from Yuuji. “Yeah. They know.” He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “It’s hell. They tease me every single day.”

Sukuna’s brow arches slightly — not sympathy, but something closer to quiet disapproval. “Ignore them.”

Yuuji snorts, leaning back on his cushion. “Easier said than done.”

There’s a sound from Sukuna then — soft, brief, almost a laugh, though it dies as quickly as it comes.

A server returns with their tea, placing the tray between them. Steam curls faintly from the delicate cups, and for a moment neither speaks, both reaching for their drinks in near-perfect silence. Outside, sunlight glitters across the river, shards of light breaking like glass on water.

Yuuji sets his cup down, fingers brushing the lacquered edge of the table. “And you?” he asks casually. “Isn’t it hard, balancing school and basketball? The finals are next week, right?”

Sukuna gives a short nod, expression unreadable. “It’s under control.”

Yuuji studies him for a beat, unconvinced. For anyone else, juggling schoolwork and a national-level tournament would be brutal. But Sukuna… isn’t anyone else.

“I’m really excited for it,” Yuuji admits, tracing a finger idly along the table’s edge.

Sukuna glances at him then, a flicker of curiosity passing across his face. “You’re watching?”

“Yeah.” Yuuji nods, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Some classes on Thursday and Friday are canceled so the school can watch the semis and finals. Guess they’re counting on our team to make it that far.”

Sukuna’s gaze lingers a fraction too long before he exhales softly. “I see.”

Yuuji drums his fingers against the wood, eyes flicking to Sukuna before dropping back to his cup. He clears his throat, voice light — almost like he’s just filling the silence. “Do you even like it?”

Sukuna’s eyes turn to him, steady, unhurried. “Like what?”

“Basketball.” Yuuji gestures vaguely. “You’re good at it, sure. But do you actually still like it?”

Sukuna doesn’t answer right away. He sits comfortably, one knee bent, fingers loose around his cup. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, smooth — detached, but deliberate.

“Some days.”

Yuuji hums softly, letting the words sink in. “So, what about after?” he asks lightly. “Once you graduate. Planning to keep going? Pro team, maybe?”

Sukuna looks at him briefly, something unreadable flickering in his gaze before it fades. “Maybe.”

“‘Maybe,’ huh.” Yuuji leans back, lips quirking faintly. “Not a very passionate answer for someone carrying a whole team on his back.”

Sukuna taps his fingers once against his cup, then sets it down with precision. His tone is thoughtful, light. “Passion doesn’t win games.”

Yuuji raises a brow. “Then what does?”

“Control,” Sukuna replies, without hesitation.

The word lands heavier than Yuuji expects. There’s no boast in Sukuna’s voice, no arrogance — just quiet certainty, as if it’s the simplest truth.

Yuuji leans forward. “Control, huh. Over the ball? The game?”

Sukuna hums, gaze flicking to him. “Everything.”

His tone is calm, almost offhand, but it makes Yuuji stare anyway. For a moment, he’s sure Sukuna isn’t just talking about basketball.

“Sounds exhausting,” Yuuji says at last, his voice softer.

Sukuna’s mouth curves — not quite a smile, but close enough to unnerve him. “You get used to it.”

Yuuji studies him for a long moment, wanting to ask more but unsure if he should. The silence stretches, filled only by distant voices and the ripple of water outside.

“Kind of wild to think you’re graduating this year,” Yuuji says finally, almost idly. “Feels like it came out of nowhere.”

Sukuna leans back slightly, one arm resting against the cushion, gaze drifting to the garden again. He nods once. “Time moves fast.”

Yuuji hums in agreement, though the words sit heavy in his chest. He hesitates, then asks softly, “Are you going to stay in the country? For college, I mean.”

“Yes.” Sukuna’s answer is immediate, steady. “I’ll still be here. I need to be close to the family.”

Something loosens in Yuuji’s chest, though he can’t name it. “Oh.” He nods quickly, maybe too quickly. “That’s good.”

His eyes fall to his cup, watching ripples fade across the surface. College feels big — a whole new life, new people, new places. He wonders, briefly, if it’ll change Sukuna, if it’ll change whatever this is between them. The thought lingers, unspoken.

He doesn’t notice Sukuna watching him until the silence stretches a little too long. There’s something in Sukuna’s gaze — not sharp, not soft, but steady, as if he’s assembling a picture piece by piece. Then, calmly, he speaks.

“You’re asking a lot of questions today.”

Yuuji blinks, caught off guard, mouth parting before words come. For a second, he isn’t sure how to answer — he thought he was just filling the quiet, but Sukuna’s right. Their conversations usually leave more unsaid than spoken. Today, he’s asked more than ever.

A soft laugh slips from him, sheepish. “Yeah… guess I am.” His lips curve faintly, almost self-deprecating. “Maybe I just wanna know more about you.”

And if he’s being honest, he doesn’t know why it feels so easy today — why the words slip out without hesitation. Maybe it’s because of that dinner the other night. Maybe it’s how Sukuna had remembered his favorite dish.

Sukuna holds his gaze in a lingering pause. When he speaks, his voice is low, smooth, and certain.

“You will.”

The words are quiet but grounded, carrying a weight that settles between them. He lets the silence breathe for a moment longer before adding, just as evenly:

“My future’s already tied to yours. There’s nothing you won’t know.”

-

The rest of the evening drifts by slowly. They share dinner — the table laid with elegant precision, the low hum of conversation weaving like background music.

Yuuji keeps his voice even, his gestures measured, but he can’t stop his attention from straying — flicking toward Sukuna whenever he shifts in his seat, tilts his head, or offers a polite word across the table.

It isn’t just idle curiosity. There’s something about the way Sukuna moves — deliberate yet unforced, the subtle angle of his jaw when he listens, the faint curl of his lips at a quiet joke, the steady gravity in his gaze.

Every detail catches on Yuuji, tugging in a way he doesn’t fully understand. It’s both unsettling and magnetic, like noticing the pull of an unseen current beneath calm water.

Yuuji doesn’t fidget, doesn’t falter, doesn’t act on it. Outwardly, he remains composed. But beneath the polite rhythm of the evening, the pull is constant — a low, steady friction that won’t release.

Every glance from Sukuna feels weighted, measured, and every time their eyes meet, Yuuji feels it spark through him: an unnamed tether, undeniable yet impossible to explain.

By the time the meal winds down, Yuuji is caught between relief and restlessness. Laughter and the soft clink of glasses ripple through the room, conversation drifting toward lighter topics. Yet beneath it all, the quiet weight of their earlier exchange lingers, an undercurrent he can’t shake.

-

Yuuji barely sleeps.

At first, he blames the tea — too much, too late in the evening — but even he doesn’t believe that. It isn’t the caffeine. It’s Sukuna.

His mind won’t stop looping back, replaying fragments of yesterday in relentless detail: Sukuna’s voice, low and steady. The way he’d set his cup down with a precision that made every movement feel deliberate. That last look. Those words. Even smaller things — the tilt of his head, the faint curve of his mouth at the table — replay again and again, stubborn as a song stuck in his chest.

And Yuuji doesn’t want them there. Not now. Not like this. He presses his palms against his eyes, willing the thoughts away.

By the time the sun rises, he’s had maybe four hours, probably less.

He’s grateful it’s the weekend. If it weren’t, he’d be sleepwalking through class, earning himself another scolding for dozing off in the middle of economics.

He goes through the motions of distraction: shower, phone, breakfast half-finished. But the thoughts keep circling, insistent, no matter how he tries to push them aside. By mid-morning, he gives up the pretense altogether.

Megumi’s place is safer. Megumi won’t pry, won’t tease, won’t demand he say out loud the things he hasn’t sorted out yet. And right now, that’s exactly what he needs.

After confirming his friend is free, he lets his parents know and heads out.

“Chosou-nii,” Yuuji says as he slides into the back seat, “you can head home after dropping me off. I’ll probably be there a while.”

Chosou hums, eyes fixed on the road as the car pulls smoothly into motion. “You and Zen’in-kun won’t be going out?”

“Probably not,” Yuuji says, resting his temple against the cool glass. “I’m a bit tired.”

A quiet beat passes, filled with the steady hum of the engine. Then Chosou asks, voice low, careful: “Is it because of yesterday?”

Yuuji hesitates, gaze drifting over the passing skyline. “No,” he says finally. “It’s not that.”

“Did Ryoumen-kun do anything?”

The question jolts him. Yuuji straightens immediately, shaking his head quickly. “No. Nothing like that. Don’t worry, Chosou-nii.”

Chosou glances at him once, weighing the answer, then turns back to the road. “Alright. But if he does anything — anything at all — you tell me.”

The words aren’t harsh, just protective. Yuuji trusts Chosou more than almost anyone — like a brother, steady and unyielding in a way that anchors him. There’s comfort in that, even while his thoughts wander elsewhere.

A faint smile tugs at Yuuji’s lips. “I will. Thank you.”

The rest of the ride is quiet. Only the hum of the engine, the whisper of tires on pavement, and the distant pulse of city noise beyond the glass. Calming in a way Yuuji didn’t realize he needed.

By the time the Zen’in estate comes into view, he’s managed to settle his mind enough to face the day without overthinking — at least for now.

“I’ll text you later,” he says, leaning forward toward the front seat.

Chosou nods once, his expression unreadable but warm. “Take care.”

-

The Zen’in estate is quiet when Yuuji arrives, sunlight spilling across the long corridor as he kicks off his sneakers at the door. Two sleek shikoku dogs — one black, one white — are already padding toward him, nails clicking softly against the polished marble.

“Hey, you two!” Yuuji crouches down immediately, running his hands through their soft fur. The white one presses eagerly against his knee, tail wagging furiously, while the black one sits back, watching him with calm, amber eyes.

“Hi, Shiro,” Yuuji says, scratching under the white dog’s chin before ruffling the black one’s ears. “Hey, Kuro. You’re still pretending to be the cool one, huh?”

Shiro lets out a soft bark, tail thumping against the floor, while Kuro just blinks slowly, unbothered. Yuuji grins. “Yeah, yeah. I missed you too.”

He doesn’t need directions; he’s been here enough times to know exactly where to go. The dogs follow him down the corridor, Shiro trotting at his heels, Kuro lingering just a few steps behind like a silent shadow.

Inside Megumi’s wing, Yuuji pushes open the door to find his friend sprawled on the couch, dressed in a loose blue T-shirt and soft grey sweatpants. One arm rests over his eyes, hair slightly messy from lying around. Kuro curls up by the couch immediately, while Shiro hops up beside Megumi, nudging at his arm.

Yuuji’s dressed just as comfortably — an oversized red T-shirt and dark shorts. It’s the kind of quiet, lazy weekend where neither of them bothers with appearances. Yuuji is thankful for it.

“You’re late,” Megumi says flatly without looking up.

“You didn’t give me a time,” Yuuji replies, stepping closer. He lightly pokes Megumi’s leg. “And you’re dramatic.”

Megumi twitches faintly, pulling his arm away from his face to glare at him half-heartedly. Then he sits up slowly and looks at him. “Movie room?”

“Yes!” Yuuji says, already walking to the door again. “Come on, let’s go.”

-

The Zen’in media room feels more like a private cinema — soft recliners, a massive screen, shelves of rare Blu-rays, and perfectly calibrated lighting. Shiro immediately claims a recliner at the corner, tail wagging lazily, while Kuro lies on the carpet between Yuuji and Megumi like a quiet sentinel.

Yuuji scrolls through the options, humming. “Alright. We’re watching Human Earthworm.”

Megumi pauses mid-reach for the popcorn, his expression blank but judgment heavy. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.” Yuuji locks in the selection before Megumi can protest, grinning. “Trust me, it’s a masterpiece.”

Megumi exhales slowly, leaning back. “I doubt that.”

He’s right — it isn’t.

Twenty minutes in, Yuuji is the only one laughing, throwing popcorn into his mouth with exaggerated flair, occasionally giving live commentary.

“This fight choreography’s insane,” he insists, gesturing wildly at the screen.

Megumi glances briefly, unimpressed. “That’s a man in an earthworm suit kicking a traffic cone.”

“Art,” Yuuji says simply, as if it’s self-evident.

Shiro lets out a bark, startling Megumi slightly. Yuuji gasps dramatically. “See? Even Shiro agrees.”

Megumi shifts just enough to keep Kuro between himself and Yuuji, his eyes flicking toward Yuuji for the briefest second, a quiet acknowledgment that he’s paying attention. 

He doesn’t respond. The movie is ridiculous, the plot nonexistent. But Yuuji’s laughter is steady, warm, filling the room like something softer than the film deserves. And though Megumi keeps his deadpan face, he doesn’t change the channel. He lets Yuuji’s noise fill the silence.

-

By the time the credits roll, Yuuji stretches with a loud, satisfied sigh. “Beautiful. Cinema at its peak.”

Megumi shuts off the projector, shaking his head faintly as he stands. “You have terrible taste.”

“And yet you stayed the whole time,” Yuuji says with a soft smile, reaching down to pat Kuro before following him out.

From the hallway, faint voices drift up from downstairs, mixed with the sound of dishes clinking.

“Is your father home?” Yuuji asks curiously.

“Think so.”

They head downstairs together, both dogs padding behind them in familiar rhythm. In the dining hall, Toji is already sprawled at the table, sleeves rolled up, posture loose and easy. He looks up as they enter, flashing a sharp grin.

“Megumi. Yuuji. Finally. Come eat.”

“Toji-san!” Yuuji greets brightly, sliding into the seat beside Megumi. “It’s been a while.”

Despite the rumours that follow him, Yuuji has always thought Megumi’s father was surprisingly easy to like. Casual in ways most adults in their circles never were, he’d told Yuuji from the start: “Just call me Toji-san.” He doesn’t seem to care about appearances, etiquette, or what people whisper about him — and Yuuji likes him for that.

Sure, Toji looks scary. Sounds scary too — the kind of guy who could intimidate and offend you without trying. But to Yuuji, he’s just Megumi’s father. And honestly, he’s easy to be around.

Toji waves lazily, leaning back in his chair. “How’ve you been, kid?”

Yuuji smiles, reaching for a pair of chopsticks. “I’m great. This all looks amazing.”

“Chef goes overboard when you’re around,” Toji mutters with a faint smirk at his son. “Guess he likes you better.”

Megumi gives him a flat look, but doesn’t comment.

Dinner unfolds comfortably — the clink of utensils against porcelain, the dogs padding around beneath the table. Shiro rests his chin on Toji’s lap, shamelessly begging for scraps, while Kuro stays tucked loyally under Megumi’s chair.

Halfway through, Toji leans back, sipping water lazily. “So. What are kids like you up to these days?”

Megumi doesn’t bother answering, stabbing at his salmon, so Yuuji fills the space with ease. “Our school’s hosting a basketball tournament. A lot of big-name schools are joining in. Semi-finals start Thursday.”

Toji raises a brow, spearing another piece of grilled fish. “Mm. That the one Naoya’s playing in?”

“Yes,” Yuuji says.

Toji lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Figures. Bastard wouldn’t shut up about it the last time I saw him.” He chews, swallows, then adds with a faint snort, “Still any good?”

Megumi finally looks up from his plate, glancing at Yuuji like the thought had just crossed them both.

“We don’t know, actually,” Yuuji admits, blinking back at him. “Haven’t seen him in a while.”

Toji smirks faintly, leaning back. “Tch. Still running his mouth, though, I bet.” He flicks his gaze toward his son, amusement glinting. “You should play too, Gumi. Give me something to brag about for once.”

Megumi doesn’t even look at him, stabbing another piece of fish. “Pass.”

Yuuji bursts into laughter, and Toji lets it go. Not like he needs more reasons to brag — Megumi’s already the kid everyone knows for topping the rankings without trying.

The rest of the day drifts on, calm and simple. Yuuji finds himself quietly grateful to spend it here, tucked in Megumi’s orbit where things feel steady.

By the time he heads home, his thoughts are lighter.

Even with Sukuna lingering at the back of his mind, sleep comes easier that night.

Chapter Text

By Monday, the rumours are impossible to ignore.

They’d started last Tuesday, of course — the day Sukuna walked straight up to Yuuji in the atrium, said something low enough no one else could hear, and left with him in the same car. Which was not supposed to be a big deal. They could be friends, so what? 

It would’ve died down eventually… if only Yuuji’s own friends hadn’t set the entire cafeteria on fire.

He remembers Wednesday’s lunch way too vividly:

Gojo leaned back in his chair, straw spinning lazily between his fingers, voice pitched deliberately loud enough for nearby tables to overhear. “So. Ryoumen Sukuna, huh?”

Yuuji pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d known this was coming. “Gojo-senpai.”

Gojo’s grin widened, eyes gleaming with mock betrayal. “This your master plan, Yuuji-kun? Befriend the enemy’s star player, infiltrate his team, and hand over intel to your favorite senpais?” He gestured grandly to himself and Getou, as if announcing a coup.

“I sure hope so,” Getou said smoothly, sipping his drink like this was a boardroom meeting. “I feel a little betrayed.”

“I—what?!” Yuuji nearly dropped his chopsticks. “There’s nothing—ugh. I’m sorry! I didn’t know how to tell you guys, okay?”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been stabbed. “Didn’t know how to tell us you’re secretly Ryoumen Sukuna’s fiancé?”

Nobara, still scrolling on her phone, didn’t even glance up. “Technically, he’s not.”

“Thank—” Relief flickered across Yuuji’s face. 

“He’s his fiancée,” Nobara added flatly, stabbing another bite of rice with unnecessary force.

Yuuji groaned, loud enough to rattle the table.

Getou didn’t miss a beat. “At least send us the wedding date before the press release drops.”

“Itadori-Ryoumen.” Maki leaned back, smirk tugging at her mouth. “Nice ring to it. Rolls off the tongue.”

“UNACCEPTABLE!” Toudou’s palms slammed the table so hard the plates rattled. “How dare you hide something this legendary from your best friend, My Brother!”

Nanami, calmly dismantling his bento as though none of this chaos touched him, simply murmured, “Personally, I’m just disappointed we weren’t informed earlier.”

“Guys, can you please stop?!” Yuuji cried, burying his face in his hands, ears burning hot.

Gojo leaned in closer, voice dropping to a stage whisper that somehow carried across half the cafeteria. “So should we start practicing calling you Ryoumen-kun now, or save it for the honeymoon?”

Yuuji had thrown his chopsticks at him.

It hadn’t been loud. It hadn’t needed to be. Among their crowd, whispers spread faster than shouts.
By the end of that day, half the school had heard something — and the other half wanted to.

Now, nearly a week later, it feels like the whole school knows. And the whispers aren’t even subtle anymore.

Yuuji is halfway down the hallway when a first-year suddenly steps in front of him, clutching her notebook like a shield.

“I-Itadori-kun,” she blurts, cheeks pink. “Is it true?”

Yuuji freezes mid-step.

“What?”

“About… you and Ryoumen Sukuna… Are you guys dating?”

He almost trips over his own shoes. “What?! No—what— who even told you that?!”

The girl startles and bows in a rush, stammering an apology before darting off down the hall.

Yuuji just stands there, stunned, while Nobara sighs deeply beside him. “This is your life now,” she says dryly.

Yuuji groans, dragging his hands down his face. “I want to go home and never come back.”

“Blame Sukuna,” Nobara offers, as if that solves anything.

“Trust me, I already do,” Yuuji mutters.

-

The bell for lunch break rings, but instead of relief, Yuuji feels dread sink into his stomach. He has zero desire to walk into the dining hall and face an audience of gossiping classmates, so he stalls — dragging Megumi and Nobara along with him.

The three of them circle campus aimlessly, eating the pre-packaged food they picked up from the school’s mini market. Megumi doesn’t complain, though he’s already had enough of Nobara’s commentary and Yuuji’s sulking.

They eventually wander near the gym.

Nobara’s voice perks up immediately as she peeks through the open doorway. “Ohhh,” she says, voice pitched just loud enough to sound smug. “Speak of the devil.”

Yuuji’s stomach flips even before he looks.

Inside the gym, Sukuna’s team has just won another match against an out-of-district school. The crowd is smaller now — late in the tournament, only a handful of teams left, fewer people to fill the seats — but the atmosphere hums with leftover energy, voices carrying faintly across the court.

Yuuji hesitates at the doorway. He’s not ready to see Sukuna again. Not after that evening at the villa, not after sitting through that dinner with his family, not after spending the entire weekend pretending he hadn’t thought about it more than he should’ve.

Nobara smirks, already tugging at Yuuji’s sleeve. “Come on. We’re peeking.”

“No, let’s not,” Yuuji begs, but she’s relentless, dragging him toward the edge of the bleachers. Megumi follows silently, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his expression neutral — though his eyes flick briefly toward the court.

They don’t really have a reason to stay when there’s no match to watch. But maybe Nobara does — maybe she just wants a closer look at Yuuji’s “infamous fiancé,” as she puts it. And Yuuji, against his better judgment, lets himself be pulled along.

From here, Sukuna is impossible to miss. He’s standing near the bench while listening halfheartedly to one of his teammates.

Yuuji’s caught staring when Sukuna glances up — and for a fraction of a second, their eyes meet. Sukuna gives the faintest tilt of his head in greeting.

Nobara notices immediately. Her hand shoots out to smack Yuuji’s arm. “Oh my god.”

“Shut up,” Yuuji hisses, tearing his gaze away so fast his ears burn. “It was nothing.”

A few minutes later, Sukuna finishes his cooldown, exchanges a few quiet words with his coach, and starts walking toward the bleachers.

Yuuji freezes. “Oh no. No, no, no—he’s coming over here—”

“He is,” Nobara whispers gleefully. “Oh, this is good.”

Megumi exhales softly. “You’re pathetic.”

Before Yuuji can retreat behind Megumi and disappear into the bleachers, Sukuna stops just a few feet away.

“Hey,” Sukuna says simply, offering the faintest curve of a smile. It used to be a rare sight, but Yuuji realises he’s seeing it more often now. 

His brain promptly short-circuits.

“Matches end earlier this week,” Sukuna continues, his tone calm, voice low and unhurried — like this is the most casual thing in the world. “I won’t be around long enough to send you home.”

It takes too long for the words to click. Yuuji blinks, caught completely off guard. “Oh.”

He hadn’t expected Sukuna to say anything — let alone come over just to tell him that. Sukuna doesn’t owe him updates. He doesn’t even need to be the one sending him home in the first place.

“That’s—” Yuuji clears his throat, forcing his voice steady, “—that’s totally fine.” He manages a quick smile, awkward but sincere. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Sukuna doesn’t look away, his gaze steady in a way that makes Yuuji’s pulse trip over itself, before finally giving a small nod.

“Mm.” The sound is soft and almost thoughtful.

And just like that, he turns back toward his team, leaving Yuuji standing there with his pulse in his ears.

Nobara immediately explodes. “You cannot convince me there’s nothing going on!”

“There’s nothing going on!” Yuuji protests, voice cracking at the end.

Megumi just watches him flatly, arms crossed, before muttering, “Sure.”

Yuuji exits the gym quickly.

-

By Tuesday, the rumours have spread into shapes so far from reality that Yuuji can't decide if he is more tired or embarrassed.

Between classes, Yuuji overhears a pair of third-years whispering that he’d been spotted waiting in the stands for Sukuna’s match, “like a good boyfriend.” Someone else swears they’d seen Sukuna lingering by the gates after practice, as though he were waiting to take Yuuji home. 

By lunch, the story has sweetened further: apparently the two of them share secret smiles whenever they pass in the hall, subtle enough to fool teachers but not their classmates.

None of it is true. But the way people say it so casually as if it’s already a fact made it harder to brush aside.

Then, mixed in with the whispers are quieter tones. Soft sighs, half-smiles, a few murmurs of “makes sense” and “figures.” Like the kind of acceptance that came when people decided the pairing fit easily enough

Nobara, of course, finds it hilarious. “Honestly? I like this version better,” she announces, scrolling through her phone with a smirk. “At least they’re painting you as romantic instead of boring.”

Megumi just scowls, eyes cutting toward a cluster of whispering students until they fall silent and scramble off. “People should mind their own business,” is all he says.

But ignoring it doesn't stop the chatter. If anything, the lack of denial only makes it grow. By the time the final bell rings, Yuuji feels drained, like the whole school has decided to write his love story for him.

And the worst part? He knows exactly who will bring it up again in no time.

-

By Wednesday, Yuuji realises he can’t avoid them forever — not the rumours, and not his friends. 

The school café is packed, buzzing with midday chatter, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the clatter of trays against marble counters. Sunlight filters through tall glass windows, bouncing off polished tabletops and display cases stacked with immaculate pastries. The place smells faintly of roasted beans and citrus peel — warm, comforting.

Nanami isn’t with them today — and since the drama never starts with him anyway, that leaves Yuuji surrounded only by the people who do start it.

Yuuji sits in his usual spot: the corner booth at the very back, their so-called safe table. From here, they can see the entire café without being seen too much themselves. Or at least, that’s how it used to feel.

Today, the air feels heavier. The whispers have grown louder than the conversations.

Gojo leans back lazily, his chair tipped onto two legs, iced latte balanced carelessly in his hand. “You know, Yuuji-kun,” he drawls, stretching out the syllables, “statistically speaking, you’ve probably broken at least twenty hearts at this school by now.”

“Thirty,” Getou says without looking up, scrolling on his phone with deliberate disinterest.

“Forty,” Nobara adds, popping open her compact mirror to swipe on a fresh layer of lip balm. “Minimum.”

Yuuji stares at them blankly. “You’re all insane.”

Gojo grins, folding his arms behind his head. “So, your future husband didn’t walk you to school today? Or are the rides reserved for afternoon dates only?”

Yuuji groans aloud. “I—oh my god. Can we not start this again?”

Getou hums thoughtfully, swirling the ice in his cup. “So that’s a yes, then.”

“I didn’t say yes!” Yuuji protests, glaring at him.

Nobara, elegant as always, chin propped against her palm: “You know, Itadori, you really missed your chance. You should’ve milked this. Could’ve had Ryoumen drop you off every morning — proper power couple vibes.”

“I don’t want power couple vibes!” Yuuji snaps, his ears already turning red.

Toudou, stabbing dramatically at his salad: “You should, Brother! Let the world witness your alpha dominance! You and Ryoumen, hand in hand, striking fear into the hearts of peasants—”

“You’re not his brother,” Maki deadpans without looking up.

Yuuji drops his head into his hands, groaning into the table. “I hate all of you.”

Gojo ignores him, leaning over to nudge Getou. “What do you think, Suguru? Matching tuxedos for the wedding, or clash?”

Getou looks back at him. “I want a black one. Coordinate around me.”

“There’s no wedding!” Yuuji blurts, louder than intended, drawing a few curious stares from nearby tables. He sinks lower into his seat, cheeks on fire. “Can we please not have this conversation for the millionth time?”

Megumi, silent until now, cuts in at last. “You do realise you’re the reason half the school knows, right?”

Gojo gasps theatrically, hand to his chest. “Excuse me?”

“You were loud, Gojo-senpai,” Megumi says, deadpan.

“THANK you,” Yuuji says, almost hugging Megumi out of gratitude. “Finally, someone who understands!”

“I’m not on your side,” Megumi replies immediately, calm as ever. “I’m just tired of hearing it.”

Yuuji slumps forward, forehead pressed against the cool marble tabletop, willing the conversation to die.

For one blissful moment, it does.

Then Nobara glances toward the door — and her expression sharpens like a cat spotting prey. “Ohhh,” she sings, voice dripping smugness. “You’ll never guess who just walked in.”

Yuuji doesn’t even look up, already feeling dread creeps up on him. “If it’s who I think it is, I’m leaving.”

“It’s exactly who you think it is.”

And of course, it is.

Sukuna enters alone, jacket hanging open, sleeves pushed up just enough to seem careless, though nothing about him ever is. One hand rests in his pocket, the other scrolling his phone. His expression is cool, detached, but the weight of his presence shifts the room. Conversations falter then lower, before glances dart and whispers begin.

Yuuji’s stomach drops. Of course it’s him. It’s always him. He hadn’t bumped into anyone else but him! The universe seems determined to throw them together, a cruel joke for two people bound by engagement.

Gojo notices first. His grin sharpens into something almost predatory. “Relax, everyone,” he drawls, sipping his latte like a man watching theatre. “He’s just here for coffee… right, Yuuji?”

Yuuji doesn’t respond. He stares very hard at his drink, silently bargaining with every higher power that Sukuna will just order, leave, and not notice them.

And that’s exactly when Gojo strikes. 

“Oi, Sukuna!” he calls, deliberately loud enough to carry across the café.

Yuuji chokes on air. “Gojo-senpai—what the hell—”

Too late.

Sukuna looks up, gaze cutting through the café until it lands on their booth. The air doesn’t still, but it thins, like the room collectively holds its breath.

He approaches without hurry, each step composed, natural. He stops at the edge of their table, one hand still in his pocket, the other holding a receipt loosely between long fingers. Even the simple gesture carries weight, a quiet claim over the space.

His gaze goes first to Yuuji. Brief, but unmistakably heavy. Something flickers in Yuuji’s chest, a beat he can’t control. Then Sukuna’s eyes shift to Megumi at Yuuji’s side, lingering a fraction too long before moving on to sweep the rest of the group with calm ease.

Yuuji feels it like static against his skin and drops his gaze fast, pretending his coffee is endlessly fascinating.

Gojo beams like he’s just won a bet. He doesn’t even sip his drink — he just watches Yuuji squirm, eyes glinting with mischief. “Come sit,” he says smoothly, gesturing at the empty space beside Yuuji. “We were just talking about you.”

Sukuna arches a brow, voice low, smooth. “Were you.”

Not quite a question.

And without waiting for permission, he slides into the seat next to Yuuji — close enough that their shoulders don’t touch, but close enough that Yuuji feels the air shift around him. It’s not that Sukuna leans in; it’s that the space between them suddenly feels too small and charged. Yuuji’s pulse stumbles.

He wants to disappear into the floor. “We weren’t,” he mutters quickly, shooting Gojo a glare sharp enough to draw blood, though the flush on his cheeks betrays a mix of embarrassment and incredulity.

On Yuuji’s other side, Megumi shifts, leaning back slightly. His glance at Sukuna is brief, but the tension in his brow is sharper than words.

Gojo, undeterred, lounges back and props his ankle over his knee. “Don’t worry, we were just talking about your game,” he says airily. “Very impressive skills, by the way.”

“That so,” Sukuna says, laying his receipt down with measured calm. Even that restrained motion feels like a statement.

“Third-year, right?” Gojo presses, feigning casual.

“Mm.”

“Same as us,” Getou says, finally tucking away his phone. His voice is quiet, edged with interest. “Good to know.”

Sukuna’s gaze meets Getou’s for a beat, before inclining his head slightly. “Likewise.”

Something unspoken sits there — sharp, low, lingering like a note between them — before Toudou, surprisingly subdued, mutters, “Explains the stamina.” Maki snorts softly behind her cup.

Gojo tips his head casually, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Shame our matches are in different brackets,” he says. “Would’ve been fun to face you earlier.”

Sukuna regards him, then lets out a low hum. “We'll see you in the finals.” His tone is simple but the certainty of it is surprising.

Getou smiles faintly at the acknowledgment and leans back in his chair. “It’s only a matter of time now.”

The hiss of the espresso machine fills the quiet, underscoring the charge in the air.

Then Gojo, unable to resist, drops the match into dry grass. “Oh, and we heard about your engagement with Yuuji-kun,” he says casually, tone sing-song as though the world itself were a stage for his amusement. “How was the first date?”

Yuuji sputters violently, nearly knocking over his cup. “Gojo-senpai!”

Sukuna doesn’t flinch, his eyes holding Gojo’s gaze steadily. “We’ve known each other since childhood,” he says, tone smooth and cool as glass. “There’s no need for a first date.”

“Childhood friends, huh?” Nobara hums, resting her chin on her hand, playful and sharp at once. “Funny. You two don’t exactly act like it.”

Sukuna’s gaze cuts to her, precise and unyielding. “We don’t perform for strangers.”

The phrasing makes Yuuji stiffen, though Nobara only arches her brow, unfazed.

Maki finally sets down her cup. “I can’t decide what’s sadder,” she says dryly. “That Itadori has a secret fiancé, or that he thought he could hide it from us.”

Yuuji groans, slumping back in his seat. “I wasn’t hiding it, okay. I just—” He waves vaguely, frustration seeping through. “— didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Nobara starts again, a sly glint in her eyes as if she’s poking at Sukuna more than Yuuji. “Itadori,” she says sweetly, voice laced with mischief, “Your fiancé isn’t a big deal?”

Yuuji freezes, mouth opening and closing before he sputters, “That’s not what I meant!”

He shifts slightly in his seat, a flicker of unease crossing his features. He glances at Sukuna, just for a moment, a quiet acknowledgment passing between them, before returning his gaze elsewhere.

“Mm,” Gojo hums softly, meeting Sukuna’s gaze again. “So what do you love about Yuuji so much that you’d ask for his hand so young?” His tone is cheery, conversational — but the undercurrent is sly, knowing. “You realise,” he adds smoothly, “you’re personally responsible for a lot of broken hearts.”

Yuuji cringes in frustration, voice strangled. “I am begging you to stop.”

Sukuna doesn’t blink. “His parents honour me with this arrangement,” he says quietly, each word sharpened and measured. “I don’t believe there’s any question beyond that.”

Gojo points a finger out, smiling like he’s pieced together a puzzle. “Ah, so it’s just family arrangements then? That explains why you two don’t seem close.” He tilts his head, face full of feigned confusion. “Or are you just acting cold to look cool?”

Sukuna holds his gaze, silence stretching until it edges into challenge. “I’m not acting to be anything,” he says calmly. “We just haven’t had the chance to know each other well.”

And then his attention moves, smooth and measured, settling on Yuuji.

“But I believe there’s plenty of time.”

Yuuji’s eyes flick toward him, caught for a heartbeat too long before he drops them to his cup. Heat creeps up his neck, ears prickling. Something about Sukuna’s steadiness makes it impossible to brush off, harder to laugh away like the others’ teasing. It lingers heavier than jokes. 

He exhales sharply, muttering under his breath, barely above a whisper, “I want to die.”

Right then, Sukuna’s order is called.

Yuuji latches onto the moment like it’s a lifeline.

He bolts up so quickly his chair screeches against the floor. “Coffee time!” he blurts, grabbing Sukuna’s sleeve before he can think twice and all but hauling him toward the counter. He snatches the drink with one hand in a rushed sweep, then keeps going—straight out the side door.

Behind him, Gojo laughs so loudly the whole café turns.

-

The door swings shut behind them, muting the café’s chatter into a distant hum. Outside, the air feels cooler, sharper — a small mercy against the heat climbing Yuuji’s neck.

He exhales hard, shoulders sinking a little. “I’m so sorry about them,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “God, that was—yeah.”

Sukuna studies him in silence, gaze steady enough to make Yuuji feel exposed. But there’s no edge to it — no coldness, no judgment. Only quiet attention. “It’s not a problem,” he says at last, voice low, unhurried.

“They’re nice, I swear,” Yuuji insists quickly, cheeks warming. “They just… don’t know when to shut up sometimes.”

Sukuna turns his head slightly, a sidelong glance catching him off guard. The faintest curve tugs at his mouth — subtle, gone almost before Yuuji can be sure it was there. “I noticed.”

The flicker of amusement steals Yuuji’s breath more than it should. The silence that follows doesn’t press; it holds. Not uncomfortable, but steady and grounded — the same weight he’d felt at the villa, golden light and polished wood, Sukuna seated across from him, voice calm in just this way. The memory slides in unbidden, leaving his chest tight.

“Are you heading home now?” he asks, aiming for casual, though his voice comes out lighter than intended.

“I’m going back to school,” Sukuna replies. “Practice.”

“Right. Big day tomorrow.” Yuuji manages a quick smile, though it feels a little unsteady. “Good luck. Not that you need it.”

Sukuna regards him for a long beat, gaze unwavering. There’s no distance in it this time, no careful wall — just a steadiness that makes Yuuji’s pulse hitch. Then, with the smallest incline of his head, he says, “Thanks.” The word is quiet, but it carries weight, like he meant for Yuuji to feel it.

Yuuji hesitates, fingers tugging at his sleeve. “Oh, um — are you gonna watch the first match? Our school’s game?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Yuuji brightens despite himself, heat creeping back into his cheeks. “That’s good… we’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

And before Sukuna can even nod, Yuuji blurts, “Okay, bye!” — too loud, too quick — and spins on his heel. He all but bolts back inside, the door swinging shut behind him with a clatter.

The café’s hum fades again, leaving Sukuna standing alone in the pale spill of sunlight, coffee in hand. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move, the abruptness catching him off guard.

And then, slowly, his mouth curves — not the sharp-edged smirk people usually see, but something smaller, quieter, just for himself. A flicker, there and gone.

When he finally turns away, the expression has already smoothed back into control. But the pause lingers, the warmth beneath it undeniable.

The game tomorrow feels much bigger than just a match.

Chapter Text

The morning sun spills across the desks in long golden stripes, and Yuuji blinks against it, his pulse already running faster than it should. 

Semi-final day.

It feels unreal. The week blurred past in half-remembered lessons, in whispers that refused to die down, in thoughts of Sukuna he kept trying not to replay. Yesterday’s scene of the café lingers stubbornly in his chest. Yuuji had gone home pretending it meant nothing. This morning, pretending feels impossible.

And now here it is: one of the last two days Sukuna will spend in these halls. From that first glance at the ceremony, to the times their eyes met across a crowd, to the rides home and the unexpected exchanges tangled with his friends — the memories cling, sharper now because they won’t last.

A part of him feels the ache of that, a heaviness he doesn’t want to ponder on.

So he shoves it down.

Today is the day. Just imagining his friends under the lights, Gojo blazing and Getou flowing with him in perfect rhythm, makes Yuuji’s chest buzz with restless energy, his pulse racing like he’s the one about to take the court.

And somewhere in the other bracket, Sukuna will be there too, as certain as the roar of the crowd.

He drums his fingers against the desk, too keyed up to sit still. The teacher’s words blur into background noise, slipping past him like static.

All around, the classroom hums with the same sharp charge — students pretending to focus, whispering lineups and predictions under their breath. The air itself feels tilted toward the court.

-

When the bell finally rings, Yuuji shoots up from his chair so fast his bag nearly slips off his shoulder, excitement bursting loose. Lunch can’t come fast enough.

The cafeteria is overflowing by the time they arrive— students buzzing with an energy that feels more like a stadium crowd than a midday meal. Blazers of different colours dot the tables, delegations from visiting schools gathered in their own clusters. Everyone is talking about the same thing: the semi-finals.

Yuuji slides into their usual spot, Megumi and Nobara flanking him like bookends. Toudou crashes into the seat opposite, already vibrating with manic energy, while Maki, Nanami, and a handful of others drift in not long after. Gojo and Getou are absent, of course—the match is only an hour away.

“THIS IS IT!” Toudou booms, slamming his tray onto the table, nearly knocking over Nobara’s drink. “The battle that will define our generation!”

Nobara glares, dragging her cup out of reach. “This is lunch, not the battlefield. Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down when my blood is igniting with the fire of destiny!” Toudou declares, stabbing dramatically at his rice.

Nanami exhales, setting down his chopsticks with neat precision. “If your blood is igniting, you should see a doctor.”

That earns a snort from Maki, who leans back with arms crossed. “You’re too dramatic. It’s just basketball.”

“JUST basketball?” Toudou looks personally offended. “This is art! Glory! The manifestation of the human spirit!”

"Spoken like a true poet, Toudou-senpai!” Yuuji laughs, the excitement in his chest spilling into his voice. 

The banter washes over him like a tide, grounding even as the anticipation buzzes under his skin. He can’t stop glancing toward the empty spots where Gojo and Getou would normally be, imagining them warming up, running drills, feeding off adrenaline he can only guess at.

“They’ll be fine,” Megumi says suddenly, as if reading his thoughts. “No need to worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Yuuji protests automatically. Then softer, “Just excited.”

“Understatement of the year,” Nobara mutters, but she’s smiling faintly into her drink.

The minutes slip by too fast. Half an hour until tip-off, the buzz in the cafeteria shifting as students begin to pack up, ready to flood the gym. Yuuji feels the beat of restless energy thrumming through the air.

Their team will play first. Sukuna’s match comes later. Different brackets, different hours—but the same day, the same roof, the same halls.

“Let’s go,” Yuuji says, voice steady even though his pulse is anything but.

They file out with the rest of the crowd. The tournament has reached its peak, and the air feels charged—like the entire school is holding its breath.

By the time the stadium doors loom ahead, Yuuji’s chest is a knot of nerves and anticipation.

The semi-finals are about to begin.

-

Noise ripples like heat, voices overlapping into a single electric roar. The thud of basketballs on polished wood and the squeak of sneakers echo against the rafters.

Sunlight slants sharp against banners and glossy backboards through the high windows, turning the whole space into something bright and blinding.

The moment Yuuji crosses the threshold, the sound slams into him all at once. His chest thrums with it, nerves sparking until he feels like he’s vibrating in time with the crowd.

They don’t even have to fight for seats. Heads turn, whispers snag, and a whole row near the front clears without a word. By the time they reach it, the opening looks intentional, as if reserved. Probably just the perk of being Gojo and Getou’s friends, Yuuji thinks.

“Front row, baby,” Nobara says smugly, sliding into her seat.

Todo practically bounces down beside her, fists clenched in excitement, vibrating like a storm waiting to break. Even Nanami looks faintly amused at the treatment. Megumi, of course, doesn’t react at all — but the silence isn’t his usual calm.

Yuuji sees the tight set of his jaw, the sharp edge to his gaze as it flick to the far side of the court.

Because Kyoto High has taken the floor.

Cream blazers sharp under the lights, their warm-ups smooth and rehearsed, every movement calculated to look effortless. And at the centre of it all, like he owns the court already: Zen’in Naoya.

Maki’s eyes narrow instantly, her lips curling into a sharp, derisive scoff. “So he made it here,” she mutters, crossing her arms tighter.

Naoya is all swagger, smirk curling as though the gym exists only for him. He twirls a ball lazily in one hand, posture loose, but his eyes sweep the stands with the precision of someone cataloguing every weakness in the room.

His gaze snags on Maki first — a flash of disdain — before drifting to Megumi, where it lingers, curling into something darker. The rightful successor. The role Naoya thinks should’ve been his. Resentment simmers there, old as the blood they share.

Yuuji feels it beside him, the way Megumi stiffens, jaw tight. The weight of it still prickles at his side even as Yuuji looks away—

—and finds Sukuna.

Not far off, seated with Kamihara’s delegation, Sukuna is unmistakable. Sharp posture, pale sleeves rolled neatly at his forearms, expression carved into quiet composure.

His presence cuts through the noise and tension like a steady blade, grounding Yuuji in an instant. Relief loosens something tight in his chest—only for it to catch again when Sukuna’s eyes meet his.

The look isn’t long, but it’s enough. A quiet reminder of the words they’d traded about this game, of Sukuna saying he would be here. He inclines his head once, and heat prickles at Yuuji’s ears before he offers a small wave, tearing his gaze back to the court too quickly.

In front, Gojo’s already putting on a show, sinking three-pointers with dramatic spins, earning a chorus of cheers. Getou is quieter, but every pass he makes is a clean slice through the air, every shot a statement of control. Even their warm-ups hum with charisma.

“Gojo-senpai! Getou-senpai!” Nobara yells, cupping her hands around her mouth.

Gojo, of course, hears it. He glances over mid-dribble, grins wide, and shoots them a wink before sinking the basket without looking.

The crowd roars.

Yuuji laughs, clapping, and Getou glances over too—calmer, steadier, but the quirk of his lips is acknowledgment enough. Yuuji raises both thumbs in silent encouragement.

The announcer’s voice cuts through, formal and sharp: “Semi-final one: Jujutsu High versus Kyoto High.”

The crowd erupts again.

The whistle blows.

The first possession belongs to Jujutsu High, and from the start, the difference is clear. Gojo and Getou move like twin currents — fast, fluid, cutting through gaps that shouldn’t exist. One surges forward, the other flows seamlessly in step, passes slipping between defenders as if the court itself bends for them.

A no-look pass from Getou curves perfectly into Gojo’s hands; Gojo launches himself into the air, body twisting, and the ball arcs cleanly through the hoop. The crowd roars, half the stadium rising to its feet.

“They’re insane,” Nobara breathes, eyes wide.

“Beautiful,” Todo whispers, misty-eyed. “Brother, do you see this perfection?”

“Yes! They’re incredible,” Yuuji says, unable to tear his gaze away. 

He’s seen them play plenty of times, but something about today makes it hit different. With the crowd roaring and the stakes this high, every move feels sharper, brighter. Watching them move in perfect rhythm, dazzling everyone in the stands, makes something warm settles in his chest.

Kyoto fights back hard — Naoya quick on his feet, sharp with his footwork, his shots snapping like blades. It’s easy to see how he dragged his team this far.

But every time they close in, Gojo and Getou slip through like water. Getou threads a pass through three defenders. Gojo spins, shoots, and lands with a grin that splits the court open.

By halftime, the score gap is wide enough to sting.

Kyoto is behind, and Naoya’s mask of confidence begins to crack. His smile when he looks toward the crowd is no longer charming; it’s barbed.

His eyes catch on Megumi, simmering dark with old resentment, before drifting to Yuuji at his side. The glance lingers only a beat, easy to overlook in the frenzy of the court.

And Naoya — losing, cornered, furious — begins to plan where else he can sink his teeth.

-

As the second half tips off, the cracks in Kyoto widen. Jujutsu High only sharpens, momentum rolling in their favour.

Gojo is everywhere — stealing passes, finding lanes no one else could see, sinking impossible threes with a grin wide enough to split the rafters. Getou is his anchor, his mirror: calm, unshakable, threading passes through Kyoto’s defense with precision so clean it feels inevitable. 

Together, they don’t just play; they perform.

The crowd eats it up. Cheers roll, whistles shriek, voices climb until the gym is one crashing wave of sound.

And Kyoto can’t keep up.

Naoya pushes hard, his movements sharp, almost desperate. He barks at his teammates, waves his arms in clipped, impatient gestures, takes fouls that flirt dangerously close to whistles.

By the final minutes, frustration bleeds through every motion — the snap of his passes, the stomp of his sneakers, the way his eyes keep darting toward the front row.

The buzzer blares.

Final score: Jujutsu High advances. Kyoto is out.

The crowd erupts, voices crashing together, sneakers thudding as players flood the court. Yuuji is on his feet with the rest, clapping hard, a smile tugging at his mouth — pride burning warm in his chest.

Gojo bows with mock grandeur and Getou lifts a hand in acknowledgment, and the noise only swells.

Nobara cheers loudly, letting out high-pitched shouts. Todo bellows like thunder, fists rattling the railing.

Maki crosses her arms, a small, victorious smirk curling at her lips. “Buried him,” she mutters.

Gojo and Getou don’t linger. Pulled away almost immediately by coaches, reporters, and eager teammates, they vanish into the press of bodies before Yuuji can even catch their eyes again. He doesn’t mind. They’ll celebrate later. For now, the rest of the group settles in their corner, pride still warm from the win. 

That’s when Naoya turns. 

The air shifts before he even crosses the court — shoulders tense, glances sharpen. With Megumi and Maki there, the tension feels like kindling waiting for a spark. 

Naoya doesn’t disappoint.

His teammates keep their distance but Naoya stalks closer, sweat still clinging to his brow. The smirk he wears isn’t charm — it’s sharp, barbed, stretched too thin. His gaze hooks onto Megumi first.

“Still hiding behind other people’s wins, cousin?” he drawls. “Figures.”

Megumi’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer. The silence is sharper than any words.

Maki shifts forward, her voice low and edged like steel. “You lost. Own it and walk away.”

Naoya doesn’t spare her so much as a glance. He brushes her aside, eyes sliding to Yuuji on Megumi's right. His grin sharpens.

“Ah, the golden boy,” he purrs, velvet and venom. “Always at your side, always so easy to look at. Eye candy, really.”

The words land like a slap. The air around the front row curdles and Yuuji’s friends shift instantly — anger coiling sharp and fixed on Naoya.. 

Yuuji’s face falls. His hands clench at his sides as his pulse spikes hot. “What did you just say?”

Naoya leans in a fraction, shadows of sweat cutting harsh across his jaw. He delivers the line like an announcement, savouring the reaction, “Tell me, cousin — next time I win, maybe you’ll lend him to me?”

The words cut cleaner than a blade.

The group reacts in unison, an explosion contained only by the thin air of restraint.

Nobara lunges forward on the bleacher, eyes blazing hot. “Say that again, you smug piece of—”

Todo’s fist slams against the railing, the sound cracking like thunder. “INSOLENCE!”

Maki’s mouth twists into a snarl, shoulders coiled, ready to strike. “You dare, Naoya!”

Nanami’s eyes widen, a flash of disbelief breaking through his composure, then narrow. His jaw locks, fury settling into a cold, silent glare that holds Naoya pinned.

And still Naoya smirks, feeding off the anger he’s provoked, wearing it like armour. “Tch. Touchy. Didn’t think you’d all get so defensive over a pretty face.” His gaze flicks back to Yuuji, needling, daring.

Megumi's breath hitches like a hiss. Yuuji’s own anger burns hotter than he expects. His chest tightens, his words sharp — a line drawn clean in the sand,  “Don’t talk about me like that.” 

For a beat the group forms an unspoken wall around him, their anger linking like chainmail.

The noise of the court falters at the edges. Students closest to the front row sense it first, conversations thinning and bodies leaning back as though distance might dull the charge. No one says it aloud, but the weight of confrontation hangs heavy — a fight waiting for its excuse.

And then, from several seats away, another weight stirs.

Sukuna starts to rise.

It’s a slow, deliberate shift, enough to send a ripple through those closest. His gaze is locked on Naoya, his jaw tight, fury carved into every line of his posture. His knuckles flex once against the railing, the only outward crack in his composure.

But he halts.

Because he sees it. Yuuji isn’t alone. His circle are a wall around him, their fury loud enough, sharp enough, to cut Naoya down where he stands.

Sukuna’s eyes narrow once, the fury reined back with a precision that feels more dangerous than any outburst. His silence is a threat in itself.

An official arrives before the moment can stretch further. “Zen’in. Back to your team. Now.”

Naoya clicks his tongue, mutters something under his breath, and stalks off, shoulders stiff.

The noise of the gym begins to swell back, but Sukuna doesn’t join it. He doesn’t look at Yuuji again, doesn’t waste a word — he rises, each movement clipped, precise, dangerous in its restraint. Shoulders squared, jaw set, he steps down from the bleachers with a tension sharp enough to slice through the roar.

The students nearest him falter, voices dipping, the weight of his presence overwhelming even in silence.

His direction is unmistakable.

Not toward Yuuji.

Toward Naoya.

-

The noise of the gym surges back, but at their corner of the stands, the fury hasn’t settled.

Nobara huffs hard through her nose, arms crossed, glaring daggers at the spot where Naoya disappeared. “Unbelievable. He loses and thinks he can run his mouth like that?”

Todo cracks his knuckles, grinning like a storm waiting for an excuse. “Say the word, Brother. I’ll settle this outside.”

“Sit down,” Maki snaps, though her voice carries more venom for Naoya than for Todo. She leans back against her seat, arms folded tight, smirk gone cold. “He’s not worth the sweat.”

Megumi says nothing, his jaw still locked, his shoulders refusing to loosen. His silence is sharper than any insult could be.

Yuuji tries to breathe, tries to match their rhythm — but his chest still feels too tight. “I’m fine,” he says finally, though the words sound thinner than he wants. He unclenches his fists slowly, forcing his hands to relax. “He’s just… trying to get under our skin.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Nobara mutters, shooting him a sideways glance.

Nanami finally exhales, long and slow, like someone grounding himself. His eyes stay forward, but the sharp line of his brow makes his stance clear: if Naoya had lingered a second longer, things would not have ended in words.

Yuuji presses his palms to his knees, leaning forward slightly. He can still hear the crowd cheering, Gojo and Getou’s names echoing, but the sound feels thinner now — enough heads had turned, enough voices had hushed, that he knows some of them caught Naoya’s barb.

Nanami finally exhales, long and slow, like someone grounding himself. His voice edged as he speaks loud enough for Yuuji to hear, “Don’t let his words stay with you, Itadori-kun. They don’t hold weight here.”

Yuuji swallows, the knot in his chest easing just a little. He gives a quick nod. “Thanks, Nanamin.” The corners of his mouth lift, not all the way but enough to pass for steady. He straightens, glancing at the others. “C’mon. Let’s not waste the win on him. Gojo-senpai and Getou-senpai were amazing.”

Nobara exhales, softer this time, her mouth twitching at the corners.

But Megumi doesn’t look away from the tunnel Naoya vanished into.

That’s when two familiar voices cut through the noise.

“Oi! Front row cheer squad!” Gojo’s voice booms before he even gets close, his white hair damp with sweat, jersey slung loose over his shoulder. Getou follows at a calmer pace, towel draped around his neck, expression composed but his eyes sharp as ever.

“Not bad, huh?” Gojo crows, throwing his arms wide like the whole stadium is his stage. “Straight to the finals. Guess you’ll all get the privilege of watching greatness twice.”

“You were ridiculous out there,” Yuuji manages, his voice steadier now, even breaking into a grin.

Getou’s gaze sweeps the group, lingering a fraction longer on Megumi and Maki’s tight shoulders, Nobara’s bristling, and the way Yuuji’s hands are still curled faintly against his knees. His tone is quieter when he asks, “Something happen?”

The silence hangs for a beat too long.

Maki finally snorts, her mouth twisting. “Your opponent couldn’t handle losing. Tried to start something.”

Gojo tilts his head, grin fading just enough to show the edge underneath. “Naoya?”

No one answers, but no one has to.

Getou hums low in his throat, then leans in a little, his eyes flicking back to Yuuji. “What did he say?”

Yuuji shakes his head quickly. His voice is even, “It’s fine. Nothing worth repeating.” 

Gojo’s grin doesn’t come back. He watches Yuuji a moment longer. “Tch. If he’s stupid enough to pick at what’s ours, he’ll regret it.” The words are tossed lightly, but the bite underneath is clear.

Getou’s hand lands briefly on Yuuji’s shoulder, firmer than usual. “Ignore him,” he says quietly. “He’s not worth it.” The calm is steady, but the weight behind it isn’t casual.

Yuuji exhales, the knot in his chest gone, and gives them a genuine smile.

Gojo studies him another beat, but lets it go. He stretches lazily, forcing the mood lighter. “Anyway. We’ve gotta go. Press wants their winners, and Getou’s fanclub is already forming a mob outside.”

Getou sighs, though his eyes linger on Yuuji again before he rises, unreadable.

“Catch you later,” Gojo calls, already striding off, throwing Yuuji a wink over his shoulder. “Don’t get into too much trouble without us.”

And just like that, they’re gone again, swallowed by the noise of the gym — leaving the group still tight together in their corner, the echoes of Naoya’s taunt lingering like smoke in the air.

-

The stands begin to thin as the crowd spills into the halls for food and fresh air, but Yuuji and his friends stay where they are. None of them say it out loud, but the choice is mutual—half because none of them feel like braving the crush outside, half because the corner they’ve claimed already feels like theirs. 

“We can wait here,” Nobara says flatly, smoothing her blazer as she leans back in her seat. “Better seats than fighting for them again later.”

Todo grins wide, already sprawling like a king across his section of the bleachers. “Front row glory! Exactly where we belong.”

Megumi leans forward against the railing, gaze fixed on the polished court below. The tension in his shoulders hasn’t fully eased, but it’s shifted—no longer wound tight with anger, just watchful. Still, his eyes flick sideways once, a brief glance at Yuuji before returning to the court.

Yuuji exhales slowly. The annoyance of Naoya’s words has already dulled; what lingers is the thought of who might’ve overheard. As if he didn’t have enough rumours to deal with already. He huffs a quiet breath.

For a moment, he wonders if Sukuna had been anywhere nearby when Naoya cornered them. He hadn’t seen him, hadn’t felt the usual pull of his presence. Probably not, Yuuji decides. He has his own game to prepare for, after all.

Across the court, Kamihara’s players file in, black-and-gold warmups flashing under the lights. One by one, they start to move — stretching, passing, running drills that flow with practiced ease. And just like that, Yuuji feels the spark return — excitement quickening in his chest, the buzz of anticipation pulling him forward again.

Their drills are sharp, every pass clean, every movement rehearsed to perfection. Even with the stands thinner now, the ones who remain murmur with approval. It’s clear enough why Kamihara are favourites. 

But Sukuna is nowhere among them.

Nobara notices first, brows lifting. “Where’s their star player? Don’t tell me he’s skipping warm-ups.”

“He’ll show,” Maki says simply, tone flat, but her eyes look like they're measuring something.

Yuuji doesn’t add to the speculation. He's sure Sukuna will come.

His pulse is already quickening, the buzz of the crowd folding into the restless beat in his chest. The thought of Sukuna stepping onto the court—of seeing him play this close, with the whole arena watching—sparks something taut and inevitable inside him.

His mind pulls back to that time he watched Kamihara's first match.

“I’ll grab food before it starts. Anyone else?” Nanami asks, rising from his seat. 

Nobara waves him off without looking. Todo thunders a “MEAT BUNS!” that earns him a scowl from Maki, and Megumi just shakes his head.

So the group settles in to wait, their chatter rising and falling like a tide—half still venting about Naoya, half trying to push it aside. The energy shifts gradually, bitterness cooling into anticipation, until even Nobara’s sharp words soften into a grin when Todo’s retelling of Gojo and Getou’s game grows absurd enough.

It’s midway through Nanami’s return when the two familiar figures weave back through the aisle, finally done with reporters and coaches. By now the stands are filling again, students drifting back with food in hand, the hum of anticipation rising for the next match.

Gojo is still buzzing, waving exaggeratedly at the group before sprawling into the empty seat beside Todo — one of the two spaces they had left between them. Getou slips into the other with quieter composure, his hair neatly tied back again.

“You miss me?” Gojo grins, kicking his feet up on the railing like he owns it.

“No,” Maki answers instantly.

“Yes,” Todo booms at the same time, clapping him on the back.

Getou just lets the noise wash past, his gaze flicking toward the court. The warm-ups are still underway, Kamihara moving like a machine—but without Sukuna, the rhythm feels incomplete. He notices it, and from the faint narrowing of his eyes, so does Yuuji.

The group settles tighter together, their corner of the stands a knot of anticipation. The stadium hums with noise, but beneath it all, one fact cuts sharper than the rest.

Everyone is waiting for the same thing.

For Sukuna.

-

The roar of the crowd muffles as the scene shifts, replaced by the hush of a back corridor.

The air is cooler here, the only sound comes from the scuff of Naoya’s sneakers against concrete.

His jaw grinds and his shoulders are stiff. “Tch. Useless team,” he mutters, the words snapping off his tongue like he can spit the bitterness out.

He goes to take another step—then stops. Someone is there.

Sukuna.

He isn’t moving, just standing square in the middle of the corridor, a wall Naoya can’t walk through, his shadow cast long under the sterile lights. The sight hits harder than the silence.

For a moment, Naoya’s throat works, a tight swallow forcing itself down before his mask slips back into place. The smirk returns, thinner now, brittle at the edges.

He knows exactly who he’s looking at. The Ryoumen heir — old money, older influence, a family so deeply entrenched in the country’s veins that even other clans tread carefully around them. Naoya might sneer in public, but here, in the quiet, face-to-face, that weight is harder to ignore.

“What?” he mutters, voice a touch too sharp. “You here to play guard dog now?”

Sukuna doesn’t answer. He takes one step forward. Then another. Measured. Silent. By the time he stops, the distance between them is suffocating.

Naoya tries to laugh, but it dies dry in his throat. He goes to step sideways, but Sukuna’s hand is already there — a sudden, iron grip at his collar. He’s dragged back half a step and slammed against the wall with a low thud that echoes louder than it should in the empty corridor.

“Listen closely,” Sukuna says, voice low, calm—too calm. His eyes bore into Naoya’s unwavering. “You don’t speak to him. You don’t look at him. Not again.” His grip tightens, fabric straining. “Or you won’t just answer to me.”

Naoya’s mask falters. For all his pride, for all the Zen’in name, the Ryoumens are another tier entirely. He feels the truth of it in the pressure at his collar, in the unflinching weight of Sukuna’s gaze.

Sukuna leans in, voice dropping to a blade’s whisper. “You’ve offended more than me tonight. You know the rumors—now you understand what they mean. Be very careful whose name you stain again.”

The silence afterward is heavier than the threat itself. Naoya’s jaw works without sound as his pride struggles uselessly against the pressure pinning him.

Sukuna releases him at last, slow and controlled, straightening the fold of his cuff like he’s brushing off dust. His anger never flares, never breaks — it simmers, dangerous precisely because it’s leashed so tightly. 

He turns without another glance, each step away a statement in itself, leaving Naoya pinned against the wall with nothing but the echo of the warning and the sharp reminder of how easily Sukuna could have done worse.

Chapter Text

The crowd buzzes, a steady hum layered with the squeak of sneakers and the echo of balls against polished wood. Kamihara’s warmups cut sharp lines across the court, black and gold flashing under the lights, every drill crisp and efficient.

Then the noise shifts.

It starts as a stir in the crowd, a ripple running row by row until the whole stadium seems to tilt toward the tunnel. The far end glows under the lights, and Sukuna steps out.

He doesn’t rush. His stride is steady and deliberate, every line of his frame commanding attention. Broad shoulders carry the jacket with ease, sleeves pushed up like he’s braced for a fight. Overhead glare slides across his hair, catching the faint sheen at his temples, sharpening the hard set of his jaw.

There’s something different about him today. Sharper. The edges of him are closer to a blade than a mask.

The stands react in waves, cheers rolling up through the rows, lifted by murmurs of awe that spread through the crowd. He hasn’t even touched the ball, but already the air feels tighter, pulled taut around him.

On the floor, his teammates shift instinctively, the smallest ripple of space opening for him. And when Sukuna steps into place at the front of their drills, the rhythm of Kamihara’s movements changes, tightening, hardening, as though the entire team adjusts itself to match his pace.

Yuuji’s gaze has been on the court from the start, but the moment Sukuna moves, it sharpens. Dangerous and unflinching, Sukuna looks as if nothing could touch him.

Then Sukuna turns, gaze cutting through the crowd and to where he knows Yuuji is seated. It lands on him without hesitation. For a beat, the steel in his eyes eases, softening in a way meant only for him. Then, just as quickly, his focus shifts back to the court, sharpening once again.

The knot in Yuuji’s chest loosens at once, replaced by a restless warmth that spreads quick and bright. Whatever weight lingered from before, it slips away under that single look.

“Finally,” Nobara mutters, folding her arms with exaggerated patience. “The elusive fiancé decides to grace us with his presence.”

“About time,” Maki adds, eyes narrowing at the court. “Looks like he’s ready to kill someone, though.”

Todo is already roaring, fists rattling the railing. “DOMINATE THEM, RYOUMEN! LEAVE NO SURVIVORS!”

Gojo whistles low. “Talk about an entrance. The whole stadium’s staring already.”

“Not just the stadium,” Getou smirks, his gaze flicking toward Yuuji before turning back to the court.

Yuuji huffs a laugh despite himself, shaking his head. The sound comes easier than he expects, his grin tugging quick at the corners of his mouth. No groan, no denial. Just excitement spilling through before he can stop it.

Nobara seizes it instantly. “Well, well,” she sings, leaning in close. “Not even pretending anymore, huh?”

Yuuji lets out a short snort, shaking his head. “You never quit, do you?” His ears are warm but he doesn’t look away.

“Quit?” Nobara smirks, sharp and triumphant. “I’m just getting started.”

Megumi leans back slightly, eyes still on the court. “Come on,” he says, quieter. “It’s starting.”

And it does.

The opening whistle shrieks, and the game unfolds fast. 

Kamihara takes immediate control, their movements razor-sharp, plays executed with a ruthless efficiency that makes the opposing team scramble just to keep up. 

And at the centre of it — Sukuna.

He doesn’t just play. He hunts.

From the moment he moves, the pace shifts. Every drive is cut with violent precision, angles carved like he’s splitting the court open. When he takes a shot, the ball leaves his hands like a weapon — clean, brutal, unerring — the kind that doesn’t just land, it slams the breath out of the room.

He doesn’t slow, doesn’t temper himself. There’s no measured control in him tonight and no careful efficiency like before. Every rebound is ripped from the air, every cut down the lane snaps like a blade. He moves as if restraint itself would be an insult. Where Gojo dazzled and Getou controlled, Sukuna crushes.

His presence on the court is suffocating. Even his passes carry weight, forcing his teammates to keep pace or get left behind. Every step pushing harder, faster, as if daring the other team to survive. 

The crowd feels it first, the cheer pitching higher, uncertain whether to roar or recoil.

Nobara mutters under her breath, “What the hell…” half awe, half disbelief.

Todo’s voice booms over her. “YES! THAT’S IT! UNRELENTING!” He pounds the rail so hard it rattles.

Even Gojo, usually the first to laugh, only leans back with a crooked grin. “Terrifying,” he says, and for once the word carries no joke.

Getou watches longer, arms folded, his brow pulled tight. “Something’s different,” he murmurs. “He’s making a statement.”

Yuuji leans forward over his knees, unable to look away. His chest pounds with the game, but it’s not just adrenaline. There’s awe in him, but also unease, a question threading sharp under the excitement. He’s seen Sukuna composed, controlled. This is different. This is closer to dangerous.

By halftime, Kamihara is already leagues ahead, the scoreboard glaring. The crowd roars, swept into the tide of it, but the unease hasn’t faded. Sukuna walks off the court without expression, shoulders straight, like the chaos belonged to him from the start.

Yuuji exhales, slow, chest tight. The energy in him twists — pride, warmth, but something restless too, something he can’t pin down. When Nobara nudges him with a wicked grin, he doesn’t even try to argue. He just lets the feeling sit, bright and unsettling all at once.

-

The second half only deepens it. 

Kamihara’s lead stretches. Every possession feels inevitable with Sukuna on the floor, his pace unbroken, his presence crushing. The other team stumbles into fouls, desperation rising with every minute. The crowd’s cheers blur into a single roar, half awe, half unease.

And then the buzzer blares, Kamihara wins by a landslide.

The court explodes with noise, cheers, stomps, and the crash of victory. 

Sukuna’s teammates swarm him, hands clapping his shoulders, grins wide. He acknowledges one of them with a word or two, his face gentler for the briefest moment.

Beyond them, the coach waits at the sideline, clipboard in hand, and a knot of press lingers just beyond the bench. They’re expecting him.

But Sukuna turns instead.

He steps off the floor with the same deliberate control he played with, posture straight, stride unhurried. His eyes don’t go to his team or the press. They cut through the crowd, scanning with surgical weight until they lock on the front row.

On Yuuji.

The shift is immediate.

The roar doesn’t stop, but it bends. Cheers thin into murmurs and whispers that spread row by row. Heads angle toward the front, phones lift discreetly, mouths press close to ears. Everyone knows the rumours. They’ve heard them in hallways, over lunches, between classes. Sukuna and Yuuji. The car rides. The café scene. The “fiancé” slip that no one’s been able to erase.

And now here’s Sukuna, walking straight through the celebration, eyes fixed only on him.

Yuuji’s chest stutters under the weight of it. His ears burn hot as the whispers press in, thick and inescapable. Nobara’s sharp intake of breath cuts beside him and he thinks he hears the faintest sound of amusement from Megumi too.

Gojo’s voice is faint but unmistakable, “Looks like the rumours just wrote themselves true.”

Yuuji wants to sink through the bleachers but his body doesn’t move, his eyes refuses to look away.

Sukuna is already there, closing the distance with every measured step until he stops in front of him. The space between them feels too close as though the entire court has tilted on its axis to pin Yuuji in place.

“You’re still here,” Sukuna says. His voice is low and even, but not distant. 

It should be nothing. Just words, casual as checking the time. But they land heavy, threaded with something steadier, something warmer, something that makes Yuuji’s chest trip over itself.

It should be nothing. Just words, casual as checking the time. But they land heavier, threaded with something steadier, something warmer, and Yuuji feels his chest stumble. The whispers haven’t stopped; he can still feel eyes on him. Heat creeps up his neck before he can stop it.

He blinks once, then manages a nod. “Of course.” The words come out easier than he feels and his mouth tugs faintly anyway, nervousness softening into something genuine. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

A flicker touches Sukuna’s mouth, subtle and restrained, something that could be called a smile.

Then, calmly, he says, “Walk with me.”

The words aren’t loud, but the murmurs in the stands ripple sharper. Yuuji glances at his friends — quick, just enough to catch their expressions, sharp with surprise and interest. No one stops him. They’re all watching.

Yuuji stands, half-dazed, and before he can think, Sukuna shifts closer — one hand resting lightly at the small of his back. A touch so subtle it could be mistaken for courtesy, but the weight of it is unmistakable. A gentleman’s gesture, steady and controlled, yet claiming in front of everyone.

Heat pricks at Yuuji’s ears. His pulse trips over itself as Sukuna steers him through the press of bodies, the hand at his back a steady anchor. 

The whispers follow, bubbling through the stands like firecrackers — Did you see that? — He touched him — Told you it’s true. Giggles spark at the edges, the thrill of scandal spreading faster than the echo of the buzzer. Each one hits like static against Yuuji’s skin, burning hotter with every step. 

He doesn’t look back. He can’t.

They slip through the doors into the corridor, the roar of the gym dimming into a distant hum. The polished floor echoes under their steps, sneakers soft against stone. 

The air is cooler here, calmer, but it doesn’t shake the heat in Yuuji’s chest. The shift from noise to quiet only sharpens the memory of those whispers, the press of Sukuna’s hand still vivid against his back.

It lingers for a breath longer before Sukuna finally withdraws it. The absence leaves Yuuji too aware of the space between them, and he’s still trying to steady his pulse when Sukuna stops, turns—

“Are you alright?”

The question hits Yuuji harder than expected, cutting clean through the static in his head.

He blinks, stumbling for words. “Yeah. I mean—yeah. I’m fine. Why?”

Sukuna’s gaze doesn’t waver, steady and intent. He shows no sign of being rattled by the crowd they’d just walked through. That composure only makes his words sharper when he finally speaks. “I saw what happened with the Zen’in filth.” The word leaves his mouth like poison, bitter and cutting.

Yuuji blinks, stomach twisting. “Naoya?” The heat of embarrassment that had clung to him from the crowds slips away, replaced by something else.

“I was there,” Sukuna says. “I heard his words.” His jaw tightens, a faint curl tugging at his lip as though the memory itself offends him. “Disgusting.”

Yuuji’s breath stutters, he’d been hoping Sukuna wasn’t there to hear it. The embarrassment from this makes him burn hotter. Of all people, Sukuna knowing makes it feel ten times worse.

He shifts, fumbling for steadiness. “I— I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about it. He just lashes out when he’s losing.”

Sukuna’s gaze hardens, his voice quiet but edged like glass. “Excuses don’t matter. It reached you. And that makes it mine to answer.”

The words land heavier than Yuuji expects. Not just a declaration, not just pride, but a promise. Something threaded beneath the iron, too: regret.

He shifts again, the heat at his neck climbing higher. “Sukuna—”

“I should apologise.” 

The words cut him short. 

Sukuna’s gaze doesn’t waver, his precision unshaken even as something in it flickers, softer and darker. “For not preventing it.”

Yuuji stares, thrown off balance. Sukuna always speaks with such certainty, but this—this almost sounds like he’s carrying blame. “It’s not your fault—”

“If people knew more clearly where you stood with me,” Sukuna cuts in, voice dipping with a weight Yuuji isn’t used to hearing from him, “he wouldn’t have dared. I’ve let things remain too distant between us. That’s on me.”

The whole statement jolts Yuuji, blooming deeper than he’s ready for. His breath hitches, chest too tight, caught between protest and something warmer.

Distant. That part especially snags at him. To Yuuji, if anything, Sukuna has been closing the distance much more than he ever did since the tournament— a quiet irony, because before there had been nothing but formality. Now it already feels closer, closer than he ever expected.

Sukuna speaks again, tone dropping softer, steady in a way that feels almost like a promise. “You don’t need to dwell on it. Not Zen’in. Not the whispers. It’ll be handled. I’ll make sure of it.”

Yuuji swallows, throat dry. “Sukuna,” 

His instinct is to brush it off again, to insist he’s fine, that it doesn’t matter. But the steadiness in Sukuna’s voice — the certainty threaded through every word — holds him still.

He exhales slowly, a smile tugging at his mouth before he can stop it. “Thanks.” His voice is quiet, almost offhand, but the sincerity is clear. “That means a lot.”

Sukuna’s gaze hasn’t shifted. A beat passes, and then his shoulders ease almost imperceptibly, as though something in Yuuji’s words has reached him. But then the faintest shadow of regret cracks the precision of his face and he exhales.

“I should stay,” he says at last, low, almost reluctant. “But my team, they’ll expect me back.”

Yuuji blinks, caught off guard by the sincerity. “It’s fine,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “Really. You’ve got a big match tomorrow. Don’t worry about me.”

For a moment, Sukuna just looks at him, quieter now, as though weighing words he doesn’t usually share. Then he gives a small nod. 

“Alright.”

Sukuna steps back to leave. But before he turns fully away, his hand finds the small of Yuuji’s back again — the same steady touch as before, lingering just long enough to feel its warmth.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then he withdraws, not toward the court but down the opposite corridor, where the sound of reporters and staff waits in the distance. His stride is unhurried and precise as if even his departure is calculated.

Yuuji lingers in place as heat crawls up his neck. His chest stumbles all over again, his pulse refusing to slow. 

The echo of Sukuna’s hand feels sharper than it should, and no amount of steady breaths can quiet the flutters in his chest.

-

By the time Yuuji makes his way back into the gym, the noise has thinned to a restless buzz. The crowd is spilling out toward the halls, voices echoing down the stairwells. 

But the eyes that remain still turn. A few clusters of students linger in the stands, whispers hushing and glances snagging on him as though he’s part of the aftermath worth watching.

Yuuji shifts on his feet, willing his ears not to burn.

His friends aren’t sitting anymore. They’ve gathered near the aisle, waiting without saying so, half-formed impatience in their stances. Nobara taps her foot, arms folded, while Toudou grins the moment he spots him. “Brother returns!”

Yuuji shoots them a look, the corner of his lips tugging despite himself. “Don’t start.”

“Too late,” Nobara says, sharp grin in place. “The whole stadium saw it. Subtle, huh?”

Maki’s eyes flick toward him amusedly but doesn’t comment. Megumi’s gaze follows him as he comes back, sharp but relieved. When Yuuji reaches them, he speaks at last, “What did you two talk about?”

Yuuji falters, heat prickling again. He doesn’t answer. 

Gojo and Getou lean against the rail at the bottom of the steps. Gojo lifts his brows, grin wide. “Guess someone wanted to make sure everyone was paying attention, huh?”

Getou chuckles, tilting his head. “Well, he succeeded.” 

Yuuji waves a hand too quickly, too clumsy. “It’s nothing.”

Nobara makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Nothing, he says, after being walked out like that.”

Gojo claps once, like theatric punctuation. “Bold move, though. Hand on the back, the whole nine yards. Gotta say, he knows how to put on a show.”

Nanami, standing just behind them, adjusts his glasses with one hand. “Interesting.”

Yuuji averts his gaze, eager to escape. “I’ll tell you guys later.”

They drift toward the exit together, Toudou loudest among them, the others trading remarks that make Yuuji’s ears burn even as he refuses to look their way.

Behind them, the lights on the scoreboard finally fade to black. 

The semi-final of the Golden Inter-Academy Cup is over. But for the crowd still whispering, and for Yuuji’s thundering chest, the aftermath feels like it’s only just begun.

-

By the time night settles, the day feels distant, the noise of the crowd fading into the back of his mind.

Yuuji’s room is quiet, the kind of quiet that settles after dinner. His books lie open on the desk, pages marked with half-finished works from earlier, but he hasn’t touched them again.

Now he sprawls across his bed, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other scrolling aimlessly through his phone. Nobara’s already sent him six cursed memes this evening; he flicks through them without thought, half a groan caught in his throat.

His mind keeps slipping back to the day anyway. Gojo and Getou’s game, Naoya, Sukuna — too much of Sukuna. An insane day, even by the Golden Inter-Academy Cup standards. 

No meme is strong enough to shake it.

Then the phone buzzes again and when he glances up, the name on the notification nearly knocks the air out of him.

Ryoumen Sukuna

The glow of the screen holds steady, waiting for him to act, the text preview sharp against the dark.

Did you get home safe?

For a second, he just stares. After everything else today, it wouldn't be a surprise if he's hallucinating. His brain probably has finally tipped over the edge from overload.

A part of him expects it to vanish if he blinks, like he misread and that it can’t possibly be from Sukuna of all people.

He bites his lip and slowly presses the notification open. The message expands in front of him, exactly the same as before. No trick. No mistake.

Sukuna has texted before — clipped messages about schedules, chauffeurs, reminders that felt more like orders than conversation. Sometimes Yuuji had the impression Sukuna texted his parents more than him.

But this— This is different. Not a duty or a formality. Just a simple question. Direct. For him.

Yuuji stares for another beat, caught between disbelief and the rush in his chest. Then he exhales, the shock giving way to something lighter, almost giddy, and his thumbs move against the screen before he can second-guess it.

Me
Yeah, I’ve been home for a bit. Had dinner too.

Then he adds not long after.

Me
You? Finished practice?

The reply comes almost immediately.

Ryoumen Sukuna
Yes. I’m on the road right now

Yuuji shifts on his bed, the faintest curve tugging at his mouth before he can stop it. 

The buzz in his chest hasn’t left, but it eases into something surprisingly natural, easier to hold than he expected. His thumbs hover only a second before he starts typing again.

Me
Okay, that’s good. Can’t wait to see the match tomorrow.

A pause. Longer than before. He imagines Sukuna in the back of a car, one hand on his phone, expression unreadable. Then the message arrives:

Ryoumen Sukuna
To see your friends?

Yuuji blinks, lips parting. 

The words are not cold, but not casual either. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Sukuna was… testing him. Or maybe just fishing. Which is insane, because Sukuna doesn’t fish for anything. 

His chest flutters anyway. He swallows.

Me
Yes. And you

The dots hover and Yuuji’s knee bounces beneath the blanket. 

Ryoumen Sukuna
I’ll have to do my best then

Yuuji giggles under his breath, the sound escaping out too easy. His reply is quick.

Me
When have you ever not?

Another pause. This one longer. When the phone buzzes again, Yuuji straightens before even reading.

Ryoumen Sukuna
Your class ends at 1 tomorrow?

His brows lift. Not surprising Sukuna would know, but still, it makes Yuuji’s skin prickle. Sukuna noticing the small rhythms of his day. And more than that: he is still talking.

Yuuji realises he’s been half-expecting the conversation to end after a handful of messages, like all the duty-texts before. But Sukuna hasn’t closed it off. He’s keeping it going, steady, intentional, as if he’s choosing to.

A smile tugs unbidden at his mouth. His thumbs hover, then type back fast.

Me
Yes

The answer comes, simple and heavy. 

Ryoumen Sukuna
Do you want to have lunch together?

Yuuji's stomach flips so hard he nearly drops the phone. Lunch? His brain blanks, stuttering over the words. 

The final isn’t until three, only coming after the third-place playoff — which Yuuji wouldn’t watch anyway, not with Kyoto High playing. Sukuna shouldn’t be at school yet during that time. And if he were, he’d be buried in drills in another court, wrapped up with Kamihara, not carving out time just for—

His thumbs hover, useless. The cursor blinks back at him like it’s laughing. Heat climbs up the back of his neck.

Me
You can?

The message sends before he even realises he’s typed it.

Ryoumen Sukuna
Yes

Ryoumen Sukuna
If you want

Yuuji bites the inside of his cheek, warmth sparking in his chest. His thumbs move before he can stop himself.

Me
I want

The words send, stark on the screen. Heat floods his face immediately. Shameless. Too direct. But he doesn’t regret it. His chest thrums, wild and restless, like a secret he’s just said out loud.

Ryoumen Sukuna
Great. I’ll see you at lunch

Me
Really?

The second it delivers, Yuuji drops his phone and hides into his pillow. Stupid. It’s stupid to ask again, of course Sukuna isn’t pranking him, but he cant help it. 

He picks the phone up again just as quickly.

Ryoumen Sukuna
Yes. Should I wait outside your class?

Yuuji’s heart stutters loudly. 

He can see it too vividly — Sukuna, tall and incredibly attractive, standing in the middle of the packed hallway, visible to everyone, waiting for him like it’s nothing. The image alone is enough to make his stomach twist. The whispers would explode. Half the school would combust.

His face burns hot. His thumbs slam out a reply too fast.

Me
NO

The word looks brutal on the screen. He groans, scrambling to fix it.

Me
I mean the hall’s too crowded. Meet me at the café near the courtyard? It’s closer to the stadium

A pause. Just long enough for Yuuji’s stomach to knot. Then:

Ryoumen Sukuna
Okay. I’ll see you there

Yuuji gnaws his lip, still restless. He types slower this time, careful.

Me
I need some time to walk from class to there though. Don’t come too early

Ryoumen Sukuna
It’s fine. You don’t have to rush

A smile tugs his lips. It’s so unlike the sharp precision Yuuji’s used to from Sukuna, simple but warm enough to make heat creep up his neck. 

He presses a hand over his mouth, trying to smother the grin tugging free anyway. 

Me
Okay. Tomorrow then

The reply is instant.

Ryoumen Sukuna
Tomorrow

The word sits warm on the screen, brighter than it should. 

Yuuji drops back against his pillow, phone lying at his chest. 

Nobara’s messages buzz again, the group chat lights up, but he doesn’t open them. Not yet. His whole body hums with restless heat, his grin refusing to fade.

Because Sukuna had texted him. Because tomorrow, they’ll sit together. Not as a duty, not because someone else arranged it, but because Sukuna asked.

And because Yuuji had said yes.

Chapter Text

Morning light spills through the wide kitchen windows, catching on the porcelain cups lined neatly across the table. Yuuji’s mother pours tea with her usual grace, her movements careful and practiced. His father’s already dressed for the day, reading something on his tablet. 

“You’ll be watching the match today?” his mother asks, setting a cup beside him.

Yuuji nods. “Yes, of course.”

“That’s good,” she says, smiling faintly. Her gaze lingers on him for a moment. 

“I’m sure you’ll want to cheer for your friends too,” she adds lightly, “but make sure to support Sukuna-kun first before anyone else, alright?”

Her tone isn’t strict, but it leaves no room for question. The kind of warmth that understands him and still expects him to do the right thing.

Yuuji hesitates, caught off guard by how easily the request lands. “Okay,” he says after a beat, though the words feel unsteady in his mouth. 

The thought of his friends flashes at the back of his mind. He wants to cheer for them, to celebrate their plays, to shout their names like he always has. But now, even that feels like something he has to measure.

His father looks up from the screen, expression mild but thoughtful. “It’ll mean a lot to him,” he says. “Sukuna works hard. It’s good for him to know someone who understands is standing in his corner.”

His mother hums, folding her hands neatly around her cup. “And Yuuji,” she adds, “people pay attention to these things. How you carry yourself, who you stand beside — it reflects on both of you, and on the families too.” She smiles, almost kindly. “It’s good for them to see that unity.”

His father nods in quiet agreement. “You don’t have to overthink it,” he says, voice calm but certain. “Just remember, you’re representing more than yourself today. That’s all.”

Yuuji lowers his gaze, careful to keep his voice even. “I understand.”

And he does. Too well, maybe. He knows what they mean without them saying it outright. The press, the spectators, the kind of attention that makes even a glance mean something. His parents only wish the best for them. But the weight of it sits in his chest anyway.

Because suddenly, it doesn’t feel like just watching a match anymore. It feels like walking into a spotlight he never asked for.

His father smiles, kind and approving. “You make us proud, son. Just keep being yourself. That’s enough.”

Yuuji nods, smiling back, small, polite, the way he’s always done. “I’ll do my best.”

His mother reaches over, brushing a hand on his cheek, her eyes warm and fond. “Always our bestest.” she says.

He smiles again and exhales slowly, letting the thought settle. 

This is what being part of their world means. Learning when to smile, when to hold your tongue, and when to stand where people expect you to.

Still, as he stands and gathers himself to leave, the thought flickers softer, almost fond. He is happy to cheer for Sukuna. 

Maybe that part doesn’t need to be practiced at all.

-

The hallway is alive with sound — sneakers scuffing, doors slamming, voices rising in waves of chatter that roll down the length of the corridor. 

The match starting soon has everyone restless; some students hurry in groups toward the courtyard and stadium while others scatter toward the cafeteria or nearby cafés for lunch.

Yuuji slips between them, pace quick but steady, the strap of his bag tight in his fist. 

He’d rushed out the moment the bell rang. Now he’s already halfway to the courtyard, the buzz of the crowd bleeding through the open windows.

His phone buzzes once.

Ryoumen Sukuna
I’m here

He quickens his pace, ignoring the knots of students spilling toward the courtyard. 

He’d told Megumi and Nobara earlier that morning. Not the full thing, just I’m meeting him at the café before the match. Their reactions had been about what he expected: Megumi’s quiet pause, Nobara’s sharp gasp followed by relentless teasing. 

But after that, they’d both let him be, promising not to show up or cause a scene. Nobara swore she’d keep the others informed. In her words, “so no one accidentally crashes your date.” Megumi, ever steady, just told him to text when it was over.

He exhales deeply through his nose, heat creeping up his neck as he turns the last corner.

The café isn’t close. It’s tucked near the edge of the courtyard, beyond the fountain where sunlight flashes off the water’s surface. Just past it, the path slopes gently toward the stadium. The closer you get, the louder it becomes with the crowd’s noise.

And through it all, Yuuji feels the whispers — expected from yesterday’s scene. Words that make him blushes so hard it’s easier to focus, not on them, not on what they’re saying, but on where he’s going. Because whatever waits beyond that corner is more important than the noise around him.

And then he sees it.

The café sits in a spill of afternoon light, glass windows gleaming bright, the scent of roasted coffee curling faintly into the air. Students gather near the door, some waiting for orders, others passing by on their way to the stands.

And there, in front of the entrance, stands Sukuna. Not inside as Yuuji expected, but outside, waiting.

He’s easy to spot even in the crowd. One hand in his pocket, jacket unbuttoned, posture effortless but commanding. His phone is in one hand but he’s not looking at it. He’s scanning the walkway, gaze cutting across faces until it stops and finds Yuuji.

Yuuji’s steps falter for a split second. Then his heart lurches and beats fast against his chest as Sukuna’s mouth curves slightly into a genuine smile.

“Hey,” Sukuna greets once Yuuji comes close enough.

“Hey,” Yuuji says, breath still a little uneven. “You should’ve waited inside.”

“I wanted to choose the seat with you.”

Yuuji blinks, caught for a second before he lets the words sink in. “Oh.” His lips twitch into a small smile he can’t quite hide. 

It’s such a simple thing to say, but coming from Sukuna, it throws him off balance. He’s used to Sukuna deciding things, not asking.

The silence that follows is soft, not strained. A little nervous maybe, but warm around the edges.

They step inside together.

The café hums with low chatter and clinking cups, sunlight spilling through tall glass walls that overlook the courtyard. It’s busier than usual, though most people are just grabbing drinks before heading out again.

Yuuji’s been here before a dozen times, but never like this. 

Today the air feels sharp. Every whisper, every glance, every step between him and Sukuna tinged with something heavier.

At the counter, they place their orders. Before Yuuji can even move, Sukuna’s already offered his card. Smooth, practiced, like it’s nothing new. Sukuna always pays for them.

Yuuji doesn’t protest. He just glances up, smile soft and sincere. “Thanks.”

The stares are inescapable as they walk away from the counter. A few students turn, half-grins curling as they lean in to whisper like this is the next plot twist in a drama they’ve been bingeing.

They find a table by the window, half-hidden behind a row of plants. It’s quiet enough, though in a café this open there’s no such thing as unseen.

Yuuji keeps his eyes on the table. Or the receipt. Or anything that isn’t Sukuna — and anything that isn’t the stares they’re drawing together. But the heat blooming across his face gives him away anyway.

Sukuna’s voice comes low, even. “Are they bothering you?”

Yuuji blinks, caught off guard. “Um, not really,” he says quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “They just… talk a lot about us, I guess. It’s kind of nerve-wracking.” He tries to laugh it off, but the sound comes out a bit too honest.

He doesn’t really get why people care so much, honestly. But then again, Sukuna’s… well, Sukuna. Popular, admired, impossible not to look at. Maybe that’s just how it is, he tells himself.

Sukuna’s gaze flicks briefly toward the room, one slow sweep that quiets more whispers than any glare could, before returning to him. “No need to pay them any mind.”

Yuuji exhales, smiling faintly. “Yeah,” he murmurs, the tension in his shoulders easing. “That’s very you.”

Sukuna’s expression softens, the faintest curve tugging at his mouth. “Just do what you want,” he says quietly. “You don’t need to think about what anyone else thinks. I’m here for you.”

Yuuji's eyes widen before the words sink in. For him, not for duty. 

He doesn’t know when Sukuna started talking like this. It feels new, almost too gentle for someone who’s always been so composed. The change catches him off guard but in the best way. His chest tightens, warmth curling low in his stomach.

“Thank you,” he says at last, simple, quiet, but full. As if every other word he might’ve said got folded into that one.

The moment lingers for a quiet while until Yuuji smiles again, lighter this time. “Thanks for making time. I’m happy we can do this.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Sukuna replies, a thread of guilt threading through it. “I should’ve offered more in the first place.”

“Don’t say that,” Yuuji says quickly, shaking his head. Across the table, their eyes meet, charged in a way that feels like breathing in too deep. 

The sunlight catches on Sukuna’s lashes, tracing gold across his features, and for a heartbeat Yuuji forgets what he was going to say. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “You’ve offered enough already.”

Sukuna’s mouth tilts faintly, something gentle flickering there, a quiet warmth that feels almost private.

Then a little lower, like the words cost him something, Sukuna says, “You wouldn’t have said that a few years ago.”

Yuuji huffs a laugh, surprised but not denying it. “So you do realise.”

Sukuna’s smile deepens just slightly, tight at the corners. The kind that looks like it wants to say more but stops just short. Like the rest of the thought is there, held behind his eyes.

Yuuji meets it with a smile of his own, bigger, more unguarded.

It is as if they’ve just shared some private joke no one else understand. And in a way, they have.

Their drinks arrive, clinking lightly onto the table — latte for Yuuji, iced tea for Sukuna. The waiter leaves with a smile, and the whole café seems to soften around their quiet corner.

Yuuji picks up his glass and takes a sip, the cool grounding him. His voice lifts a little, casual, “So, are your parents gonna watch the match?”

He already knows the answer, their parents are always busy, always have something important to do, but he asks anyway.

“No,” Sukuna replies, steady as ever. Then, after a beat, his mouth curves, just slightly. “They don’t need to. I’m already watched closely enough.” 

The glance that follows makes it clear who he means.

Yuuji stills for half a second. Then a laugh slips out, surprised and honest. “Then I’ll have to support you three times as much.”

Sukuna's smile stretches, not wide but real. It softens his entire face. And Yuuji thinks, not for the first time today, that he’s never seen Sukuna smile this much in one sitting. Not like this. Not toward him.

“It’s okay,” Sukuna says, voice dipping low, sincere in a way that cuts through everything else. “You don’t have to. Cheer for your friends. That’s fine.” 

He pauses, his eyes flicking down for a moment, then back up again, something quieter in them now. “But watch me too.”

Yuuji pauses. The words are simple, even playful, but something about them feels different. A little hesitant. A little real. He’s never seen Sukuna like this before, not quite so open. The thought fills his chest too much, too fast.

It feels nothing like this morning, when his parents had told him to stand properly, represent the family, support Sukuna first. This isn’t about duty. This is Sukuna asking.

“I will,” Yuuji says at last. His smile breaks open, bright and unfiltered. “Of course I will.”

Sukuna doesn’t look away. His gaze holds, steady and unreadable until it softens just slightly, a quiet curve pulling at his mouth, like a weight has been lifted that no one else could see.

Yuuji lowers his gaze for a second, then looks back up. His voice is quieter now but sure. “You know you’re hard not to watch.”

Sukuna blinks, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing his face.

“You’re just too good,” Yuuji adds, laughing a little under his breath. “It’s not even fair.”

Sukuna exhales, just barely — the kind of breath someone releases when they weren’t expecting to feel anything in particular, and then did.

His voice, when it comes, is soft and even. “That means more than you think.”

Yuuji leans forward a little, the memory surfacing easily. “And yesterday’s match—” He shakes his head slightly, eyes bright. “Is that how you always play when it’s a big match? I swear, people were stunned. You were dominating.”

Sukuna gives a small, almost sheepish shrug. “Not really. I was just… a little heated up yesterday.”

Yuuji grins. “You were terrifying, honestly.”

Sukuna lifts a brow, the corner of his mouth tugging into a faint, amused smile. “In a bad way?”

“For your enemies? Definitely.” Yuuji leans in a little, voice lowering without meaning to. “But I’m on your side.”

He doesn’t say not just for the game. He doesn’t have to.

And Sukuna hears it anyway. Something shifts in his eyes — not dramatic, just quiet, almost like a breath held and released.

“I’d never be terrifying to you,” he says, calm, almost careless, but with something soft buried underneath it.

Yuuji’s smile tugs smaller, gentler. “I hope not. That was my first time seeing you like that. I mean—” he shrugs a little, teasing, “you do have your scary moments. But it’s different. I didn’t know whether to be worried or impressed.”

Sukuna huffs a quiet laugh. “Maybe I’ve just been hiding the terrifying parts of me.” Then, softer and real this time. “But you don’t have to worry.”

Yuuji holds his gaze. And smiles.

A moment later, their food arrives — donburi for Yuuji, a simple tartine for Sukuna.

Light. Purposeful. With a match this close, Sukuna’s not here to eat. He’s here to be here. To sit across from Yuuji, to give this time weight.

And that might say more than anything else could.

They eat quietly, movement unhurried. The silence between them isn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it feels intentional. Like neither of them wants to break whatever quiet thing has settled there. Every clink of a utensil sounds louder than it should. Every glance they share lingers just a beat longer than expected.

Halfway through, Yuuji glances up, a small thought surfacing. He remembers of the dinner after school that night. The memory warms him unexpectedly.

“Do you have a favorite dish?” he asks, curiosity slipping into his tone.

Sukuna pauses, fork stilling just short of his plate. He considers it. “Hm. I like beef tataki.”

Yuuji smiles, filing the answer away. He waits for more, but Sukuna doesn’t elaborate, and somehow, that single, precise reply feels exactly like him.

“Oh,” Yuuji says, a little amused, the word softened with fondness.

Sukuna takes a sip of tea. Yuuji leans on his hand, elbow propped on the table.

“What about something you don’t like?”

“I’m fine with anything,” Sukuna replies easily.

“Something you don’t prefer, then?”

There’s a beat. Sukuna looks like he might dismiss the question again, and for a moment Yuuji thinks he will — until he doesn’t.

“Oyakodon,” Sukuna says.

Yuuji blinks, bottom lip pouting. “What? I like oyakodon.”

“I know.” Sukuna’s mouth lifts into a slow, infuriating smirk, like that had been the point all along.

Yuuji narrows his eyes, a smile quickly spreading on his face. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m honest,” Sukuna says mildly.

Yuuji huffs a laugh, then leans back in his seat. “I especially like the one from your family’s restaurant. The one in Kyoto, with the koi pond and the cedar screens. We used to stop there after shrine visits.”

Sukuna’s expression shifts slightly. A flicker of something quieter crosses his face before smoothing out again. “I’ll compliment the chef.”

Yuuji laughs, unsure if it’s meant as a joke or not. With Sukuna, it’s always hard to tell.

But still — it feels easy, this moment. Familiar in a way Yuuji hadn’t realised he missed.

A few minutes pass in comfortable quiet after that. Sukuna’s already finished his food, drinking the last sips of his drink, while Yuuji still picks at his bowl, slower, like dragging the moment out just a little longer.

Eventually, his gaze drifts toward the window. Sunlight spills through it in soft stripes, lighting the courtyard beyond in gold. His voice comes quiet, almost like it belongs to the light.

“It’s kind of weird,” he says. “Knowing this is the last match. The last day you’ll be here.” He exhales slowly, his smile faint. “It all went by so fast.”

Sukuna’s lips tilt, not in amusement but something gentler. “It has,” he agrees quietly.

Yuuji turns back to him. “But I’m happy,” he adds, and this time the smile reaches his eyes. “That I got to be part of it. That I got to see you play.” He laughs, quiet but real. “You’re incredible out there, seriously. Every time.”

Sukuna blinks once, slowly. And something flickers across his face — not for the first time today, but clearer now. A subtle, unguarded shift. Not surprise. Not pride. Just… something softer. More open. Enough to make Yuuji’s heart trip.

“Thank you,” he says, and though the words are simple, they land different. Sincere. A little quieter than before.

Yuuji grins, bright and unguarded now, leaning forward just a little. “It’s so different from when I used to watch you years ago,” he says, warm with memory. “I can’t get over it.”

Something flickers in Sukuna’s eyes at that, a trace of memory.

A small smile touches his mouth. He leans back slightly, gaze drifting past the window, voice thoughtful. “Back then, I wasn’t focused on the same things.”

Yuuji tilts his head, curious but not pressing. “You mean basketball?”

There’s something in Sukuna’s eyes when he looks back at Yuuji. Really look. “Everything, really.”

He doesn’t say it like it’s some dramatic confession, just quiet truth. Something simple and real, finally spoken.

Yuuji doesn’t push or press. He just watches him for a moment, and his smile softens. Not surprised or judging, just there. Steady, warm. Like it’s enough that Sukuna said it at all.

And in that silence, something shifts. Not loud. Not sudden. But secured.

Like something between them has finally found its footing.

A quiet beat settles between them again, not awkward but reflective. The café hums low in the background, a steady rhythm around the pause.

Then Sukuna speaks again, quieter now. “Even after this ends, we’ll still see each other. Family junctions, dinners,”

His gaze shifts back to Yuuji, steady and certain.

“Or outside of that, if you want.”

Yuuji blinks, caught off guard.

Sukuna doesn’t backtrack. His voice stays gentle, the offer clear without pressure. “We can go out. Just the two of us.”

The words hit more softly than they should, and somehow that makes them land harder. Yuuji's heart kicks a little too fast in his chest, caught between surprise and something warmer he can’t quite name. He hadn’t expected the suggestion to be that gentle. That open.

He nods, slowly. 

“Yeah,” he says, almost under his breath. “I’d like that.”

And something in Sukuna’s expression eases.

There’s a pause. Neither of them rushes to fill it. It stretches comfortably between them, like the air has softened again.

Then Sukuna adds, not right away but after a beat, like the thought had only just caught up to him, “It’d be nice too, if we could play together again.” A short pause. “Basketball, I mean.”

Yuuji looks up at that, surprised. The memory slips in quietly — that quiet afternoon in one of Sukuna’s places, no scoreboard, no audience. Just the sound of sneakers on stone and the thud of a ball between them.

He smiles, the corners of his mouth tugging up before the words even come.

“It was hard for me to keep up with you back then,” he says, voice light but honest. “Let alone now.”

Sukuna’s eyes soften, the kind of expression that never really shows up in front of anyone else. “You’re better than you think.”

Yuuji looks down at his drink, smiling to himself, almost like he doesn’t know what to do with that praise.

A beat passes. 

“Would you actually want to?” Yuuji asks, quieter now. “Play again, I mean. Even if it’s just us messing around?”

Sukuna meets his gaze and there’s no hesitation in the answer. “Yeah. I would.”

And for a moment, the idea of it — just the two of them, somewhere quiet, no expectations — feels like the most peaceful thing in the world.

They drift into lighter talk after that, small and easy things. Their plates empty, the tension easing into comfort. Conversation moves around practice schedules, school gossip, small jokes that make Yuuji laugh under his breath.

It feels easy. Natural. Like this is how it’s always supposed to have been. 

And somewhere in the middle of it all, Yuuji realises he wishes this had been their beginning. Not duty, not distance, just this. Easy. Uncomplicated. Real.

Before either of them notices, the sunlight outside has shifted. The café windows catch the brightness from the courtyard, the low murmur of new footsteps beginning to swell. The match before Kamihara and Jujutsu High has just ended; the crowd from the stadium is spilling out, trading places with those filing in for the finals.

Yuuji glances at the time on his phone, reluctant to break the warmth between them. “Sukuna, should we go? There’s less than an hour left.”

“I can spare a little more time,” Sukuna says, voice low and unhurried. He reaches for his phone, the motion smooth, his eyes flicking toward Yuuji. “Are you ready to go?”

The question is simple, but there’s something gentle in the way he says it — the faint curl of his voice, the way his gaze lingers on Yuuji a heartbeat longer than needed. It doesn’t sound like he’s asking if Yuuji’s ready to go, but if he’s ready to stop being here with him.

Yuuji smiles, the edges of it soft. “I shouldn’t keep you for so long,” he says, trying to sound casual even as warmth creeps into his voice. “Have your teammates arrived?”

Sukuna glances at his screen, thumb sliding across the display. “Yes.”

“Okay. Then you should go to them.” Yuuji picks up his bag, the motion quick but not rushed, his smile lingering. “I’ll go too, I want to find a good seat. I can wait for my friends there.”

Sukuna doesn’t move right away. His gaze lingers, steady and searching, the kind of look that always seems to reach further than it should. Yuuji feels it like heat against his skin.

Then Sukuna nods once, his expression softening, the faintest smile touching his mouth. “Alright.”

They stand. The café has grown louder near the doors, chairs scraping, cups clinking as people hurry in or out. The air outside carries the faint hum of excitement, the pulse of a crowd gathering.

Sukuna moves first, stepping aside to let Yuuji go ahead, a small courtesy that still feels deliberate. When they reach the door, Sukuna’s hand moves first and pulls it open smoothly, a small, effortless gesture.

Yuuji murmurs a soft, automatic “thanks” and steps past him.

The air outside is warm, filled with the hum of distant cheers and footsteps across stone.

They fall into step together, the space between them smaller than it’s ever been. Yuuji feels the quiet pull of Sukuna’s taller and broader frame at his side, close and perfect. It feels new but easy all the same. 

Ahead, the noise from the stadium swells, cheers rising like a heartbeat calling them forward. People glance their way as they pass, whispers flickering through the air, a few turning outright to stare.

To anyone watching, it’s a striking sight — the star of the most anticipated game ahead walking beside the school’s own favorite, their shoulders almost brushing.

And Yuuji, caught in that picture, doesn’t mind the attention for once.

-

The crowd thickens the closer they get to the stadium. Students stream through the gates, flashes of Jujutsu blue and Kamihara black and gold with a few scattered uniforms from other schools weaving together.

Banners wave overhead, black and navy against the afternoon sun, and the hum of conversation spills from every direction.

There seems to be much more Kamihara students today than before.

Yuuji had expected it to still be quiet this early but the sight when they draw nearer catches him off guard. The stadium is already packed, the flow of students constant, people spilling in and out after the last match.

In this crowd, Sukuna especially stands out. Heads turn as they pass, Kamihara and Jujutsu alike, drawn almost instinctively to him. 

Yuuji walks beside him, a bit too aware of how close they are. With so many Kamihara students around, most of whom have never seen them together before, the stares come heavier and longer. 

And only now, stepping into the stadium grounds, that Yuuji finds himself thinking for the briefest moment about how it must look. Walking beside Kamihara’s captain. The face of the final. The rival of their team.

It’s basically treason in motion.

He shifts the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder, gaze lowered slightly. Not pulling away exactly, but putting a small breath of distance between them. His heart's still a little too full, too fast, from everything that came before, and not quite ready to let it go yet.

As they near the main entrance, the noise thickens — footsteps, chatter, the sharp whistle of a ref calling teams inside. 

Sukuna slows beside him, like some part of him already knows the moment is ending. 

He turns slightly toward Yuuji, voice low, reluctant, “I’ll head in first.” There’s the faintest curve to his mouth, eyes lingering longer than they need to. Unlike Yuuji, he doesn’t seem fazed by the attention at all. “I need to change.”

Yuuji nods before he can think. “Right,” he says, trying to match Sukuna’s calm and falling short. Not because he wants it over, but just a little aware of everyone else. His words come out a little too fast. “I’ll see you later.” 

Sukuna doesn’t move just yet. His gaze lingers, steady and unreadable, then gives a quiet nod and turns to go.

And something tugs inside Yuuji. Not the fluster or the nerves, but the sudden, sharp truth that he doesn’t want to end it like this. Not quickly. Not quietly. Not like they hadn’t just spent the last hour being something more.

Before he can stop himself, his hand moves. Fingers catch Sukuna’s arm, light but sure. Just enough to stop him mid-step.

“Good luck,” Yuuji says, the words soft, catching somewhere between his breath and heartbeat. Then, after a beat, his voice dips lower, shy but certain. “I’m… rooting for you.”

The words leave him like a secret. Too quiet for the space they’re in. Too much for what they mean.

Above them, blue and gold banners flutter in the stadium breeze, a reminder of everything that makes this moment feel like it shouldn’t exist. And still, here it is, pressed between them.

Sukuna turns his head, just enough for the light to catch across his profile. His smile appears slow and unguarded, not sharp or composed, just warm and real.

The kind of smile Yuuji’s seen more times today than he ever expected to.

“You shouldn’t say that out loud,” Sukuna murmurs, voice quiet enough to be theirs alone. But the way his eyes linger, the curve of his mouth, soften the words into something almost tender. “But I’m glad you did.”

Yuuji’s face flushes hot. He lets go too fast, pulling his hand back like it burned. “Just— play carefully,” he says quickly, a little breathless. The memory of yesterday’s game flashes sharp behind his eyes.

Sukuna’s smile tilts just slightly, the kind that says he understands more than he lets on. “I will.” He pauses, gaze steady. “I’ll see you later, Yuuji.”

And then Sukuna turns, disappearing into the tunnel that leads toward the locker rooms.

Yuuji stays where he is, frozen for a second too long, his heart thudding like it’s trying to climb out of his chest. His face burns; part embarrassment, part something else he can’t quite name.

At his side, his palm still tingles where it had touched Sukuna. The heat there refuses to fade.

He tries to push past it. To move on. But beneath all the fluster left over from everything Sukuna gave him today — the warmth, the smiles, the gentleness — another thought lingers stubbornly.

Sukuna's arm had been ridiculous.

Muscles that had felt way too solid under his palm, all strength beneath smooth fabric. 

It was like grabbing carved stone. 

Warm, alive carved stone.

Which, really, was way too much to be thinking about right before a match.

Yuuji flushes harder. He rubs his hand once on the side of his pants, as if that’ll do something. (It doesn’t.)

He sighs and fishes out his phone, fumbling for any distraction — a message, a direction, anything to ground him again from all of this.

Maybe he’ll text his friends. Ask where they are. Maybe he just needs to say something, anything, to get his brain back.

But when he unlocks the screen, the messages are already there.

Megumi
We’re here

Megumi
Front row again. Left side

Yuuji blinks, relief cutting clean through the haze in his chest. Thank god. At least he won’t be stuck alone with his own flustered brain.

He tucks his phone away and starts moving, weaving back into the stream of students heading toward the stands. The rhythm of the crowd picks up around him — chatter, laughter, the familiar rise of cheers echoing from the stadium ahead.

His mind, though, still hums with the warmth of moments ago. The quiet touch. Sukuna’s voice. That look before he left.

He exhales slowly and pushes forward, trying to let the noise swallow it. Let the shift in setting pull him back into place.

The path opens up toward the bleachers, bright with sunlight and stadium color. And for the first time since stepping out of the café, Yuuji lets himself breathe.

Focus. Friends first. That’s what he tells himself.

Even if Sukuna’s still the first thing on his mind.