Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Our life belongs only and solely to us. Its control is ours. We choose when and where we will go, with whom we will speak, and what we will say. And all of it inevitably brings about a consequence. Every action has a price. So, does our life truly belong to us, or is it just a grand deception, a heap of lies told to us by the so-called champions of free will?
We do as we wish, yet the consequences do not belong to us. They are shaped by our surroundings, and we may encounter things we never desired. Just like your arrival in Shibuya. Persuaded by your friends to celebrate Halloween, you left your home and unaware of what was to come, followed after them. So, could this really be called free will? Could you truly say that you were in this chaos by your own volition?
You tugged at the hem of your red costume. The dress clung to your body as if it were glued to you. Ada Wong — that was the name you had chosen for this Halloween. From your makeup to the shoes you wore, and even the blade hidden beneath your dress at your thigh, you had thought of everything. Planning the outfit and doing the makeup had been fun, of course. You had started the day with high hopes. But now, here you were, stuck in the middle of the street, lost in a mass of people, unable to take even a single step because of how tightly packed the bodies around you were.

“Damn it. I was supposed to make cool TikToks.” Your friend was holding their phone up in the air, trying to get a signal. You didn’t think they were affected by what was happening around them. They were so busy with their phone that they hadn’t even realized you’d been waiting for half an hour.
Everything had started out normally. The three of you had taken the subway to join the celebrations in Shibuya. When the subway lights flickered along the way, everyone thought it was just a trick to make Halloween more fun. Naturally, you had believed it too. A journey that began with laughter ended in screams. Because once you left the subway station and stepped into the streets, you realized that all the nightmares of Halloween had come to life. There was an entrance, but no exit. And you were trapped in Shibuya. Everyone was wearing different costumes. Even though it looked like a celebration, there was absolutely no festive atmosphere. Some whispered, without taking anything seriously, that this was all just part of Halloween. Others were so terrified that they were vomiting in front of coffee shops… In short, everyone was lost in their own world. No one cared about anyone else.

“It’s just part of the celebration, right? Some kind of prank?”

“A prank? People are screaming, puking… this isn’t a prank!”

“We should get out of here. Now.”

“Out? There’s nowhere to go! The exits are gone!”

Somewhere behind you, another scream rang out. You turned, catching sight of a crowd pressing against something invisible, as if trying to escape.

“Maybe it’s like… a trap. Like in a horror movie.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t a movie. This is real. And we’re screwed.”

You wanted to cover your ears. You couldn’t let fear take over — you had come here of your own free will, and no matter what, you had to face it. But what people were saying affected you too. You were scared… more than words could describe. Being trapped by an invisible wall was not normal. It was not human. It truly felt like a scene from a movie. But it was real. And the only thing that mattered was finding a way out of it.

You turned to your friends. One of them was dressed in an Albert Wesker costume to match yours. The other had become Catwoman.

You took a deep breath. “Alright. We can’t move forward. Apparently, we can’t get out of here the normal way. We can go back to the subway, if it’s still running, the staff might be able to take us back one stop.”

“The subway’s not running.”

You glanced around at the crowd, noticing how panic was growing. Your friend was still holding their phone up in the air, trying to get a signal. Eventually, they lowered the phone and sighed deeply. “We can’t call anyone for help. There’s not even internet.”

The subway was closed. The streets were blocked. There was no other way. Either you would stand in the middle of the street and panic, or you would calm down and find safety. “There are too many people. If an attack were to happen, it would most likely happen here. We should go somewhere more isolated and hide.” you said. One of your friends agreed with you, but the other was hesitant. The one dressed as Catwoman narrowed her eyes at you.

“Isolated? You want us to be alone? Just like in horror movies? No way. I’m staying here.”

You took a deep breath and stepped in front of her. “This isn’t a movie. Something is wrong here. Staying in the crowd means losing control entirely. Do you honestly feel safe?”

She smirked faintly. “So you don’t trust me. Or maybe you just want everyone to follow you because of your own fear. But I’m not scared. The crowd is my safety.”

Her words didn’t shake you; they made you more determined. “Fear should not stop us from acting. None of us are safe in the crowd. We have no choice but to move to somewhere isolated.”

Catwoman studied you carefully. A faint clicking sound came from her lips. “And what if this ‘isolated place’ is a trap? What if we end up alone… and worse?”

“Then at least the choice was ours. If we stay here, we have no choice at all.”

She wasn’t convinced, and that was no surprise. She was a girl with her own truths, someone who acted on her own terms. She looked around, and you realized she had already made her decision. “I’m staying here. If there’s an exit, you’ll see it anyway. I won’t leave the crowd.”

You looked at your other friend. He seemed to agree with you and were mostly quiet. He nodded. “Let’s decide where we’re going. If something happens, she can find us.”

You thought for a moment. There were too many shops around here. Moving to a closed place to avoid being exposed and to stay away from the center of danger might make sense. At the same time, you shouldn’t move too far from the subway. If the line reopened, you could be among the first to get on.

"The 7-Eleven in front of the subway entrance. It’s both an enclosed space and close to all exits. Everyone’s outside. We can be safe there."

Your other friend nodded again, as if agreeing silently to your reasoning. Without another word, the two of you began weaving through the pressing crowd, the noise of screams and hurried footsteps growing louder behind you.

You glanced back once, then forward again, your mind fixed on your goal. The glow of the 7-Eleven sign appeared in the distance, a flickering beacon in the chaos. The closer you got, the louder the noise became. The hum of the crowd turned into an almost constant roar.

You heard someone call out to one of the people you passed by. “Where is Gojo Satoru? Bring him!” But among the other screams, their voice was drowned out. You didn’t know — how could you have known? You were acting without knowing the outcome. But Shibuya was about to become everyone’s grave. And if you were lucky enough… you wouldn’t be buried dead, but alive.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The wall was black. The outside world had become completely invisible, and with every passing second, the risks grew greater. A boy kept punching the invisible wall, trying to get out. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t escape and with every passing second, he was losing his mind. “Who is Gojo Satoru?” the stranger beside him asked. But even he didn’t know the answer. Who was Gojo Satoru? And why did they want him to come?

To you, he was a complete stranger — just a name. But for the danger hidden in Shibuya, his name meant death. The most powerful sorcerer of humanity. And even in the midst of this chaos, your paths would cross.
Every action has a price. By coming to Shibuya, you had agreed to pay that price. Gojo, however, had been paying it since the moment he was born.

Chapter Text

You remembered being afraid to sleep alone as a child. Monsters emerging from under the bed, shadows hiding inside the closet… Of course, they were all your imagination. Your family always said the same thing. Monsters aren’t real, and they can’t hurt you. There’s no such thing in this world, so don’t be afraid.
But now, standing in the middle of Shibuya, the truth felt far more complicated.

Inside the supermarket, there was only the cashier on duty. He was trying to get a signal every few minutes. “Even the registers aren’t working. The power might go out soon.” You had been talking for a few minutes, but you still had no plan to escape.

The cashier rubbed his temples, glancing nervously toward the glass doors. Outside, the crowd had quieted, but the silence was unnatural like the calm before a storm.

Your other friend, still silent until now, stepped forward. “There’s a storage exit at the back. It leads to an alley behind the store. It might be worth checking.”

The cashier overheard and shook his head. “The alley… it’s not safe. There’s something out there. I’ve seen it.”

A heavy pause fell over you all. “What kind of thing?” you asked.

But the cashier avoided your gaze. “If I tell you, you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“Try me.” You said firmly. “If we’re stuck in whatever this is, we need to know.”

The cashier hesitated, fingers gripping the counter tightly. He glanced toward the glass doors, then back at you, as if weighing whether to speak. Finally, he leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“A monster. Claws, teeth, skin like shadows. It moved without a shape, like smoke given form. And its eyes… they looked right through me.” A chill ran down your spine. You glanced at your friend. The cashier continued, voice trembling. “It doesn’t belong to this world.”

You were slowly losing your mind or maybe you were still dreaming. Your logic refused to accept this reality. You had stopped believing in monsters when you were eight years old. Since that age, you had believed that whatever you saw was just an illusion. But now… for the first time in years, someone was telling you that the things you saw as a child could be real.
You laughed. But it was a bitter smile. Your friend was staring into the distance, and from his posture, you could tell he was starting to believe it too. Because nothing had been normal from the start. A barrier had formed in the sky, separating you from another world. It was entirely possible that monsters roamed within it.

“You two… maybe one of you knows how to fight?” the cashier asked hopefully. His shoulders trembled. Your friend turned to you, directing his gaze toward the hidden knife strapped to your dress. As if it would be of much use against the monsters…

You weren’t ready for what was about to happen.

“We should let her know.” you said, nudging your friend on the shoulder. “You stay here. Check the store with the cashier. Maybe they sell something we need… something sharp, suitable for fighting.” You stepped forward to leave, but your friend grabbed your wrist.

“You stay. It’s dangerous outside. I’ll go.”

You smiled. This time, it was genuine. “Please, look at our costumes. You’re Albert Wesker. You don’t go to war, you give the orders.” It was true; the situation you were in now was dangerous. Your lives were at risk, and the unknown was always frightening. But it also brought hope. And you would always have hope.
Because no matter what happened, no matter what life brought, you had the will to resist. Your current priority was to ensure safety and you would do it. You would take your friend outside and hide in a safe place. You had to hurry to find that place. You quickly stepped out of the supermarket, the glass doors closing silently behind you. Your hand instinctively touched the knife beneath your dress. At least, you would have the chance to fight back.

“Why did you let her go?” the cashier asked your friend as you walked away. He only smiled. Perhaps, for the first time tonight, he smiled. “Former athlete. If something happens, she will run faster than you or me. Besides… I trust her.”

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

You turned the corner of the street. People had split into groups of three, whispering among themselves. In the seemingly peaceful scene, you sensed something was wrong. As you plunged into the crowd you had left, you noticed lesser people were left. You called out your friend’s name, pushing through the crowd — but she was no longer where you had left her.
From another street that joined the one you were on, a crowd of people came running. Everyone was pushing each other, trying to escape something. Among the screams, you could clearly hear a few sentences. “There’s something in the subway station! It’s pulling everyone in!”
You started running toward the junction, hoping to catch sight of your friend, but the crowd was too thick, too fast. Your heart pounded harder. The thought of what was happening in the subway station twisted your stomach into knots. Somewhere ahead, the glass of a shop window shattered. People screamed louder, scattering in all directions. And in the chaos, the street behind you disappeared into a growing shadow.
It wasn’t just fear anymore. It was something far worse.
It was inevitability.

“What are you doing? Run!” A woman passing by called to you. Taking the chance, you immediately turned to her. “Have you seen someone in a Catwoman costume? A short girl.”

The woman looked at you as if trying to convince herself that you were seriously asking. “How would I know? Do you think I was paying attention to her?” But she didn’t walk away. She stopped and thought. She brought her hand to her chin, as if something had just occurred to her. “Wait… I think I saw someone like that. She might be among those being pulled toward the subway. I’m not completely sure.”

Her words made your chest tighten. You glanced toward the subway entrance, where the crowd surged forward. “Thank you.” you said quickly, turning back toward the path the crowd had cleared. Without hesitation, you started pushing forward, weaving between people who were too preoccupied with running to notice you.

The woman watched you go, biting her lip, her eyes following your figure as if she was debating whether to call out again. But the chaos swallowed any sound before she could speak.

To be honest, you didn’t know what you were doing either. Your friend was defenseless; she couldn’t even harm an ant. She had no chance of survival. If you didn’t support each other in this chaos, when would you? On one hand, you were angry at her. Instead of coming with you, she had only listened to herself again. On the other hand, you felt pity for. She must be scared, unable to understand what was happening. That’s why you chose to help.

You were very close to the subway entrance. You ran toward the stairs until you felt pressure on your shoulder. A large hand had grabbed you, preventing you from taking another step. You shook your shoulder, trying to free yourself from the hand that held you. Turning your head to the left, you tried to look into the eyes of the person holding you. But a mask — no, a blindfold — prevented you from seeing them. Pure white hair. A strange uniform. “Hey, it’s dangerous there.” He said calmly. There was a sense of ease about him that no one else had.

“Please let me go. My friend is in danger.” You said, struggling again to free yourself. But the man easily pulled you behind him, placing himself between you and the stairs leading down to the subway. “If you go there, you’ll be in danger too.”

You froze for a moment, staring at the figure before you. His voice was calm, almost soothing, but there was a firmness in it that made your heart skip a beat. Something in his tone made you hesitate. But the thought of your missing friend, swallowed by the chaos somewhere below, pushed you forward.

“I can’t just leave her.” You said quietly, gripping the hem of your dress tighter. “I can’t.”

The man didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as if studying you. His grip on your arm didn’t loosen, but it wasn’t harsh either. The blindfold obscured his eyes, yet somehow you felt he was looking right through you.

“I’ll go down there and make sure your friend is okay. You find a safe place and hide.” Why was he so confident? He didn’t look like a police officer. He hadn’t brought a weapon with him. Without even asking how your friend looked like, he went down into the subway, practically leaping down the stairs. The man was strange. His costume, himself. Most likely, he was just a liar. What he said had never seemed convincing. You would have believed him. If the circumstances were different, you would have believed that tone of his voice. But you didn’t have that luxury. You hesitated many times. What if you got hurt while saving your friend? Worst of all, what if your friend was already dead? You wanted to run. Yes, a part of you was selfish. People learned selfishness even in the womb. But making selfish decisions depended on our will. So there were two options: either you would help, or you would run away. The second option was never your style.You thought about your friend. Weak. Defenseless. Yet important to you. Why? Was it loyalty? Love? Obligation? Or the stubbornness of not wanting to be left behind? Whatever it was, it outweighed your fear.
You looked at your costume. Costumes were not just clothes. They were declarations. They were the armor we chose to face the world with. Ada Wong was brave and did not shy away from risk. You, however, hesitated. So why had you dressed like her? Tonight, everyone should act like the costume they wore. That had always been the meaning of Halloween for you. Most importantly, it was about spending joyful time with the ones you loved. And if your loved ones weren’t there… then what meaning did this costume, this holiday even have?

You knew very well what you were choosing. You descended the stairs slowly and carefully, following the man who had warned you. You had no idea what awaited you after this, but you were ready. Life was yours. So were your choices.

Chapter Text

Beneath the dim lights of the underground station, the clock struck exactly 20:40. Jogo’s head quivered like molten lava, releasing smoke into the air. Roots sprouted from Hanami’s body, cracking the stone floor, each step turning the station into a living forest. Choso, however, was different from the others—silent, yet his crimson eyes gleamed with hostility. Gojo’s lips curved faintly, a trace of ease hidden beneath his blindfold.
“I see you’ve come well-prepared. This time, when I defeat you, you won’t have any excuse to hide behind.”

“And you? Have you thought of the excuse you’ll use when you lose?”

Losing? Gojo Satoru didn’t lose. No matter how fierce the struggle, no matter how desperate the odds, he always emerged victorious in the end. He was the man who had walked away even from death itself—just to win.

“Don’t misunderstand. You’re strong. Strong enough to terrify anyone else.” He raised his chin, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “But I’m not anyone else.”

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The silence was a living thing—so complete that for a breathless second you almost believed everyone else had vanished. The fluorescent glare painted the corridor in sickly colors: blood smeared along the tiles, bodies crumpled in odd angles in shadowed corners. Every footstep you took in your heels seemed obscene against that hush, a private percussion in a ruined theater.

Then you saw another body near the turnstiles. You stopped cold. Panic and logic tangled in your chest. If your friend had come this far, she’d have done exactly what you feared—boarded the subway without thinking twice. She never overthought. She acted, and then explained later. That impulse would have driven her down to the platforms without a second glance.

You had to get below. You had to move fast and quiet. As you passed through the turnstile, you noticed the corpse belonged to a security guard. You tried not to stare for long because his body had been severely damaged — it could hardly be called a body anymore. But you couldn't just walk past: an object by his arm caught your eye. A gun. Lying there, as if waiting for you to pick it up.

Your hand trembled as you crouched down. For a moment, you half expected the guard’s hand to twitch, to tighten around the weapon, as if he wasn’t ready to let it go. But he didn’t move. He never would again.

Your fingers brushed the metal, and a shiver ran up your arm. It was heavier than you thought, foreign in your grip, but reassuring all the same. You weren’t helpless anymore—at least, not entirely.

You whispered under your breath. “Sorry.” Then you stood, clutching the gun tight, and moved toward the stairs that led deeper underground. The stairwell swallowed you whole. The further you went down, the thicker the air became. You opened the gun’s magazine and counted the bullets inside. There were exactly nine left. The dead man had fired three shots before but apparently, it hadn’t worked. Doubt was already creeping in. You wanted to turn back, to go upstairs. But you didn’t know it yet—and even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. The barrier that had formed around the station was one-way.

The subway station was enormous. It made sense that someone would choose to strike here, on the day when it would be most crowded with ordinary people. If no precautions had been taken, then the real culprits had to be the authorities. Nearly the whole world knew Halloween was celebrated in Shibuya, and people came even from the far ends of the country. So why had no one prepared for this?
There was no point in thinking anymore. What had happened was done, and no one could change it. Maybe you could still find that strange white-haired man who had warned you, and take a few people with you to get out of here. Since arriving, you had memorized the path in your mind, committed every emergency exit to memory. You could save as many people as possible.
You stepped down to the lower level and looked at two directional signs. One pointed the way you had come. Three friends. Hours ago everything had been normal. Now, none of you knew where the others were. You gripped the gun tighter.

With two directions to choose from, it was impossible to be certain which way to go. But you had a guess. Most likely, your friend had taken your direction—that is, the way home. Clinging to that possibility, you stepped toward the escalator descending in that direction.
Since arriving at the station, you hadn’t seen a single living person. That’s why you were startled when you saw a woman crouched at the top of the escalator. Her eyes were wide open, fixed on a single point. Her body rocked back and forth, her hands clutching her hair. It was obvious she was in shock. The closer you got, the clearer it became: she wasn’t breathing evenly. Her lips moved, whispering something you couldn’t hear. A low sound escaped her throat, somewhere between a sob and a moan.

Then she looked at you. Her gaze was hollow, eyes shining with unspeakable terror. Her voice broke as she spoke.

“They’re… coming.”

A noise erupted from below. You saw tree branches slowly curling around the escalator, creeping upward as if alive. They had almost sealed the entrance, but not completely. Through the gap between the branches, you could still descend.

Still… all of this… weighed on your mind.

What was happening down there? Maybe you had made the wrong choice. There was no way to save your friend. Or perhaps you were walking willingly into your own death. Without realizing it, you took a step back, as if about to flee.

You tightened your grip on the gun, the metal cold against your palm. The crouching woman suddenly turned toward you. “Yes, yes! Let’s get out of here.” She stood up, limping as she tried to move away. But it was obvious she wasn’t aware of what she was doing. You called after her. “Go two floors up. There’s a small closed room on the first floor. If you can’t get out, go there—”
But she was already gone, swallowed by the darkness.

One thought flashed through your mind: Once you go down there, there’s no turning back.
And with that, you stepped through the gap in the branches.

With your knife, you cut through the narrowing branches that blocked your way. They were clearly ordinary, even thin twigs. With every successful step, the crowd below became clearer. Hundreds of people were pressed together, none speaking. Just standing there, as if waiting for death.

The silence was so deep that, suddenly, you stopped cutting.

Your friend was there. In her Catwoman costume. She stood motionless in the middle of the crowd. Her eyes were fixed on nothing, as if staring into emptiness—just like the eyes of the woman who had fled. She didn’t notice you. Her shoulders twitched slightly, but her gaze remained locked ahead, unmoving. You wanted to call her name, but your voice caught in your chest. A cold dread crept up your spine. Something about the way she stood… it wasn’t right. Not just her stare, but the stillness of her body, the way the people around her seemed almost unreal.

It was obvious something was wrong. You couldn’t take another step. So you stood there, at the top of the escalator.

The branches ahead weren’t fully broken, and you used them as cover, peering through the gaps. Your eyes scanned the crowd below, searching for movement, for any sign of danger.

They were on the tracks. That strange man who had warned you… and in front of him… three creatures. Monsters that didn’t resemble humans. In that moment, you remembered. The things you had seen as a child. The things your family had always called illusions. But you knew. You had always known. Those things that woke you from sleep at night, the things that terrified you—they were real. And they had haunted your nightmares for years. No matter who you told, they dismissed it as paranormal nonsense. But even if you said you no longer believed they were real… deep down, you knew.

Running wasn’t an option anymore.

The safety gates blocking the tracks suddenly opened. The sudden emptiness sent a ripple through the crowd—several people stumbled and fell onto the rails. You could see them speaking to each other, their voices urgent, but it was nearly impossible to hear over the heavy silence that hung in the station.

At that moment, something no human eye had ever seen happened before.

The short-statured creature ignited flames in its hands and began attacking people. One by one, they burned alive. And not just it—the other creatures also started targeting humans. As they attacked those who had fallen onto the rails, you saw your chance. You ran down the escalator, almost pushing others aside, heading quickly toward where your friend stood. Finally, you grabbed her arm. Strange rays of light shimmered through the air, but everyone’s attention was fixed on the battle. You shook her and called her name. “Quick, we’re getting out of here!”

When your friend saw you, she began to cry and shook her head, as if you had brought her back to herself. But before either of you could take a step, a sudden gust of wind struck you both. It was like a powerful explosion.

Most people covered their faces with their hands. You and your friend, caught completely off guard, lost your balance and fell.

“I’m sorry.” Your friend was now sobbing uncontrollably. “I should have listened to you. You always make the right choices. But I didn’t listen. I'm so stupid.” You crouched beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her tear-streaked face. Your own chest still heaved from the sudden blast, and the air smelled of smoke and something metallic—blood, maybe.

“It’s not about being right or wrong.” you said softly, your voice trembling despite yourself. “We have no choice. We should run.”

She shook her head violently, clutching your arm as if afraid you’d let go. “I… I don’t deserve this. I should have—”

You cut her off, gripping her shoulders firmly. “Stop. No more apologies. There’s no time for that. We move. Now.”

“Now I understand.” The man had stepped onto the ground where you stood. His gaze was fixed on the creatures lingering on the tracks. It didn’t seem to matter to him whether people lived or died, but you knew—he had to be affected by it too.

“So that’s why you allied with the curse users.”

You didn’t listen. Besides, most of what he said wouldn’t make sense to you anyway. You pointed to the gap at the top of the escalator for your friend, the light filtering through the branches you had cut with your knife.

“You run through there. Don’t even look back—go straight to the top floor.”

“And you? What about you?” Your friend called out to you as she started walking toward the escalator. She was so scared her whole body trembled.

“I’ll come. I’ll show the others the way, one by one, and then I’ll follow.”

Reluctantly, she nodded, her trembling increasing as she stepped toward the gap at the top of the escalator. You watched her disappear into the shadows, the sound of her hurried footsteps swallowed by the chaos around you.

Behind you, the strange man with white hair remained silent, his gaze fixed on the creatures below. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you felt the weight of a choice already made
and the knowledge that there would be no turning back.

Quietly, you bent toward the child’s ear and said, “Do you see the gap at the top of the stairs?”

When you pointed with your hand, the child nodded. With his small stature, he was barely noticeable anyway. “Run toward it and slip through the branches. There will be a girl running ahead of you. Follow her, okay?”

The child looked at you once, then at the gap. Then, wiping his tears with the hem of his jacket, he nodded again. You straightened up, your eyes lingering on the trembling boy for a moment longer. He took a shaky breath, clutching his jacket tighter, then began to run. His small feet pounded softly against the concrete, but each step echoed sharply in the eerie silence around you. You watched until he disappeared into the shadows, then your gaze shifted to the chaos below.

There were far too many small children. They must have been separated from their families. You saw the strange man remove his blindfold and speak something to the creatures. He was doing well at keeping their attention focused on him.

“Hey, the plant over there, this is the third time we’ve met, isn’t it? And you still underestimate me. First, I’ll kill you.”

He jumped onto the tracks again and began fighting. Taking advantage of this, you guided the other children toward the exit. The children hesitated at first, their small faces pale with fear, but the sound of the man’s battle pushed them forward. You took their hands one by one, urging them silently, guiding them through the shadows toward the gap above.

A boy tripped, crying out, and you bent down instantly, helping him up without a word. His hand clung to yours like it was his only anchor. Around you, panic was contagious, but you forced calm into your voice.

“Keep moving.” you whispered to them. “We’ll make it. Just keep going.” You made sure each child stepped out one by one. Around you, people had begun to notice, and some were realizing there was an exit.

Suddenly, a rush of voices shouted. “Me first!” and the crowd surged forward. Your stomach tightened as the fear you’d dreaded came true—a human wave forming, pressing toward a hole far too small to let them through.

You tried to stop them, but it was useless. Rumors of an exit spread quickly through the crowd, and people began pushing each other toward the escalators.

The white-haired man in the middle of the battle noticed, of course. He moved faster, trying to prevent the curses from attacking you. At the same time, he watched you. He saw how determined you looked while saving people, how cool you seemed as you directed them and called out to them.

Because here, he knew, he was fighting alone. But now… someone was fighting to save people. And that made him feel less alone. At the top of the stairs, as you tried to guide people one by one, you felt the man’s gaze on you. Of course, you couldn’t be certain—his eyes were completely covered, constantly shifting as he swept curses aside. But you felt it.

For a moment, it was as if you were two different people fighting for the same purpose.

“Get out of my way!” A man broke the line, shoving the woman in front of him, then grabbed your shoulder. He tried to push you aside to slip through the hole, but you quickly seized his arm, twisting him around and pressing his elbow into his back.

The man convulsed in pain, teetering dangerously at the edge of the stairs, almost falling. With your free hand, you leveled the gun at the line of people pressing forward.

“If anyone tries to get smart, I’ll blow their head off.”

The chaos paused—not because anyone obeyed, but because your voice carried an edge that made people hesitate. Breathing heavily, you glanced over your shoulder. The crowd was still pushing forward, desperate, terrified. Your eyes flicked back to the man at the top again. You could feel him studying you. And for reasons you couldn’t name, that unsettled you far more than the pressing crowd.

“We… can’t all fit…”

“No, we can. Slowly. One at a time.” You shoved the man aside, making him stumble a few steps back. Then, with your knife, you searched for thin branches to cut through, carving a new opening. But time had already run out.

The white-haired man was pushing a monster against the wall with an invisible force so powerful that the surface cracked. And he was smiling madly while doing it. In just a few seconds, nothing remained of the creature.

But what truly caught your attention was the destruction on the wall. Somehow, this man possessed such power. Perhaps, with even greater force, he could shatter all the walls and create an opening upward—toward the sky...?
It sounded impossible. For a human to possess such power. Yet what your eyes had seen was real, and without the help of someone as strong as him, getting out of here was truly impossible.

The shorter monster was fleeing from him, using people as shields. It shoved some aside, hurled others toward him, yet not one could even touch the white-haired man. Everyone hung suspended in the air. In that moment, all your attention was fixed on him, entranced by the cold calmness in his gaze. That was what being powerful meant. When he removed the blindfold from his eyes once again, in those deep blue eyes, you saw the proof.

He wasn’t just powerful. He knew exactly how to wield his power. He scanned the surroundings, advancing slowly toward the other monster. As the crowd thinned, you noticed he moved with greater ease. Most people had already started keeping their distance from him. Was there no way to help him? Maybe even someone as ordinary as you could do something…

You saw sharp, red pointed arrows flying toward him. The third monster—no, it looked far more human than the others—had decided to attack as well. The man stood still, frowning, countless possibilities flashing through his mind. It was obvious that the only way to help him was to get rid of the people around him.

You couldn’t fight the monsters directly. They could kill you in seconds. But you could deal with the people. Straining with your knife, you tried to widen the gap. People ignored it and were already slipping through. That was until someone in a banana costume tried to push their way into the gap. You yanked the banana-costumed man back just in time but his momentum was too strong. With a strangled yell, he stumbled forward again and got wedged halfway into the narrow gap. His legs flailed in the air, and the crowd behind you gasped.

“Help! Get me out!” he screamed, panic in his voice. His costume rustled loudly as he strained, but the gap was too tight. The branches you’d cut barely gave him enough room, and his body was stuck fast.

“Damn it!” You cursed under your breath as the situation only worsened. With swift, precise movements, you slashed at the man’s banana costume with your knife. The torn fabric slipped away, freeing him from the weight that had been pinning him down.

Around you, the crowd grew restless. Some, angry at the chaos, joined in and began pushing from behind. Bit by bit, they shoved him forward. The branches bit into his skin, leaving scratches and streaks of blood, but he didn’t stop struggling. Finally, with a harsh grunt, he broke free and tumbled forcefully onto the other side of the hole.

He lay there for a moment, gasping and trembling. Behind him, the stream of people surged forward as if nothing had happened, charging recklessly toward the gap as if the only thing that mattered was getting through.

"An eight-car train is approaching. Please stand behind the yellow line. Do not lean on the doors or put your hands near them."

The mechanical voice echoed through the station, but the words barely registered to most of the people. Relief rippled through them — laughter broke out, nervous chuckles and breathless sighs. They thought they’d made it.

Everyone but you and the man stood in silence. You locked eyes, and for a single heartbeat, the noise of the station seemed to vanish. His gaze was sharp — a mix of shock and anger that made your skin crawl. It wasn’t just fear you saw there.

As the train approached, its roar deafening, most people covered their ears instinctively. The tension was unmistakable — something was wrong. Without thinking, the crowd surged toward the train’s doors, pushing and shoving with desperate energy.

You seized the moment and dashed down the stairs, intent on reaching the white-haired man. But as you neared him, his gaze locked on yours. His head shook slowly, a silent command — don’t come.

You stopped at the last step, gripping the stair’s iron railing for balance. Your eyes never left him. What was running through his mind? How did he plan to escape this? You couldn’t find the answer, because the moment the train doors slid open, hundreds of monsters descended on the crowd without hesitation.

It was the most terrifying thing you had seen all night. And the night wasn’t even close to being over…

Chapter Text

For a man whose life had been nothing but battles, none of this should have come as a surprise. In a world where curses had become an ordinary part of daily life, very few things could shock someone like him. That’s why you and the courage you displayed didn’t impress Gojo Satoru at first. He knew. He knew you hadn’t listened to him from the very beginning, that you had followed him down into the subway station. His Six Eyes had seen you. He had been watching you since your very first step. At first, it was only for protection. But there were so many people who needed saving, he thought of turning his attention elsewhere. Yet when he saw you pick up the gun from the ground, his curiosity won. He kept watching. How did you manage to surprise him every single minute?
You. With your red dress and unyielding stance—you. Right now, you deserved to be somewhere laughing, just like all these people did. You should have stayed away from this nightmare of blood and curses. But you had thrown yourself into danger on purpose. Was that foolishness, or was it courage?
In his world, it was courage. Acting without thinking of yourself, striving for the good of others.
But he still thought you were a bit of a fool. Because he wanted you to survive, just like everyone else. But you kept making it harder.
For Gojo, there wasn’t really a line between “brave” and “stupid.” They touched each other, two sides of the same thing. Watching you, his lips curled into a smile he hadn’t planned. There was no mockery in it, but rather confusion and maybe even a flicker of anger.

Because he had seen people like you die young. The ones who rushed in to save others. The ones who tried to carry the weight of the world alone.
He couldn’t take his eyes off you. Every step, every move, every stubborn look of yours. It was so familiar to him, yet so different at the same time. You were something rare in this world of blood and curses. Pure, reckless, destructive courage. And Gojo Satoru couldn’t stop himself from watching.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

You couldn’t look at the dead people. You fixed your gaze only on that man. You wanted him to fight, to do something. But he just stared into the void as if the whole weight of the world sat on his shoulders and he didn’t know what to do. You looked at his back; he stood with his head bowed. And you hated it. You hated that such a powerful man stood there, helpless. By the time you realized the screams were getting closer, it was too late to run. One of the monsters had started sprinting toward the stairs. People were fighting to get through the gap, everyone was desperate. Without thinking, you aimed the gun at the monster running toward you. Crooked eyes, torn clothes, blue skin… it absolutely could not belong to this world. You refused to believe it.
You lined up the gun between the creature’s two eyes and fired. The bullet found its mark and the monster trembled and fell to the ground. But you hadn’t expected that to work... The other monsters didn’t die easily; they required a different kind of force. So why had this one died so easily…? Your stomach churned, you wanted to vomit. But there was no time. You fired at the other monsters coming at you without changing your aim — between the eyes… and on those without eyes, you aimed for the forehead. Your hands shook, the gun sometimes slipped between your fingers. But the screams you heard pulled you back to the present.

The noise from your gun seemed to snap Gojo back to himself. He made a plan, a risky one. The other curses kept attacking him. A pool of blood had formed at his feet. He didn’t wait. “Domain Expansion: Infinite Void.”

And in an instant, the station shattered into something unreal. Walls dissolved into endlessness, ceilings stretched into infinity, and every living thing caught within his sphere froze. The monsters convulsed, their twisted bodies shaking violently as their minds drowned in an overwhelming flood of limitless information. They weren’t just paralyzed. They were undone, stripped bare at the very core of their existence. Screams cut short. Movements halted. Even the sound of the gun in your hands was swallowed by the suffocating silence of the domain.
It felt like you had been dragged into another dimension. The weight of it pressed against your skull, against your chest, crushing and expanding you at once. One moment you were standing there, knuckles white around the gun, eyes fixed on his glowing silhouette. The next, the world folded in on itself. You tried to take a step back but your legs didn’t respond, they felt like lead. The gun slipped from your shaking hands and clattered to the ground. A rush of vertigo swept over you. The infinite light spilling out of Gojo’s domain blurred your vision until all you saw were streaks of white and blue, like the station had turned into a sky full of falling stars. The last thing you felt was the cold concrete under your palms as you reached out to steady yourself. Then your forehead hit the floor with a dull thud, the sound lost instantly in the suffocating quiet of the domain. Everything went black.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

You were eight again. The room was exactly as you had left it in that old apartment. Faded moon and star wallpaper peeling at the corners, the glow in the dark stickers on the ceiling dim and cracked. The nightlight in the corner flickered, throwing thin shadows that crawled across your toys. Your small hands were clenched around your blanket. You had been staring at the gap beneath your bed for what felt like hours. It wasn’t just dark under there. It was deep. Like a well. You could hear things moving softly.

“Mom? Dad?”

Footsteps sounded in the hall. The door opened with a tired groan and the hall light sliced across your carpet. Your parents appeared like silhouettes against it. They looked younger too, but tired the way adults always were at night.

“What is it, sweetheart?” your mother asked. She knelt, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “Another bad dream?”

You shook your head violently. “No! It’s not a dream! There’s something under my bed. I can hear it. I can hear it.” Your small fingers clutched at her sleeve. “Please look.”

Your father sighed. “We’ve talked about this. There’s nothing under there. Monsters aren’t real. It’s just your imagination.”

But you were desperate. The whispering from under the bed grew louder. You could even smell something damp, earthy, like the inside of a cave.

Your mother exchanged a look with your father. She smiled at you. “Okay.” She bent down, lifted the blanket’s edge, and peered under. “See? Nothing there.” Except you were standing right beside her now — the dream allowed it. You were eight but you were also you. And you saw it. In the dim light under the bed there was a shape: arms too long, skin the color of ash, eyes like tiny pale flames staring back. It was pressed against the floorboards as if waiting for the exact second she looked away.

You knew she didn’t see it. Her eyes passed over it like it was invisible. “It’s okay.” she said, patting the mattress. “Go back to sleep.”

But your younger self was frozen. Tears spilled down your cheeks. You could hear the thing under the bed start to breathe faster, excited, like it knew you could see it now. “No...It’s real.”

Your parents straightened, their silhouettes impossibly tall, their faces blurred by the dream. “Monsters aren’t real.” They repeated together, like a lullaby, like a spell. “Go to sleep.”

And they turned off the light and closed the door.
You stopped doubting. The fear wasn’t imagination. The monsters had always been real.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

All 1000 shape shifted humans had been slaughtered in 299 seconds. Blood and silence. People stared blankly ahead with empty eyes. No one moved. They didn’t even breathe. Only Gojo’s breath could be heard. His chest rising and falling, each breath echoing like a thunderclap in the dead quiet. His Six Eyes flickered, scanning what was left of the station. A smear of blood trickled from the corner of his jaw where he hadn’t bothered to wipe it away. His fingers twitched at his side, still humming with cursed energy.

299 seconds.
A sliver of time. Short but stretched into eternity. The time between you hitting the ground, unconscious, and opening your eyes to the lake of blood before you. Like everyone else, you had fallen into darkness, your body slack and unresponsive. But unlike them, you hadn’t gone into shock. Your eyes weren’t frozen wide, your lips weren’t trembling with a silent scream. Because you were ready. The dream had prepared you. In your dream, you had accepted them. And that acceptance was the only reason you survived this moment.
Because now you knew.
You pushed yourself up to your feet, your legs unsteady. Your eyes swept over the sea of bodies. They looked more like dolls than people now. You slipped quietly through them, the sharp click of your heels the only sound that dared to disturb the heavy stillness.
𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬, 𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘦. 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬, 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘦.
The rhythm matched his breathing, as if the entire massacre had been nothing but a passing storm to him. Standing beside him felt like stepping into the only place in this blood-soaked hell that wasn’t collapsing. His presence was a wall, a shield.
You hadn’t lost consciousness. You hadn’t surrendered to the void. That made you different. So you moved closer still, close enough that no one could force you apart from him. If survival meant staying at his side, then that’s exactly where you would remain.
Gojo’s eyes slid toward you the moment you stepped into his orbit. For a heartbeat, his breath actually caught. Everyone else around him was crumpled, dazed, or gone. But you were standing. Conscious.
A slow grin tugged at his lips. Interest. Curiosity. Maybe even unease.

“You’re not supposed to be on your feet.” His gaze dragged over you, searching for cracks, for some sign that you should’ve been like the rest. But you weren’t.

"Look..." you said, drawing his attention to yourself. "I don’t know what the hell is going on here. But I can help. At least… with our escape. If you can make a hole upward—"

"Silent." He suddenly turned his attention ahead. He looked as if he’d seen another monster. With one arm, he pulled you behind him, aiming to protect you as a last hope but it was too late. Gojo Satoru’s focus had slipped. He was exhausted. Just as someone had planned…

You tried to look ahead over the man’s shoulder. His grip was so tight you couldn’t move your body. By chance, you noticed a small box. Wrapped in paper like a seal, it sat there in front of you. Had it been there before? Why was he staring at it with such fear?

"Prison Realm: Gate Open." You didn’t know where the voice had come from. You only saw the box suddenly expand, red shapes spilling out, and a massive eye staring down at you. When the man stepped back, he nearly crushed you, as if he had forgotten you were behind him. And then, once again, you heard the owner of that voice.

“The events didn’t turn out differently than I planned, but we have one extra. Anyway, that won’t stop us. Right, Satoru?”

Something was wrong. Even while fighting curses, the man in front of you had never trembled like this. Now, you could feel the fingers holding you trembling. You lowered your head and looked at your hand. You weren’t even sure if he remembered your existence. It felt as if you were somewhere you didn’t belong, and this matter wasn’t yours. The man, whose name you had just learned was Satoru, quickly turned away and released your arm, as if he had discovered something more important than protecting you.

You just noticed the man standing behind you. A tall figure with long black hair and a stitched forehead. Someone you had never seen before. "It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?" As if he was also ignoring you, yet your presence inevitably made him uneasy.

He looked at you with a face of disgust. "Mahito was right. The most disgusting thing about humans… is that there are too many of them. Look, someone’s latched onto you like a leech."

Gojo didn’t answer. He looked frozen, as if caught in shock. You nudged him lightly, deliberately ignoring what the other man had said. He was right, you had clung to him like a leech. But it wasn’t by choice. When you found yourself trapped in this nightmare, he was the only person who gave you a sense of safety.
If the others had been in your place, they would have done the same. They would have clung to the strongest, just like you did.

"You." The man looked at you as if you were a worthless insect, wagging his finger. Like shooing away a dog, he said, "Leave now." But even if you tried to step back, Satoru gripped your wrist tightly. Unconsciously, he wouldn’t allow you to leave.
Leaning forward, you looked into his blue eyes one last time. Fear, hesitation, worry… and the unwillingness to be alone. Whoever this man was… he didn’t want to face him alone. Because he knew. He wouldn’t be strong enough. Perhaps this was his unconscious, desperate way of asking for help.

You stood still. “What do you want? Who are you?” you asked, trying to buy time. At least until Satoru came to his senses…

He exhaled with obvious boredom. “Fine, you asked for this.” And in an instant, lines shot out from the box in seven different directions, tracking you both. You couldn’t even react. They pierced your bodies, binding your movement. Yet, somehow, this had managed to snap him back to himself.

“You shouldn’t lose yourself in thought in the middle of a battle, Satoru. Besides, an innocent person will get hurt because of you. Come on, snap out of it.”

You were trapped. Between the arms that emerged from the same box, pressed against each other. Satoru first looked at you, then at the red things binding you. A flicker of sorrow passed through his eyes, as if he had just realized he had walked into a trap. And most importantly… he had dragged an innocent along with him.
It wasn’t anger at you, nor at himself entirely. But it was personal.
It felt as if fate had stitched your paths together with cruel precision.
Was he going to save you… or drag you even deeper into this nightmare?

Chapter Text

It was far more than a human body could bear. Your breathing narrowed, your knees lost their strength. You only wanted to sit down and cry. But the things that wrapped your body prevented you from moving. You couldn’t even muster the strength to wiggle a finger. As your vision blurred, you could barely hear their voices.

“So, who are you?”

“I am Suguru Geto. Don’t you remember? How sad.”

“Your body, your cursed energy… My six eyes tell me it’s you. But my soul rejects all of this. Now answer me. WHO. ARE. YOU?”

You wished you hadn’t seen it. You wished you hadn’t witnessed any of the disgusting things that had happened tonight. But you couldn’t escape. The man who had trapped you touched the stitch marks on his forehead and pulled them like a string. When you saw the wetness, you turned your face away. It was all too much.

He had ripped out his brain. “How did you know?” By now you were sure you were crying. You felt Satoru—the man who was supposed to be the night’s hero—reel. He was as shocked as you were, but he wasn’t frightened.

“As you can see, this is my technique. By swapping brains with someone, I can move from one body to another. Of course, I can use the technique of that body. That day, you didn’t give Suguru Geto’s corpse to Shoko, did you? It was a strange time to be considerate. That allowed me to take over his body.”

Unknown names and terms spiraled around you… you understood nothing. Your gaze fell to the gun fixed near the knife under your dress. If only you could reach it… you’d put a bullet in his head and end this hell.

“How pathetic.” he said, as if reading your plan. “I saw what you did. After you killed them, you gained useless confidence.” He laughed to himself. “You killed those creatures because they were all human anyway! Do you think a weapon would work against beings like us, you fool?”

Your memory flared. The crooked face lunging, the blue skin you had aimed at, the way it had folded when the bullet hit between its eyes. You had watched it fall. You had watched others fall after that. You had thought they were monsters. You had shot them with your own hands. “Wha-” The sound tore out of you like a sob. Your knees wanted to fold; your body, still bound by the red tendrils, betrayed a violent tremor. You had to look away because looking meant seeing the consequences of your own hands. You had to stop the images from searing their way into you.
They were people, disguised or transformed, and you had made the choice to pull the trigger. You were not a hero in this moment, you were a participant in something grotesque that had chosen you as its instrument.
Beside you, Satoru’s expression shifted. Where there had been cool surprise before, now there was a flash of sympathy. A soldier’s recognition of the cost of violence. His hand tightened around your wrist, not to restrain you now but as if to anchor you to the only human presence that hadn’t dissolved into the pool of the dead. He looked at you and the look said more than words could. “Breathe. Don’t let him make you drown in this.”
You inhaled sharply. Whether you deserved mercy or condemnation, there was no going back. Only this moment, and whatever you would become afterward.

“There’s no need to worry. I’ll release the seal… eventually. A hundred years… maybe a thousand? Your little friend here doesn’t need to fret about it; the moment the seal closes, she’ll die.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. There was nothing left in you to react to the fact that you were going to die. Satoru glanced at you for the briefest moment — the pain on your face was destroying him too. But he still couldn’t fight back. His energy was being suppressed, his technique locked away.

“Did you forget…” he said with what might’ve been his last breath. “before I killed Geto Suguru, who was it that beat him within an inch of his life?”

“Yuta Okkotsu? I don’t find that kid as enticing as you do.”

You stopped listening to their conversation. Instead, flickering images of how the evening had started crowded your mind. Three friends leaving the house just to have fun, now standing at death’s door. If you’d known it would come to this, you wouldn’t have set foot in Shibuya. But it was too late. You were here. Among your enemies. Staring death itself in the face.

“Goodnight, Satoru Gojo. We’ll meet again in the new world.”

No one paid you any attention. You saw the red constructs closing in over you. Your vision narrowed with every heartbeat until you felt yourself moving in slow motion. The man in front of you was smiling, while you and Satoru were drowning in pain. The victory was his. You didn’t even know what he was fighting for. You had lost. You were going to die. For what? What had you done all of this for? Why had you wanted to save people when you didn’t even have the strength to save yourself? What is a monster, you wondered, except the shape we give to our fear? What is a hero except a body willing to kill on our behalf? You had wanted to be more than a frightened child under a bed, but in the end you were still that child. You had just learned to hold a weapon.
You could see Satoru’s face dimly through the red haze, his eyes still on you, and you realized he wasn’t a god either. He wasn’t unbreakable. He wasn’t even free. He was just another body bound by power, another person dragging someone weaker into the fire to keep himself human. The red tightened again. Your body felt weightless. Somewhere in the back of your skull, a tiny, stubborn part of you whispered that you're still alive.
And then even that began to fade.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Your room was a mess. Clothes thrown over the chair, an empty coffee cup still sitting on the desk, your makeup bag spilled open across the vanity. You sat there with one heel dangling from your foot, trying to keep your eyeliner hand steady even though your playlist kept distracting you. The bass rattled the glass of water on the nightstand, and you had to stop halfway through your wing to mouth the lyrics. The red dress clung tighter than you remembered from when you first tried it on. You tugged at the slit on the side, checking in the mirror if it looked confident or just… too much. Whatever. Tonight wasn’t about comfort. The lipstick went on next. The straps of the holster slid against your thigh when you bent down to buckle your other heel. The fake gun inside rattled, plastic against leather, cheap but enough to complete the look. You adjusted it twice, then gave up. No one was going to be inspecting your straps at a Halloween party anyway.
You sprayed perfume, a little too much, then coughed and waved the cloud away.
Your phone buzzed on the bed, a friend asking where the hell you were, another telling you to hurry up. You typed out a quick “almost ready” with lipstick still smudged on your thumb.
Sitting back down, you caught your reflection again. For a second you just stared. The girl in the mirror wasn’t really you. You grabbed your bag, checked your lipstick one last time, and whispered under your breath. “Alright, Ada. Let’s go.”

You didn’t pick Ada because she was the easiest cosplay or the sexiest option. You picked her because deep down, you wanted to borrow her skin for a night. To feel what it was like to walk through the chaos and know you’d come out alive. To dress like a woman who doesn’t flinch when the monsters crawl out. And maybe, without realizing it, you needed Ada Wong because Halloween wasn’t just about fun. It was about wearing the courage you didn’t think you had.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

When the crushing pressure of the seal finally spat you out, everything went black again. You didn’t feel the shift, the way the world folded and reformed, but Gojo did. The moment your body went limp against the red bindings he lunged forward, catching you before your head could hit the cold floor.
For a long second, he didn’t breathe. His arms were locked around you. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to you. Not because of him.
The Prison Realm was silent. No walls, no sky, no horizon... Just an endless gray void stretching outward like an unfinished painting. He laid you down gently, his hands trembling as he brushed the hair back from your face.
“Hey. You’re still here, right?” Two fingers pressed against your throat, feeling for that thread of life. Pulse. For the first time in a long time he let himself look small. His thumb traced along your cheekbone as if that could tether you. “I should’ve-” He swallowed it down.
He could feel the weight of the seal locking around his own technique, strangling it. He was used to having infinity between himself and the world, but here there was nothing. No barrier. Just a man sitting on the floor holding someone he’d failed to protect. He shut his eyes. His fingers stayed at your wrist, checking your pulse over and over like a mantra.
You shifted faintly in his arms. Maybe only a reflex, maybe a sign you were fighting your way back. But he drew you closer, pressing your head against his chest. “I swear I’m getting you out. I don’t care what it takes. You didn’t come this far just to die because of me.”

And then the silence closed in again. While he sat with you on the floor of an endless void, rocking you slightly without even noticing, the strongest sorcerer in the world holding on to someone like she was the last real thing left.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Death wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Like drifting in emptiness.
There were tiny shimmering stars around you, but your hands were too small to ever reach them. Salvation felt so close, yet your body had no idea how to get there.

Avicenna was right. The body had vanished from your perception. A soul cast into nothingness, suspended without sight, sound, touch, or ground beneath its feet. No memory of body, no tether to flesh. And still it knows itself. It whispers “I am.”
That was you. Your lungs did not move, your hands did not reach, your heart did not beat in that place yet you knew you existed. A fragile flame of awareness in a boundless void. And with that realization came terror. Because if you were aware here, in this in-between, then perhaps death was not an end at all. Perhaps it was only the stripping away of everything external, until only the naked self remained. And you wondered, drifting there, if this was what it meant to truly exist, had you ever been alive before?

You wanted to let go. Drift further until even the thought of 'I am' dissolved. But then—

“...hey.”

The voice cracked through the emptiness.

“I swear I’m getting you out. I don’t care what it takes.”

The void shivered with his words. That flame inside you, which had been shrinking, flickered and stretched toward the sound like a moth toward fire.

“Your pulse is weak but you’re here. You hear me, right?”

You didn’t feel hands but you knew he was holding you. It was a paradox. You were bodiless, yet you felt anchored. As if his grip had rewritten the void’s rules just to remind you of yourself. The void pressed closer, stars blinking out one by one. His words lit another kind of constellation inside you. Warmth crept back into your fingers. A weight rested over your chest.

You opened your eyes a fraction. It wasn’t the void anymore. Your head lolled slightly, and that’s when you saw him. Satoru, kneeling over you. His thumbs brushed at the corners of your eyes, wiping at tears you didn’t even know had fallen.
His lips parted, but no words came out. You remembered what had happened, the place you had fallen into, the trap that had swallowed you whole. Your body convulsed without warning, muscles seizing like they belonged to someone else. Tears streamed endlessly down your face, hot and suffocating, blurring even the sight of him. The more you tried to breathe, the less air you seemed to find.
Hiss eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. Not the enemy he could fight, not a curse he could crush, but you, breaking down in his arms. “Hey, look at me.” He cupped your cheeks, forcing your gaze to his. “Breathe with me, okay? In-” he inhaled sharply, exaggerating the motion. “and out. Slowly. You can do it, you’re not alone. You’re safe.” You shook your head violently, a broken sob tearing out of you. Safe? Inside a cursed box with no way out? Your heart screamed otherwise.

Your body shook so violently that he thought you were seizing.

“Shit-no, no, no.”

Your fingernails clawed at your own throat as if tearing it open would let the air back in. The stars from the void bled into your vision, white spots flashing. “Stay with me. Don’t you dare leave me here.” He shifted you into his lap, one arm locking around your waist to stop the violent jerks, the other grabbing your trembling hands to stop you from hurting yourself. He pressed his forehead to yours.

“Breathe with me—fuck, please just breathe with me.”

But your chest convulsed, and your eyes rolled, whites showing. Your body was shutting down.

Suddenly, your lungs to remember how to drag in a ragged gasp. It wasn’t enough. You collapsed forward, limp against him, but there was the faintest wheeze of air. He clutched the back of your head, rocking you slightly, as if movement could will life back into you. “That’s it. Don’t stop. I’ve got you.”

But again, your body went limp. The wheezing slowed until it almost stopped.
His hands were suddenly everywhere. Under your chin, along your ribs, against your back. “Fight it, don’t let go!”

It seemed like you stopped breathing completely. Then your chest jerked. A gasp came out of you so faint that you couldn’t be sure it was real. The trembling in your body slowed. His chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths, and somehow your own ragged breathing began to match.

Your panic dissolved into shuddering sighs. You were still trembling, but you weren’t collapsing anymore. You were alive. And he kept you alive.

“That’s it… stay with me.”

You finally let yourself break.

Tears streamed down your face in uncontrollable waves, each one heavier than the last, as if your body was trying to expel everything you had held in. You collapsed fully against him, your shoulders shaking violently. Your sobs echoed in the hollow silence of the prison realm. He didn’t comfort you with words. He just wrapped his arms around you, holding you as though letting go would mean losing you forever. His hands rested lightly on your back, trembling just enough for you to feel it, betraying the fact that he was as shaken as you were.

His chin rested on the top of your head, but his eyes were fixed far away, staring into the nothingness beyond the prison realm. It was a look without focus. A gaze that belonged somewhere else entirely. Somewhere you could not follow. His mind was silent, but his chest rose and fell slowly with yours, sharing the weight of the moment. He didn’t know what to say. How could he? You had both just seen something neither of you could erase. And so he stayed there. Letting you cry.

Death. He had faced it many times before. But he had never seen it like this. The man who tore a hole through Toji Fushiguro’s body, the man who with his own hands cut short the last breath of his closest friend… In truth, from the moment he was born, he had always walked a step behind death. Death was in front of him, and he was its loyal follower. Not beside it, but behind it. Because he was the one who brought death. Not the one who died.

For the first time, death was not an inevitable companion. It was a question.
And death… for once, seemed to pause behind him.

Chapter Text

"That… I mean, are you sure you want to stay that far away? Skeletons are starting to appear, it might be a bit scary-"

With a single glance, you silenced him.
Really, what was he expecting? For you to stay close after everything that had happened? You were the victim, you didn’t have the luxury of trusting anyone. You had just returned from the brink of death and you didn’t even properly know the man sitting in front of you. You were trapped in a box with no way out. Of course, you would have trust issues.

"As you wish." Satoru had been trying to talk to you for minutes. You had learned from him that you were trapped in a place called the Prison Realm and could not escape unless it was opened from the outside. He could no longer use his own power. No—let’s start over.
What was this thing called power anyway?

"Are you an alien?"

For the first time in a long while, you had spoken. And the question you asked… had surprised Satoru.

“No. Not an alien. But you might think of me as something similar.”

Somewhere in the distance, you thought you heard a faint sound. Bones cracking, like the skeletons he’d warned about but it was hard to be certain. "Things happen that ordinary people can’t see. It was the same two thousand years ago. Cursed energy...Not everyone is born with it..." He tried to explain it simply. About the dimensions of energy, its effects on humans, and how curses come into being. It all felt like a scene from a movie. But you knew it was real. Admitting it, however, was far harder.

"So… the things that attacked us… they were curses?"

Satoru nodded.

"Then the man who trapped us…"

"No, he wasn't."

"Then why was he our enemy? It was as if he saw you as a powerful rival."

He avoided your gaze. As if he might escape this box.

"Before we get to that, I have something I want to ask you."

Seems like you had hit a sensitive spot.

"Why did you go down to the station? Was it really just to save your friend?"

You stayed silent. The answer was not that simple. You knew it was no longer only for your friend. He must have realized that too. No one would take such a risk for that alone. Perhaps you were trying to make peace with yourself. "Maybe I wanted to help people."

Satoru could understand that. He often felt the same way since the day he was born. He reached for the skeletons gathering behind him and rested his back against them. He stretched his legs out, placed his hands behind his head. "Fair enough."

And again, silence. You both seemed on the edge of losing your minds.

"How long do you think we’ll be here?"

"Until the seal is opened."

"…"

He seemed calm. Of course, he was used to this. But you were not. He seemed to be playing with you. With your mind, what you knew, and your beliefs. And he could lie down so comfortably.
Perhaps you should do the same to him?

"I’m actually Cro-Magnon." you said in a single breath.
Let the game begin.

"Cro… what?"

"The oldest human of Europe."

Satoru stared at you, eyes narrowing, as though trying to decide whether you were insane or whether you were telling the truth.

You shifted slightly where you sat. "I’ve been alive for 14,000 years. I’ve never experienced anything like this before."

"You’re saying you’ve been alive… for fourteen thousand years. That’s absurd."

"It sounds absurd." You agreed. "Because it doesn’t fit with the way humans measure life. You measure it in years. In decades. In memory. But fourteen thousand years doesn’t fit neatly into those measurements. Not for me."

He was holding himself back from laughing. You must have already lost your mind. After all, this place had different effects on ordinary people. Madness must have been one of them.
“Well then sweetheart, I still don't know your name by the way, can you prove it?”

“I’ve had countless names. Every ten years I moved on. Which one would you like to hear?” You spoke with ease, as if to make it sound convincing.

“Alright.” He said, almost teasing but not entirely. “Pick one. Impress me.”

“There was a time I was called Ianna, when I lived in what you now call Mesopotamia. I taught children to press reeds into clay so their words could outlive their voices.” You didn’t blink. “Later, in Anatolia, I was Nysa. In Greece, they called me Phryne, though I wasn’t the one they put on trial. In the Tang Dynasty, I was Xiu Lan. In Florence, they called me Artemisia…” You paused and smiled. “I can go on.”

His smirk faltered just a fraction. “You’re really going for it, huh? Names anyone could pull from a book. Mesopotamia. Tang Dynasty. Florence. History class 101.”

“That’s the problem. I can give you names, and dates, and describe the smell of the Euphrates at dawn before anyone built a temple on its banks. I can tell you what Socrates’ voice sounded like in the agora. But for you, all of that is trivia. Words. It’s not proof.”

Satoru’s blue eyes searched yours for a long moment. “Alright then, immortal girl, history in your blood. Tell me something I don’t know. Impress me again.”

“Something no one knows? Fine. Let me tell you about Sultan Mehmed. The Conqueror of Constantinople.”

Satoru gave a low whistle. “Oh, big names now. What, you were his court jester or something?”

“Something like that. Except I was the one who stopped him from embarrassing himself.”

His smirk widened. “This I gotta hear.”

You leaned forward, lowering your voice as though whispering a secret across centuries. “Mehmed was brilliant, yes, but he had… a weakness. Not wine, not women. Cats.”

“Cats?” Satoru blinked.

“Yes. One night, in the palace garden, he bent down to feed this stray black cat. Except the cat scratched his hand, left a long red mark across the skin.” You gestured with your finger, as if tracing the wound. “And do you know what he did? He turned to me and swore he would siege the kitchens unless someone explained why the beast dared defy him. I told him, ‘My Sultan, perhaps the cat thinks you’re the trespasser. After all, this was its garden first.’ He stared at me like I’d just insulted the Prophet himself… and then, after a long silence, he laughed. Said no one had ever dared speak to him that way.” But your expression shifted, a shadow flickering through the mirth. “And then came Vlad.”

His laughter slowed. “Oh.”

“Mehmed’s armies chased him, but Vlad always slipped away.”

Your eyes glazed a little, as if watching memory instead of speaking. “So one night, I rode ahead alone. I knew where Vlad would be, his arrogance made him predictable. When he fled into the Carpathians, I cornered him in the forest. He was wounded. Cornered animals are the most dangerous, but even wolves can be broken.”

Satoru didn’t laugh this time. He leaned in, silent.

“I tied him down myself, delivered him to Mehmed’s tent. The Sultan walked in, sword in hand. He simply met Vlad’s eyes and he cut his head off. The Sultan gave Vlad’s head to me first. Said even cats deserve their hunt.”

“…That’s not in the history books.”

“Of course it isn’t.” You tilted your head. “Because no one would believe it.”

He leaned back, watching you carefully, daring you. “Are you gonna make me laugh with some ridiculous story about the mighty Sultan tripping over his robes? Or are you going to give me the truth?”

"I already told you the truth. But everyone’s truth is different." You shrugged, as if his disbelief didn’t bother you at all. "By the way, I didn’t even know I was Cro-Magnon. I learned that as scientific research advanced. How many hundreds of years I’ve been alive too… Science keeps evolving over time. I can’t go beyond it, can I?"

“So you’re saying you’ve watched humanity crawl out of caves, build empires, burn them down, all of it? That you were just… there?”

But even as he asked, part of him already feared the answer.

“I watched them crawl out of caves. I taught some of them how to build fires. I watched the Nile rise and fall, watched the first stones of Uruk go up, walked the streets of Constantinople when it was still Byzantium. I was there when the Mongols burned Baghdad. I buried friends in the Black Death. I stood next to Mehmed when he crossed into Constantinople. I’ve watched every empire rise and fall, Satoru. And every time, I’ve left before anyone could notice I wasn’t aging.” Everything you were naming lined up, it was too specific to be coincidence.

He wanted to laugh, but his mind was already running timelines, testing your story against his own knowledge. Each answer you gave felt less like a story and more like a confession.

“You’re serious.” He hated the sound of that, how it didn’t come out as mockery anymore but as a whisper of belief. “Prove it.”

You stepped closer. In just a few small steps, you were beside him. As if about to share a secret, you brought your hand to your mouth and slowly leaned toward his ear. Satoru’s breath caught, he braced himself for what he was about to hear.

Then you screamed in his ear.

Satoru froze. His eyes widened, and he stumbled back a little, clearly caught off guard. “You… it was a joke?”

You nodded with a grin. “Of course it was. You didn't watch 'The Man From Earth'? I've been quoting that movie all this time. But admit it, you got a little scared, didn’t you?”

He was always the one making the jokes. The one who disturbed people and thought he was funny… But he had understood your purpose, albeit late. You wanted him to see how you felt. Your confusion, your doubts… to empathize. And Satoru had felt all of that throughout the conversation.

“Alright, you win. I’ll answer all your questions. Just… don’t do something like that again.”

"I can’t promise." You sat beside him, sitting upright as you cleared your throat. "Are you ready? Because my questions will never end. How did you gain this power, how did you learn to fight..."

"I’ll answer them all. But first… he really didn’t take Vlad’s head, did he?" He put some distance between you, shifting away.

"Oh, he did."

You were both mad. Completely mad. And that was better. Perhaps the two of you were doomed to remain trapped forever. To avoid losing each other, at least one of you had to be insane. You would never see your loved ones again. You—your friends. Satoru—his students. So then, why wouldn’t you go mad?

Chapter Text

Satoru looked at the body lying on his knees. Short hair spread over his leg, perhaps for the first time in hours at ease. You. You, who didn’t deserve to be here. You, who were too good for this world. Even in the time he had spent with you and would spend with you, he still couldn’t figure out what he should do. Should he keep you close to him? Or, on the contrary, should he not allow you to become attached to him and trust him? What other options did you even have? The truth was, there was no right choice. In this shitty place, you had become dependent on each other.
He stayed silent for a long while, as if testing the weight of his own thoughts. Outside the prison realm, noise would have filled the air but here there was nothing but the sound of your breathing. And he liked it. Even if he couldn’t voice it, deep down he was glad he wasn’t alone in a place like this. For a man who had lived his entire life in solitude, being alone here wouldn’t have been impossible. But who would want that? Without you, he would lose himself—drown in endless meditations, maybe sleep for hours if he could even manage sleep at all.
Yes, it was selfish. Because that was what he was thinking. But part of him was genuinely happy to be with you. No… not just happy, relieved. Finally, no longer alone.
Minutes became hours, hours became something like eternity. And in that suspended nothingness, he stayed close to you because he knew he didn’t want to face it without you.
His eyes stayed on the weapons you carried—the gun and the knife. You had fought with nothing but those. True, if Choso or Jogo had focused on you, your death would have come within seconds. But they were busy fighting Gojo. There were already too many people, and even the sound of your weapon was drowned out.

You slowly woke up. When you opened your eyes, you hadn’t expected to be on Satoru's lap. You must have fallen asleep while he was telling you everything about the Jujutsu world. As you tried to get up, Gojo supported you gently. Your head ached, as if your body was renewing itself every second. You tried not to show it. You yawned, meeting Satoru’s eyes.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"I don’t know, there’s no time here."

Right. You didn’t even know how long you had been trapped here.

"What… what do you think happened to the people that escaped?"

Satoru avoided making eye contact with you. How could he tell you? How could he say there was no way out of the subway station, that everyone had been killed one by one? For you to learn that would mean another shock, and he couldn’t allow you to grieve even more.

"They all escaped from the hell. I’m sure they’re safe." Seeing that you had relaxed, he realized he had made the right decision. To ease the tension he said, "Alright, so… do you have any funny stories to tell me this time?"

You shift slightly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "This time, you tell the story. That man… what could he have wanted from you?"

"You won’t let me escape, will you?"

"Never."

He took a deep breath. Speaking while hiding the secrets and emotions beneath his blue eyes, he said,
"Geto Suguru. Body belonged to him. But he… wasn’t truly Geto Suguru. Because the truth is, he died last year. He was dangerous, and… I killed him."

He looked at you, as if this confession might shake you. Yet he saw that you were calmly, curiously waiting… After all, in this pit of shit, no one had the right to judge anyone.

"He wasn’t the one who trapped us. It must have been a curse, one that stole his body. Or a sorcerer. Or a curse user. I don’t know. I’m not sure about anything. But the moment I get out of here, I’ll kill him."

"Wait. Let’s not rush into fantasies… You’re saying his body was stolen. How is that even possible?"

"His brain. That’s his ability. Didn’t you hear what he said?"

"Satoru, I don’t remember anything about tonight, and I was in shock. I didn’t understand most of what you were saying."

Saying his name so plainly had made your heart race. But Satoru didn’t want to know what it meant. "So then… you didn’t see him… I mean, Suguru taking control of the body?"

"No. How exactly did it happen?"

Satoru explained everything. And all that was left now was to sit in silence, letting the storm of thoughts crash between you.

"So when you called to Suguru, he grabbed his own throat with his right hand. It looked like he wanted to stop him from harming you. The bond between you… was it strong? Did you know each other?"

There was no answer. He even ignored your question. "He said something about the relationship between soul and body. The supremacy of the soul over the body… and the reverse…"

"Understandable. The supremacy of the soul over the body has been debated since ancient times." You leaned forward slightly, your voice calm but deliberate. "Think about it, Satoru. If the soul truly rules the body, then control is never absolute. Bodies can be taken, altered, enslaved, but the soul carries memory, will, and identity. That’s why even if Suguru’s body was stolen, his essence still resisted."

Satoru frowned, crossing his arms. "But then… what happens to the body? If the soul leaves or is replaced, is it still the same being?"

You shrugged. "It depends on what you value as identity. Is a person their mind? Their memories? Or simply the vessel they inhabit? One person says the soul is eternal and unchanging but bodies are temporal. Others say form and matter are inseparable. Maybe that’s what happened here. Suguru’s form was stolen, but his soul left traces. Enough for resistance."

"So… if I understand you, bodies are temporary prisons for the soul?"

"Experiences. Arenas for choice. Battles."

"Why are you talking philosophical? A moment ago you were telling me ridiculous stories."

"I'm not trying to philosophize, I’m trying to help you. Sooner or later we’ll get out of here. When that time comes, you should have your next step planned… right? We’ll get out, won’t we?"

Satoru nodded. He couldn’t say no to you anyway. "We will. Believe me, I have plenty of fans who love me. I’m sure they missed me already."

You rolled your eyes. "Like tax collectors?"

"Hey, I pay my taxes on time!"

You studied him for a moment, noticing the way his blue eyes flickered. “Do you ever stop thinking about what it means? All of this? Not just this moment, but… existence itself?”

“Existence? That’s a big question for someone trapped in a bloody box with a stranger.”

“That’s exactly why it matters. If we survive this, if we escape, will we even be the same people? Or will we just be survivors with scars?”

“Maybe scars are the point. They remind you who you were… and who you chose to be.”

In fact, Satoru hated scars.
But he was willing to say anything to make you feel better. Not himself.

“Then what if... I told you I’ve been choosing who I am… for fourteen thousand years?”

“I'll leave this shithole without you.”

You had each other. In the middle of this loneliness, you had each other. But neither of you seemed able to escape it. No matter how much you tried to pass the time with conversation, the solitude gnawed at you from within. To avoid being alone with your thoughts, you spoke about trivial things. What was your childhood like? Had you ever been in love? Did you have siblings? But it didn’t work. To truly know each other meant finding peace in the other’s existence. Not escaping the loneliness.

“I wanted to celebrate Halloween, not to live it.” You confessed. “No one wants to truly feel fear. But we love adrenaline. There’s a fine line between them. That line was crossed. For the first time, I felt so helpless.”

Satoru listened to you quietly. And in response to your confession, he said, “I know everyone expects a lot from me. I’ve always wondered… what if I don’t meet their expectations? What if I carve my own path? But I’ve never done it. I kept chasing what I believed was right. This place… it doesn’t feel foreign to me. Because it’s like a part of myself.”

You looked into each other’s eyes. “Since your powers don’t work here anymore, and you can’t pull off your sorcerer nonsense…” You reached your hand toward him. “Care to meet properly? Officially.”

Satoru first looked at you, then at the hand you had extended. Perhaps for the first time, someone wanted to meet him “without his sorcerer identity.” Not the strong man, but the man behind it. He took your hand. Unexpectedly, he brought it close to his lips but didn’t touch it, leaving just the slightest distance. He closed his eyes and smiled. “Nice to meet you. I’m Satoru. Just… Satoru.”

He wished that had been his only name. Wished he had been born with just that name. And wish, forever, he could hear his name from your lips. “Satoru.”

Chapter Text

“You talk about your students a lot. What are they like? Start with the pink haired one. Yuji, right?”

“Yuji’s like… a walking golden retriever. Big heart, zero self-preservation. You tell him not to jump off a cliff and he asks if there’s a mission down there.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

“Hey, I taught him everything he knows. Except common sense. That’s still on back-order.”

“And Megumi?”

“Megumi’s different. Quiet kid, too serious for his age. Carries the world on his shoulders like it owes him something. Reminds me of… well, me, before I got fabulous.”

“So he’s your favorite?”

“I don’t play favorites. But if I did? Maybe. Don’t tell him though, he’d just brood about it.”

“Nobara then. She seems… fiery.”

“Fiery? That girl’s an explosion in heels. I once told her to ‘fight like a lady,’ and she threw her hammer at me. Nearly took my head off.”

“You deserved that.”

“Probably. But she’s good. Tougher than she looks.”

“And Panda? Please tell me he’s actually a panda.”

“Half. Well, spiritually. Long story. Let’s just say he’s my emotional support animal.”

“You’re serious?”

“Completely. He gives great advice. Like, weirdly great. You’d expect him to just chew bamboo, but no, he’s out here talking about self worth and emotional growth.”

“You must miss them.”

“Miss them? I can practically hear them nagging me in my head. They’re loud even when they’re not around.”

“Sounds like a family.”

“Guess it is. Emotionally damaged little family.”

“Tell me more about them.”

You had learned a lot about Satoru. But one thing surprised you more than all the rest. Even though he seemed like someone who constantly praised himself, he actually valued others much more. Yes, he knew how precious he was but he didn’t see himself as above or ahead of anyone else. And that was cute. He loved talking about the people he cared for, just as much as he loved bragging about himself. But when he talked about them, his expression became softer. More genuine.

Satoru’s eyes shifted upward, as if he could see something only memory held. “And there's Maki… now that’s a whole storm in one person.” He said with a smirk. “She walked out of her clan with nothing but a pair of glasses. And somehow, she still managed to scare the hell out of them. She’s proof you don’t need cursed energy to be strong. Every time I saw her fight, it reminded me that talent’s overrated. Determination’s what matters. You remind me of her.”

You smiled. So he compared you to someone like that. It was nice, even though you didn’t know this “Maki” girl, you somehow felt close to her. And it was surprising to learn that even in the world of Jujutsu, there were hierarchies. These people, instead of protecting the ones in need, seemed to be competing among themselves. You wanted to say it out loud.

“There are so many people who need sorcerers help. From what you’ve told me, curses have been killing more and more humans. Ever since that monster named Sakura appeared…”

Satoru looked at you and burst out laughing. “It’s not Sakura, it’s Sukuna! Look what you’ve done to the King of Curses reputation!”

You hit his shoulder lightly. “What can I do? It’s a stupid name… Anyway, that’s not the point.”

Satoru was still laughing, shaking his head after the playful hit. “I wish he was that cute. Would’ve made things much easier.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, though your expression quickly turned serious. “Still… it’s strange. People need you, but you sorcerers seem to be in a constant race for dominance. Isn’t that just like the curses themselves? Power, control, status…”

The smile faded from Satoru’s face. His eyes went distant, lost for a brief moment. “The Jujutsu world is rotten. It’s a system where the strong are always right. Everyone thinks they’re protecting someone, but most of them are just trying to prove themselves.”

“What about you?” you asked. “Who do you protect, Satoru?”

“My students. They represent the future. One day they might even surpass me. Maybe then the system will change. Or… maybe they’ll just burn like I did.”

Silence settled between you. Satoru turned to look at you again. “But back to Sukuna,” He said suddenly, shifting the mood. “If you keep calling him Sakura, I swear the curse himself might seal away out of embarrassment.”

“Maybe I’ll keep doing it.” You teased. “Let him be a little scared of me.”

Satoru chuckled. “With your kind of courage, even curses wouldn’t mess with you.”

“Alive again after two thousand years… sounds like a vampire, doesn’t it?” You turned to him, waving your hands animatedly as you spoke. The excitement in your eyes was unmistakable. “Just think about it. He was supposed to die but he didn’t. He survived because of the fragments of his corpse. He lives inside a human body, and if that human dies, he disappears too. But not completely… if someone finds the rest of his fingers, everything could change.” Your stomach churned at the thought — that boy, Yuji, eating those fingers one by one. The world was getting stranger by the minute.

“He’s just like a vampire. I’m telling you, he’s not a curse. He’s a vampire. Didn’t you say he eats people?”

“All right.” Satoru laughed. You liked hearing that, he looked good when he laughed. “Let’s say he is a vampire. How are we going to prove it? First, you’ll have to prove that vampires are real.”

“History remembers them. Old texts, folktales, eyewitness accounts… They never called them vampires back then. But that’s exactly what they were.”

“Go on. Enlighten me, oh wise one. Tell me which dusty old book proves the existence of these mythical creatures.”

You chuckled softly. “The fact that they’ve survived centuries in myth... Doesn’t that tell you something? That maybe they’re not just myths?”

“You’re asking me to believe in fairy tales now. And here I thought you were crazy before.”

“I’m asking you to question. That’s what vampires or Sukuna, in this case do. They force you to question reality. To doubt your senses, your morals, your history.”

“You’re good at this.”

“Do you think he’s a vampire?”

“Maybe. Maybe he’s something worse. Sukuna isn’t just any curse. He’s old. Older than any record we have. People call him the King of Curses for a reason.”

“And what does he represent?”

“Pure, absolute chaos. He doesn’t follow rules. Doesn’t care about right or wrong. He doesn’t just want to survive — he wants to consume. To destroy. And he doesn’t just destroy bodies, he destroys minds, faith, everything. That’s why he’s dangerous.”

“So… he’s not a curse born of hate, but of something deeper?”

“He wasn’t born a curse. He was born a human. A man. And a powerful one at that. But he became something else.”

You blinked, leaning closer. “How does a man become a curse?”

“We don't have information on that.”

“Do you think… he remembers?”

“Maybe. But if he does… it doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t care. He’s no longer a man. He’s a curse.”

“You know what? This place feels safer than the outside world. I think coming here was the right thing to do. Following you was the right choice.”

Satoru gave a quiet laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “You say that now, but wait until we’re out.”

“You're going to fight again as soon as we get out, right?”

“Someone has to stand in front of it all. Otherwise, what’s the point of having power?”

“And what about me? Do I have power in your eyes?”

“You’ve got power enough to make me laugh and not feel worthless in a box like this. So yeah… I’d say you do.”

The outside world had turned to night. For you, time had stopped. But you no longer felt that way. When Satoru spoke with you, he forgot it all. And when you spoke with him, you found the peace you had been searching for.

“Go to sleep, (Name). I'll be here when you wake up. I'll always be here.”

Chapter Text

“Well… this is festive. You sure they didn’t drag us into a Halloween party?”

“If this is a party, then the guests have been dead for a few centuries.”

“Eh, could still be better company than those curses.”

“But speaking of Halloween… if we weren’t stuck in here, what would your costume be?”

“Easy. I’d just go as me. No one could ever top that. Maybe I’d add fangs for dramatic effect.”

“You already bite people with your sarcasm, Satoru. Fangs would be overkill.”

“Well, well… look at you. Red dress, holster, heels. Let me guess…” He leaned forward, fingers hovering near your thigh holster. “Some kinda femme fatale?”

You spinned slowly so the slit of your dress flashes the gun strap. “C’mon, Satoru, you’ve played this game before. Think harder.”

“Played this game? What, Resident Evil?” He snapped his fingers. “You’re Ada Wong. Of course you’d pick the hottest one.”

“You make it sound like that’s the only reason.”

“Please. Don’t even try to lie.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting teasingly. “You totally chose her because she’s all mysterious and untouchable, just like you pretend to be.”

“Pretend?”

“Yeah. Pretend. You’ve got that same vibe. Walk into a mess, drop a few lines, save everyone, and vanish like a ghost. Except you don’t wear sunglasses indoors.”

You mocked a gasp. “I could, though.”

“Nah, I’d take them off. Wanna see those eyes when you shoot zombies.”

“Romantic. So, would you dress as Leon?”

“I’d chase you through Raccoon City, just to make sure you didn’t ditch me for some shady deal again.”

“You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

“I’d last long enough to save your ass and steal a kiss while I’m at it.” He paused, looking around at the skeletons dangling from the walls. “Though, uh, these bone dudes are kinda ruining the mood.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his sunglasses. Satoru always carried three things with him: his blindfold, his sunglasses, and his black card. Well… the last one didn’t really hold much value here.

He put on his sunglasses on you and you didn’t object. You were curious about what he was up to. He took a few steps back and looked at you from a distance. You could see the admiration gleaming in his blue eyes, and you flushed all the way to your cheeks and to your neck. Noticing that, Satoru decided to tease you even more and let out a whistle.
“The show begins. Let’s see you live up to that costume.”

You smiled and started circling around him. You drew your gun, your slow steps deliberately testing his patience. “This is gettin’ old.” Your tone was serious, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Saving your ass — that’s twice.”

“I didn't realize you were keeping score.”

“Look, this isn't a game.”

At that moment, one of the skeletons clung to Satoru’s leg. You didn’t know why, but they were being drawn to him. Not to you. You fired at the skeleton’s skull with your gun and watched it fly backward. Its movement had stopped. “Do yourself a favor. Stop asking questions and get the hell out of here.”

He whistled again, this time louder. “Damn.” He said, grinning from ear to ear. “Remind me never to piss you off.” He walked closer, eyes tracing the gun still warm in your grip. “That aim… you sure you’re not ex-military or something?”

You smirked, lowering the weapon. “Maybe I just play too many games.”

“Resident Evil turning you into a badass? Ada Wong wishes she had your attitude.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You just like the dress.”

He leaned in a little, voice dropping. “Maybe. But I think I like the one wearing it more.” Before you could answer, another skeleton creaked nearby, and he turned his head lazily, sighing. “See what I mean? Even the dead can’t stay still when you’re around.”

But nothing felt like a joke anymore. Was he actually flirting, just bored, or being serious? You had no answer to that. And why was your heart beating so fast? It was just the two of you. Maybe being alone like this could have that kind of effect and that was normal. You just had to keep your emotions under control. Especially around him. Meaning, always…

Chapter Text

The grey stretched on endlessly. You lay there anyway, shoulder to shoulder with him, the rough stone beneath your back grounding you in this place that wasn’t quite real. Every so often, your arms brushed and each time, both of you went still, pretending it hadn’t happened. You found yourself watching the light fade again. That’s when you turned your head. He was staring into nothing, jaw tight, eyes hollow in a way that scared you more than any curse ever had.
Just quiet sorrow. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. You almost reached for him but your hand stopped halfway, caught in that heavy, shared silence.

The prison wasn’t just holding your bodies. It was holding your words, your feelings… him.

“Satoru.”

He doesn’t answer. His shoulders shift again, closer this time.

“Hey… what’s wrong?”

He shivered. The genuine sadness on his face disappeared, replaced by a fake smile. "Nothing. I'm fine. I was just looking for a way out. What is it?" You didn’t like him being fake like that. Even here, he was trying to make himself seem like someone he wasn’t. So what could you do to stop it?

“You know, you’re awful at faking it.”

“Awful? That’s rich coming from you.”

“At least I’m honest. Unlike someone who’s pretending to be fine in the middle of a prison void.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Maybe I’m pretending a little. But I’m good at it.”

“Nah, you suck at it. Admit you’re bored.”

“Maybe. If you promise not to make it too dramatic.”

“No promises.”

"I’ve always been full of energy. For the first time, I’m this quiet, left alone with my own thoughts. I don’t know what I should do. Or what I should feel."

You smirked despite the weight in his voice. “Well… maybe silence isn’t that bad.”

“You saying you want more of this quiet time together?”

You nudged him gently. “Maybe I do.”

A small laugh escaped him. “Figures. You’d find a way to make silence fun.”

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

“Let’s play a game. We take turns thinking of a famous person. The other has to guess who it is. Only yes or no questions.”

“Sounds childish.”

He chuckled. “Exactly. Perfect for this depressing void we’re stuck in. You first.”

You thought for a moment. “Alright… got one.”

“Is it a female?”

“No.”

“Is he alive?”

“...Not anymore.”

“Is he an actor?”

“No.”

Gojo hummed. “A musician then?”

“Yes.”

“A singer?”

“Yes.”

He hummed again dramatically. “Does he perform pop music?”

“No.”

His grin widened. “Rock? Metal?”

“…Yes.”

He tapped his chin. “Is he famous for being part of a band?”

“Yes.”

“Is it Ozzy Osbourne?”

You burst out laughing. “Noooo! That was a good guess though.”

Gojo smirked smugly. “Alright… your turn. Give me your yes or no questions.”

“Is this person real?”

“Nope.”

“So fictional. Is it from a book?”

“Nope again.”

“From a movie?”

“Yes.”

“Action movie?”

“No.”

“Comedy?”

“Nah.”

“Drama?”

“Nope.”

“So… it’s not drama, comedy, or action. Is it fantasy?”

“Bingo.”

“Alright… is it from an anime?”

“Nope.”

“From a live-action fantasy?”

“…Yes.”

“Does this character use magic?”

“…Yeah.”

“…Is it Gandalf?”

“Ding ding ding. You nailed it.”

“Nice. Gandalf. You’re making me think outside my usual guesses.”

“Hey, it’s a skill. And now it’s your turn but I’m warning you, mine’s gonna be tricky.”

“I love tricky. Bring it.”

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

By the tenth round, you were laughing so hard your ribs hurt. “Alright, last one. If I win this round, you owe me something.”

“Fine. But if I win, you owe me something.” He smirked. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

The game went on. Questions flying faster than either of you could keep up with. Both of you were teasing, laughing, deliberately giving ridiculous answers just to make it harder.

Finally, Gojo burst out laughing. “…Babe, you guessed it wrong. Again. I win.”

You groaned. “Ughhh… how?! I was so close.”

“Rules are rules. Now… you have to make my wish come true.”

“Oh no. What is it?”

Then… he moved. His shoulder nudged yours again, softer this time, closer. Your breath hitched without meaning to. In seconds, he was on you. His white hair brushed against your forehead, and although his movements were slow and gentle, his gaze was the exact opposite. You had never seen those blue eyes darken like that before. He didn’t need to say what he wanted from you. You already knew. His eyes spoke more than words ever could. He leaned in slowly, placing a light kiss on your chin, as if his lips had never truly touched it, as if they weren’t even there. Then he moved toward your neck. You could feel his breath on your skin, burning with an intensity that made your mind go blank. You could push him away and stop this but no. You wanted him to go further.
His lips touched your neck, leaving wet kisses. You felt as if making a sound would break the magic of the moment. You stayed silent, not even daring to moan. But there was no need. Satoru was making all the sounds for you. His kisses never stayed in one place, spreading over your neck, reaching down to your collarbones.
When the neckline of your red dress became an obstacle, he gently pulled it down with his fingertips, and claimed the newly exposed skin. Yes, claimed it. Satoru’s kisses were possessive. Neither lacking nor excessive.
The warmth of his mouth against your skin burned, but it wasn’t pain — it was need. Need wrapped in dominance. His hand slid up your side, fingers pressing into your waist, anchoring you to him. His breath hitched slightly, and you knew the tension in him was the same as in you.
Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around you. His kisses were replaced by the warmth of his embrace. He pulled you in, his body pressing against yours, and together you rolled.
Now you were lying on top of him, completely caught in the arms that held you. Your head rested against his chest, feeling the steady, powerful beat of his heart beneath your ear.
You were too stunned to speak. And of course… you were still under the spell of the moment.

"My wish… is for you to celebrate the next Halloween with me." How could you say no? He had become your entire life. Time, breath, life, days, light, even the void — it was all him… only him. And you often thought you were dreaming. Because he was as beautiful as someone you could only see in dreams. Like a fantasy that could never be real. You couldn’t refuse him. He was your inevitable end.

"Mhm." You nuzzled into his neck, inhaling his scent. It felt like the place you truly belonged.

But who could prove that what had happened wasn’t a dream?
No one.

Chapter Text

Every human story begins in the womb. From the tiniest touch, life is born—these “touches” are the first cause that sets existence in motion. Contact. Connection. Without them, humanity could not sustain its own kind and would fade into oblivion. But people keep multiplying by touching, bonding, witnessing each other… That is the significance of touch. Every baby wants their mother close. They want to feel her. That’s how they realize they’re not alone—that there are people in this world they can trust and they live more peacefully. They cry less. They laugh more. Even when that baby grows up, they still seek touch. They want to love and be loved.
But in this story, there was no lesson for Gojo Satoru. For he had been deprived of the one thing most vital to humankind—touch. Between him and the world stretched an immense void, no matter how much hope he carried for it. What was essential for humanity was, for him, the only true weakness.
Gojo Satoru was beyond lessons. He wasn’t someone who learned. He endured. He survived by keeping distance, by building invisible walls so thick that even warmth couldn’t slip through the cracks. Touch… the simplest, most human thing, had become a luxury he could never afford.
He could destroy mountains, rewrite the shape of space itself, but he could never feel a heartbeat against his chest that wasn’t his own.

That’s why his closeness with you was something entirely new to him. It wasn’t the first bond he’d ever formed—but a bond like this… that was a first. When he kissed you, he almost cried, hiding his face so you wouldn’t see. It was pitiful in a way. If you knew no one had ever touched him, no one had ever truly loved him, would you pity him too?

Maybe he should’ve told you. Maybe if he’d opened up, you could’ve gotten closer, really close. Satoru always wondered about that. He wanted to reach for you, to touch you more, to imagine things he’d never dared to before. A woman’s touch… who could have known it would shake him this much?
When he kissed your neck and felt your pulse beneath his lips, something inside him shattered. The void cracked open, the world as he knew it fell apart. He was changing. And that change—it was thrilling… but terrifying, too.

Now you were lying with your back turned to him. Satoru was right behind you. One of his hands rested on your shoulder, tracing slow circles. He was searching for ways to be closer, yet he didn’t want to wake you. Because here, sleep was a rare thing and you had been asleep for so long that Satoru felt like he was going mad from the loneliness.
He listened to the rhythm of your breathing, soft and steady, a sound that almost felt sacred in the stillness around him. Each inhale reminded him you were real. Alive, close, yet still just out of reach.
He wanted to wake you, to hear your voice, to see your eyes again. But then you shifted slightly in your sleep, a quiet sigh escaping your lips, and he froze.
For a moment, he imagined what it would be like if this were normal. If he could wake up beside you in a world not haunted by curses or duty. Just two people sharing the same silence, the same bed, the same warmth. The thought ached deep in his chest.

Gojo Satoru felt something he couldn’t control. Something more dangerous than any curse: the fear of losing what little closeness he’d found.

Your breath hitched.
At first, Satoru thought you were just shifting again. Maybe dreaming lightly. But then your shoulders tensed, your fingers curled tight. A soft, broken sound escaped your throat. Your face twisted as if in pain, your lips trembling around words that never came out. He felt your heartbeat through his hand — too fast, panicked.

Satoru sat up slightly, brushing his thumb against your arm. “Hey, hey… it’s just a dream.”
You still didn’t respond. Then suddenly, you flinched hard, like something had grabbed you inside the dream.

“Satoru!”

That was all you managed before your eyes snapped open, wild and full of tears. He caught you before you could pull away. “Hey, it’s me. You’re safe. Look at me.” He said softly, though his heart was pounding too. He hated how small your voice sounded when you whispered. “It felt so real.”

Satoru brushed a strand of hair from your face. “Tell me what you saw.”

You swallowed hard, still trying to breathe normally. “There was… blood. Everywhere. And I couldn’t move. You were there too. But not you.”

Satoru’s hand, which had been tracing slow circles on your back, stilled. “Not me?”

You nodded, finally turning your head to glance at him. The look on your face made his stomach twist. “It looked like you but your eyes were black. And you smiled like… like it wasn’t you inside anymore. You said something I can’t forget.”

“What did I say?”

“You said you'd be my death.”

Satoru held you by the shoulders and pulled you gently into his lap. He stretched his legs out and let your head rest against him. You didn’t protest — his warmth made you relax almost instantly. “It’s normal to have nightmares.” He said, his fingers threading slowly through your hair. “We’re all alone here. Sooner or later, we’ll both go mad.” He paused for a moment, then his voice softened. “But I won’t let that happen. Don’t worry.”

“Tell me a story. No matter what it is, I just want to forget this reality.”

“Alright… but my story might not be comforting.”

“It doesn’t matter. Tell me.”

He took a deep breath. “This is an old story… one of those that, over time, become legends. Long ago, people watching the sky believed that the stars were not just light. To them, each light was a reflection of a soul. And one day… a star—the brightest of them all—decided to tell its story.”

As you listened, you closed your eyes, feeling as if you were being drawn into a dark cave. Satoru continued.

“The star, on its journey, faced countless obstacles. Darkness, storms, fears… But its greatest trial was questioning its own light. Because light, sometimes, is born from the deepest darkness. And the star realized… the true power of light is not just in existing, but in touching, in connecting.”

"Are you talking about yourself?"

"You caught me. Alright. I’ll tell a true story. A story about three friends tasked with protecting a girl..."

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

You leaned against a pile of bones, crossing your arms. “No. Chocolate pudding is objectively the best dessert. Fight me.”

“Pudding? That’s cute. You’ve clearly never had kikufuku. That’s dessert perfection.”

“Kikufuku? What even is that?”

“Mochi filled with red bean paste, sometimes with cream. It’s heavenly. Soft, delicate, sweet but not overwhelming. Pure art.” Satoru laughed softly. “I’ll make a deal. If you try it and hate it, I’ll never mention kikufuku again.”

“And if I like it?”

“Then… you owe me dessert forever. And I pick it.”

You both had forgotten why you were talking about sweets in the first place. The last thing Satoru had been explaining was how he had defeated that guy named Toji. Smoke was practically coming out of your brain, keeping up with his world was hard. Then, out of nowhere, the topic had shifted to desserts and… in this place where time didn’t move, logic didn’t exist either.

“Next time we get out of here, I’ll take you to the best kikufuku shop in Tokyo. You’ll see. You’ll thank me.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Did you want me to ask you out on a date?”

Silence. You didn’t know how to answer that question. All of this was so new and it felt strange. Still, the idea of being close to him… No. You needed it.

“Maybe. When we get out of here, I can give you my time.”

“Oh, lucky me.”

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Everything in Shibuya was going wrong. Your friend, who had stayed behind was exhausted from waiting with the cashier guy for your return and was getting ready to go after you. “This is a huge mistake. Your friend is dead—are you planning to die now too?”

He didn’t want to believe you were dead. He only kept thinking about the possibility that something bad had happened to you. Just as he was about to walk out of the supermarket’s automatic doors, the cashier grabbed his arm. “This is suicide.”

He froze mid-step, the doors sliding open and hissing shut again. “I’m not going to just sit here and do nothing.”

“And you running out there won’t save her. You’ll just disappear too. You don’t even know what’s happening out there, do you?”

He clenched his jaw, staring at the glass doors, at the flickering sign outside. The street beyond looked empty, but it wasn’t really empty. Nothing in Shibuya was empty now.

“Let go of my arm.”

“If you go, you’ll die. If you stay, at least you’re alive. You can still… plan, you can still help.”

The floor shuddered before either of them could speak again. A low, rolling sound tore through the air.

The entire city seemed to lurch sideways. The supermarket windows spiderwebbed, alarms started screaming somewhere far off, and the lights flickered violently before plunging them into a blood-red emergency glow.

“What the hell was that?!” The cashier shouted, ducking instinctively. Through the cracked glass, he could see it. Fire clawed up from the heart of Shibuya, curling around a figure standing tall amidst the chaos. The air itself seemed to burn, distort, laugh.

Sukuna. And across from him — Jogo, flames licking off his body.

He pressed a hand to the glass, watching the skyline bend and crumble.

Sukuna’s laugh cut off like a snapped wire as Jogo hurled everything molten and volcanic at him — a mountain of cursed flame and jagged magma. Light went wrong, not just out, but inverted, colors folding into one another. And then the two forces met in a hurricane of sound and heat and a silence so absolute it felt like the world had been erased and redrawn.

Whether that was death or something worse, no one could tell.

All living beings in Shibuya had perished.
Your friend, the cashier—everyone.
Death lingered in every corner.
Everyone, except you.

Chapter Text

“So, let's say it's still Halloween out there.”

“You remember that?”

“Of course I do. Maybe we should make our own Halloween here. Just you, me, and the void.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How exactly are we supposed to do that?”

“We tell scary stories. Whoever makes the other flinch first wins.”

You crossed your arms, pretending to think. “And what does the winner get?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something fun.”

“Fine. You start, Mr. Halloween Expert.”

He chuckled lowly, sitting up straight, fingers tapping his knee. “This was years ago. Back when I was chasing a special grade curse in Hokkaido. It was… different. The kind that didn’t roar or lunge or make a mess. It just… watched.”

“Watched?”

“Every time I stepped into a village, someone had disappeared the night before. No signs of a fight, no blood, no cursed energy residue. Just gone. Like they’d walked into the woods and never come back.” He stared into the empty space before him. “The locals said they saw something at night. A woman standing by the river. Dressed in white. Her hair was… wet, hanging down her face. You know, the usual horror story setup. I thought it was a rumor.”

“It wasn’t, was it?”

“Nope. I saw her. One night I followed her down to the riverbank. She was humming something. Old, soft, like a lullaby. I tried to sense her cursed energy but there was nothing. She was… empty. Then she turned around...”

You froze. His blue eyes had gone still, wide open, reflecting a ghostly light that didn’t seem to belong in the room. It felt like he wasn’t seeing you at all, but something behind you.

“She turned around.” He repeated. His lips barely moved. “And when she did…”

“Satoru?” you whispered, glancing nervously over your shoulder. Nothing. Just empty space.

Then suddenly-

“BOO!”

He lunged forward, grabbing your shoulders with a laugh that echoed through the empty realm. You yelped, smacking his chest hard while your heart practically exploded out of your chest. “SATORU!”

He was dying of laughter, collapsing backward and clutching his stomach. “Oh my god, the look on your face-” He wheezed between laughs. “You were about to cry!”

“You’re the worst storyteller ever.”

“Oh, come on.” He said, smirking as he leaned closer. “I scared you.”

“YOU CHEATED!”

"But you got scared. That’s the point. Now it’s your turn."

“Fine. But don’t blame me if I scare you so bad you start crying for real.”

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Maybe being trapped in this place where time doesn’t flow, a place that isn’t part of reality, also had a price. And maybe you were paying it. Right now. Satoru was pressing his blindfold against your nose, trying to stop the bleeding. He held his head high, supporting you. “Relax. Don’t think about the blood, think about something else.”
While telling your silly and hardly scary story, your nose suddenly started bleeding. It was a long-lasting bleed. So much so that it was starting to feel truly frightening. Although he didn’t show it, Satoru was uneasy. He had seen from the first day that this place was affecting you. First a panic attack, then prolonged sleep, and now a nosebleed… There was an indescribable fear inside him. Kenjaku had said that, sooner or later, you would die in this prison. But Satoru didn’t want to believe it. He was fine, except for not being able to use his powers. So why you…? The answer was simple. Because you were ordinary. You weren’t immune to cursed energy. And this place was created with cursed energy.
You tried to obey, but the metallic taste in your mouth and the warmth dripping down your lip made it impossible to ignore.
“Why me?”
“Because… you’re not built for this. And I should’ve seen it sooner.” He squeezed his hand tighter against your face, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you he was trying to hold both you and himself together. “I won’t let this place take you.”

The warmth against your face slowly faded as the bleeding stopped. You could feel Satoru’s hand tremble just once before he pulled his blindfold back, his fingers smeared red. He stared at his palm like it was something foreign, like it didn’t belong to him. You reached up first. Without thinking, your arms slid around his neck. He just let out a sound. Something between a sigh and a laugh that cracked in the middle. Then he buried his face against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. You whispered against his collar, your words almost lost in the fabric. “I thought I’d disappear here.”

His hands found your back, sliding up slowly, as though mapping every inch just to make sure you were real. “You won’t.”
In that small space between your bodies, you felt the pulse of his heart. Not a hero’s heart. Just a man’s.

ִֶָ☾.

“Do you think… it’s still the same out there? The world, I mean.” You were lying against his chest, it had become the only position that felt safe anymore.

“Nothing stays the same when I’m gone. Bet they’re all panicking.”

“Do you really think they’re looking for you?”

“If they’re not, I’m haunting every single one of those idiots when I get out.”

“What about your students? Yuji, Megumi, Nobara…”

“They’ll manage. They always do.”

“Maybe they think we’re dead.”

“Then I’ll just have to ruin their funerals when I get back.”

“And what if we can’t get out?”

“Then we make this hell ours. Until they find us. Or until I break it from the inside.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder and looked into his eyes. It was unbelievable — in just one night, this man had become all your hopes and all your fears. Most importantly, he had become your confidant, your companion on this road. The only beautiful thing in this nightmare. You smiled as you lost yourself in his eyes. “I think even if we were truly in hell, as long as you were beside me, I wouldn’t be afraid.”

Time slowed. His breath brushed against your cheek, uncertain at first, as though he were afraid to break whatever spell the silence had cast. His hand cupped your face, thumb tracing the faint line of dried blood near your nose, the gesture almost reverent. “You really scared me.”

“You’re the one who scares me all the time.”

His forehead rested against yours. It wasn’t a decision. It was gravity. The space between you dissolved, like time itself had given permission for this one fragile mercy. When his lips finally brushed yours, it was surrender. It was slow, like he was memorizing the warmth of being human again. His hand slid behind your neck, holding you close but tenderly, as if you’d vanish if he pressed too hard. There was no Shibuya, no prison, no curses. Just breath shared between two people who shouldn’t have found each other, yet did. You could feel every breath he took, trembling between you, his heartbeat echoing faintly through the closeness. His fingers threaded gently through your hair, a silent apology for every wound, every lost moment.
If Satoru had poured all his energy into protecting you, if he had truly stopped you from going down into that subway station, you wouldn’t be here now. He couldn’t promise you’d be safe but at least you wouldn’t be imprisoned. And he wished that more than anything.

He wanted you to be free, because you deserved freedom. But you were trapped with him.
And Satoru… wasn’t complaining.
He had already admitted it to himself—it was selfish.
But he couldn’t deny it, he wanted you by his side.
And he would do anything to keep you there.

Chapter Text

He didn’t touch to claim... Only to remember that you were there.
A fingertip brushed against your sleeve, tracing the faint wrinkles in the fabric, following them as though they were constellations. His hand hovered, hesitating at your wrist, then rested there. Your pulse was faint but steady, a rhythm that pulled him back from the chaos in his head. Fingers moved upward, finding a strand of your hair caught on your shoulder. He tucked it behind your ear. He wasn’t sure when your head found its way to his chest again, or when his arms curved around you, fitting you closer. All he knew was that the world outside didn’t exist here.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You’re already asking.”

“Right. Typical me. Are you okay with all of this? With me? With… being stuck here?”

“It’s not like I had a choice.”

“I know. But if we get out… when we get out… do you still want to be with me?”

“Why are you asking that?”

“Because I keep thinking… maybe you deserve more than this. More than me.”

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Guess not.”

“Then listen closely. If we escape, I’m not running from you.”

“You say things like that, and it’s hard to breathe, you know.”

“Good then. What’s the first thing you’ll do if we actually get out of here?”

“Easy. We’re going on that date. But not some boring café thing. No. I’m thinking... arcade, crane machines, Digimon plushies, the whole deal.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding? We’ll get matching keychains. Agumon for me, Gabumon for you. Then we’ll battle at the card machines until I win, obviously.”

“Obviously?”

“Then we’ll grab the biggest, most overpriced cotton candy in Tokyo. And when you drop half of it, I’ll complain for exactly two seconds before buying another one.”

“That’s… the most ridiculous date plan I’ve ever heard.”

“You say that now, but just wait until I challenge you to a Digimon trivia contest. Loser buys dinner.”

“And what if I win?”

“Then I’ll still buy dinner. I’m a gentleman like that.”

“So basically, you just want an excuse to show off your Digimon obsession.”

“Correction. Our Digimon obsession. You’re not getting out of this relationship without watching the whole series with me.”

“Have you done this kind of thing before? You know… dates, promises, all that?”

“A lot, actually.”

“...A lot?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh my god. You’re such a womanizer, aren’t you?”

“Wait, what—?”

“Don’t wait what me! How many girls, huh? How many did you promise cotton candy and Digimon dates to?”

“None! Not a single one!”

“Sure. ‘A lot,’ he says. Classic player behavior.”

“I meant Geto, not some random girl!”

“Your best friend Geto?”

“Yes! He and I used to skip class and sneak into festivals. He’d always act like he was too cool for it, then end up playing those rigged ring toss games with me anyway. We used to make the stupidest plans. Like… conquering the world, one ice cream stand at a time.”

“You really loved him, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I did. Still do, in a way.”

“So… your first date plan wasn’t for a girl at all.”

“Nope. Guess you’ll just have to settle for being the second person I’ve ever wanted to share cotton candy with.”

“That’s the most Gojo Satoru thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You mean the most charming thing you’ve ever heard.”

“No, I mean—” You laughed, shaking your head “—you’re impossible.”

The skeletons clung to Gojo’s legs, trying to pull him down. Without shifting you from his chest, he swung his legs and kicked them away. They were getting closer now, filling every inch of the space around you. And then it hit you. “Satoru. Remember that man who said I was going to die here no matter what?”

“Impossible to forget. Why do you ask?”

You looked into his eyes. “Maybe this place doesn’t see me. After all, it was created to imprison you. I don’t have any cursed energy, so maybe I’m completely invisible here. Maybe… there’s a way out. I don’t belong to this place, and maybe it’s trying to push me out.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as if calculating a thousand possibilities all at once. “You think the realm would reject you? That it’d spit you out because you don’t belong to the rules it’s built on?”

You nodded.

“If that’s true…” His hand brushed against your cheek, grounding you. “That means, you can be free.”

Satoru thought. Did this mean you’d die because of it? All those side effects — was that the reason? Most likely. But that didn’t mean you’d be free. Quite the opposite: this place would kill you. He stood up, and you straightened with him. He ran a hand through his hair and began to pace. How could he tell you without scaring you? No, there had to be another way. Satoru needed to find an exit right now.

“Satoru, are you okay?”

“I’m going to try to use my powers again. I might be able to send at least one message outside. Move the box we’re trapped in. Or something else… But I have to do something. I have to try.”

You watched as he closed his eyes, the familiar blue behind his lids flickering with restrained power. The light that usually clung to him like a second skin started to pulse, breaking the stillness of the prison realm. For a second you thought you saw the world outside. A flash of city lights. The faint noise of rain. Then it was gone.

He stumbled slightly, his breathing heavy. A drop of blood fell from his nose onto the cold floor. “Satoru!” You moved closer, reaching for him, but he raised a hand. “I’m fine.” He forced a smile. “Almost got through. I felt something. Just for a moment… it wasn’t nothing.” He looked at you. “If I can push harder maybe I can make you visible out there.”

He was willing to tear himself apart just to make sure you’d get out, even if he didn’t.

Satoru stepped away without looking back. His boots crunched softly over the fractured stone floor, and he settled himself onto a pile of skeletons. He lifted his head slightly, eyes meeting yours. “I’m going to try again. But… don’t come near me. Don’t speak.” He was about to risk something beyond reckoning.

From where you were, you watched him. The way his shoulders slumped, the faint tremor in his hands, the way his fingers flexed as though testing unseen chains. He seemed smaller, and yet somehow more monumental. In that silence, your thoughts ran to him. To all the layers you had only just begun to understand: his pride, his cruelty, his tenderness, the way he carried the world like a mask. You thought about his laugh, how it could fill a room, and how it could vanish entirely in a moment of truth. You thought about how fiercely he wanted to protect and how recklessly he would destroy for the ones he cared about.
And standing there, watching him prepare himself for whatever was coming, you realized you didn’t just care about him. You feared for him. And somewhere deep in your chest, that fear was tied to something far stronger.
Time seemed to stretch. You told yourself you wouldn’t look away, that you had to keep watching him. But slowly, your focus began to blur.You told yourself you wouldn’t look away, that you had to keep watching him. But slowly, your focus began to blur. You leaned slightly against a fractured stone wall, arms crossed loosely over your chest, trying not to close your eyes. Yet the exhaustion you’d been fighting for so long finally caught up to you. You felt yourself sinking into the weight of sleep, your thoughts dimming. Somewhere in the distance, whether in dream or reality, you thought you heard him whisper your name. But you were already gone.

Chapter Text

You are running.

Shibuya is wrong. Lights warp, folding into themselves. Behind you, there’s the sound of thousands. Whispers, groans, laughter without faces. The curses are everywhere. No matter where you turn, you’re in the same place.

Then he appears. Geto Suguru. Standing still in the chaos, untouched by the storm around him. His robes sway without wind. His hair moves as if underwater.

“You can’t run.” He says softly.

“Why… why are you here?”

“Because it is real. Gojo Satoru did it. He opened a way between your dimension and reality.”

The ground trembles. Your breath feels stolen. This isn’t a dream anymore. This is something else. An in-between. A space where truth bleeds.

“Then… I’m awake?”

“Perhaps.” He says, stepping closer. “Or perhaps you are still dreaming.”

The curses stop, their shadows folding toward him. Their whispers turn to silence.

“What do you want from me?”

His gaze locks onto yours. “To give you a choice. You want out. But escape isn’t in running.”

"Why would you help me? You were the one who trapped us!"

But in response, you only received a painful smile... and silence.

"I am not him. I am the true owner of the real body. And you cannot find someone without a soul. No one without a soul could enter here. And I… am now nothing but soul."

You stumble.

He crouches before you. “The key is a blade.”

Your voice falters. “A blade?”

This is no dream. It is deeper. An astral conversation. A mind game.

“To end yourself. You will wake… or you will disappear. Either way, you leave this prison.”

His words weigh on you. The curses close in, their whispers teeth against your mind. “You want me to kill myself?”

The curses reach your feet. Darkness closes in. You collapse, hearing his voice above the roaring void. "Don't hurt him more than he is already suffering."

Everything shatters to black.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The prison realm was not made for you. You do not belong here.
The prison realm was not made for you. You do not belong here.
Even in your sleep, the same words echoed through your mind.
When you finally opened your eyes, you saw two pairs of deep blue eyes watching you with worry. He moved his lips, called out to you with a face full of pain but you couldn’t hear him. He helped you sit up, one hand supporting your back. A pain stretched from your shoulder to your toes, but you tried to ignore it, to hide it...
You couldn’t hear anything at all.

You looked at him in shock. His lips were moving — you were sure he was speaking. But you couldn’t understand what he was saying. When you tried to speak yourself, no sound came out. Panic began to rise in your chest as you touched your own throat. It was as if your voice had been stolen, swallowed by the silence pressing down on you. He frowned, his hand reaching out to cup your face, his thumb brushing your cheek gently as he mouthed your name. You wanted to answer, to tell him you were there, that you could hear him even if you couldn’t hear him but all that escaped your lips was a trembling breath.

Satoru pulled you into him harshly and held you close. He held you so tightly that you couldn’t even cry. He knew this place was slowly killing you. And there was nothing he could do. He knew that, too. He knew the cruel end that awaited you.
And you... you felt as if you had been buried alive.
As if this place hadn’t only stolen your voice, but buried your entire being beneath its weight.
It had thrown dirt over you and left you to die.
Even Satoru’s presence no longer brought peace. The one thing that had kept you standing was gone.
That was when you truly understood what loneliness meant.
His forehead pressed against yours, trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. You could see it in his eyes. The guilt, the rage, the helplessness he tried so hard to hide.
His lips moved again, forming your name like a prayer he didn’t believe in anymore. And though you still couldn’t hear a single sound, you felt it.
Your fingers twitched, reaching for him. The moment your hand brushed his chest, his heart was pounding so violently it almost hurt to feel it. He was alive and you were fading.

You couldn’t tell him. That you had spoken to the real Geto, that you had learned how to escape this place.
You couldn’t say it. Even if you’d had the chance, you wouldn’t have. Because admitting it felt like driving a dagger straight into his heart.
You didn’t want to accept it yourself either, death shouldn’t be the only way out.
But now you knew. When one door opens, another must close. And now, only one door stood before you and to open it, the one behind you had to be shut forever.

Still, you didn’t rush. Even though you couldn’t hear anything, you threw yourself toward his moving lips. Satoru flinched at first, but quickly responded. This kiss wasn’t like the first. It was hungrier, deeper. His tongue slid between your lips and found where it belonged. Your fingers clutched at his shirt. He held the back of your head, pulling you closer as if it were possible to be any nearer than this. For him, the kiss was salvation. For you, it was goodbye.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours with a kind of terror you had never seen before. He pressed his forehead to yours again, whispering something you couldn’t hear. But you felt it. You always did. It was your name. You wished you could answer him, wished you could tell him not to follow, not to break himself for you. It wasn’t death that scared you anymore.
It was leaving him behind.

You gave yourself to his arms.
To the last place where you felt safe.
And once more, you let the darkness pull you in.

Chapter Text

When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself in a classroom. The wooden desks were old, their edges chipped, and the windows were wide open, letting the sunlight pour in. But something was wrong, you couldn’t see the sun, or the clouds, or even the sky.
You weren’t dead.
But you couldn’t exactly say you were alive, either.
You looked down at the desk you were sitting at. Your hands. Your clothes. You looked like your high school self, your body felt as if it had been pulled back in time. But this wasn’t your past. Just like always, you didn’t belong here either.

One of the classroom doors slid open, the sound of the latch pulling your attention. Geto Suguru. He, too, looked younger — there was no mistaking him. His hair was tied back, and he wore something that resembled a school uniform.

“Satoru’s stubborn.” He said, stepping in with a faint smile. In his hands were two cups of tea. He placed one in front of your desk, and the other two rows ahead. “But so are you. Your soul wants to be free.”

“Where am I now? When does this nightmare end?”

“I’m no fortune teller.” He replied, pulling a chair and sitting across from you, straddling it backwards. “I can’t tell you what’s going to happen.”

You looked down at the tea. Steam rose from the surface, curling like thin ghosts into the air. “Blackberry. It helps.”

You hesitated before wrapping your hands around the cup. The warmth seeped into your palms. You could almost feel your heartbeat again.
Geto studied you quietly. There was no malice in his gaze this time, only something that felt dangerously close to pity. “Satoru thinks saving you means keeping you alive. But sometimes… letting go is saving.”

Your throat tightened. “You talk like you understand.”

“I do. I’ve been both the jailer and the ghost.”

The cup trembled in your hands. “Why are we meeting again? Why do you keep finding me and giving me advice?”

“We share something in common.” Geto said, a flicker of sorrow passing through his eyes. “We both have his love.”

You swallowed hard. Right now, your body was still in that prison. Was Gojo crying over you? Mourning your loss? The thought burned like fire, and yet you tried not to think about it.

“Love is the most twisted curse of them all.”

“He told me your story.” You said quietly. “But he didn’t tell me why you left him… or why he had to kill you.”

“And he never wil.” Geto replied with a faint smile. “I told you, Satoru’s stubborn.”

You took a cautious sip of the tea. It had no taste. Normally even water carried some trace of calmness, but this tea… was utterly empty.

“I can taste it because I belong here.” He said. “To you, it must feel like drinking straw.”

You set the cup down slowly, watching the ripples spread across its surface, tiny circles fading into stillness. “Then what am I doing here?”

“You’re standing between two edges. Satoru’s holding you from one side, and the realm itself from the other. It’s... pulling you apart.”

You watched the man sitting across from you. To you, he was a stranger but to Satoru… he had once meant everything. And you couldn’t bring yourself to see him as a stranger. It was as if this place — this unreal, almost magical classroom — was Satoru’s way of introducing you two. As if he wanted to show you the person he once cherished. To share, to help you understand him better.
You smiled. And Geto, as if he could read your thoughts, smiled too. He didn’t feel like a stranger to you either. He was right. Satoru’s love had brought you together.

You watched him for a while before speaking. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

“Everyone loves Satoru. Some just love him differently.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No.” He said quietly. “It’s not. I loved him in a way that destroyed me. Because he believed so fiercely in saving everyone and I stopped believing anyone could be saved.” He looked down at his hands, the faintest tremor running through his fingers. “He shines so bright, doesn’t he? Even when he’s drowning.”

“He still loves you, you know.”

“That’s the curse, isn’t it? He loves like it’s his punishment. Like he can save me by remembering me.”

You felt your throat close. “He remembers you with pain.”

“If he stops hurting, he’ll stop being himself. And if he stops being himself… the world won’t have him anymore.” He stood, walking toward the window where there was no sky.

You rose from your seat, taking a step closer. “So what? You just want him to live with that pain forever?”

He turned to you. “You’ll understand soon. To love Satoru is to bleed a little. It’s how you know you’re real.” Geto watched you in silence for a moment, then exhaled slowly. “But that's not why I'm here. I came to tell you that there's a way to save Satoru.”

Your eyes lifted to his. “What way?”

“If you die, the Prison Realm will open. Only for a moment, just enough to expel your body.”

You froze.

“In that brief window, Satoru can slip through. The realm rejects death. It wasn’t made to hold corpses. You’ll be its key… its sacrifice.”

Your hands trembled. “You’re saying I have to die for him to live?”

“Someone has to pay the price. This place doesn’t let go easily.”

You shook your head, the words catching in your throat. “He’d never forgive me.”

“He doesn’t have to.” Geto said, stepping closer. “He only has to survive. I know what it’s like to die for him. I know what it’s like to love him enough to disappear.”

You wanted to scream, to tell him he was wrong, that there had to be another way. But even before you spoke, you knew he was right.

He took a slow step toward you. When he reached you, he lifted a hand and brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Go back to him.” He said. “He’s waiting.”

The light began to gather around him, brightening until it blurred his edges. You reached out, but your fingers met only warmth and air.

“Goodbye, Geto.”

His voice came back to you. “Not goodbye. Just… keep him alive for me.”

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Satoru was never good at goodbyes. He hated them, he simply couldn’t bring himself to say farewell to anyone, especially if that person meant something to him. Because to say goodbye felt like stepping into an irreversible loneliness. He knew too well how hard it was to find closeness in this world, and goodbyes always meant losing it. And a man who despised losing could never truly say goodbye. That’s why he had never said farewell to Geto Suguru. Instead, he had kept him alive within his memories. Until Rika and Yuta came along and changed his understanding of love. In that moment, Satoru realized that maybe goodbyes didn’t always have to hurt. Some goodbyes were peaceful, an acceptance rather than a loss. They meant being aware of the beauty of the time spent together, and allowing that person to live on in your heart. Maybe saying goodbye… was another way of loving. In his own peculiar way.

He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to you. Everything he thought he knew was turning upside down again. It was far too soon to let you go. He couldn’t risk losing you when he’d only just met you. He hadn’t even finished dreaming with you yet. There were still so many things he wanted to do — with his new friend. So he pushed the limits of his power to keep you alive. He used his cursed technique, even when he knew it might fail. He bled. But he didn’t stop.

Each breath burned in his chest. Every second felt like a war between hope and despair. You were slipping away, and he could feel it. Like sand falling through his fingers no matter how tightly he tried to hold on. He thought of every face he’d lost before and how each goodbye had carved something out of him. He couldn’t bear another hollow in his heart. So he reached for you, trembling.

And just as his tears hit your skin, you gasped. Air flooded your lungs like fire. Light stung your eyes. The cold stone beneath you was real again. You were back. The world was returning, piece by fragile piece. A hand cupped your face, thumb brushing against your cheekbone with a tenderness that almost hurt.
It was him.

“You’re here.” He breathed, the words cracking in his throat. “You’re really here.”

Your throat burned when you tried to speak. “I’m fine. Just… need a little time.”

He just stared. Eyes wide, lips parted, the muscles in his jaw twitching as if he was holding back everything he wanted to say. His shoulders sank, an exhale escaping him. Relief, disbelief, exhaustion — all tangled into one broken sound. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to open your eyes.”

He hesitated when you lifted your hand weakly, but enough to touch his hair. It was soft and messy, his white strands brushing your fingertips. You threaded your fingers through it gently, feeling the tension slowly drain out of him with every pass. “I'm sorry, Satoru. But you should rest. You look like hell.”

“Yeah? You should see yourself.” He moved closer, crawling carefully until his head rested against your chest. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him in tighter. He let out a sigh, the kind that sounded like release after holding on too long.

“How long have you been awake?” You brushed your fingers through his hair again.

“Dunno.” He mumbled, voice muffled against your red dress. “Days… weeks… doesn’t matter.” You felt his body go slack, finally giving in. His heartbeat slowed against your ribs, syncing with yours. “But now…” He whispered, words slurring as sleep tugged at him. “You’re here. So I can finally… breathe.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Then breathe, Satoru. I’ve got you.”

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

You watched the man lying on your chest for hours. Perhaps you weren’t ready to say goodbye either. You were afraid of death, and you were trying to postpone it. Listening to his steady breaths still reminded you that you were alive.
But you couldn’t help thinking. Knowing you were going to die wasn’t comforting, not at all. No one knew what came after death. No matter what religion you followed, death was the same in all of them. It was the severing of your bond with life. You would never see your loved ones again. You would never laugh like your peers. You would drift into emptiness, perhaps to suffer even more.
Yet it was your inevitable fate. From the very first second you were trapped with Satoru, death had waited in the corner like a silent dagger, ready to come for you. It was only a matter of time. Only a sudden movement and… the end. Death.
Satoru shifted slightly, murmuring something without opening his eyes. You brushed your fingers through his hair without thinking. He stirred again and it made your chest ache. You thought of every moment you’d lived before this and realized how strange it was that death could turn all those moments into something even more precious.
You pressed your forehead to his, feeling the heat of his skin, the rapidity of his breath. “I’m scared.”
You admitted. He couldn't hear you.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink deeper into the moment, into him. “Please… let me stay a little longer.”

You had to make this sacrifice. But could it truly be called a sacrifice? The man lying in your arms was trapped here when he could have saved thousands of lives. And you had the chance to set him free. So you should have accepted it without hesitation, shouldn’t you? Just like that foolish trolley problem.
Only now the “trolley” wasn’t some abstract question. It was real. The choice was yours. Sacrifice yourself so that he could live, or hold on to your life and condemn him to eternal imprisonment. You could imagine the calculus of morality laid bare. You weighed lives like equations, the variables twisting and distorting under the pressure of your heart. Would sacrificing yourself truly be selfless? Or was it the selfish choice disguised as duty, because you couldn’t bear the thought of him dying in that place? And yet, if you let him go, would the world be better for it? Could you live knowing that one life you could have saved was taken because you hesitated?
Your fingers tightened around his. Somewhere deep inside, you realized the truth. You wouldn’t ever treat it as a choice of numbers. You were tethered to him now, and the equation had already been decided by your heart.

If this was your lever… then you would choose him.

You reached for the knife under your dress. The gun’s bullets were already gone, lying useless on the ground some distance away. But Geto had constantly spoken of a “blade.” That meant he knew you carried a murder weapon with you. Of course, Satoru knew as well. With this knife, you had cut the branches created by the curse called Hanami. This ordinary knife — part of your stupid cosplay — had saved countless lives in a single night, and now it was going to bring you death.

Let him sleep, unaware of the choice you were about to make.

You slid your hand slowly to the knife at your side, your movements careful so as not to disturb Satoru resting against you. With a deliberate calm, you brought it to your throat, the tip pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

This was the end of your equation. This was the moment where the variables collapsed. Where sacrifice became certain.

“I choose you.”

...

...

...

“No, you won’t.”

You felt the cold fingers on the knife. It was as if this place was mocking you, playing with your mind one last time. You wished it were so but it was real. Satoru’s fingers stopped you, keeping the knife from pressing deeper against your throat. And both of your hands trembled over the blade.
You timidly opened your closed eyes to look at him. What you saw was worse than death. This was not the man you knew. More dangerous, more deadly. Angry, furious, aggressive — this Satoru no longer looked at you like someone he wanted to protect. His deep blue eyes no longer shone as they once did. They were swallowed entirely by darkness, and you felt not like his friend, but like his enemy. Perhaps… maybe you truly were. After all, this was something far worse.

“Let it happen, Satoru.”

His stare never left you. Slowly, his thumb brushed against your wrist, pressing harder until your hand trembled.

You didn’t let the knife slip. On the contrary, you pressed it harder against your throat and felt the pain. Satoru, afraid of hurting you, didn’t dare to move the blade any further. He just looked at the sharp metal against your skin with fear and frowned.

“You’re nothing but a fool chasing a fantasy. There is no saving me. You can kill yourself, and it won’t matter. I’ll still be here.”

You knew he was trying to manipulate you. Even though a part of you wanted to believe him, you couldn’t allow it. “When I die, a gap will open in this realm. You’ll be able to get out.”

That made him even angrier. “You don’t know shit!” First, he looked at the knife, then back into your eyes. He was almost shouting. “You’re just a simple human, you have no power. You don’t understand these things. Drop that knife!”

“I’m going to die anyway, Satoru.”

“I can find a way, you just have to be patient! Or…are you a coward?” He shifted so his face was inches from yours, eyes glinting with that cruel playfulness he hid so well. “Desperation disguised as bravery. And I can smell it.”

“We both know there’s no other way out of here.”

He looked at you as if mocking you. It was as if he pitied you, though you knew that wasn’t true. He was playing all his cards to make you give up. “Who are you to decide? I’m the strongest. I’m Gojo. If I can’t know, then what makes you think you can?” He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Pathetic.”

His fingers curled slightly, brushing your cheek with unnatural gentleness. “Just give up. Give up and we’ll find another way.”

But you pressed the knife harder against your skin. As drops of blood ran from your neck onto your dress, you didn’t even feel the pain. It was as if your body had adapted to this place. It knew you were going to die and was preparing itself for it. The only pain was in your heart. Nothing could destroy it.

Satoru was feeling the pain in your place. Such a sadness passed over his face that, for a moment, you thought about giving up just so you wouldn’t see him like that. Of course, that desire didn’t take hold. You kept the knife steady. When Satoru reached his hands toward your throat, you stepped away from him, putting distance between you and saying. “Don’t! Don’t come closer. If I give up, we’ll remain trapped here. We don’t even know when we’ll get out of here. But if I die now, you can save the others!”

Satoru rose as well. “You’re insane.” His footsteps closed the distance despite your warning, and he stopped just short of you. “You sound weak.”

“Yes, I’m weak. I can’t fight like you do. I don’t have any special abilities. But I can do this. I can save the world’s strongest sorcerer. All this time I’ve lived without knowing anything about the world. But it changed in a single night. I have a choice… and I will use it to do what is right. I will sacrifice myself so you can save more people.”

“I don’t want this from you!” Satoru shouted in pain as a last resort. Other methods hadn’t worked, and he knew they wouldn’t. “I don’t want you to sacrifice something for me like the others. I don’t want you… to become like the others. That’s why don’t do it, I don’t want you to die!”

You stopped. Satoru was that kind of person. When he loved, he became like this. Helpless. Pitiful. So pitiful that seeing him would make you feel like crying. In that moment, you understood. You loved him — more than you had ever loved anyone. Because he was real. He had shown you your true self. And who wouldn’t love such a man? His feelings were real. The fear you saw in his eyes, his admiration for you. Missing you before even knowing you. It was all real. He always seemed like someone who constantly joked, but even his jokes were real. You just had to know how to see them. And once you saw… you could never let him go.

You stumbled toward him without thinking. Your hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him close, and your lips collided with his in a fierce, desperate kiss. Satoru gave in, his own hands trembling as they found your waist. His chest shook. Then, muffled against your lips, came a strangled sound. A sob. He was crying. His tears soaked your cheeks.

And still, you held the blade.

His hands found their way under your dress, lifting the thin fabric and squeezing your hip. This closeness was going to be his last card — to claim you more possessively than ever, to make sure you couldn’t leave. The truth was, he needed you. Even the breath he drew here depended on you. And the thought of losing you had truly broken him. He just wanted to feel your heartbeat.
The dress rose higher with a hurried, desperate movement. His hands roamed places they had never touched before, yet it still wasn’t enough.
His lips were proof of how pitiful he was. Wildly, clumsily, his tongue tangled inside your mouth. Not enough. None of it was enough.
His breaths were ragged, trembling against your lips, as if he was trying to drink in your existence itself.

“I… I can’t lose you.”

While you continued to kiss him fiercely, your free hand began exploring his body. Satoru always wore his uniform, you had never seen him take it off for even a moment. But the instant he sensed you trying to touch him, he quickly shrugged off his jacket. Only a black tshirt clung to his body, revealing the contours of his muscles and his slim waist. Your hand slipped quickly under the shirt, curling over the muscles beneath. Feeling your cold hand, Satoru let out a low groan toward your lips, yet he continued pressing himself closer to you.

Your hand moved lower to dangerous places. Satoru was trembling even more now, certain he wouldn’t be able to stay standing. He grabbed you by the shoulder and dragged you down toward the ground. He had completely forgotten about the knife in your other hand — the only thing he could focus on was you. And to make sure he wouldn’t remember that knife, you kept his hand far away from it. You were lying on the cold floor, on top of his body. Even the skeletons seemed to have retreated, as if they could sense the power radiating from Gojo. Your lips hadn’t parted for a single moment, yet your hands kept exploring each other’s bodies — insatiable, desperate. Satoru gripped your hips, spreading your legs apart, pulling them to the sides. You could feel the heat emanating from him and that was what brought you back to yourself. You weren’t doing this to fulfill his desires. You were showing him that you loved him in your own way.

You pulled away from his lips for only a few seconds. “Geto was right.” You said, breathless. “Your love is our curse.”

That stunned him just long enough for you to take your chance. In one swift motion, you brought the knife to your neck and made a deep cut. No pain. No hesitation.

All that was left was to watch the blood flow from your body. Even in that moment, it didn’t feel like the blood belonged to you.

Satoru—pitiful, miserable Satoru. He couldn’t even comprehend what had just happened. Should he think about what you said, or about the fact that you had slit your own throat right before his eyes?
As your blood dripped onto his shirt, splattering across his face, what could Satoru possibly do? What power could he use? What could the world’s strongest sorcerer ever do to stop this?
His hands were trembling,no, shaking as if the universe itself was laughing at him. He pressed his palm against your wound, trying to stop the blood, but it only spilled faster, slipping through his fingers like water through a broken glass.

The words wouldn’t come.

He tore at his uniform, trying to rip off the sleeve to press against the wound, but his fingers wouldn’t obey him. They were trembling too much. He pressed harder, his own tears mixing with the blood on your skin.

The blood wouldn’t stop.
And neither would he.

You felt the world growing quieter. The chaos of breath, of blood, of desperate struggle faded into a stillness that felt heavier than stone. Your vision blurred, but you kept your eyes fixed on his. Satoru’s were impossibly wide, impossibly bright and in them, you saw every feeling he had.
His Six Eyes seemed to pierce through you, through every layer of pain and defiance, reading the life slipping away without saying a word.

Death. Satoru had taken the lives of those he loved with his own hands. But this was a completely different feeling. This time, he didn’t need to use his own hands. You had called it a “curse” and perhaps you were right. Satoru had always brought death to those he loved.

Your lips dried. Your lifeless body fell onto him. The two of you lay there on the ground. Satoru stared upward with empty eyes, as if there was a sky above. As if clouds were drifting and the sun was setting… but there was nothing there. Just emptiness. Just like his soul. Death had shaken him, and there he lay beneath your dead body, trembling, soaked in blood.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at your body. He knew your eyes were wide open, lifeless. It was as if you had taken away the power in his own eyes. Everything that had made him “Gojo Satoru” had died with you.

When the prison realm slowly began to open, sensing that your body did not belong there, the place that had been without light for days suddenly began to brighten. And this light brought him back to himself. It was not the darkness of death, but light that had come. How strange.

Somewhere in that light... It wasn’t just you who was gone. A part of him had died with you.
That loss made him see more clearly than ever before.

Chapter Text

Kenjaku was a man of profound intellect, possessing the foresight to ensnare the most formidable sorcerer of the modern era. Yet at the same time, he was clumsy. Clumsy enough to let it all slip through his fingers. His singular focus was on victory, on the materialization of his own ideology. Men of such fervent conviction are often prone to error; a passion so consuming blinds one to reason, distancing them from rationality.
Kenjaku felt so invincible that he genuinely believed he could permanently neutralize the obstacle that was Gojo Satoru. That arrogance was his undoing. So when someone like you fell into the same trap, he did not intervene. After all, he had already won… hadn’t he? A fallacious assumption. He acted without consideration, a pure, unthinking impulse. He permitted the two of you to remain in proximity. Two diametrically opposed forces. A human and a sorcerer. And a prison that was never truly a prison at all...
That was his greatest miscalculation.
Kenjaku was not known as humanity's most evil sorcerer without cause. Throughout his centuries-long existence, he had amassed more than enough experience, meticulously weaving his grand design with the patience of a spider spinning its web. All that remained was to enact the final step, and a new world order, spearheaded by the curses, would be born. He possessed a dream for which he would readily die—an exceedingly dangerous one.
On Halloween night, victory seemed certain. Even in his battle against Choso, he had proven his overwhelming might.
And now, he had unleashed the curses one by one, watching their ascension.

"This." He declared. "is the future of the world." A pall of black smoke enveloped the landscape as amorphous creatures clawed their way from the earth, rising toward the heavens.

The curses swarmed around him, poised for departure. He turned, sparing only a few seconds to gaze upon Itadori Yuji. "Are you listening, Sukuna?" So certain was he of his triumph, he was more at ease than ever before. "The cycle begins once more." The world of curses. An existence under their dominion. He narrowed his eyes, preparing to vanish into the dark smoke, heedless of Yuji's desperate cries for his teacher.
In his hand, he held the box. Your shared prison. He cradled it as if it were an object of immense value, resting delicately between his long fingers. A pair of piercing blue eyes seemed to emerge from every corner, scrutinizing everything as if perceiving it all. And it was true. From the very beginning, Gojo Satoru had witnessed it all. Yet, time flowed with such agonizing slowness that he could no longer distinguish between reality and illusion. Furthermore, with you by his side, he found himself ensnared by unfamiliar emotions throughout the course of his confinement.
The thrill of victory did not last long. The eyes within the box suddenly shut, leaving behind hollow, abyssal pits in their place. Kenjaku froze, his astonishment carefully masked. The box in his hands grew heavier with each passing second, its weight becoming almost unbearable.
Ultimately, it slipped from his grasp and crashed to the ground, carving deep cracks across the earth. Something inside was growing — expanding, straining, fighting to break free.

Kenjaku’s eyes narrowed. “Impossible.” He whispered, even though some small, silent part of him had always known. Monsters like Gojo Satoru never stayed buried for long.

Kenjaku had two theories. The first was that Gojo Satoru was merely putting on a show. He knew the kind of man he was. One who loved to taunt his enemies and make a spectacle at the last moment. The second theory was that he was genuinely trying to escape but failing. And how could he possibly succeed? He was imprisoned until the seal was opened.

Knowing what he had done, Kenjaku found the first theory more plausible and allowed himself a smile. "That man..." Oblivious, he reached his hand back toward the box to retrieve it from the ground.
And it was in that moment, he understood. This was no performance.
Gojo Satoru... was actually getting out.

An immense energy began to radiate—a presence far more dominant than that of the curses Kenjaku had unleashed. So potent was this energy that the surrounding curses started to recoil, putting distance between themselves and the box. Even Uraume chose to observe the events from afar. The others, comprehending nothing of the events unfolding, could only watch as Gojo Satoru escaped...
As though time itself were flowing in reverse, the seal on the box broke. The crimson bindings unraveled, and the prison's intricate knot came undone. The first thing to spill from the prison was blood. A tremendous amount of it. Following the deluge, a limp body slowly emerged, seeping out from a small, void-like opening, expelled by an unseen force.
Kenjaku’s smirk faltered.
Someone had died inside. A human. And the prison, it seemed, possessed a consciousness and rules of its own. It was a vessel for the living, not the dead.

The body of a woman, clad in crimson, lay on the ground. She was visible to all, yet her face was unknown to them. Not a single trace of energy emanated from her form, it was clear she was dead. But the ordeal was not over. The void-like opening had not closed.
Not yet.
The portal trembled, and then another energy flared from within. An energy that was instantly recognizable to all. Gojo Satoru.
He was coming.
Kenjaku recoiled, taking several steps back. The impossible was unfolding faster than his calculations had ever allowed. Gojo’s imprisonment, his greatest triumph had lasted only a fraction of what it should have. This was failure.

Two hands emerged from the void first. They reached for the open air, defying the very power of the seal. This was an outcome Kenjaku could not allow. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed several curses toward the struggling hands, their twisted forms shrieking as they lunged to suppress him. But before they could even reach, Choso intercepted, his technique slicing through them. Then Uraume stepped forward. Though uncertain of what was happening, loyalty drove them to act. Frost bloomed across the air as they used their cursed technique, trying desperately to freeze the emergence point, to seal it in ice before the inevitable could happen. But another figure appeared in their way—Yuji.
None of them truly understood what was transpiring, yet they all fought to defend the one truth they held to: Gojo Satoru must be freed.
The combined efforts of his allies bought him the precious seconds he needed. With a final, violent shudder of dimensional energy, Gojo Satoru pulled himself free. He landed on the ground with the heavy silence of a survivor. His white hair was matted with drying blood—yours—and his uniform was torn. He did not rise immediately. Instead, he knelt on one knee, his head bowed, a single hand pressed to the ravaged stone as if to steady a world that had tilted on its axis. When he opened his eyes, the whole world seemed to stop breathing. Gojo Satoru was back.

No one paid attention to the lifeless body on the ground. All eyes were on him. And his eyes… they were on the woman who had saved him. If she hadn’t made such a sacrifice, Gojo would still be trapped, and irreparable losses would have been suffered. Perhaps they already had been? Who knows. The only visible truth was the fear on Kenjaku’s face. And that… pleased him.

In the space between one heartbeat and the next, he closed the distance. There was no flicker of movement, no sound. He was simply there, standing before Kenjaku, his hand outstretched as if to simply reclaim the air his enemy occupied. Kenjaku reacted with the instinct of a thousand years of survival, a swarm of low-grade curses erupting from his robes to form a writhing, shrieking shield. They lunged at Gojo, claws and teeth aimed for his throat, only to halt a hair's breadth from his skin. Trapped in the paradox of the Limitless, they were torn apart by a gesture of pure dismissal. A flick of Gojo’s wrist that unmade them into dust and cursed energy.

"She made a rather touching choice, didn't she?" Kenjaku's lips curled into a smirk. "To trade her life for yours. Tell me, Satoru... was it a fair trade?"

Gojo didn't answer with words. He simply smiled. It was a terrifying sight, sharp and promising ruin, a prelude to the obliteration Kenjaku had only managed to postpone. He created more distance as he summoned a truly monstrous curse, a special-grade with countless eyes that wept a substance that warped the very ground it touched.

Gojo remained silent. He raised one hand, index finger extended. Space itself seemed to bend around that single point.
"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."

The special-grade curse was not attacked but pulled, its immense form collapsing inward as it was dragged into the miniature singularity Gojo had created. The ground, the air, the very light around it was devoured in a silent, violet implosion.

In the ringing silence that followed, Gojo finally spoke. "You took her life to force my hand." His head tilted, those impossibly blue eyes locking onto Kenjaku's, seeing not just the man, but the soul hiding within the stolen flesh of his best friend. "I will burn that body to cinders, so that there is nothing left for a parasite like you to inhabit."

Kenjaku's eyes widened in genuine fear. He raised his hands to unleash his ultimate technique, the swirling vortex of an Uzumaki forming before him. But he was too slow.

Gojo Satoru had thought long and hard during his imprisonment. Was he destined to wear these chains forever? From the moment of his birth, he had borne the weight of countless duties. He was the strongest, yet he was not free. He was the strongest, yet his power was never truly his own. He had been born not for himself, but for the sake of others. Above all, he viewed the world through shackles. That... that was the true prison. It was not the curse... not the void he shared with you. No. By your side, he had been freer than ever before. Because he had been allowed to love you. That, for him, was the ultimate freedom. For had he been anywhere else, this world would have eventually stolen even you from him. And in the end... it had.

Everyone present braced for the inevitable, devastating sphere of Hollow Purple. But Gojo did not bring his hands together. Instead, with a motion of impossible grace, he brought the index fingers of both hands forward, pointing them at Kenjaku like a blade. He forced the two infinite energies to collide along a single, infinitesimally thin line between his fingertips. The imaginary mass did not expand. It was compressed, flattened into a shimmering, razor-edged ribbon of pure annihilation.
It was a distortion in space, a surgical cut across the fabric of the world itself. Kenjaku's eyes widened, his own technique dissolving as the blade of Hollow Purple bisected the space before him. There was no spray of blood, no sound of tearing flesh. Matter in its path was simply... deleted from existence. A perfect, silent line appeared across Kenjaku's neck. His head slid cleanly from his shoulders, tumbling to the ground with a soft thud before his body followed, collapsing into a heap. The strongest sorcerer had wielded the concept of oblivion as a scalpel, and the cut was absolute.

The others did not hesitate to celebrate. Yuji gazed at his teacher with awe, while Yuki Tsukumo let out a hearty laugh, clearly impressed. Uraume, meanwhile, had long since vanished.
Kenjaku was defeated after a battle fought in near silence. And the silence persisted because its victor did not consider it a victory at all. Nor would he ever. For him, there was nothing to celebrate. It was, instead, a time to mourn.

He knelt beside you. His hand, which a moment ago had channeled enough power to level a city, trembled as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch was impossibly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence of his power. He was the master of the infinite space between things, yet in that moment, the distance between his world and yours... between life and death... was a void he could not cross.
From a distance, Yuji watched, his own heart aching. He saw not the strongest sorcerer, but a man drowning in a victory that felt only like loss.
He made no sound. He simply gathered you into his arms, lifting your body from the cold stone as if you weighed nothing at all. He held you for a long moment, a solitary figure in the epicenter of his own devastation.
Then, with a flicker of distorted space, he was gone.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The remaining sorcerers—Yuji, Choso, Yuki, and the students from the Kyoto school—were left staring at the gruesome aftermath. The headless body of Geto Suguru and, a few feet away, the head of the man who was Kenjaku.

"We... We have to do something." Yuji said. He looked at the body of his teacher's former friend with a profound sadness.

"He's right," Kamo Noritoshi added, stepping forward with the other Kyoto students. "This body is a significant artifact. It should be taken back to Jujutsu High for study and proper disposal."

Yuki Tsukumo scoffed, crossing her arms. "Study it? We should incinerate every last cell. The man inside was a plague, and Geto Suguru's body has been desecrated enough. Burn it. Burn all of it."

Choso, ever stoic, placed a hand on Yuji's shoulder. "The woman is right. This vessel has caused too much suffering. It must be completely destroyed to ensure Kenjaku cannot return."

The argument began to escalate, a cacophony of voices debating ethics, security, and sentiment over the fallen vessel. Yuji argued for a proper burial out of respect for the man Geto once was, while the Kyoto students insisted on protocol. Yuki and Choso remained firm on complete obliteration.

Then, without warning, a figure appeared at the edge of the group. Yuta stepped forward. He moved with a quiet confidence that immediately silenced the argument. He looked from the feuding group to the body on the ground. "I'll take care of it."

But Yuta had not come here to usher in peace or a happy ending. Behind his calm demeanor, a hidden fire smoldered. The war was not over. For Sukuna to be utterly eradicated, Itadori Yuji... had to die. He believed this with absolute conviction, and he would see it done.
But first, he would perform one final act of kindness for the teacher he so deeply respected. He would spare him the burden of ever having to touch this corpse again. Because his teacher deserved to forget.
More than anyone, Gojo Satoru deserved to forget it all.

Chapter Text

Billions of people live in the world and most of them do not know what death truly is. It is a path of no return for us. A reality we can never know, and therefore, one we will always fear. Most people choose to live by ignoring the truth of death, preferring to focus on the present moment. In fact, we do this unconsciously. It's as if our brain cannot accept that everything is finite, and to cope with this, it makes us lose ourselves in the now. A defense mechanism, or perhaps our way of manipulating ourselves... You were one of those people. You looked at life not as if you would die tomorrow but as if you would live forever. You had never considered death and what comes after. That is why confronting it terrified you. You hated that you had to kill yourself, just so other people could continue to live.

Selfishness, yes. There was no defense for it. You were selfish, just like everyone else. Just like Satoru. He didn't want you to die for others. He didn't want you to die for him. He was selfish. And the people who were oblivious to it all were selfish, too. Because for them to continue living, someone always had to put themselves in danger. Someone always had to face the devil called death.

You understood Geto Suguru. He had chosen himself and he had every right to do so. Because he, too, was selfish. Though the paths you walked were different, you were not so different from one another. Even if a vast emptiness existed between Gojo Satoru and the world, neither was truly different from the other.

For the second time, he was carrying the body of someone he loved in his arms, and this time, he didn't know what he was supposed to do with it. He wasn't even fully conscious when he killed Kenjaku. His mind had been clouded since the moment he escaped the prison. Perhaps it was from grief. He had expended a great deal of energy trying to keep you alive, and then more to kill Kenjaku. The strength had gone from his knees. It was sheer willpower alone that kept him standing. Only one person who might be able to fix all of this came to mind, and he was walking toward her... He had tried to teleport but couldn't reach his destination, so he walked. For minutes on end... clinging to a dead body as if it were his last breath.

The walk was a silent pilgrimage through a world he no longer recognized. The streets of Shibuya were an unrecognizable landscape of craters and fallen concrete. He barely noticed. His entire universe had contracted to the weight in his arms.

He finally reached the familiar grounds of Jujutsu High. The barrier parted for him, a silent welcome to a home that could offer no comfort. He didn't stop at the main building or his own quarters. His path was direct, his steps heavy as he made his way to the infirmary. The door slid open before he reached it. Shoko Ieiri stood there, a lit cigarette between her fingers, her face a mask of weary resignation. Her eyes, shadowed with fatigue, dropped from his face to the burden he carried. The cigarette fell from her lips. She had seen this before: Satoru, standing at her door, holding the broken body of someone he had failed to save. Words were meaningless anchors in the storm of his grief. He simply walked past her and gently, with a care that seemed to drain the last of his strength, laid your body on a clean, steel examination table.

He stepped back, his hands stained with your blood. His gaze met hers, and in that silent look was a desperate, impossible plea. 𝙁𝙞𝙭 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨. 𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚, 𝙛𝙞𝙭 𝙝𝙚𝙧.

"I knew I did the right thing by pulling back from Shibuya. You want me to save her, don't you?" Shoko approached the table, her professionalism a thin veil over the sorrow in her eyes. She placed two fingers on your neck, a formality she already knew the answer to. She checked for breath. Nothing. Her gaze was clinical, but her hand trembled slightly as she pulled the torn, blood-soaked fabric of your red dress away from the wound on your throat. The damage was absolute. "Satoru..." She said, shattering the last of his denial. "There's nothing I can do. She's gone."

The world's strongest sorcerer, who could bend the universe to his will, was powerless before the one finality he could never reverse. He simply stared at your still form, his Six Eyes seeing everything and nothing at once. He saw the severed artery, the pale skin, the finality of it all. The infinite space he commanded, the power that made gods tremble, could not mend this one, simple tear in the fabric of a human life.

"Satoru?"

He finally moved. He walked back to the table, his steps unnervingly steady. He reached out, not to the wound, but to your face. With the back of his thumb, he gently wiped a streak of his own bloodied tear from your cheek. It was a gesture of profound tenderness, a futile attempt to clean away the horror of the last few hours.

"Use your technique. Reverse it. Heal her."

"Satoru, listen to me. Her carotid artery and jugular vein were completely severed. The blood loss was catastrophic. By the time you even got here, her brain had been deprived of oxygen for far too long. My technique can mend wounds. It cannot bring back the dead."

"Check again."

She was doing this for him, not for any medical reason. She placed a hand, glowing faintly with her own cursed energy, directly over your heart, searching for the faintest electrical impulse, a flicker of life, anything.

She held it there for a long, silent moment.

There was nothing. Not a beat. Not a tremor. Only the profound, cold stillness of a body that had already let go of its soul.

She pulled her hand back and looked him directly in the eye, her own gaze unwavering. "Satoru. There is no heartbeat. I'm sorry."

The fight seemed to drain from his body, the immense energy that always coiled around him dimming until he was just a man, standing in a sterile room, bathed in the fluorescent lights that illuminated his failure.

"Satoru..." Shoko's voice trembled. "I don't know who this girl is or why you wanted to save her so badly. Or how you even escaped. All I know is that all hell has broken loose in Shibuya. Please, pull yourself together. I'll take care of her, I'll even check on her from time to time if you'd like. But everyone is in Shibuya... I'm not telling you to go back to them and be the strong sorcerer again. Just... do something. Snap out of it."

A sound tore from Gojo's throat. It wasn't a sob. It was a laugh. He leaned back against the wall, his head thudding softly against the tile, the laugh cracking in the middle. "Snap out of it?" He finally looked at Shoko, but his eyes were unfocused, seeing a memory she couldn't. "She said the same thing. In her own way."

Shoko remained silent. She had seen him angry, arrogant, even sad after Geto's death. But she had never seen him like this. This was the sound of a man being hollowed out from the inside.

"She wasn't a sorcerer." He began, his gaze drifting back to your body on the table. "She was just... there. Celebrating Halloween. A mistake. That's all it was. She got trapped in the Prison Realm with me." He pushed himself off the wall, stumbling toward the table. "Time doesn't exist in there, Shoko. It's just... nothing. An endless void with skeletons for company. And her. For what felt like an eternity, it was just us." His hand hovered over your still one, not daring to touch.

"She was terrified. She had panic attacks, nightmares, nosebleeds... the place was killing her. Because she was human. She wasn't built for it. But she never stopped fighting. She argued with me about desserts, made me play childish games, quoted movies... she kept me sane." The broken laugh threatened to return, but he choked it down. His voice dropped to a ragged whisper. "She figured it out before I did. The prison... it has rules. It wasn't made to hold corpses. It rejects death. She realized her death was the only way out. For me."

Tears streamed down his face, leaving clean tracks through the grime and dried blood. "She held a knife to her own throat. I tried to stop her, Shoko. I begged her. But she... she chose me. She chose everyone else over herself."

Close friends. Their years-long bond had given them the opportunity to understand one another and build a profound empathy. Shoko and Satoru had always shared a circle of friends, and they were happy that way. High school memories flashed before Shoko's eyes. She remembered. The good days and everything that went wrong. She was silent back then, she hadn't been able to do anything for either of them. Geto died. She found out too late. Her last true friend was imprisoned. There was nothing she could do...
And now, she was witnessing his most vulnerable state. Of course, she knew, she knew her friend was strong on the outside but fragile within. For years, she hadn't been able to do a thing for them. Maybe now... Now, perhaps, there was something she could do.

But she was faced with death. How could one defy death? How could she possibly resurrect the dead?

Shoko looked from the broken man on the floor to the still body on her table. The memories of her helplessness with Geto, of her distance from Satoru's pain, coalesced into a single, resolute thought. 𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚. 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚, 𝙄 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙙𝙤 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜.

"Satoru. Get up."

He didn't respond, his face buried in his hands.

"Get up. Look."

Slowly he lifted his head. His eyes were red and hollow, the brilliant blue dimmed by a grief so profound it seemed to absorb the light in the room. He watched as Shoko turned back to the table, pale green glow beginning to emanate from her palms. She hovered her glowing hands over the gruesome wound on your neck. The cursed energy of her Reverse Technique flowed from her, not with the intent to heal, but to mend. Under the soft light, the severed edges of the skin began to tremble and pull toward each other. The gash that had poured your life onto the floor slowly, seamlessly, knitted itself closed. It was a macabre, beautiful sight—a perfect restoration on a lifeless vessel.

Satoru watched. A single, impossible spark of hope ignited in the abyss of his despair, only to be instantly extinguished. The wound was gone, but the deathly pallor of your skin remained. The stillness in your chest was absolute.

The green glow faded from Shoko's hands. She had made you whole again, physically. But the emptiness was now more profound than ever.

"I've restored her body. Now, I need a lot of blood. The supply here might not be enough. I used my energy to check her blood levels, and her blood type is the same as yours. If you're willing to give your blood, I will first try to restart her heart with both my cursed energy and the help of conventional medicine."

He looked from Shoko's determined face to your still form. A chance. Even if it was one in a billion, it was a chance. He didn't need to be asked twice. He rose from the floor. He thrust his arm toward her, pulling back the torn sleeve of his uniform. "Take it. Take all of it if you have to."

This was a fool's errand, a desperate ritual for a man who had lost everything, but she would perform it with all the skill she possessed. She worked with practiced efficiency, her hands a blur as she prepped an IV line, inserting the needle into his arm with a precision that belied the turmoil in the room. His dark blood, rich with cursed energy, began to flow, filling a bag that would soon be connected to you.

While the transfusion began, she moved to the other side of the table, pulling a defibrillator cart closer. The high-pitched whine of the machine charging filled the heavy silence.

"I'm going to apply my technique and shock her on 'three'."

It was a lie to give him a focal point, a single moment to pin his hopes on. She knew the electricity was a formality; only her cursed energy had any real chance of stimulating a heart that had been still for so long.

She placed the paddles on your chest. Her own hands began to glow with the familiar green of her Reverse Cursed Technique, channeling her energy directly into your heart.

"One... two..."

The hope in Gojo's eyes was agonizing to witness.

"Three!"

Your body arched from the table with a violent, useless jolt. On the heart monitor she had attached, the line remained stubbornly, brutally flat.

"Again."

Shoko didn't argue. She charged the machine again, pouring even more of her cursed energy into the attempt. "Clear!"

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

There is no up or down. No light, no sound, no temperature. There is only awareness.

You are here again. In the void. You have no body to sense, no world to perceive, yet the knowledge of your own existence is absolute. I am. The thought isn't formed with a voice, but it is the only truth in this endless expanse. It is the fragile flame of awareness in a boundless void. Then the memory comes. The cold, unforgiving edge of the knife against your throat. The surprising, slick warmth of your own blood. And his eyes. The shattering infinity in Satoru's eyes as he watched you fall. You remember your death. You are aware that you are dead. But here, in this place, the concept is meaningless. You simply are.

Plato would have called this freedom. The soul, finally unshackled from its fleshy prison, returned to a purer state of being. And for a moment, you feel it. A weightlessness, a release from the pain and fear that defined your final moments. But then another feeling surfaces, an ache that is more profound than any physical pain. It is a yearning. You miss the weight of your own limbs. You miss the simple, thoughtless act of breathing. You miss the feeling of his hand on your back, the solid, grounding beat of his heart against your chest. Aristotle would have called this a tragedy. A form without its matter. A song without an instrument to play it. Your soul exists, but it is incomplete, a ghost haunting the memory of its own life.

You are both right, you think. The philosophers. The body was a cage, but it was also a home. It was the only way you could reach out and touch the world. The only way you could touch him. And in this void, you can feel him. Not see him, not hear him, but feel his grief like a distant star, a cold point of light in the unending darkness. You are tethered to him, a soul bound by the curse of your own love. You can feel him weeping on the floor of the infirmary, feel the hollow agony as he realizes he is truly alone. You try to reach for him, to send a thought, a feeling, a whisper of comfort across the abyss. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦. 𝘓𝘪𝘷𝘦. But you can do nothing. Your consciousness is a perfect prison of its own. You are aware, but you are powerless. You are free from your body, only to be trapped as a silent observer to the pain your sacrifice has caused.

This, you understand, is the true nature of the soul. And without a body, you cannot mend the threads you were forced to break. You can only drift, and remember, and watch the man you died for suffer alone.

"And so, we meet again."

No matter where your soul was, the same man would always find you. Geto Suguru.

The voice wasn't a sound, but a presence that bloomed in the center of your awareness. You didn't turn, for you had no head to turn. You simply knew. "You." Your consciousness formed the word. "You're always here."

"And you always seem surprised. Did you think death was the end of our conversation?"

"I thought it was the end of everything."

"Far from it. It's merely a change in state. Before all this, before I fell from the path, I was a monk. I spent a great deal of time contemplating the nature of energy, of the soul separate from the world of curses. I know more than you do about these things."

"Then tell me why I'm here. With you. Again."

"Because your soul pulls me." He said simply, as if stating a fundamental law of physics. "Cursed energy gives a soul a certain... frequency. A vibration. Satoru's is like a roaring star. Most are like static. But you... you were a non-user. Your soul's energy is clear, a pure note in a world of noise. When you died, that note didn't vanish. It just became untethered. It's a beacon for a soul like mine, one that's also untethered."

The ache of Satoru's grief pulsed through you again. "I can feel him. His pain."

"I know. And that is the problem. You died to set him free from one prison, but his grief is forging another. He is holding onto you, and you are clinging to him. This connection... it's poisoning him. He will never move on. He will never heal. He will carry your ghost until it breaks him."

"What am I supposed to do? I can't do anything. I'm dead."

"You are a soul." Geto corrected gently. "And a soul has will. It's the only thing you have left."

Will. You had always believed it was something tied to the body. To refrain when you could act, or the exact opposite. Facing the consequences of your actions. This was the very thing that had been circling your mind since the moment you arrived in Shibuya.

"My will... How am I to guide it?"

Geto's energy was luminous. Despite his death, he shone brighter than any living creature.

"Return to your body."

"My body?" Your consciousness questioned. "But it's empty. I'm dead. The connection is severed."

"Think. What was the last thing that happened to your vessel? Shoko Ieiri used her Reverse Cursed Technique. The wound that killed you is gone. The physical form is whole."

A phantom sensation, a memory of warmth, pulsed through you. Satoru's blood.

"And Satoru... He filled you with his own blood. His cursed energy. He didn't just give you a transfusion. He created a bridge of life force between your soul and its home. He is desperately holding the door open for you. Your body is ready. It's waiting."

If you could go back... "Then you... Yuta removed that thing's brain from your body. Can't you return, too?"

The sad smile on Geto's face deepened, turning into something profoundly melancholic. "No, I cannot."

"But why? If the... the parasite is gone-"

"My situation is different." He interrupted gently. "Yuta Okkotsu was thorough. He removed the parasite's brain, yes. But Kenjaku's technique is not a simple physical occupation. It is a fundamental violation. It severs the original soul's anchor to its vessel. Imagine a keyhole. He didn't just use a key to open the door; he broke the lock itself to get in. Now that he's gone, the door remains broken."

He looked down at his own spectral hands. "The anchor point for my soul... it no longer exists within that body. It is whole, but it is no longer mine to return to. It is incomplete. A desecrated shell." He looked back at you, his luminous energy softening. "Your body was repaired. Mine was violated. It waits for you. Mine is just... empty."

A choice. A real one. The first you've had since you decided to die.

"How?" The question formed in the void, a desperate plea. "How do I return? I am nothing but thought."

"Is that not what a soul is? He is calling you back. All you must do is answer."

The void around you seemed to shimmer.

"You said his grief would break him. If I return, won't that make it worse?"

"Or perhaps you will be the one thing that keeps him from shattering completely. I told you what I believe is best for him based on my own failure. I chose to leave him to bear the world alone, and it destroyed us both." He took a step closer, the space between you shrinking. "I can only show you the doors, I cannot tell you which one to walk through. To let go is to give him peace, eventually. To return is to give him a reason to live, immediately. Both paths are lined with their own pain. For both of you."

He gestured toward the faint, pulsing light of Satoru's connection. "That bridge will not last. His body and soul can only sustain it for so long. You have to decide. Will you be his peaceful memory, or his painful reality?"

The choice was yours. To be the ghost that frees him, or the miracle that saves him.

Chapter Text

Satoru stood over the lifeless body. The events of Shibuya had spread throughout the world, news channels were broadcasting images of the city's remaining destruction. However, Kenjaku's death had prevented the curses from attacking everyone. The students and other sorcerers were still outside, hunting the remaining curses. Meanwhile, the stupid higher-ups had declared Gojo Satoru a traitor. The reason was the return of Geto Suguru. But no one knew the truth. While everyone still believed him to be imprisoned, he was standing over your corpse. And while everyone held Geto responsible for everything, Yuta was burying the body. Far from the prying eyes of the higher-ups and the sorrowful gazes of his peers...
He had chosen a clearing deep within a nameless forest. The grave was not deep. Beside it lay the body of Geto Suguru, carefully wrapped in a simple, clean white shroud. Yuta had taken the time to retrieve the head, placing it back where it belonged not for the monster Kenjaku, but for the man his teacher had once called his one and only best friend. This was not a disposal, it was a rite.
He knelt and gently lifted the shrouded form. It was lighter than he expected, as if the evil that had inhabited it had a physical weight that was now gone, leaving only an empty vessel behind. He lowered the body into the earth, arranging the cloth so that it lay peacefully. For a long moment, Yuta stared down at the figure. He was burying a history of pain. He was burying the man who had tried to kill him, the man Gojo had been forced to execute, and the monster who had returned to torture his teacher.
𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. Yuta thought. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘪.
He picked up the shovel. The first cascade of earth striking the white shroud was the only sound in the clearing.

He was erasing a ghost from the world so that his teacher might, one day, find a way to exorcise the one in his heart.

He worked without pause until the grave was filled and the earth was smoothed over. He left no marker, no stone, no name. This place was to be forgotten. Standing there in the growing light, Yuta wiped the dirt from his hands. The first part of his duty was complete. Now, for the second, far more difficult task. The one that would truly end this war.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The door to the infirmary was already open. Yuji hesitated in the hallway. The fight was over, but the silence that followed was somehow louder and more terrifying than the battle itself. He could hear the rhythmic beep of a monitor from inside.

"Gojo-sensei."

He was sitting in a simple chair pulled up beside an examination table. Slumped forward, elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands. He wasn't wearing his blindfold, and his white hair fell around his fingers. He looked smaller than Yuji had ever seen him.

Yuji's throat went dry. He took a cautious step inside. "Sensei...?"

He didn't seem to have heard. Yuji walked closer, his heart aching for the man who had always seemed so untouchable, so far above the pain that plagued everyone else. "Shoko-san told me... what happened." Yuji said softly, standing a few feet away. "She... she was brave. She saved you, Sensei." He didn't know what else to say.

Satoru finally lowered his hands. "Who was supposed to save the one person who didn't have any power? That was my job. It was always my job." He looked away, his shoulders slumping again.

Yuji felt a crushing sense of his own uselessness. He just wanted to help, to offer some comfort, but he had nothing.

A mouth split open on Yuji’s own cheek. "So this is the pathetic creature. Barely worth the effort. I can smell the blood congealing under that sheet. A shame."

Yuji's blood ran cold. He instinctively slapped a hand over his cheek, as if he could physically shove the vile words back inside. "No, stop!"

Gojo hadn't moved a muscle. But the atmosphere in the room had changed. He slowly lifted his head, and his eyes fixed not on Yuji, but on the mouth on his cheek. "You know... I was just thinking about how much I wanted to tear something apart."

His gaze was so intense, so full of murderous promise, that the mouth on Yuji's cheek twitched and then sealed shut, Sukuna retreating into silence.

"Sensei... I'm so sorry, I didn't..."

"It wasn't you, Yuji." His gaze dropped back to the sheet. He reached out a trembling hand and gently placed it on the covered form. "Leave me."

Yuji nodded. He backed out of the room, pulling the door quietly shut, leaving his teacher alone once more with his grief. He walked outside and met Shoko.

"Shoko-san... I'm sorry. About... in there. Sukuna-"

"That wasn't you. Sukuna is a parasite. We all know that." She was tired too. She had waited by your side all night. But she couldn't bring you back, your heart would never beat again. She didn't know why, but she felt as if she had lost someone close to her. Satoru's pain had hurt her too.

Yuji's shoulders slumped. "I've never seen him like that. He looks... hollow."

"Imagine being the most powerful man in the world, only to be saved by the one person you were supposed to protect. He's not just grieving, Yuji. He's grappling with the fact that his own power is meaningless in the face of what she did."

"So... what are we supposed to do?"

"Our job is to handle what he can't. We keep fighting. We clean up the rest of Kenjaku's mess. We make sure her sacrifice wasn't for nothing."

Yuji sulked. He wished Nanami were here with them, too. Perhaps his composure would have been good for Satoru. But they had lost Nanami. So many innocent people had died in a single night.
What was to be done? There wasn't even time to sit and mourn. Sukuna was still inside his body. He had intended to cooperate with Kenjaku to regain his true power, but now Kenjaku was gone. He needed to leave this body and take over Megumi's as soon as possible. For Sukuna, all that was left was to plan for victory.
But he didn't know it. He, too, would pay the price for the mistake he had made.

"I'll visit Nobara now. Megumi is already awake, you should go see him."

At least his friends were still with him.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Satoru had not moved from the floor. His head rested against the cold steel of the table, right beside your still hand.
He didn't notice the first one. A single sound from the heart monitor Shoko had left connected, a sound so faint it was barely more than a mechanical sigh. It was probably just the machine's final, meaningless spasm.
But the sound repeated.

His gaze was fixed on the IV line still taped to your arm, the tube connecting his own vein to yours. It was a monument to his uselessness. A bridge to nowhere.
He saw it then. Beneath the pale, translucent skin of your forearm, a tiny blue vein pulsed. Once. He blinked, convinced his exhausted eyes were playing tricks on him. Grief was a poison, it made you see ghosts. But it pulsed again, a rhythmic twitch in time with the soft blips from the monitor he had been ignoring. His head snapped up. His eyes shot to the IV bag hanging beside the table. The dark, crimson liquid... was dripping. Each drop fell, disappearing down the tube being impossibly drawn into your body.
Scrambling to his feet with a surge of energy he didn't know he possessed, he lunged for your wrist. His fingers, trembling violently, pressed against the cold skin where a pulse should be. Nothing. He pressed harder, his Six Eyes flaring to life, desperately searching for the faintest flow of energy, of life.
And there it was.

His own cursed energy, carried within the blood he had given you, was being accepted, circulated, fueling a spark that should have been extinguished forever. The flat, dead tone of the monitor was gone, replaced by a steady rhythm.
The sound was a miracle. It was an impossibility. He stumbled back, his hand flying to his mouth as a raw sound escaped his throat. For a moment, he could do nothing but stare at the rising and falling line on the monitor, his mind unable to process the reality unfolding before him. Then, the shock gave way to a urgency. He threw the infirmary door open with such force that it slammed against the hallway wall.

"Shoko!"

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

"The reports said you fought a stranger. The internal damage should have been… extensive. But there's barely any sign of it."

Megumi looked down at his own hands, flexing his fingers. "Sukuna healed me."

Shoko stopped scrolling. She looked up, her gaze sharp and analytical. "He did? Why? Wasting that much cursed energy on someone who isn't his primary vessel makes no sense. It's not in his nature."

"I think… he's interested in my technique. He said something about it before. Maybe keeping me alive and at full strength is part of some larger plan. An investment."

"An investment, or a cage he's reinforcing?" Shoko countered grimly. "Don't be naive, Fushiguro. A favor from a curse like Sukuna always comes with a price. He's marking you."

Before Megumi could respond, the door to their room was thrown open. Satoru just lunged forward and grabbed Shoko by the arm, pulling her from her chair.

"Sensei-" Megumi started, moving to stand.

"The monitor." Gojo choked out. "The blood. It's taking the blood. You have to come now."

Without waiting for a reply, he pulled her out of the room, his desperate strength undeniable. Shoko stumbled after him, her datapad clattering to the floor. Megumi was left alone in the sudden silence, staring at the empty doorway, his own concerns forgotten.
Megumi knew. No, everyone at Jujutsu High knew. There was a girl who had saved their teacher, but she was already dead. So much had happened that no one had found the chance to talk about it. Choso had joined the team, Nanami was dead, and Nobara had come back from the brink of death. Everyone was caught up in their own grief, exhausted after fighting for hours in Shibuya. On top of it all, their teacher had been declared a traitor, and Yuji had been sentenced to death. Since everyone thought Satoru was still imprisoned, all their focus was on Yuji, and he couldn't stay in one place for long. And Megumi? What had fate written for him? And why did it feel as if his own destiny had already been rewritten a thousand times over?

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

He practically dragged Shoko back inside. Megumi followed a few steps behind. Her eyes immediately shot to the heart monitor. She pressed two fingers to your neck again, her eyes closing in concentration. Her expression shifted from skepticism to utter disbelief. "It's thready... weak. But it's a sinus rhythm."

Satoru stood frozen a few feet away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He looked like a man on a knife's edge, terrified that if he breathed too loudly, the fragile miracle would shatter. She glanced at the IV bag, then back at your arm. The skin around the needle, once pale and lifeless, had a flush. "The body is accepting the transfusion." Her mind raced through every medical and cursed energy principle she knew. "Your cursed energy... it must be acting as a binding agent, forcing the cells to... to restart."

She grabbed a flashlight, pried open one of your eyelids, and shone the beam into your eye. Your pupil, once fixed and dilated, constricted sluggishly in response to the light.

A choked sound escaped Satoru's throat.

Shoko straightened up, turning to face him. "I can't explain this, Satoru. By every law of medicine and cursed energy, this should be impossible. She's not back. But her body is fighting. It's using your blood, your energy." She pointed to a cabinet. "Get another unit of blood. And saline. Now."

The command broke his paralysis. For the first time since he'd brought you here, the devastating grief in his eyes was eclipsed by determination. He didn't question her. He moved.

"I need blood pressure, oxygen saturation, everything." Shoko expertly administered a saline drip to help stabilize your blood pressure. "Her body temperature is dangerously low. Hypothermic shock. Megumi, find every thermal blanket we have."

Satoru returned with supplies. As Megumi rushed to obey, Shoko hovered her glowing hands over your chest once more. "This is the part I don't understand. Ordinarily, a transfusion is just physical. But your cursed energy is... intertwined with blood. It's actively stimulating her autonomic functions. Like a jump start for the soul's connection to the body."

He was pouring his will into you, a silent command for you to stay, to fight. "What can I do?"

"The connection is you. Keep giving blood until I tell you to stop. Your energy is the only thing keeping this miracle from collapsing."

Hours bled into one another. Yuji, hearing the commotion, appeared at the door, his face a mask of confusion and hope. Shoko put him to work, sending him for more supplies, keeping everyone busy, keeping the fragile momentum going. The sun rose higher in the sky, casting golden light through the infirmary windows. The beeping of the monitor grew stronger. The deathly pale of your skin was slowly being replaced by human warmth. You were not awake. You had not moved. But you were no longer a corpse on a table. You were a patient, fighting your way back from an abyss no one had ever returned from before, tethered to the world by the love and lifeblood of the strongest sorcerer.

Chapter Text

Hours had passed. Shoko had stabilized your condition as much as possible before collapsing from exhaustion in an adjacent room. Satoru sat on the floor in the hallway outside the infirmary, his back against the cool wall. He was no longer crying, no longer raging. He was just... empty. A hollowed-out statue of the man he was supposed to be. His gaze was fixed on the closed door, as if his Six Eyes could pierce through the wood and steel to watch over you. Megumi sat a few feet away, mirroring him.

After a long time it was Megumi who broke the silence. "I left Nanami-san alone."

"It's not your fault." It was the first thing he’d said in hours.

Megumi looked down at his own bandaged hands. "None of us is at fault. But here we are." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "You carry too much. You always have."

"There's nothing left to carry, Megumi. Just... this." He gestured vaguely at the door. The waiting.

Choso walked toward them. Megumi tensed, his hand instinctively moving to where a weapon would be. Satoru didn't even lift his head.

He stopped before them, his gaze directed at the infirmary door. "Yuji told me what you have done."

"Get to the point."

Choso met his gaze without fear. "My cursed technique is Blood Manipulation. I cannot create life. I cannot heal as Ieiri-san does. But I can feel the flow. I can encourage it. I can use my own energy to stimulate the circulation within her veins, to help her body accept your blood more efficiently and reduce the strain on her heart." He looked down at his own hands. "It is a debt I owe my brother, Yuji. And through him, a debt I owe to you."

He stared at Choso for a long moment. He saw no deception, no ulterior motive. He saw only a man offering the one unique skill he possessed to help a cause that was now sacred. The strongest sorcerer in the world was being offered help and he was in no position to refuse. He pushed himself to his feet. He looked from Choso to the door. "Do it."

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Yaga looked up from the doll he was stitching. "Yuta. Is it done?"

"Yes, Principal Yaga. The body has been dealt with. It won't be a problem again."

"Good." Yaga did not ask for details. He trusted Yuta implicitly. He set the doll aside. "The situation remains... complicated."

"I know. I've been in contact with the higher-ups."

Yaga’s hands stilled. "And?"

"They're still insistent. Their primary focus remains the immediate execution of Itadori Yuji. They're demanding to know his location, but since no one knows where Gojo-sensei is, they're directing all their resources to tracking Yuji down."

Yuta’s hand, resting on the hilt of his katana, twitched almost imperceptibly. He thought of the promise he had made to his teacher, to spare him further pain. He thought of the monstrous laugh he’d heard echoing in Shibuya. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that the higher-ups were right about one thing: Sukuna was a threat that had to be eliminated. Completely.

"Fools. They’re chasing a single curse while the whole system is on the verge of collapse." He looked at Yuta. "And what was your response to them?"

"I assured them I understood the urgency of the situation." He said, his words carefully chosen. "And that I would act accordingly when the time is right."

Yaga seemed to accept this. "Keep me informed. For now, get some rest."

Yuta bowed respectfully and left the office, closing the door softly behind him. He walked down the cold, empty corridor, the principal's words echoing in his mind. Rest. There would be no rest. He wouldn't let the higher-ups clumsy and cruel methods handle this. He wouldn't let Gojo emerge from one nightmare only to face another, one living inside his own student. This was a burden he would take upon himself. A necessary mercy. He would find Yuji Itadori, and he would finish this.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The first thing to return is a rhythm. You are adrift in the familiar formless quiet of the void. But the nothing is no longer absolute. There is a sound, a pulse from an impossibly far distance. It isn't heard with ears—you have none—but felt, a beat against the essence of what you are. It is a metronome for a song you don't know. Then comes the weight. A crushing, suffocating gravity that you have not felt for an eternity. It is the weight of limbs you had forgotten, the heavy anchor of a heart inside a chest. You fight it. But the rhythm continues.
The first real sense to break through is touch. There is the rough, starchy texture of a sheet against skin you can now feel. There is a cold ache in your right arm, a foreign pressure tethered to something inside your vein. The first breath. Air, thin and tasting of antiseptic, floods lungs that feel like dried paper, burning a path down a throat that remembers a blade. Your eyelids flicker. Light is the next assault. Fluorescent glare that stabs at optic nerves long dormant. You see nothing at first, just blurry whiteness. You try to turn your head away but the muscles in your neck are strangers, refusing to obey. The world begins to resolve itself. The white blur separates into shapes. A pale, tiled ceiling with a hairline crack spidering from one corner. A silver pole standing sentinel beside your bed, clear tubes snaking down from a hanging bag. The steady green line on a dark screen, spiking in time with the rhythm that called you back. Your mind, the last piece to fall into place, struggles to bridge the chasm between then and now.

The cold steel. Satoru’s shattered face. The final, decisive pull of the blade across your own throat. The world dissolving into a crimson haze. You died.

But your hand lifts from the sheet. Your fingers drift to your neck. They search for the wound, for the source of the memory. They find nothing. Only impossibly cold skin.

Your eyes fly wide open, the blurriness finally sharpening into a terrified clarity. You see it all now. The IV drip in your arm, a dark, crimson fluid still feeding into you. The thermal blankets piled on top of you.
And you see the emptiness. The space where he wept, where he begged, where he held you as you bled out, is hollow. You are alive. And you are utterly, terrifyingly alone.
You tried to get up. Slowly, you were beginning to regain control of your body. First, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, your head immediately starting to spin. Still, you didn't give up. Your feet touched the floor, your toes freezing on the cold surface. When you finally stood upright on your feet, your soul now fully remembered the body it possessed.

You swayed on your feet. A sharp sting in your arm drew your attention. The IV needle. You looked at it—the clear tube, the dark crimson liquid of his life force dripping into you—and you tore it out. A single bead of blood, your own this time, welled up and trickled down your arm. You were free.
Using the edge of the bed for support, you took a step. Then another. You reached the door, your hand trembling as you slid it open. The hallway stretched out before you. It was as empty as the room you had just left. Had he brought you back only to leave you? Was the miracle too monstrous to bear? Or had he simply... moved on, leaving the impossible reality of you behind?
You were a ghost in a place you didn't belong, returned to a world that had no one waiting for you.
Your legs began to shake. They gave way without warning. You didn't feel the pain when you fell. You were just breathless, staring into the empty corridor. Old walls and old doors... This wasn't a hospital. A deadly silence had fallen over it. It was as if someone had brought you here and abandoned you.

The inside resembled a patient's room, medical supplies were everywhere. But the outside... Squinting, you tried to read the signs on the walls. A few steps ahead, there was an emergency exit sign. It pointed to a pitch-black door. At that moment, you noticed the sunlight slipping in from underneath it. You realized you were on the ground floor, and getting up, you tried to leave the dark building.

The dark wood of the door felt cold and ancient under your trembling palm. It wasn't a modern door. It was heavy, traditional, groaning on its track as you slid it open with what little strength you had. A blinding slice of morning sun cut through the gloom, forcing you to squint. For a moment, you were just a dark shape in a bright frame, your eyes struggling to adjust.
And then you saw them. A rush of wind so close it ruffled the hair at your temple. A violent sound echoed in the hallway behind you.

Your blood, which had only just relearned how to flow, turned to ice in your veins. You turned your head slowly. A katana, its blade buried a good two inches into the dark wooden wall, quivered just inches from where your head had been a second ago. Splinters of wood radiated from the point of impact.

Everything happened so fast. At first, you thought you saw two boys fighting. One of them suddenly appeared beside you—a boy with pink hair and a wounded face. He passed through the door you had opened so quickly that you thought you were imagining things. But the boy chasing him was real. Of that, you were certain. He ran past you and pulled his sword, which was stuck in the wall behind you. Then he continued to run after him. It was as if you weren't there at all, as if you were just a ghost. They were so focused on the fight that they didn't even notice your existence.

"Gojo-sensei wouldn't want this!"

"This is for him. To spare him from having to do it himself."

As they ran away from you, you only heard their shouts. Gojo. These were his students. The one with pink hair... Yuji. He had told you all about them. Their stories, how much he cherished them... You touched the edge of the door to keep from falling. You couldn't go after them, there was no way you could catch up. They had circled the entire building with superhuman speed, and who knew where they had run off to now. So, you stepped outside. The patient gown you wore couldn't stop the cold, you felt the blowing wind to your very bones.

Why were they fighting? Why had the students suddenly become enemies to one another? The answer lay in the ashes of the catastrophe that had unfolded in Shibuya. The higher-ups of the Jujutsu World, believing Gojo Satoru had been imprisoned and declared a traitor, had seized the moment they had long awaited: they had given a definitive order for the execution of Itadori Yuji. The responsibility of carrying out this duty had fallen to Yuta Okkotsu. Yuta believed that for Sukuna to be completely eradicated, Yuji had to die. The moment you witnessed was Yuta attempting to do that.

You had to find someone to help you. Someone with answers, who could explain how you got here and why you were alive. But Satoru was gone. The other students were either mourning or fighting their own battles. The only thing before you, truly, was a vast emptiness: a world full of enemies, where you didn't know where to go, who to trust, and where you believed even your closest ally had abandoned you.

Your knees gave out again. You didn't even have time to cry out. You pitched forward into a black, spinning void. But you didn't hit the ground. A hand clamped onto your arm, another hand braced your shoulder, steadying you. You hung there for a moment, a dead weight in a stranger's grip, your head lolling as you gasped for breath. You forced your eyes to focus. The man holding you was tall, dressed in a strange, high-collared clothe. His long dark hair was tied back, and his face was severe, marked by two dark lines that ran down from the corners of his eyes. You didn't know him.

"It is not safe out here. Go back inside."

He began to gently but firmly guide you back toward the infirmary door. You tried to find your voice, to ask who he was, to ask about Satoru...

"Your new friend?" The new voice was poisonously smooth, dripping with an arrogant drawl that made the hairs on your arm stand up. Choso froze, his entire body going rigid. He pulled you slightly behind him, his body becoming a shield. You peered around his shoulder. Another sorcerer stood there. He had blond hair and a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He wore a traditional kimono over his uniform.

"Playing the hero now, are we?"

Choso didn't answer. He simply settled into a combative stance, pulling you further behind him. The message was clear. You were under his protection now and he had no intention of stepping aside.

"I have no interest in whatever stray you've picked up." Then he blurred. One moment he was standing thirty feet away, the next the space he occupied was empty.

Choso reacted instantly. He spun, shoving you bodily back towards the open infirmary door as Naoya reappeared behind you, a hand reaching for your shoulder. Choso met the attack, his own hand intercepting Naoya's wrist.

"Get inside. Now." Choso said, his entire focus on the smirking man before him.

Naoya’s grin widened. "Too late for that." Before you could even process Choso's warning, a hand tangled in the front of your thin hospital gown. You were yanked forward, a choked gasp escaping your lips as your back slammed into a hard chest. An arm snaked around your throat, cutting off your air.

His cruel smirk was inches from your face, his breath hot against your cheek. "See? This is what happens when you associate with filth." He held you effortlessly.

"Let her go." Choso said. The ground at his feet seemed to darken as blood began to seep from his palms.

"Or what?" He tightened his grip on your throat, making you squirm. "You'll splash your dirty blood all over me? You can't touch me without hitting this pathetic little thing."

To prove his point, a flash of pain erupted in your leg. You screamed as Naoya deliberately drove his heel into the side of your knee. Your leg buckled uselessly beneath you, held up only by his grip. The sight of your agony, the sound of your scream, was the only opening Choso needed.
Naoya was too busy savoring his own cruelty to notice the shift in Choso's stance. He didn't see Choso bring his hands together, didn't see the blood coiling around his arms compress into a single, terrifyingly dense point. Crimson laser of hardened blood that shot from Choso's fingertips. It moved faster than sight. Naoya's smug grin was still on his face when the beam struck him, not in the chest or head, but through the shoulder of the arm that held you.
His grip on you vanished as his arm was blasted backward by the force. You collapsed to the ground in a heap, your useless leg twisting beneath you as Choso was already moving, a blur of motion as he placed himself between you and the wounded, enraged Zenin.

Choso didn't give Naoya a second to recover. The blood that had pierced his shoulder instantly changed form, exploding into a fine, crimson mist that hung in the air.

Naoya, clutching his bleeding arm, sneered through the pain. "Is that all you have, you half-breed—"

He never finished the sentence. He blurred, attempting to use his technique to get away, but the blood mist was everywhere. The moment he moved, tendrils of blood, sharp as needles, shot from the mist and raked across his back, tearing through his kimono.

"You can't outrun my blood."

You lay on the cold stone walkway, the agony in your leg a white-hot, screaming fire. With a final, desperate burst of speed, Naoya lunged, not at Choso, but at you. It was a last, pathetic attempt to regain his leverage.

He never made it.

Choso was there in an instant. He caught Naoya by the throat, his other hand slamming into his stomach. The force of the blow lifted Naoya off his feet. He choked before Choso hurled him across the clearing. Naoya landed in a crumpled heap and didn't move again.

The sight broke something inside you. The pain, the fear, the utter helplessness coalesced into a single sound that tore from your throat.

"STOP!" You screamed. "Please... just stop it!"

Choso flinched as if your voice had been a physical blow. He turned from Naoya's unconscious form, his gaze landing on you—a crumpled, sobbing heap on the cold stone. He took one step toward you, then another, before his own legs seemed to lose their strength. He knelt on the cold ground beside you.

"I can't..." You wrapped your arms around yourself. "I don't want to watch... I don't want to see anyone fight anymore." The pain in your leg was a distant, throbbing echo compared to the overwhelming agony in your chest. "I'm scared."

He didn't offer empty platitudes or tell you that everything would be okay, because it wouldn't be. Instead, he simply watched you, his severe face softening with an emotion you couldn't name. It was the look of an older brother who had seen too much suffering.

He looked at your leg. You had only just recovered, and now it was broken. Choso remembered standing over you hours ago, tending to you to accelerate the blood flow in your body and prevent clotting. Most likely, that had also hastened your awakening. And now? He hadn't been able to prevent you from being harmed.

He didn't even try to suppress the feeling of guilt. He offered his hand to help you. "You're safer in your room."

He helped you to your feet. Leaning on his shoulder, you took a few steps.

"Shoko Ieiri should be around here. No one was expecting an attack, we were caught unprepared. That's why there aren't many people around."

But none of this comforted you. Even when you entered your room and sat back down on your old bed, you kept asking him questions. "Where is Satoru? I need to see him. I... I don't understand anything that's happening."

Choso looked away from your desperate, questioning eyes. The guilt from his failure to protect you was a physical weight on his shoulders. He gently pushed you back so you were sitting fully on the bed.

"I do not know where he went. After... what happened. He left."

"Left? He... he wouldn't just leave me. Not after..." Your voice broke, the image of him pulling you back from the void warring with the stark reality of the empty chair.

"What you do not understand is that the world did not stop while you were gone. The higher-ups have declared Gojo Satoru a traitor. They have ordered my brother, Yuji Itadori, to be executed."

The words didn't make sense. They were puzzle pieces from a different box, violent and wrong.

"Because they fear Sukuna. And because Gojo Satoru is not here to protect them." He straightened up, his decision made. "You must stay in this room. Barricade the door if you have to. Do not let anyone in."

"Wait!"

He slid the door shut. You were left once more in a sterile white room. You were left alone with your thoughts. You had no place in this world, yet you had forced your way back into it. You could neither fight nor be of any help to anyone else. So then, why had you come back? In a situation like this... wasn't it better to have remained dead?
Your conversations with Geto came to mind. He should have been the one here. According to what Satoru had said, he was a powerful sorcerer, he could have helped them.
But from the other side, only you had returned. It was an injustice.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Maybe it was an injustice for you. But for Satoru, it was the complete opposite. If he had to choose who to bring back from the realm of the dead, he would still have chosen you. He didn't exactly know the reason for it himself. He had fallen in love, a long time ago. But that love had been named friendship. Now, for the first time, he was feeling a love like this in his heart. One that was incredibly strong, that broke all the rules he knew and gave him the courage to dream.
Yes, deep down, Satoru had always been a coward. Because he couldn't be like the others, because he couldn't have an ordinary life, the child inside him would always remain a coward. And you had touched him. Not the strong one, but the weak one. Satoru might have been surrounded by many people, but he had never been as close to any of them as he was with you. That's why he couldn't escape from love. He had tasted it once, and he had no intention of letting it go.

He stood in the center of the carnage, a still point in a world he had just violently remade. Grand Meeting Hall of the higher-ups. Ornate shoji screens, once depicting serene landscapes, were now torn and splattered with a brutal, crimson calligraphy. Overturned tables, scattered scrolls, and the silent, broken bodies of the most powerful old men in the Jujutsu world lay at his feet. A final, absolute solution to an equation he had been forced to solve his entire life.

They were the true prison. The chains he had worn since birth. They had declared him a traitor. They had sentenced his student to death. They would have come for you, eventually, labeling you a threat, an anomaly, a variable that had to be erased for the sake of their precious, rotten system.

He looked down at his own hands, clean now, the blood having been repelled by an infinity too absolute for their filth to touch. He remembered the coward inside him, the one who feared he could never have an ordinary life, the one who was too afraid to break the rules. That man was gone. In his place stood a man who had tasted a love that broke every rule he knew, and had decided to break the world to protect it.
He had held your dead body. He had felt the last of your warmth fade. And then, impossibly, he had felt it return. That miracle had not just resurrected you, it had annihilated the part of him that would ever again bow to a cage.
He turned away from the dead, his back to the ruin of the old world. His work here was done. The old masters were gone. The old rules were ash.
It was time to go home.

Chapter Text

Satoru had not expected to be met with such a scene upon his return to the school. While he had been working to slowly eliminate every obstacle, he had left the biggest one for last: Sukuna. And now, the school's entrance, the stairs, the surrounding trees... they had all become part of the ruin, and he did not want to guess what had happened.
He walked through the shattered remnants of the school's main gate. The ancient stone steps were cracked and displaced. The centuries-old trees that lined the path were splintered and torn, some ripped from the earth entirely. This was the work of sorcerers. His sorcerers. His students. He didn't want to guess, but the pieces were already assembling in his mind with terrifying clarity.

He left the ruin of the old world behind him. One thought, one single, burning purpose propelled him. You. The space between the highest echelons of the Jujutsu world and the quiet, sterile infirmary room did not exist. He teleported in less time than it takes to blink. He was standing before the door. He braced himself for the fragile sight he had left behind.

He slid the door open.

The room was bathed in the soft, golden light of the morning sun. His gaze snapped to the bed.

It was empty. The white sheets were rumpled, thrown aside as if in a struggle. The thermal blankets lay in a heap on the floor. The IV stand stood guard over nothing, the bag of his own blood hanging empty, the line disconnected and swinging ever so slightly. A small, dark red smudge marred the pristine white of the floorboards. He scanned the room, a desperate, animalistic instinct taking over. The corner. Behind the door. The small adjacent bathroom. Empty. Empty. Empty.

The miracle he had just torn the world apart to protect... had vanished. Had he imagined it all? Was this some final, torturous trick of the Prison Realm, a phantom hope designed to break him completely? Had she woken up only to die again when he wasn't looking? Or worse... had someone taken you? The higher-ups were dead, but their underlings, their loyal dogs...

He was too late. While he was out securing their future, someone had come. Someone had taken you. His first instinct was to tear the entire school apart, to rip through reality until he found you. He turned, every muscle coiled to unleash an apocalypse on whoever was responsible.

Until he heard it.

The sound was muffled. It came from the corner of the room. He froze mid-turn, his entire body locking in place. His gaze fell upon a tall, wooden supply closet. His Six Eyes flared to life. He saw the residual traces left by Shoko's technique, the faint aura of Megumi in the hallway, the energy of the school itself. But from the closet... there was nothing. A void. An absolute blank spot.

He took a step, his boots making no sound on the tiled floor. The rage was gone. What was in there? A new type of curse? A trap?

You held your breath until your lungs burned. Hiding had been a stupid animal instinct. You regretted everything. Through a thin crack in the wooden door, you could see a shadow. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he drew nearer. You squeezed your eyes shut, a silent, choked sob caught in your throat.

It was right outside.

The wooden door swung inward, scraping softly against the floor. Light flooded the dark space, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut. When you dared to open them again, his silhouette filled the doorway. You couldn't see his face, only the overwhelming pressure of his presence. You shrank back, pressing yourself against the dusty linens, making yourself as small as possible.

He had been ready for a fight, for a trap, for anything but this.

His shoulders, which had been coiled with lethal readiness simply... fell. He took a slow, hesitant step forward, sinking to his knees before the open closet.

Now you could see him. A miracle.

His hand lifted toward you. It trembled violently. He reached for you with an agonizing slowness, as if he were afraid you would dissolve into dust at his touch. You flinched when his fingertips finally brushed against your cheek. The contact was electric. Your skin was warm. Real.

He said your name. But it sounded like a prayer and a curse all at once. He didn't wait for a response. He closed the remaining distance, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you from the cramped darkness of the closet and into a desperate embrace. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, his body shaked with the force of a thousand unreleased emotions. It wasn't a gentle reunion. It was a desperate act of a man trying to anchor himself to the one solid thing in a universe that had just ceased to make sense.

He finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands framing your face, his thumbs stroking away tears you hadn't even realized you were crying. All you could do was shake your head, a sob finally escaping your own throat as you clung to him, your fear dissolving into the overwhelming, impossible safety of his arms.

Finally, you had found each other. You were free now, no longer behind shackles.

At least, Satoru was. While he was outside, claiming his own freedom, you had imprisoned yourself here again. Who had made you feel this fear? Why had you felt the need to lock yourself away again just to be safe?

He hated the thought. He hated everything that had left you here in fear. Outside, his students were fighting, creating chaos. And you were in here, trembling from it.

He pulled back, took your hand and helped you out of the closet, supporting you as you stood.

"You're warm." It was the simplest truth but for him it was the only one that mattered in the entire universe. His hands slid from your arms to frame your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks with a reverence that made your heart ache. He was memorizing you, charting the impossible reality of your life with his touch.

"I felt you." His forehead came to rest against yours, his eyes closing as if in pain. "In my arms. I felt you go cold."

A sob finally broke free from your throat. It was the only answer you could give. His lips found yours with a desperate need. A kiss of resuscitation. He was breathing his relief, his terror, his entire fractured soul into you. He was reaffirming your existence, tasting the life he had fought for and almost lost.

Your legs, one of them screaming with a throbbing pain finally gave out. You sagged against him, and he took your weight without hesitation. In one fluid motion, he scooped you into his arms, your own arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. He held you tight against his chest as he carried you the few steps to the bed.

He laid you down on the rumpled sheets with an impossible gentleness before following, never breaking the circle of his arms. He settled beside you, pulling you against the solid wall of his chest, tangling his legs with yours. One of his hands slid under the thin hospital gown, spreading flat against the bare skin of your back. He needed to feel your warmth, your pulse.

"I thought I dreamed you." He whispered into your hair. "I thought it was another trick. Another ghost."

You turned in his embrace, your face buried in the crook of his neck. You could only shake your head, clinging to the fabric of his torn uniform.

His lips found your throat, right over the place where the blade had been, where the skin was now miraculously whole. He kissed the spot with a tenderness that was almost agonizing, a silent apology and a prayer of thanks all in one. His kisses trailed lower, over your collarbone, his hand on your back tracing the line of your spine. Every touch was a question. Are you real? And the shiver that ran through you was the answer.

The chaos of the outside world, the fighting students, the dead higher-ups—none of it existed. There was only this room. Only this bed. Only the impossible, miraculous fact of you, alive in his arms. And he would not, could not, ever let you go again.

"Satoru..." You whispered. "Breathe."

He nuzzled deeper into your neck, as if trying to hide from his own overwhelming relief. "I can't. When I saw the empty bed... I think everything just stopped. My heart, the air... and I was going to stop everything else." You understood the terrifying, absolute finality in his words. He wasn't exaggerating. You tilted your head, your lips brushing against his temple. "But I'm here now. You don't have to."

His hand slid from your back, his fingers tracing the line of your hip before moving to your leg. The motion was tender. He touched the spot over your knee, his touch feather-light, and then he froze.

The air in the room dropped ten degrees.

His head lifted from your neck, and when his eyes met yours, the vulnerable man from a moment ago was gone. In his place was the strongest sorcerer, and the infinity in his eyes was a cold rage.

His Six Eyes were seeing through it. They saw the fractured bone, the torn ligaments, the brutal, deliberate damage done to the body he had just pulled back from the abyss.

"Who did this to you?"

You tried to pull him back to the soft, safe moment from before, your hand reaching for his cheek. "Satoru, it's okay, I'm-"

"Who?" He wasn't asking. He was demanding a name, a target for the apocalypse brewing behind his eyes.

Your voice trembled as you spoke. "Outside... the students... they were fighting." You swallowed hard, the image of the blond man's cruel smirk flashing in your mind. "Another man was there. He... he grabbed me. He called someone 'curse-blood' and then... he..." Your voice broke as you remembered the searing pain.

He processed the information in a nanosecond. The fight. Yuta's mission. Choso's intervention. An opportunist. He knew exactly who it was. The name Naoya Zenin was a death sentence in his mind.

He moved, pulling the sheet from the bed and wrapping it around your shoulders. Without another word, he scooped you into his arms, your injured leg cradled with impossible care. He held you tight against his chest, as if shielding you from the entire world.

"He will never touch anything again."

And then he was moving, carrying you from the room. He had a debt to collect. He was going to erase Naoya Zenin from the world.

One moment you were in the dark hallway, the next you were suspended in the cold air. You gasped, clinging tighter to Satoru's neck. Below you, Jujutsu High was laid out like a map. It was strangely, terrifyingly beautiful from up here. You followed his gaze downward. Your eyes scanned the chaotic scene for signs of life, for the students he had spoken of with such love. His eyes scanned it for a life to end.

You saw them almost immediately. Three small figures moving with impossible speed near the edge of the forest. Two were locked in a desperate chase. Yuta, a relentless predator, and Yuji, scrambling for his life. The third, Choso, was trying to create a barrier between them.

But Satoru's focus was elsewhere. His head tilted, his Six Eyes narrowing on a different target.

"There."

Your gaze followed his. You saw a fourth figure, a flash of blond hair and tattered kimono, stumbling from the wreckage of a collapsed dojo wall. Naoya Zenin. He was clutching his bleeding shoulder. He tried to put distance between himself and the fight. He was trying to escape. In that instant, you knew. You knew that for Naoya, the sky had just fallen. Satoru's entire being was now focused on that single, fleeing figure, and you were about to witness the terrifying, absolute finality of his promise.

"Satoru, look." You pointed a trembling hand toward the chaos below. "They're going to kill each other. You have to stop them."

He didn't even glance down at them. His entire being, his entire universe of power, was focused on Naoya Zenin.

"They can wait. This will only take a second."

He began to descend, a predator closing in on his prey. "Please." You begged, your grip on his neck tightening. "He's your student, Satoru! They're your family! This isn't what matters!"

"Yuta is following an order I just erased from existence. He'll stop. But he..." His gaze never left Naoya. "...he needs to be taught a lesson that can only be learned once."

You saw it then—the obsession. Bloodlust. The logical conclusion that had decided a man's fate. He was in the middle of his silent verdict and words were not getting through.

So you acted. With what little strength you had, you tangled your fingers in his soft, white hair and pulled his face down to yours.

He froze. The slow descent stopped. The suffocating pressure of his energy faltered. He was completely still, suspended in the sky and in his own shock. He pulled back, his brilliant blue eyes wide, the storm within them momentarily replaced by sheer confusion. "What are you-"

"I saw it Satoru. When I was... gone. In that place. I saw everything."

You had his full attention now. The world below was forgotten.

"It wasn't just a void. It was... a crossroads. I saw Geto." You said, the name a heavy stone between you. "He showed me things. He showed me the paths. And Satoru... every single path where you choose revenge first... it's a dead end." You pressed your forehead against his, the last of your strength failing. "That's what he meant. Your power, your love... if you let your anger pilot it, it just leads to a dead end. For everyone."

The killing intent that had been a supernova inside him did not vanish. It was suppressed. He changed direction. "Fine." He was no longer descending toward Naoya, but moving swiftly, a silent comet of blue and white, toward his students. Toward the future you had just saved.

To understand Satoru in that moment was to understand a god at war with himself.
For an eternity he had been an engine of pure, righteous fury. The man who had just dismantled the entire power structure of the Jujutsu world was not the Satoru who had taught classes or teased his students. He was a force of nature, a man who had decided that the world's rules no longer applied to him because those rules had led to you bleeding out in his arms. The desire to kill Naoya was not revenge. It was the first act of his new reign. Anyone who hurt you would be erased. It was simple. It was absolute.

But your plea had shattered that simple clarity.

He was still the destroyer. Every fiber of his being screamed to reverse course, to end the man who had dared to break the one precious thing he had left. Yet, he was also the man from the prison. The man who had been stripped of his power and left with nothing but a fragile human connection.

You weren't telling "Gojo Satoru" to be logical. You were telling "Satoru" not to lose himself to the very darkness you had saved him from.

Your words presented a terrifying new reality. That his power, when wielded through the lens of personal rage, was the very thing that would lead to the destruction of everything he loved. It was the ultimate paradox. To protect you and the future you represented, he had to deny the very instinct that screamed to protect you.

So, as he flew towards his students, he was forcing down the god to let the man make the choice.

Oh, of course he had put Naoya's name on a list and that list was now seared into his soul.

Chapter Text

There was a price for returning from death. You just weren't ready to pay it yet.

When Satoru landed beside his students the fight was nearly over. The boy you were now sure was Yuji had passed out and the other boy was dragging him on the ground by his collar. His efforts to get away were of course in vain. Suddenly, you both landed in front of them and the surprise on the boy's face was plain to see.

It was clear he hadn't expected to run into his teacher.

"Picking on underclassmen, Yuta?"

Satoru let you go, removing his hand from your waist and giving his full attention to the boy called Yuta. You stood a step behind him. There was nothing more you could do, all that was left was to watch.

"Sensei, you should be resting."

"Teachers never rest. Especially when there's an injustice. You know that better than anyone."

It was true. Satoru had fought hard to save Yuta's life. He, too, could have been a victim of execution, but he had continued to live thanks to his teacher. Yuta was aware of this. His grip on Yuji’s collar slackened. "The higher-ups' orders..."

"The higher-ups are no longer a concern. The order is rescinded. By me. This is over."

As Yuta finally let go, Yuji slumped to the ground. Why did he wish an evil upon someone else that had not befallen him?

While Satoru’s focus was locked on his students, a cold prickle of unease traced its way up your spine. It was a feeling you remembered from Shibuya—the feeling of being watched. Your gaze drifted past the tense scene before you, past the shattered training grounds and the splintered trees. Far in the distance, on the roof of one of the few school buildings left undamaged, a figure stood. Their attention wasn't on the confrontation between two of the most powerful young sorcerers. It wasn't on Gojo Satoru. The figure was watching you. Who was that? Why, in a world of gods and monsters, would anyone be looking at you? You took an involuntary step closer to Satoru, the only shield you had in this terrifying new world. The movement drew his attention. The mask he wore for his students softened as his gaze fell on you. The problems of the world could wait another minute.

He reached out, his hand finding yours, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. "Let's get that leg looked at. And then... we're going to have a very long talk."

He bent down, ready to scoop you into his arms and carry you away from the chaos. His hands went to support you, one sliding behind your back, the other moving to cradle your injured leg.

And then he stopped. His hand froze, hovering an inch above your knee. He wasn't just looking at your leg, he was seeing into it. He saw the bone that had been fractured, now seamlessly fused together. He saw the ligaments that had been torn, now knitted back into place with an impossible speed. There were faint, residual traces of his own cursed energy clinging to the mended tissue, like threads of light stitching you back together from the inside out.

"Your leg..."

Confused by his sudden stillness, you followed his gaze down to your own knee. You had been avoiding putting any weight on it. But now as you looked, the angry swelling was gone. The unnatural angle had vanished. You flexed the muscle. The pain you expected never came.

He slowly lowered his hand, his fingertips brushing over the spot Naoya had shattered. It was whole. He looked from your impossibly healed leg back to your face, his blue eyes wide with a thousand new questions. The miracle of your return wasn't a single event. It was ongoing. His blood was not just sustaining you. It was actively rewriting your body's reality.

"Satoru... what's happening to me?" He only knew that the price for returning from death was beginning to reveal itself. You weren't just the girl he had saved. You were becoming something else entirely. And he was the one who had made you this way.

A shadow behind Yuta deepened, stretching and warping into something unnatural.

"Rika!" Yuta yelled. A monstrous form of white flesh and countless teeth erupted from the shadow.

The Queen of Curses was free, and her furious, shrieking gaze was not on Yuji, Choso, or Naoya. It was locked directly onto you.

Rika lunged.

You didn't even have time to scream.

But Satoru was already there.

He didn't push you back or teleport you away, he simply stepped in front of you. Rika's claws stopped a hair's breadth from his chest, halted by the invisible barrier of the Limitless.

"That's enough." Satoru said, his voice dangerously calm.

But the most terrifying thing happened next. Rika's shriek of rage faltered, twisting into a sound of guttural terror. She scrambled back, pulling away from Satoru's barrier.

She was staring at you.

To the Queen of Curses, you were an abomination. You were a human soul that had crossed the threshold of death and returned, your empty vessel now filled and sustained by the blood and cursed energy of the most powerful sorcerer alive. You were a walking paradox, a violation of the natural order of life and death.

You were something that should not exist. And Rika, in her own monstrous way, was terrified of you.

"Rika, heel!" Yuta shouted. The ring on his finger flared with cursed energy as he desperately tried to rein in the monstrous form that had manifested on its own. Rika ignored him, her massive form trembling as she continued to stare at you.

"It's not an attack." Satoru took a half-step to the side, still shielding you but allowing a clearer view. "She's not trying to kill you. Look."

Everyone followed his gaze. Rika was actively trying to put distance between herself and you. She was a cornered animal, terrified of something she could not comprehend.

"She's afraid of you." He looked at Yuta, then at the others who were now cautiously approaching. "Rika is a being of pure cursed energy, a soul bound to this world by a powerful vow. She understands the rules of life, death, and curses on a fundamental level. You broke those rules. You are not alive in the way they understand it, and you are not dead. You are an anomaly."

You stared at the monstrous form of Rika and saw your own reflection in her terror. You had returned from death only to become something that frightens monsters. The price for your life was becoming clearer and it was a form of alienation so profound you felt a new kind of loneliness settle deep into your bones.

Choso and Megumi emerged from the shadows of a nearby building.

Choso’s eyes immediately found the still form of Yuji lying on the ground. The rest of the world ceased to exist. "Yuji!" He rushed to his brother's side. His hands hovered over Yuji's bruised face, checking for breath.

Megumi walked over to his teacher's side, a silent gesture of loyalty and support. He stood a respectful few feet away.

Satoru acknowledged his student with a slight nod. His focus, however, remained on you. He was a fortress and you were the treasure he was guarding from a world that had proven it could not be trusted.

"Megumi. Take Yuji to Shoko. Make sure he's stable." He then looked pointedly at Choso, who was still glaring daggers at Yuta. "You, go with them. Protect your brother. The fight is over."

His gaze finally settled on Yuta. "Yuta. We will talk later. All of us." The implication was clear. There would be a reckoning, but not now.

"We have a problem."

Satoru’s attention, which had been locked on you, shifted to his student. He saw the panic in Megumi's eyes. "What is it?"

"It's Shoko-san. She's gone. We can't find her anywhere."

Gojo's gaze sharpened, his Six Eyes instantly scanning the energy signatures of the entire school grounds. "Gone?"

"After the main attack, I went to check the infirmary. The place was a mess, but she wasn't there. No one's seen her. And... Principal Yaga is gone, too. His office is empty. It's like they both vanished."

Their primary healer and their leader were missing in the immediate aftermath of a catastrophe. It wasn't a coincidence. It was another move in a game they didn't understand.

The world was not just giving him problems. It was actively trying to dismantle his support system, to isolate him.

He looked from Megumi's face to Choso, who was now trying to gently rouse a groaning Yuji. He looked at Yuta, who stood alone. Then his gaze returned to you, held securely in his arms. Triage. He had to triage the chaos.

The world could continue to burn. He was going to secure the one thing he had just pulled from the flames.

"I will find them. You all stay in one room and don't leave each other's side. Nobara, Panda, Maki, Toge... All of you. Go to the safe room and don't come out until I get back."

He turned to you. "And you. Never leave their side."

Your grip on the front of his uniform tightened into a fist. You buried your face against his chest, shaking your head. "Please, Satoru. Don't make me. I don't know them. I don't... I can't be alone again."

The command in his posture vanished. The absolute authority he projected to his students dissolved in an instant, replaced by a tenderness that was meant only for you. The arm supporting your back tightened, pulling you even closer. The students watched, frozen in a state of collective shock, seeing a side of their teacher they had never witnessed before.

He didn't care.

With his free hand, he gently cupped the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your temple in a gesture of profound, unashamed affection.

"Hey... Look at me."

Slowly, you lifted your face. The man holding you was not the god who had just leveled a building and dismantled a government. It was the man from the prison.

"They're loud and chaotic and they break everything they touch..." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "...but they are my family."

He looked past you then, his gaze sweeping over his students. "I trust them with my life. That means I'm trusting them with you."

He didn't let go immediately. His hands rested on your waist, his thumbs stroking the thin fabric of the hospital gown. "I will be back. Don't move from that room until I am. Understand?"

All you could do was nod, your throat too tight to speak. He gave your hand one last, firm squeeze before he finally let go.
Turning his back on the only thing in the world he didn't want to leave, he vanished.

You were an outsider, an anomaly dropped into the middle of their broken family. Yuta wouldn't meet your gaze. Yuji, now being helped to his feet by Choso, looked at you with a mixture of awe and pained confusion. They were all strangers. Dangerous strangers.

The cold began to seep back into your bones, and the throbbing in your leg returned with a vengeance. You swayed, your vision tunneling for a moment.

"Here." You flinched, turning to see Megumi Fushiguro standing there. He had moved so silently you hadn't even noticed.

He held out his arm. It felt incredibly strange. This was one of the boys Satoru had described in the void, a quiet, serious child who carried the world on his shoulders. Now, he was offering to carry you.

Trust was a foreign concept, a luxury you had only just rediscovered with Satoru and had already been forced to let go of.

Megumi seemed to understand. He didn't press, didn't speak again. He just waited.

Taking a shaky breath, you finally reached out, your trembling hand resting on his forearm. "It's underground. No one will find us there."

He supported your weight without a word of complaint. Behind you, you could hear the soft scuff of other footsteps. Yuta, Yuji, and Choso were following.

They were obeying their teacher's last command. They were keeping you safe.

"About what happened back there... with Yuta and Itadori. You should know-"

"I know. About Sukuna. The one inside Yuji."

Megumi stopped walking so abruptly you almost lost your balance. He turned his head, his dark eyes, for the first time, truly seeing you. "How... How could you possibly know that?"

A smile touched your lips. The memory of the endless void, of conversations that stretched for what felt like centuries, was a world away from this one. "Satoru told me. We were... away. For a long time." You looked past Megumi. "We had enough time to talk about everything."

Behind you, Yuji flinched as if he'd been struck. Yuta, who had been staring at the floor, finally looked up. He had been trying to kill the student of a man who was, at that very moment, sharing his deepest secrets with a woman trapped in hell with him.

Megumi said nothing more. He just nodded slowly, a thousand questions dying on his lips. He turned and resumed walking. You weren't just a mission objective anymore. You were the one who had been with his teacher on the other side.

They moved deeper into the school, the only sounds the soft scuff of their footsteps and Yuji's occasional pained groan. You leaned on Megumi.

Then it came again.

The same cold prickle on the back of your neck you’d felt on the training grounds. You lifted your head, your gaze drifting past Megumi's shoulder, down the long, shadowed expanse of the corridor ahead. And you saw him. He was standing at the far end, where the hallway turned into a shadow. He was closer now, close enough for you to see details. He was tall, with a powerful, muscular build that was evident even under the simple, dark clothing he wore. His hair was black, spiky and untamed. He wasn't looking at the group. He was looking only at you.

Your fingers tightened on Megumi's arm, your nails digging into the fabric of his uniform. "Who's that?"

Megumi stopped, turning to follow your gaze. He squinted into the gloom. "Who?" His own eyes scanned the empty corridor. "There's no one there."

Yuji, Choso, and Yuta all stopped behind you, their own senses on high alert. They saw nothing but shadows and an empty hallway.

"He's right there." You looked back.

The man was gone. He hadn't walked away or turned a corner. The space he had occupied was simply empty now.

Your newly healed leg began to tremble uncontrollably. Were you hallucinating? Was this another price for coming back? You didn't know. You only knew that you were being watched by someone no one else could see, and the feeling was a thousand times more terrifying than any open fight.

"You're exhausted. Let's get you to the safe room. You need to rest."

He didn't believe you. None of them did.

Megumi led the group to a heavy, reinforced steel door concealed behind an old tapestry in a forgotten corner of the school. He pressed his palm against a hidden panel. The door swung inward, revealing a flight of steep, stone steps descending into darkness. One by one, you descended, the heavy door sealing shut behind. Emergency lights flickered on. The steps opened into a large, circular room. It was stark and functional, clearly a bunker built for the worst-case scenario. Cots were lined against the curved walls, and a single table with a communications array sat in the center. They were not the first to arrive.

Maki Zenin sat on a cot, methodically cleaning a cursed tool.
Panda was nearby, sitting on the floor.
Toge stood by the far wall, his back to them, staring at the blank stone as if he could see through it to the world outside.
Their heads snapped up as the group entered.

Maki was the first to speak. "Who is she?"

But before anyone could answer, your gaze was drawn to the last cot in the room. A girl with short brown hair lay there, still and silent. An IV drip was connected to her arm, and a bandage covered one side of her face and eye. It was Nobara Kugisaki. She wasn't moving. She wasn't awake. She was just... breathing.

The sight of her, so broken and still, brought the reality of Shibuya crashing down on you. These weren't just the students Satoru had told stories about. They were soldiers. Survivors. A family that had been shattered, and you were an outsider who had just stumbled into their place of grief.

"Gojo-sensei's orders." Megumi said. "We stay here. Together. Until he gets back."

Megumi gently helped you to an empty cot against the far wall. The springs groaned under your weight as you sat.

Maki set down the cursed tool she was cleaning. She didn't get up, but her entire posture was a confrontation. Her eyes were fixed on you.

"Megumi." She said, her voice a low, dangerous rasp. "Gojo-sensei's orders were to secure this room. He didn't say anything about bringing an unknown variable into it."

"She's with him." Megumi replied. "That's all that matters."

"Is it?" Maki finally stood. She walked over, not stopping in front of Megumi, but circling him to get a clear, unobstructed view of you. "Where has he been? Where are Yaga-san and Shoko-san? The higher-ups are wiped out, and Sensei just reappears out of thin air with a stranger who smells… wrong."

You flinched at her words. Wrong. It was the same thing Rika had sensed.

"We were ambushed in Shibuya because of information we didn't have." Maki continued. "We lost people because we were caught unprepared. We are not making that mistake again. For all we know, she's a trap. A curse in disguise."

Yuji, who had been helped to a sitting position by Choso, winced but said nothing. He didn't have the strength to argue.

"Maki." A new voice said. Panda had pushed himself to his feet. "That's enough."

He didn't look at you with suspicion.. "Look at her. She's terrified. And she's hurt." He then looked at Maki. "If Gojo-sensei trusts her enough to bring her here... then for now, that has to be enough for us. We're too tired to fight each other."

Her gaze flickered over to the still, bandaged form of Nobara on the other cot. She was afraid of losing anyone else.

She let out a frustrated breath and turned away, walking back to her cot without another word. The confrontation was over but the suspicion remained.

She was right. You felt it yourself. The very blood humming in your veins wasn't entirely your own. It was his. Your return from the dead wasn't a gift. It was a violation of every rule, and these people, who lived and died by those rules, could sense it.

Your gaze drifted to the still form on the other cot. Nobara. Satoru had spoken of her fire. Why were you awake when she wasn't? Why was your leg, shattered just an hour ago, already a healed and solid thing beneath your skin, while her wounds kept her tethered to the edge of death? It was the injustice you had felt in the void, now given a face and a name. You had come back, but she was still lost somewhere in the dark.

You were Satoru's miracle, and to everyone else, you were his mistake. He had trusted them with you but it wasn't you they were protecting. It was his order. You were a sacred duty, a fragile package he had left in their care.

You pulled your legs up onto the cot, wrapping your arms around your knees and making yourself as small as possible. The only thing you could do was wait. Wait for Satoru to return, wait for the suspicious eyes to turn away, wait for the man in the shadows to show himself again. You had escaped the void, but you were still a prisoner, trapped in a life that no longer felt like your own.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

A few minutes passed, an eternity in the tense, humming silence of the bunker. Then, a large shadow fell over you. You flinched, looking up to see Panda standing there. Beside him, Toge Inumaki stood with his hands in his pockets, his high collar obscuring his mouth.

"Hey." Panda's voice was a deep, the first kind sound you'd heard since Satoru had vanished. "You're shaking."

You hadn't even realized it. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself.

"It's... it's cold." You lied.

Panda seemed to see right through it. "The Gojo-sensei we saw out there in Shibuya.. holding your body. I've never seen him look like that."

The mention of Satoru, the memory of his desperate, protective embrace, made a fresh wave of tears prick at your eyes. "He was... scared."

"Salmon." Toge affirmed quietly.

Panda sat down on the floor in front of your cot, crossing his large legs. It was a disarming gesture, one that brought him down to your level. "We were all scared. We lost a lot. It's... hard to trust anything right now." His gaze flickered toward Maki. "But he trusts you. And that's a rare thing for him to do."

You looked at these two strangers—a giant talking panda and a boy who spoke in code—and felt the first tiny crack in the wall of your isolation. They weren't interrogating you. They were trying to understand.

"I don't even know what I am anymore." You confessed. "I just... I woke up, and the world was wrong."

"We know the feeling."

"How did you, a civilian, end up sealed in the Prison Realm with the strongest sorcerer in the world?" Maki asked.

For a moment, you were back in the chaotic, flashing streets of Shibuya, the screams of the crowd ringing in your ears.

"It was Halloween. We were just... we were just there for Halloween." Everyone in the room was listening now. Yuji, his face etched with a painful empathy, looked over. Yuta, who had been staring at his own hands, lifted his head. "No one could get out. My friend... she wouldn't listen. She wanted to stay in the crowd, she said it was safer." You remembered the argument, the feeling of dread as you and your other friend left her behind to hide in a 7-Eleven. "People were screaming." You whispered, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. "They were shouting a name. Gojo Satoru. I went back to find my friend. Someone said she'd been pulled toward the subway station. That's where I met him. He grabbed my arm, told me it was dangerous, that I shouldn't go down there. He said he'd find her."

You looked at the faces watching you. "But I didn't listen." You confessed, the guilt of that choice still a fresh open wound. "I couldn't leave her. So I followed him down into the station."

You paused, the image of the box, the massive eye, and the red tendrils binding you to Satoru flashing in your mind. "And then... that man with the stitches on his forehead appeared. He opened the box. And we were gone."

The bunker was silent. You had given them the answer. You were not a trap or a curse. You were just a girl who had made a choice on a single, terrible night, a choice that had led you into the heart of their hell.

The silence in the room deepened. It was Yuji who finally broke it. "Why did you... kill yourself for Sensei?"

You looked down at your hands, at the faint, phantom memory of the knife's handle in your grip. How could you explain a choice made in a place that didn't exist, under a pressure they could never understand? "The prison... it was killing me anyway. That man... Kenjaku... he said I would die in there no matter what. The place was made of cursed energy. It was poison to me."

You lifted your head, your gaze meeting Yuji's. "There was a chance.. that my death would break the seal. That it would open a door just long enough for him to get out. He's the strongest. He can save... everyone. What was I supposed to do? Let him stay trapped in that... nothingness...just so I could have a few more hours of a life that was already ending?"

You looked at Yuji, and in his eyes, you saw not judgment. He, more than anyone, knew what it was like to be a vessel for a greater, more terrible purpose.

"Thank you. For saving him. I... I get it. More than anyone."

Megumi moved from his position by your side. He returned a moment later with one of the thermal blankets and, without a word, draped it over your shoulders, on top of the sheet. Maki turned her back on you and walked over to Nobara's side, pulling the thin blanket higher up on her friend's shoulder. The confrontation was over.

Yuta looked over at Yuji, who was watching you with an expression of heartbreaking empathy.

"Okaka." Toge said softly from his corner.

You were surrounded. You were protected.

And then it came back. The feeling of being watched. But this time, it wasn't from a distant rooftop or a shadowed hallway.

It was in the room with you. Your gaze swept past the others. They felt nothing. They saw nothing.

But you saw him. He was standing near the curved wall, between Maki's cot and the one where Nobara lay still. He was so much closer now. The details were sharp, terrifyingly real. You couldn't move. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't tear your eyes away.

He wasn't looking at anyone else. His dark, fathomless eyes were fixed only on you. The world seemed to slow down, the sounds of the room fading into a distant, muffled drone. He began to move. His footsteps made no sound on the stone floor. He walked past Maki, so close that his arm should have brushed her shoulder, but she didn't even flinch.

He was coming for you.

You tried to push yourself back, to scramble away, but your limbs were leaden, disconnected from your panicked mind. Your gaze darted to the others. 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘮𝘦. 𝘊𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮? 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

But they were lost in their own worlds of grief and exhaustion. You were alone with the impossible thing walking toward you.

He stopped directly in front of your cot. He was a mountain, blocking out the dim light, casting you in his unseen shadow. He knelt, bringing his face level with yours.

He lifted his hand. It rose, palm open, fingers slightly curled.

To touch. To claim.

You could feel the cold just before the tips of his fingers brushed against your cheek.

And the world went black.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

"You're a door that's been left open. And I plan to walk through it."

Chapter Text

One moment, you were staring into the dark.
The next, your connection to the physical world was severed and you collapsed sideways onto the cot.

"Hey!" Yuji cried out, scrambling to his feet. "What happened?"

Panda was there in an instant, his large, gentle hand resting on your forehead, then checking the pulse at your neck. "I think she just fainted. The exhaustion finally caught up."

Megumi nodded. "It makes sense. After everything she's been through." He helped Panda adjust your position on the cot, pulling a blanket up to your chin. To them, you were a fragile human who had endured an impossible trauma. Of course, you had collapsed.

But not everyone was convinced.

Maki didn't move closer. She stood by Nobara's bedside. It wasn't the collapse that bothered her. It was the way it had happened. There had been no dizziness, no stumble. You had been looking into an empty corner of the room with an expression of pure terror and then you had simply switched off.

Yuta took an involuntary step back. The moment you collapsed, he felt a phantom echo of Rika's terror ripple through him. He instinctively looked away from your still body, as if direct eye contact was a danger.

"𝘙𝘪𝘬𝘢? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘵? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭?" Yuta tried to reason, forcing logic onto a feeling that defied it. "𝘚𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯."

"𝘞𝘙𝘖𝘕𝘎. 𝘗𝘙𝘌𝘛𝘌𝘕𝘋𝘌𝘙. 𝘐𝘛 𝘐𝘚 𝘞𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘏𝘌𝘙 𝘚𝘒𝘐𝘕."

"𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯? 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦."

"𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘠𝘶𝘵𝘢. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴."

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

A throbbing ache behind your eyes was the first sign of life. You were comfortable, cocooned in the familiar softness of your own duvet, your head nestled in the perfect hollow of your favorite pillow. A groan escaped your lips, your mouth dry and tasting vaguely of stale wine and sugar. The morning sun was filtering through your blinds, striping the messy room with light.
Everything was exactly as you had left it. Your favorite playlist was paused on your phone screen on the nightstand. Your makeup bag had spilled its contents across the vanity. Clothes were thrown carelessly over a chair.

It looked like you drank too much.

Scary movies with the friends. That new, ridiculously strong sake. Then... what?

A sea of people in costumes. A feeling of being trapped. A man with hair as white as snow and eyes the color of an impossible sky. A sharp, cold pain in your throat, and then... a long, drifting nothingness.

Way too vivid.

You pushed yourself up, your head pounding in protest. You were still in your clothes from last night—the tight red dress clinging to you uncomfortably. You must have stumbled home and passed out without even changing. You remembered getting ready, the excitement of the night, buckling the holster to your thigh , the phone buzzing with messages from your friends telling you to hurry up. You reached for your phone, squinting at the screen. A few unread messages from last night, nothing more. A wave of relief washed over you. It was all just a dream. A stupid, alcohol-fueled nightmare brought on by too much sugar and too many jump-scares.
You swung your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet hitting the cold floor. Pain flared in your right knee. You must have taken a tumble at some point. Probably tripped on the subway stairs.

You shuffled out of the bedroom, past the small living area where a well-loved video game console sat dormant. All you wanted was a glass of cold water. The kitchen was tiny. A potted succulent sat on the windowsill, bravely surviving your inconsistent watering schedule. Magnets from places you'd visited held up takeout menus on the refrigerator door. You pulled the heavy door open. grabbed a bottle of water. You twisted the cap off and brought the bottle to your lips. The water was icy cold, a shock to your system that was both painful and wonderfully grounding. You closed your eyes, savoring the relief as it trickled down your dry throat.

A sound came from right behind you.

The water bottle slipped from your numb fingers, clattering to the linoleum floor and spilling its contents in a spreading pool. You were supposed to be alone. You lived alone.

Slowly, you turned around.

He was sitting at your small, two-person kitchen table as if he owned the place. The man from the bunker. The ghost from the void. His large, muscular frame seemed to dwarf the flimsy wooden chair he was slouched in. His untamed black hair was a stark slash of darkness in your sunlit kitchen. His bare feet were propped up nonchalantly on the edge of your table.

The impossible dream wasn't just real. It was sitting at your kitchen table.

He ignored the mess you'd made. He lifted a beer bottle from the table—your beer bottle, from your fridge. Condensation dripped from the cheap green glass onto his scarred hand. He took a slow, unimpressed swallow.

"This stuff is cheap." He gestured vaguely with the bottle, his gaze sweeping over your tiny kitchen, your cluttered living room. "Your place sucks." He shifted, his bare feet still propped on your table. "Too small."

"You... Who are you?" You heard your own voice tremble. The man took a long sip from the beer bottle and licked his lips. He left the rest on the table and... looked into your eyes. It was clear just from his gaze that he was dangerous. His posture radiated fear.

No, this place couldn't be real. You remembered him approaching you, touching you, last. And fainting.

This place...

"A world disconnected from reality." He said. "A bridge between two sides. So, we're in purgatory. You and me."

He brought his index finger to his temple, tilted his head to the side, and watched you. He could read your thoughts. The damn man could see right through you.

You stayed silent for a long time, choosing how to react. But he didn't like that. He was bored.

"You don't have time for shock. Things are getting worse outside."

"What do you want from me?" Your hands gripped the corner of the counter tightly. You were trying to get away from him in the tiny kitchen. "Why... Why are you here?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. "Let's see... I died. Yes, I'm sure of it. It was 10 years ago. He ripped my body apart and buried my corpse like it was worthless trash. There was no one to remember me, no one to visit my grave."

You swallowed. You didn't know who he was talking about. You didn't even know who the man was. But he was so calm, as if this conversation was insignificant to him.

"The only thing I remember is a dark, empty place." He said. "It couldn't even be called a place, really, because it occupied no space. I was thinking... That was the only thing I had. Thinking. And suddenly, I opened my eyes again. On top of a building. In another body."

He stood up and advanced on you. You couldn't even breathe, trapped between the counter next to the refrigerator and him. You leaned back, trying to get away from his face. But it was futile. He had you pinned between the counter and his own body.

That's when you noticed. There was a faint redness in his hair, like dried bloodstains. His gaze was vacant. His lips were chapped. And a distinct scar marked his face. There was a stark hole in the t-shirt he wore.

As if he'd just walked out of a battle.
No... out of the grave.

He noticed your curious gaze. A coldness radiated from him. You were sure of it now. You were talking to someone who was dead. It was just like how Geto Suguru had found you, and how you had opened your eyes in that classroom. You were experiencing the same thing all over again.

In the realm of souls...

"Let me guess." You said. "Your soul was drawn to me. To my energy."

Geto had told you the same thing. You were a beacon, a guide for lost souls.

A short laugh escaped his lips. "Cute. No. You're a lighthouse in a storm of nothing. You reek of a second chance. Of a way out."

He leaned closer, his dead eyes boring into yours. The scar on his lip seemed to twist with his cruel amusement. "Every lost thing in this darkness can feel you. But I'm the only one strong enough to do anything about it." The predatory glint in his eyes intensified. "So yeah, you're right. I was drawn to you. Now, are you going to let me in, or are we going to stay in this shitty little kitchen forever?"

"Let you in?" Your mind couldn't get any more confused. First, you had returned from death, and now you were talking with the dead. The idea of believing this was all just a dream was becoming more appealing. "I don't even know how I got here. I don't know what's happening to me. I..." You couldn't find the words. You averted your gaze from him.

"The only thing you have to do is make a choice." His hand touched your fingers where they gripped the counter. It was ice cold. Wrong. You didn't want him to touch you. "Your soul is just like mine. Stubborn. People like us shouldn't stay dead. You found a way. Either you show me that way and let me return, or..."

His voice deepened. His body completely blocked the sunlight, his gaze darkening.

"...you give me this body. You're useless, I'm sure you can't even throw a proper punch. But I'm out of options."

"Give you... my body?" You whispered. "I just got it back. I died. I'm not... I won't let you."

His grip on the counter beside you tightened. "Kid, you're a glitch in the system. An open door. I can kick it down, or you can hold it open for me. The result's the same. One of us is just gonna get hurt more." He leaned closer, his dead eyes reflecting nothing but his own cold purpose. "While we're having this little chat in your cozy little purgatory, things are going to shit out there. That teacher of yours... he's powerful, sure. But he's distracted." His voice was a venomous whisper. "He just tore down the whole system for you. He's running on emotion."

He was talking about Satoru. You needed him right now... If he were here, he could have helped you, he could have saved you from this hell. But he couldn't come to the realm of souls. Nor should he.

"My soul..." He began, taking a lock of your hair between his fingers. "Is stronger than yours. You see, I was a sorcerer too. But my story is different from the others."

"How can I believe you? I don't even know your name. You could be tricking me."

"You want proof of what I am?" He whispered, leaning in so close you could feel a phantom chill. "Fine."

The world ended. There was no physical touch, but a sudden, immense pressure crushed your consciousness. It was as if the formless void had solidified, squeezing you from all sides.

The cold returned. Final cold of the grave.

It was not a new pain. A memory, ripped from the deepest, most terrified corner of your soul and forced upon you. You felt the sharp edge of the knife against your throat again. You felt the horrifying warmth of your own blood spilling down your chest. The desperate look in Satoru's eyes as he held you, the feeling of your own life draining away into nothing. It was happening all over again, a perfect, torturous loop controlled by him.

"Feel that?" His voice echoed inside the nightmare he'd created. "That's me. Holding your little soul in my hand and squeezing. This is the difference between us."

As suddenly as it began, it was over.

"The name's Toji Fushiguro." He said conversationally into your reeling consciousness. "I killed sorcerers for a living. I even almost killed the great Gojo Satoru once. And now, I'm going to use you to get my life back."

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

A thousand possibilities were running through Satoru's mind, yet he couldn't confirm any of them. There were three things he knew:

1. He couldn't see you with his Six Eyes. While you were hiding in the closet, there was no one there. He was certain of it. His eyes never lied to him. But when he opened the closet... you were standing there.

2. He had only noticed your wound the moment he touched you. Meaning, while he was hugging you, while he held you in his arms, his Six Eyes had not been able to see the wound.

3. When he broke contact with you, your wound had healed. He had noticed this when he touched you again.

So, when Satoru wasn't touching you... he couldn't see you. The very ability the whole world watched with admiration, the one that made him the strongest and most unique sorcerer. The Six Eyes. It hadn't seen you.

You had told him about Geto. Right before you died. Geto Suguru had reached you, or rather, his soul had. Things were happening that his power couldn't affect and he couldn't understand. Your body was healing on its own, you were conversing with the dead, and to his eyes, you were invisible. None of these things would ever happen to any living being. This meant that the universe was still coding you as someone who was dead. The rules and laws of the universe. In their eyes, you were still dead.

He hung suspended in the cold air, a solitary god surveying his broken kingdom. The world below was silent, the chaos momentarily quelled. He was on a mission. To find Yaga and Shoko, to restore what little order he could.
But his first, instinctual act was to check on you.
To his Six Eyes, the world was not a collection of buildings and trees, but a living, breathing map of cursed energy.

His focus narrowed, piercing through stone and steel to the reinforced bunker hidden deep underground. He saw the cluster of familiar lights, the distinct auras of his students huddled together in the dim room. He could distinguish each one with perfect clarity.

He counted them. Eight distinct presences.

But there should have been nine.

Logic told him you were there. He had left you in their care. He trusted Megumi implicitly. Every rational part of his mind knew you were in that room. But his eyes told him you were not.

The space you occupied was a perfect blank.
A hole in his reality. It was the same as the closet. The same as your healed wound. A truth his senses could not perceive unless anchored by physical touch.
He was flying blind. For the first time in his life, the strongest sorcerer in the world could not see the one thing he needed to protect most.

He felt fear.
It was the fear of being blind.

The safety he had promised you, the fortress he had built around you with his students, was an illusion. A lie. If an enemy were to manifest in that room he wouldn't see the danger. He wouldn't see the attack. He wouldn't even see you die. He was a god with a fatal flaw and that flaw was shaped exactly like you.

The panic. He forced it down, a monumental act of will. He couldn't afford to shatter. Not now. If he couldn't see you, he had to secure the world around you so completely that nothing could ever reach you. And that started with finding his allies. His Six Eyes scanned the school grounds for his missing friends. He focused first on the infirmary, the last place Shoko had been. He saw the residual energy of her Reverse Cursed Technique. But there were no other signatures. No sign of a struggle, no lingering energy from an attacker. It was as if she had simply finished her work and walked out into nothingness. He shifted his focus to the principal's office. The energy there was older. But again, there was nothing new. Nothing violent. No evidence of a fight, no trace of an invading cursed technique. Yaga was a powerful sorcerer; he would not have been taken without leaving a mark.

And that was the most terrifying part. There was no trace at all.

As he scanned the school, his Six Eyes caught a flicker of movement near the forest line. A flash of blond hair. A tattered kimono. Naoya Zenin, clutching his bleeding shoulder, was making a break for it.

He just simply teleported there. Naoya, ever the arrogant coward, tried to bluster. "Gojo Satoru. To what do I owe the-"

He didn't get to finish. Gojo closed the distance in the space between heartbeats. Naoya, relying on his Projection Sorcery, moved. Becoming a flicker of afterimages. But it was useless. To the master of infinity, his speed was a snail's crawl. A hand clamped around his throat, lifting him from the ground.

He didn't use a grand technique. He simply slammed Naoya into the ground. The impact created a spiderweb of cracks in the earth, the force of it driving the air from Naoya's lungs in a pained gasp. Before he could even register the pain, Gojo's foot stomped down on his leg—the same leg he had used to injure you.

A snap of bone echoed through the clearing. He knelt, grabbing a fistful of Naoya's blond hair and yanking his head up from the dirt. He leaned in close.

"This can go one of two ways. You can answer my questions, and I will kill you quickly. Or, you can lie to me... and I will spend the rest of the morning taking you apart, piece by piece." He twisted his hand, forcing a fresh scream from Naoya. "I have the time."

"I'm not with Kenjaku! I swear!"

"Shoko Ieiri and Principal Yaga. Where are they?"

"They were gone when I arrived!"

Satoru stared into his eyes, the Six Eyes seeing every flicker of truth, every frantic beat of his terrified heart. He was telling the truth. He released Naoya's hair, letting his head fall back to the dirt. He stood up, towering over the man.

"I was fighting curses." Naoya choked out, trying to frame himself as a hero. "That thing—the Cursed Womb. He's a curse. I was just taking out the trash."

"You attacked a girl who couldn't even stand. I'm not interested in your justifications. Why are you here?"

"To clean up. I was on my way back to Shibuya. To finish the job you all couldn't! I just saw him on the way!"

Naoya was a dead end. This was bigger than some arrogant clan member seeking glory. Someone else was moving pieces on the board.

"You should have stayed in Shibuya."

He turned and walked away. He took two steps before the image flashed in his mind. Your face, contorted in agony.
He stopped. He didn't turn around slowly. He simply pivoted on his heel, his entire body a coiled spring of violence. Before Naoya could even register the shift in the atmosphere, Gojo’s leg snapped forward. The toe of his boot connected with the side of Naoya’s head.

Naoya's eyes rolled back and his body went completely limp.

"Trash."

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

"Relax, kid. Don't have to decide right this second. It's a big decision. Here." He held the spectral beer bottle out to you. "Have a drink. Helps with the thinking."

"I... I can't."

"What, you don't drink?"

"Nothing has a taste here. I tried before." With Geto.

Toji's smirk widened. "That was before, ghost girl. Things are different now." He held the bottle out to you again, closer this time.

Your consciousness recoiled. To accept anything from him felt like an act of submission, a concession you couldn't afford to make. But what other choice was there? He had already proven he could hurt you here.

Your fingers closed around the cold bottle. You brought it to where your lips would be. You tilted it, expecting the same absolute nothingness you'd felt with Geto's tea. And then the taste exploded through you.

"Told you. You're plugged back in, ghost girl."

He had made his point.

The man in front of you wanted your body. To fight, to fix whatever had gone wrong. But he still hadn't convinced you.

"Let's say I let you. What will you do first?"

"I'll kill."

You took a bigger sip of the beer.

"...Who?"

"The King of Curses."

Sukuna. The ancient, unstoppable evil Satoru had described. The monster living inside Yuji.

"Why? To... to save everyone?"

"Save everyone?" Toji sneered, the thought dripping with contempt. "Kid, you really don't get it. I don't give a damn about everyone. I never have." He leaned forward, the spectral illusion of the kitchen chair groaning under his weight. "There's only one person I care about. And I was out long enough to sense he's in danger."

"You said that before. That you opened your eyes in another body. What did you mean?"

He leaned back in his chair and began to explain as if telling a story. "Filthy sorcerers. They were planning to attack the others using my corpse. I took control at the last moment because my soul is stronger than their stupid technique."

He had been a puppet, a reanimated corpse in the Shibuya massacre.

"In Shibuya? You were there?"

"I was the main event for a minute. Some old hag thought she could use me as a puppet to tear through a few sorcerers. Bad call on her part."

His story was getting more and more complicated. But who was the person he wanted to protect? Would you even get a straight answer if you asked?

"No." He had seen your thoughts again. "I won't say who I want to protect. I'll protect the one I have to and I'll stop Sukuna from reaching him. I will do it with or without your help. So, you'd better hurry up."

"What about Gojo? Don't you trust him?"

He let out a bitter laugh, his gaze growing distant, as if lost in a memory. But it was one he clearly had no intention of sharing with you. "Gojo is too busy trying to save everyone to see the real threat right in front of him. He's playing defense. I play offense. It's the only way to win."

In this body, you had no power. What you could do was limited. The one before you, however, was giving you a chance to be useful. You were faced with a choice again, and again... you were facing self-sacrifice. This must have been a test that life had set for you. While others were tested by their toxic boyfriends or their shitty bosses, you were being tested with your life.

"How do you plan on killing the King of Curses?"

"Look at us. You and I. We're souls without a proper home. He's a curse in a human body. Same principle. He doesn't belong in that vessel. It's not his." He flexed his scarred, spectral hands. "You can't kill a soul like his, not really. But you can separate it from its host. With enough force, applied at the right pressure point, you can rip a soul right out of a body. You can bring him out."

"How do you know all of this?"

He looked almost bored, as if explaining the fundamental laws of his new reality was a tedious chore. "When all you have is time, and all you can do is watch, you start to see how the machine really works. You see the gears. The weaknesses. You learn the rules because you're not playing the game anymore."

Geto Suguru. He sat in that ethereal classroom, a calm, sad light in the darkness. He too had understood things the living could not. He had spoken of the soul, of Satoru's love, of the prison's rules, all with a serene, detached clarity.

They were the same.

The monk and the killer. The idealist and the cynic. Both dead. Both lost. And both had gained a horrifying, absolute understanding from the other side. They were ghosts who could see the strings, while everyone still alive was just a puppet dancing to a song they couldn't hear.

The only difference was what they chose to do with that knowledge. Geto had offered you a choice to save Satoru's soul.

Toji was offering you a choice to save everyone else's lives.

"If I let you... if I give you this chance... what happens to me?"

"Who knows? Maybe my soul overwrites yours. Maybe we get stuck in here together. Maybe you just fade away. Does it matter? Your friends will be alive."

It did matter. But he was right. Outside this void, the world was burning and the people Satoru loved were in danger. You had already died for Satoru once. What was dying a second time, if it meant his students would live?

"You have to promise me. You will not harm any of them. Not Megumi, not Yuji beyond what's necessary, not any of Satoru's other students. You will only go after Sukuna. And when it's done... you leave."

Toji looked at you. He saw the same stubborn, foolish resolve that he probably had himself.

A smirk spread across his face. "You got yourself a deal."

The illusion of your small, sunlit kitchen dissolved like smoke. You were both rising, not on your feet, but as pure consciousness, two souls facing each other in the purgatorial space between worlds.

Toji stood right in front of you. The bargain had been struck, and the energy he was using to maintain his lifelike illusion was fading. The faint, healthy tan of his skin had given way to a deathly, ashen pallor. The scar on his lip looked less like a healed wound and more like a fresh, jagged tear in his spectral form. He looked worse. He looked dead.

Your own spectral hand formed in the void before you. He reached out and took it.

He looked right at you, his gaze holding you in place. And in that moment, as you stared into the face of this killer, this ghost, a deeply unsettling feeling of familiarity washed over you.
It was in his eyes. The look of someone who carries the world on their shoulders, whether they want to or not. You had seen that look before. You had seen it just hours ago, in the dark, serious eyes of a quiet boy who had offered you his arm.
It made no sense. This man was a cold-blooded killer. But in the architecture of his face, in the unyielding set of his spectral shoulders, you saw Megumi Fushiguro. The ghost of a man he might one day become, and the father he never knew.

"It's time to open the door."

Chapter Text

While watching the events unfold from within Itadori Yuji's body, Sukuna was formulating his own demonic plan. He had thought he would get more support, that the men belonging to that guy named Kenjaku would stand by him. But he was dead, and his men were dwindling in number. The remaining sorcerers in Shibuya were destroying the curses one by one. It was as if Sukuna was back where he started. There was no one outside to organize his plans for him. Except, of course, for Uraume.

He had hoped to get more support after taking control of the brat's body. Or something like that. Whatever. Why would the King of Curses need anyone else? Need? The concept was an insult. Kings did not need. They took.

From his silent prison within Yuji's consciousness, Sukuna surveyed the new state of the board. The chaos was a delightful symphony. Gojo Satoru was back, but he was fractured, his attention consumed by the resurrected ghost girl. His students were scattered, wounded, and fighting amongst themselves. The higher-ups, the old, stagnant fools who kept the world in a state of boring equilibrium, were gone.
This was an opportunity.
His original plan had been simple. Wait for all his fingers to be gathered, then unleash hell. But a new, more exquisite path had presented itself. Fushiguro Megumi. The boy with the shadows. The boy with the untapped potential to house a god.
But taking the throne required precision. Gojo Satoru was the primary obstacle. A direct confrontation was an annoyance he didn't need right now. However, Sukuna had seen the crack in the god's armor. He had mocked the girl's corpse, and in return, had seen a glimpse of Gojo's absolute fury. The girl was Gojo's new weakness. A useful variable to be exploited later.
For now, the focus was on the vessel. He couldn't just take Megumi's body. That would be too simple. The true victory lay not in the acquisition, but in the despair it would create. It was the most potent, most delicious vintage of cursed energy.

And so, the plan took shape in the darkness of Yuji's soul.

He would not fight Megumi. He would wait. He would let the chaos wear them all down. He would wait for a moment when Megumi was in mortal danger, a moment when Yuji Itadori's pathetic heart would scream for a savior.

And in that single minute of control, Sukuna would perform the ritual. He would use Yuji's own hands to tear his soul from its cage and forcibly implant himself into Megumi. His soul would shatter while Sukuna would be reborn in a body with limitless potential.
The others could have their petty squabbles. Let Gojo search for his missing allies. Let them all exhaust themselves.
The King of Curses was patient. And the feast to come would be worth the wait.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Principal Yaga’s eyes snapped open. He was lying on a hard dark floor. He sat up, his joints protesting. It was pitch black.

"Shoko?" He called out.

"Yaga-san...? Where the hell are we?"

"I don't know." Yaga replied, his own senses now on high alert. He pushed himself to his feet, his hands sweeping the space around him. He felt the smooth, seamless wood of a wall. He followed it, his palm sliding over the surface. No doors. No windows. No cracks.

The metallic click of a lighter cut through the darkness, followed by the bright flare of a flame. In the brief light, Yaga saw Shoko's tired face illuminated. "I was in my office, reviewing the Shibuya casualty reports."

"I was in mine." Yaga confirmed, his own memory a frustrating blank.

The lighter flame died, plunging them back into darkness. "It's a barrier." Yaga stated, his hand still on the wall. "A perfect one."

"Obviously. The question is, why us? We're not front-line fighters. Taking us out of the game doesn't change the board much."

"It's about the king."

She understood immediately. "Satoru."

It was a trap of terrifying elegance. They hadn't been captured to be neutralized. They had been taken to be bait. To isolate Satoru, they had surgically removed his two greatest pillars of support: his healer and his leader.

"So we just wait?" Shoko asked. "We sit in the dark and wait for him to come and get himself killed for us?"

"And we hope he's smart enough not to come alone."

As he spoke, something in the absolute darkness shifted. The shadows, which had been still and absolute, seemed to deepen in the corners of the room.

"We're not alone in here."

Yaga moved instantly, placing himself in front of Shoko. "Stay behind me."

Shoko flicked her lighter again, the flame sputtering to life and casting a small, desperate circle of light. The sight it revealed was a nightmare. Uncoiling from the very shadows where the walls met the floor were small, skittering curses. They had bodies made of twisted, interlocking limbs and faces that were just smooth, pale flesh with a single, weeping eye in the center. They weren't powerful but there were dozens of them.

And then, a sound from outside the barrier cut through the tension. The seamless wooden walls of their prison suddenly spiderwebbed with cracks of brilliant blue light. The light spread with impossible speed. The entire barrier disintegrated. Blinding daylight and the fresh scent of pine and open air flooded the dark space. Where a solid wall had been a moment ago, Satoru now stood. The curses didn't stand a chance. He simply raised a hand, his fingers forming a familiar sign.

In less than a second, the domain collapsed. The world snapped back to reality. The shrine was just a simple, empty wooden structure, now with one wall completely gone. The curses had vanished as if they had never been.

Satoru lowered his hand, his chest rising and falling with the force of his barely contained rage. "The curses combined to imprison you. Someone must have ordered them to do this. Do you remember who brought you here?"

"It felt seamless. Like walking through a door and forgetting why you entered the room."

Satoru's jaw tightened. It confirmed his worst fears. "Kenjaku is dead. But his motive isn't." He turned, his blue eyes scanning the surrounding as if he could see the hidden enemies watching them. "It was always about the King of Curses. There are still people out there working to bring Sukuna back. And they're willing to take you, my students, everyone... to get me out of the way."

It was in that moment of terrible clarity that a memory surfaced in Shoko's mind. Her eyes widened, the last piece of a puzzle she didn't know she was solving clicking into place. "Megumi." Satoru and Yaga turned to her. "After Shibuya, before... this. He told me Sukuna healed him. Megumi believed Sukuna was interested in the Ten Shadows Technique. An investment. A way to keep a powerful tool on the board." Her gaze locked on Satoru. "It was an investment in a vessel."

Kenjaku's plan was never just about freeing Sukuna. It was about giving him the perfect host. Yuji had been a cage, a one-in-a-million miracle of control. But Megumi, with his immense potential and the shadows he commanded... he was a throne.

"Satoru..." Yaga's voice was a low. "Where are Fushiguro and Itadori right now?"

Gojo's mind, which had been racing through a thousand strategic possibilities, came to a dead stop. He remembered the chaos on the training grounds, the desperate need to secure everyone, to find his missing friends, to protect you. He remembered the order he had given.

"I...I told them to go to the safe room. All of them. To stay in one room... together. Until I got back."

The silence that followed was absolute.
Gojo Satoru had just locked the King of Curses in a secure bunker with his chosen future vessel.
He hadn't just put Yuji and Megumi together. He had put you in there with them.
He had commanded you, the one person he had just pulled back from the dead, to stay in a sealed room with a ticking time bomb.
The fortress he had built to protect you had just become your tomb.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Nobara was still in sleep. You remained on the cot, lost in a deep, unnatural sleep. Megumi sat on a crate nearby, his gaze fixed on you. Every few moments, Maki's suspicious gaze would flick over to you. Choso, meanwhile, had not left Yuji's side. He sat on the edge of the cot, a guardian watching over his brother, who was lost in an exhausted, fitful sleep.

The world outside, however, was not still.

Uraume moved, their pale robes unstained by the surrounding destruction. Beside them, Hajime Kashimo walked. This ruined school had just become the most exclusive gallery in the world and he was here to see the main exhibits.

"He is here." Uraume said. They stopped near the hidden corner where the bunker entrance lay, their senses piercing through the stone and steel.

Kashimo cracked his neck. He had no loyalty to Uraume or the memory of Kenjaku. They were simply a means to an end, a ticket to the one fight he had craved for centuries.

"The vessel is weakened." Uraume continued, their eyes closing as they focused. "He is surrounded by the others."

They placed a single, pale hand on the stone wall above the hidden bunker door. They didn't try to break it. They gathered their cursed energy into a single flare.

"He will sense this. And he will answer."

Inside the bunker, a sudden jolt went through Yuji's sleeping body. Choso was instantly on alert, his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Yuji?"

Yuji gasped, his head snapping up, his eyes wide with a confusion that was not his own. "Yuji, what's wrong?" Megumi asked, rising to his feet. But Yuji didn't answer.

He rose to his feet with unnatural grace that was utterly alien to him. When he lifted his head, dark markings were blooming across his skin. He looked around the cramped, fortified room, at the terrified, cornered faces of Gojo's students. His gaze was that of a wolf that had just found itself locked inside a pen of startled sheep. "Well now." He said, stretching his—Yuji's—arms wide. "This is much more convenient."

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Toji Fushiguro opened his eyes.

The room was a disaster. A large scorch mark marred the curved stone wall and the heavy steel door was torn from its hinges, hanging askew.
A fight, then. A serious one. And they had run.

He shrugged. It didn't matter. The kids weren't his problem.

His focus turned inward, to the new, unfamiliar prison of flesh he now occupied. He lifted a hand into the dim light, flexing the fingers. They were small. Soft. Uncalloused. He clenched them into a fist, feeling the weak pull of the tendons. Pathetic. His gaze traveled down the body.

"A hell of a repair job."

He stood, the body moving with a clumsy grace. It was weak but it was real. It had weight. It had senses. After a decade of nothingness, it was a start.

He found his reflection in the cracked screen of the communications array. He stared at the face looking back at him—your face. Wide, terrified eyes. Soft features. A face completely unsuited for the violence he was about to unleash upon the world.

Before leaving the underground, he brought his hands to his chest. Technically, your breasts. "Lucky Gojo Satoru. Damn bastard." He wasn't ready to face his killer, definitely not. You'd have to be an idiot not to realize something was going on between you two. He wondered how he would react when he found out that the ghost of the man he killed years ago... was in the body of the woman he loves. Who knows. He couldn't wait to see it.

He pushed himself away from the cracked screen. The first few steps were a negotiation. The body was sluggish, the muscles soft and unresponsive compared to the finely tuned weapon he once inhabited. The center of gravity was different. It was annoying. A tool that needed calibration. To pass the time, a tuneless whistle escaped your lips. It was an old, forgotten melody. He started up the stone steps, taking them one at a time, your bare feet silent on the cold surface. With each step, something shifted. The dull ache in the muscles began to fade. He could hear the faint whisper of wind through the broken doorway at the top of the stairs. He could feel the slight give of the stone under his feet.

It wasn't Gojo's power. It was the absence of it. His soul, a perfect void of cursed energy, was acting like a black hole within this new vessel. It was devouring the residual traces of Satoru's power, purging the body, and reasserting the conditions of his Heavenly Restriction. The flesh was adapting to the soul. The muscles felt tighter, the bones denser. His senses, once dulled by a decade of nothingness, were coming alive with a predatory clarity. The world was slowing down to its proper speed again.

He reached the top of the stairs and stepped out into the morning light, into the wreckage of the training grounds. He stretched, rolling your shoulders, feeling the newfound strength ripple through the unfamiliar limbs. The body was still weak, a pale imitation of his former glory, but it was getting there. It was becoming his.

A slow grin spread across your face—his grin.

"Let the games begin."

You were watching as someone else controlled your own body. You could have intervened if you wanted to. Toji hadn't taken full control yet. But you chose not to. Because you remembered—all the stories Gojo had told you during the time you were imprisoned. You had realized it a bit late but he was the man Gojo had killed with his own hands, the one who had caused the death of a little girl. The man who had been the reason his best friend, Geto, went mad... And he was your only option now.

You were the ghost now and he was the one wearing the skin.

He was calibrating, learning the limits of his new tool. His eyes landed on the crumpled form of Naoya Zenin, still unconscious where Gojo had left him. He nudged Naoya's side with the toe of your bare foot. A pained groan was the only response. "So you're still with the Zenin trash, Naoya?"

He didn't finish him. He didn't care enough to.

He turned away. His attention was caught by a glint of steel near the shattered wall of a dojo. A naginata, one of Maki's, lay discarded in the dirt, likely dropped during the earlier chaos.

He walked over and picked it up. Your hand, now his, closed around the hilt. He tested its balance, spinning it once with a practiced, fluid motion that your body should not have known how to perform. It felt right in his grip.

You felt a fresh wave of terror. This was real. You had just armed a killer.

He seemed to sense your panic. "Relax. Can't go to a party without a party favor."

He moved through the wreckage of the school with the bored patience. He rounded the corner of a half-demolished building and saw them. Panda was barely able to stand. Toge Inumaki was on one knee, his hand clutching his throat, blood dripping from his mouth. He had clearly pushed his Cursed Speech past its breaking point.

Their opponent, Hajime Kashimo had a disappointed look on his face. "I was told the King of Curses was here. I don't have time to play with Gojo Satoru's pets."

He raised a hand, a bolt of pure lightning coalescing, ready to deliver the final blow.

"Hey."

The voice was yours but the tone was all wrong. Kashimo's head snapped around. He saw you, a small woman in a tattered hospital gown, leaning against a broken pillar, spinning a naginata.

"And who are you supposed to be? Another one of his weaklings?"

Without answering, Toji exploded from the pillar. Kashimo, reacting with his own superhuman speed met the attack, his fist crackling with lightning aimed at your face.

Toji didn't block. He simply tilted your head an inch to the left. The fast punch, which would have taken your head clean off, sizzled past your ear, the static electricity making your hair stand on end. As it passed, he brought the shaft of the naginata up in a brutal, upward strike that slammed into Kashimo's exposed ribs.

Kashimo grunted in pain and surprise, stumbling back a step. He stared at you, his interest now fully piqued. "You're fast... for a girl."

"You're slow." Toji replied in your voice.

Kashimo laughed. "Finally! A real fight!"

He lunged, no longer holding back. He was a storm of blue lightning, his staff appearing in his hands as he unleashed a furious volley of strikes, each one charged with enough electricity to stop a heart.

What followed was a terrifying dance. Toji, in your weaker body, couldn't match Kashimo's raw power. He couldn't tank the hits. So he didn't. He used the naginata as an extension of his own impossible senses, deflecting lightning-fast strikes by millimeters, using the flat of the blade to redirect Kashimo's momentum, making him overextend, forcing him to fight his own power. The bottom of your hospital gown caught fire from a near miss. Sparks flew as steel met electrified staff, illuminating the courtyard in strobing flashes of blue and silver.

You felt your muscles screaming, your bones groaning under a pressure they were never meant to endure. A bolt of lightning hit your arm. Your whole arm went numb. You almost dropped the weapon. "This body is trash." You heard Toji think inside your head.

"That's not your body, is it?" Kashimo leaped back to create distance. He was breathing heavily now, a cut bleeding on his cheek where the tip of the naginata had grazed him. "The way you move... it's too clean. But the vessel is weak."

"Took you long enough."

"It doesn't matter. Once I've broken this body, I'll deal with whatever soul is hiding inside." He raised his staff, gathering an immense amount of cursed energy. "This ends now!"

"Agreed." Toji said.

With a brutal spin, Toji used the naginata to hook Kashimo's staff, redirecting a strike into the ground. The flagstones exploded. In the split second of recoil, he drove the butt of the weapon into Kashimo's stomach. He recovered instantly, sweeping your legs out from under you with his staff. Toji used the momentum, twisting in mid-air and landing silently on his feet ten yards away.

"There's no cursed energy in you. None. But you're keeping up. You're not one of Gojo's little students. Who the hell are you?"

Toji rested the naginata on your shoulder, your lips twisting into his cruel smirk. "You first. You're making a lot of noise for someone who's not even the main event."

Kashimo's grin widened. "Hajime Kashimo. And I'm here for the fight. You're just the appetizer."

"Good." Toji said. "I hate waiting for the main course."

Kashimo roared with laughter and unleashed his full power. "Then let's finish this!" He lunged, a living bolt of lightning. Toji knew this body couldn't survive a direct hit. Another blow slipped past his guard, a bolt of cursed energy slamming into your shoulder. The pain was blinding but something else happened. A strange, humming warmth spread from the point of impact, meeting the electricity.

A familiar, sickeningly powerful energy signature that was being... awakened. "What is this?" His thought was directed at you. "What did he do to you?"

He felt a wave of your own terrified confusion. The blood transfusion. Gojo's blood. "Your blood is full of his cursed energy."

Kashimo, seeing his hesitation, grinned. "Tired already?" He lunged, unleashing a wide arc of pure lightning.

As Toji dodged, the wave of energy washed over you. He could feel it now. Gojo's residual cursed energy, dormant until now, was reacting to the influx of external cursed energy from Kashimo's attacks. It was trying to manifest, to protect its new vessel. It was trying to create a tiny Infinity. But Toji's very soul, a perfect void defined by his Heavenly Restriction, fought it. His existence was a null-space for cursed energy, and it was instinctively, violently suppressing the power that was trying to bloom within you. An internal war was raging inside your body.

"Stay still!" He snarled at your panicked soul. "You're fighting me!"

Toge, still kneeling but having recovered just enough, saw his chance. He ignored the fire in his own throat and forced out one, final, desperate word.

"Stumble."

Kashimo's perfect form faltered. But he recovered. "You annoying little-"

It wasn't a powerful command, but it was enough.
It was more than enough time for a professional.

Instead of suppressing Gojo's energy, he let it go. He focused it, not on protecting the body, but on a single point. The blade of the naginata.

Kashimo lunged, his staff aimed for your heart.

Toji met the attack. A faint shimmer of brilliant blue energy coated the edge of the naginata's blade for a fraction of a second. It passed through Kashimo's attack. The lightning dissipated harmlessly against the barrier as the blade continued its path, unhindered.

Kashimo's eyes went wide. The blade sliced cleanly through his chest, from shoulder to hip, a deep, devastating cut.

He looked down at the impossible wound, then up at you, a final, confused question in his eyes. He opened his mouth, but only blood came out. He collapsed, his body hitting the flagstones.

Toji stood over the body, your chest heaving. The humming in your veins had faded, suppressed once more by his soul's absolute void. He looked down at his—your—hands, then at the dead sorcerer at his feet.

Gojo Satoru left a loaded gun behind.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Panda and Toge stared, not at Kashimo’s body but at the impossible figure who had just saved them.

"You... How did you-"

Toji, looking at them through your eyes, felt a familiar flicker of annoyance. Witnesses. Complications. Gojo's little pets. They'd ask questions. They'd get in the way. They'd try to stop him from doing what needed to be done. They were liabilities.

"You're welcome." He said in your voice, a cold, empty smile—his smile—on your lips. He took a single step toward them.

Toge saw the intent in your eyes a fraction of a second too late. He tried to pull down his collar, to form a command. "Stop!"

He never got the chance. The butt of the naginata slammed into the side of Toge's head. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed.

"TOGE!" Panda roared. It was like watching a bear try to swat a fly.

Toji didn't even bother to dodge. He simply pivoted on the ball of your foot, letting Panda's momentum carry him past. As the massive form hurtled by, Toji reversed the naginata. The weighted end of the staff connected with the back of Panda’s neck, right at the base of the skull, with a sharp, definitive crack. His body went limp, and he crashed to the stone courtyard, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

He had just disabled two of Satoru's students, two boys who were supposed to be under your shared protection, and he had done it with the casual disdain of someone swatting away a fly.
This was a betrayal. It was a violation of the one condition you had set, fragile promise you had extracted from him in the void.

He was walking away from their unconscious forms, the naginata resting easily on your shoulder. He took one step. Then a second.

On the third step, your right leg refused to move.

Toji caught the balance but the message was clear. You were fighting back.

"A little rebellion?"

He tried to force the leg to move again. It was like trying to walk through hardening concrete. The muscles in your thigh bunched and trembled, caught in a war between his will and yours.

"You said you wouldn't hurt them! You promised!"

"They were in the way."

He tried to lift the naginata from your shoulder, to shift his grip for a fight, but your arm would not obey. Your fingers twitched, fighting to loosen their grip on the weapon.

"They are his family!" You screamed back at him, pouring all of your will, all of your memory of Satoru's desperate, protective love, into your resistance. "They are the ones you're supposed to be helping!"

The body was a battlefield. It spasmed, your head jerking to the side as you fought him for control of your own neck. To an outside observer, you would have looked like you were having a seizure, a grotesque, twitching puppet at war with itself.

"I'm doing what needs to be done. Now, for the last time... let go."

"No."

It was then that the very pressure of the world shifted. A familiar weight settled over the school grounds. Toji’s head, on your neck, snapped up. You, the ghost in the machine, saw what he saw.

A lone, dark figure suspended against the brilliant blue of the morning sky. Gojo Satoru. He wasn't looking at you. His head was turned, scanning the far side of the school grounds. He was assessing the threats, prioritizing. He hadn't noticed the two unconscious students in the courtyard yet. He hadn't noticed you.

"Look at that." He projected into your reeling consciousness. "The god has returned. And he's distracted. Looking for his lost toys. He doesn't see us. Not yet. But he will if this body keeps twitching like a dying fish."

You felt a fresh wave of hope. Satoru was here. He could fix this. He could stop Toji.

"And then what? He'll come here. He'll see this body moving on its own. He'll try to figure out what's wrong with his precious miracle. And while he's playing doctor with you, what do you think is happening to the vessel? Your little fit of morality is going to get them all killed. You're making him blind to the real threat. Is that what you want? To be the distraction that causes the 'dead end' you're so scared of?"

Your will, which had been a raging fire, was snuffed out by the cold, horrifying truth of his words. You were a liability. Your struggle was a danger to the very people you wanted to protect.

You let go.

The body stopped twitching. It stood straight and tall. Your hand, which had been fighting to release the naginata, now gripped it.

Toji was in complete control again.

"Good girl."

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

He was about to turn, to continue his mission, when a sound—or a feeling like a sound—rippled through the void where your soul was held captive.
It was your name. The ruined courtyard, the smell of ozone and blood, the bodies of the unconscious and the dead—it all dissolved. The world unmade itself, the colors bleeding away into a stark, sterile white. You were an observer, a ghost watching a memory that felt terrifyingly real.

You saw your own body. It lay on a steel examination table. An IV line was taped to your arm, a thin, scarlet thread connecting you to the man who sat slumped in a chair beside the bed.

Gojo Satoru. He leaned over, his hand trembling as he brushed a strand of hair from your cold forehead. "I'm so sorry. I told you I'd get you out. I didn't mean like this. Not like this."

He pressed his lips to your forehead. Then, his lips brushed against the bridge of your nose, your cheekbones, a gentle, reverent mapping of a face he believed he had lost forever. Each touch was a farewell. "Just... come back. Please. Come back."

Toji felt it too. He didn't see the memory but he felt the overwhelming surge of Satoru's energy. "Getting sentimental, ghost girl? Stop it. You're making the merchandise unstable."

The infirmary shattered like glass. The sterile white dissolved back into the grimy, blood-soaked reality of the courtyard. You were back in your body, standing over the corpse of Hajime Kashimo.

But everything had changed. You now knew. Gojo Satoru had taken every risk to protect you. And he had knowingly, willingly, transferred his own energy to you. It was his affection, his love, that made you strong. There was a trace of him in you now—the trace of the strongest sorcerer. Thanks to this trace, your soul had found its home. He was your savior.
And you were determined. You, too, would do anything for him to reach the happy ending he deserved. If necessary, you would let your body be this killer's toy. But at the end of the day, you would be the one holding his hand.

Chapter Text

Toji moved with a predator's silence, a ghost wearing your skin. He followed the sounds of the escalating battle. He found a vantage point on a collapsed second-story walkway, a perfect sniper's nest overlooking the main courtyard. The scene below was a portrait of utter defeat. The ground was a cratered, scorched wasteland. Choso was slumped against a shattered pillar, his uniform soaked in his own blood. Across the courtyard, Yuta was on one knee, his white uniform torn and stained, his breath coming in ragged gasps. They had given everything, and it hadn't been enough.

In the center of it all, Sukuna stood. He held Megumi Fushiguro by the throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground, his feet dangling uselessly. Megumi’s hands clawed weakly at the wrist holding him, his shadows refusing to answer his call.

"You've been a disappointment, Megumi Fushiguro." He held up his other hand. Between his fingers was a gnarled, grotesque object—the last of his own severed fingers. "But your potential is undeniable. It's time to stop being a cage for lesser things."

He brought the finger to Megumi's lips. Megumi twisted his head, his jaw clenched shut, a final, futile act of defiance. Sukuna chuckled. With his free thumb, he pressed against Megumi's jaw, forcing it open.

From your shared vantage point, you felt a surge of professional focus from Toji. He shifted his grip on the naginata. He was calculating the angle, the speed, the precise moment to strike. This was his opening.

But he was too late.

Sukuna froze, the finger an inch from Megumi's open mouth. His head tilted. Gojo Satoru stood between them.

He hadn't teleported with a flash or a rip in space. He had simply... arrived. He stood with his back to Megumi, facing the King of Curses. He didn't look angry. He didn't look sad. He looked empty.

Sukuna’s grin widened into a predatory slash. "Gojo Satoru." He tossed Megumi aside like a broken doll. "I was wondering when you'd show up to the party."

He wore a snug, high-collared black top that ended just above his waist, paired with loose-fitting grey pants—a different man from the one in the standard uniform. He looked leaner, sharper, more dangerous.

Gojo didn't answer. To your eyes, it was just flashes of black and red as two gods traded blows faster than sight. The ground beneath them shattered with each impact. A shockwave tore through the courtyard, ripping trees from the earth and sending a cloud of dust and debris into the air.

"He's faster." Toji noted. "More precise. No wasted energy."

Sukuna was thrown back, skidding across the flagstones. Before he could recover, Gojo appeared above him.

He sneered, righting himself in mid-air. An invisible blade of energy shot from his hand.

"Dismantle."

The attack wasn't aimed at Gojo but at the building behind him. The entire structure was bisected with a single cut. Aimed to crush Gojo from above.

Gojo ignored it. His Infinity would stop it. He met Sukuna in the air, their fists colliding. As they separated, Gojo raised his index finger. "Cursed Technique Reversal: Red."

Sukuna crossed his arms to block, the force of the blast sending him careening backward, carving a deep trench in the earth before he finally ground to a halt. His arms were smoking, his clothes torn but he was laughing.

"Yes! This is it! This is a real fight!" He brought his hands together, forming a sign. "Let's see if you can keep up!"

A cold dread washed over you.

"Domain Expansion: Malevolent Shrine."

Reality fractured. A massive, grotesque shrine of bone and viscera materialized behind Sukuna. Unlike every other domain, it had no walls, no barrier. But Gojo was already moving. He formed his own sign, a single finger raised. "You're not the only one who can play that game."

"Domain Expansion: Infinite Void."

A perfect, black sphere materialized around him, a silent, absolute void that instantly negated the chaotic slicing of Sukuna's domain at its border. Inside Gojo's sphere, there was only the silent, beautiful, and terrifying expanse of deep space. The two domains clashed. The world outside their meeting point was a storm of Sukuna's relentless, shredding cuts. But where the edge of Malevolent Shrine met the perfect barrier of Infinite Void, there was a silent, cosmic war. The unstoppable force of Sukuna's technique grated against the immovable object of Gojo's perfect sphere.

The sight was so overwhelming, so far beyond human comprehension, that you felt your borrowed consciousness begin to fray.

It was the perfect cover. "Amateurs." Toji's thought echoed in your shared consciousness. "They get so caught up in showing off, they forget about the objective."

While the two gods were locked in their struggle, he moved. Your body dropped from the collapsed walkway into the storm of Sukuna's technique. You felt the terrifying hiss of the invisible cuts as they sliced through the air around you. But he was a ghost moving between the raindrops. He weaved through the onslaught with an understanding of timing and space, the deadly slashes missing your skin by millimeters. He was an artist of avoidance.
His target was Megumi, who was trying to crawl to safety, his body battered and weak. Toji reached him. He didn't offer a hand. He simply hooked an arm under Megumi's, hauling him to his feet.

"What- Why are you here?"

"Shut up and move." Toji commanded in your voice. He began dragging Megumi away from the epicenter of the battle, toward the relative safety of the forest line.

He didn't make it.

"I think not."

Uraume.
They had seen Sukuna's plan. They knew Megumi's importance.
Before Toji could react, Uraume slammed their hand onto the ravaged ground. The ice, imbued with cursed energy, snaked around your ankles, climbing up your calves in an instant, freezing your legs solid to the ground.

You were trapped.

The surge of Uraume's cursed energy was a flare in the chaos that Gojo Satoru could not miss. Inside his domain, his focus fractured for a single, fatal instant. His gaze snapped away from Sukuna, toward the periphery of the battle.

He saw you. He saw you trapped, a figure of elegant ice reaching for you. His heart stopped.
And then he saw who you were dragging. Megumi. And he saw the look in your eyes.
The shock was a physical blow, a glitch in the perfect machine of his concentration. For a nanosecond, his control over the outer shell of his domain wavered.
Sukuna felt the shift instantly. He didn't need a full second. He didn't even need a half.

"Dismantle."

The invisible blades of Malevolent Shrine found their opening. Gojo didn't even have time to register the attack. A series of impossibly sharp, searing lines of agony tore across his body. Deep, bloody cuts bloomed across his arms, his chest, his face, appearing from nowhere. He grunted, stumbling back a step inside his own perfect domain, the taste of his own blood suddenly sharp in his mouth.

He was bleeding. And outside, you were still trapped.

"Damn ice bitch. Should've killed you first." Ignoring the threat of Uraume, he slammed the butt of the naginata down onto the ice encasing your ankles. The force of the blow was immense, a shockwave that vibrated up your entire skeleton. The cursed ice cracked but held.

Uraume, seeing an opening, didn't hesitate. "Icefall." The shards shot forward, a deadly barrage aimed at your trapped form.

This would kill the body. But Toji just smirked. He let go of Megumi, who stumbled back. Using a strength this body should not have possessed, he tore your legs free from the ice. He didn't dodge the icicles. He spun, using the naginata as a whirling shield, deflecting the deadly projectiles.

One shard got through, slicing a deep gash across your arm. Toji barely grunted. He was already moving.

Uraume created a wall of ice between them. He launched himself over the ice wall, a descending shadow of death. He slammed into Uraume with the force of a freight train. He didn't use a weapon. He used your body as one. Your knee drove into their stomach. Your elbow slammed into their jaw. He hooked a leg behind theirs and they both went down.

He was a storm of fists and elbows. He grabbed Uraume's head and slammed it repeatedly against the cold stone. He was trying to break a thing.

Meanwhile, Gojo, bleeding from a dozen cuts inside his domain, saw it all in flashes.

He didn't see a legendary killer. He saw you, the girl who had fainted in a closet, now fighting like a demon. He thought you were possessed, or that his blood had unlocked some terrifying, self-destructive potential. The sight was a fresh blade twisting in his gut. The need to end his own fight, to get to you, to save you from whatever was happening, became a frantic, burning obsession.

Sukuna felt his desperation and laughed, pressing his own attack with renewed, vicious glee. Back in the courtyard, Toji stood up. Uraume lay in a broken, unmoving heap beneath him, their face a bloody ruin. He retrieved the naginata, his—your—chest heaving.

"One down." His thought echoed in your mind, cold and satisfied. He turned his gaze back to the cosmic war still raging in the center of the courtyard. "Now for the main event."

The immediate threat was gone. Toji turned. His gaze fell on Megumi, who was still trying to push himself up, his face a mask of pain and confusion. The objective. "Get up." Toji commanded in your voice.

"Megumi!" Maki Zenin was limping heavily from behind a shattered wall, her green-tinted glasses askew on a face streaked with grime and blood. One of her arms hung at a wrong angle, clearly broken, but she held a short, bladed cursed tool in her good hand with an iron grip.

Toji’s eyes narrowed. He knew that face... Zenin. And the feeling she gave off… a perfect, beautiful nothingness. No cursed energy. Just like him. Another reject. Another weapon.

"Maki-san! Get back!" Megumi yelled, trying to put himself between her and the raging battle of the domains in the distance. "It's not safe! Get to the bunker!"

She ignored him, her hard gaze fixed on Toji, who was still holding your body. She didn't recognize the soul; she only saw you—a strange, blood-spattered woman in a hospital gown holding one of her own weapons. "Help is on the way. The school is being evacuated."

Toji didn't hear her. Or rather, he didn't care. The words were just noise, irrelevant data. The only thing that mattered was the primary objective: securing Megumi.

He reached down and grabbed Megumi's arm, hauling him to his feet with a force that made him cry out in pain.

He looked from Maki's defiant face to Megumi's pained and confused one. Then his gaze drifted to the cosmic war still raging in the center of the courtyard.

Help. What a pathetic concept.

He shoved Megumi forward. The boy stumbled, his weak legs giving out, and he would have fallen if Maki hadn't caught him, her good arm wrapping around his chest. "Take him. Get out of here. Now."

Maki stared, her mind struggling to process the command. This strange woman had just saved them, brutalized their enemies and was now handing over her prize? It made no sense. But she saw the look in your—his—eyes. It was the look of a professional closing a deal.

Toji watched them go. The primary objective was complete. His son was out of the immediate line of fire.

And now, the decision was his.

He stood alone on the edge of the apocalypse, a ghost in a stolen body, and for the first time, he was at war not with an enemy, but with himself. One part of him, the professional, the Sorcerer Killer, screamed to stay. This was the hunt of a lifetime. The two most powerful beings in the world were tearing each other apart, bleeding energy, creating openings. He could be the third man in. The assassin who waits for the titans to exhaust themselves and then slits both their throats. It was the ultimate prize, the final confirmation of his own legend. It was the only way to guarantee Sukuna could never threaten Megumi again.

But another part of him, the pragmatist, the survivor, knew the truth.

He felt the screaming protest of your muscles, the deep, grinding ache in your bones. This body was a cheap rental, and he had just driven it like a race car. It was breaking down. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain from Kashimo's and Uraume's attacks was beginning to set in with a vengeance. He could feel Gojo's residual cursed energy, a foreign substance his soul was constantly, instinctively trying to purge, making the vessel unstable. And he could feel you. A whisper of fear and morality and a sickening, sentimental hope that Gojo would win. You were a distraction. A vulnerability. In a fight against a god, a single moment of internal conflict would get him killed all over again.

He had already done what he came to do. He had protected his son. Why risk a perfectly good resurrection for a vanity kill? It was illogical. Unprofessional.

To leave now would be the smart play. The professional play. But Toji Fushiguro had never just been a professional. He was a warrior. A monster who had clawed his way to the top of a world that despised him. And before him was the ultimate hunt.

"A vanity kill? No. The ultimate performance review."

A nasty little trick left behind by its previous owner. What better way to settle a decade-old score than to use Gojo Satoru's own power against him?
He scooped the naginata from the ground. The decision was made. The professional had been overruled by the pride of the killer.

He moved. He was an assassin in his element, finding the blind spots, the moments of opportunity in the chaos. He saw it. Gojo, suspended in the air, pouring his focus into maintaining the integrity of his domain against Sukuna's onslaught. His back was momentarily turned.

He launched himself from a shattered piece of wall. He focused on the hum in your veins. He didn't understand it, not like a sorcerer would. He just saw it as a tool. He gathered that faint, residual energy, the ghost of Infinity, and forced it onto the edge of the naginata's blade. Gojo felt the disturbance a nanosecond too late. A flicker of movement in his blind spot, an impossible approach. His Infinity, the absolute barrier that should have stopped anything, met the blade of the naginata.

And failed. For a single, horrifying instant, it tricked the Infinity into recognizing it as part of itself, creating a momentary null-space. The blade passed through.

The steel sliced a deep, clean gash across his back. His domain wavered. He spun around in the air, his eyes wide with a disbelief that was quickly consumed by a cold fury. He saw you, suspended in the air from a leap that should have been impossible, the naginata in your hand dripping with his own blood. The sight was so fundamentally wrong, so completely outside the bounds of reality, that his mind struggled to process it.

"You..." From the ground below, Sukuna roared with delighted laughter. The duel had just become a free-for-all.

"It's been a while, Gojo Satoru."

It was you. The body was you. But the skill, the cold killing intent, the impossible way you had bypassed his Infinity... something was fundamentally, horribly wrong. He couldn't see you unless he was touching you. To understand, to see the truth, he had to get close.

He vanished, appearing directly in front of you on the rooftop. His hand shot out to grab your wrist, to make contact.

But he was grabbing at a ghost. "Eager." Toji purred in your voice, winking with your eye as he spun away. "I like a man who knows what he wants. You always were so hands-on." The naginata came around in a whistling arc aimed to take his head off. Gojo leaned back, the blade hissing inches from his throat.

He saw the game. The psychological warfare. A slow grin spread across his own bloody face. "You have no idea." Gojo replied, his voice dropping. "I haven't slept right in a decade. Keep having these dreams of you on your knees."

It was Toji's turn to be shocked. The cold mask on your face faltered. He had expected rage, panic, not... this.

Gojo pressed the advantage. He flowed forward, attempts to touch, to graze, to make contact. Their fight became a bizarre, lethal tango on the rooftop. He'd aim a kick, only to have it turn into a leg sweep that was designed to get a hand on your ankle.

"You feel different. Stronger. More... experienced. I like it."

You—Toji—shuddered. This wasn't the reaction of a flustered lover. This was the full-body cringe of a man who had just been paid the most unwanted, flowery compliment of his life. The flirtatious taunting was one thing. Gojo Satoru flirting back with such smug sincerity was physically nauseating.

That moment of revulsion was the opening.
As Toji recoiled from the psychic damage of Gojo's last comment, Gojo's hand snaked out. His palm cupped your cheek.

Contact.

"You know... For someone trying so hard to get my attention..."

And then he kissed you.

It wasn't a kiss of passion. It was a kiss of data acquisition. The moment his lips touched yours, a circuit was completed. His Six Eyes were suddenly flooded with information. But it wasn't your memories. He was seeing through the eyes of a dead man. He saw the cold, transactional exchange of money for the life of a small, spiky-haired boy—Megumi.

He saw the world through the inverted spear of heaven as it pierced his own throat.

And finally, he saw a first-person view of his own younger, enraged face as a massive orb of purple energy—Hollow Purple—expanded to consume everything.

Gojo recoiled as if he'd been electrocuted. He stumbled back three full steps, ripping his mouth away from yours, his eyes wide with a horror that had nothing to do with romance. He scrubbed the back of his hand furiously across his lips.

At the same time, Toji, having just been kissed by the man who had obliterated him, reacted with equal, if not greater, revulsion. He—you—stumbled back as well, wiping your mouth. The two most dangerous men on the rooftop stood twenty feet apart, both looking like they were about to be violently sick.

"You son of a bitch."

Toji spat on the rooftop, the act a pure expression of disgust. The flirtatious mask on your face was gone, replaced by his own cold, murderous sneer. "You have no idea..." He snarled in your voice. "How much I'm going to enjoy killing you again, you goddamn freak."

Chapter Text

Toji was the first to attack. The naginata was gone but he didn't need it. He closed the distance, his—your—fist aimed for Gojo's face. You felt your own arm muscles tear under the impossible force of the punch. A silent scream ripped through your soul. "No! Stop! Don't hurt him!"

Gojo simply swayed his head to the side, letting the punch whistle past his ear. He couldn't hit back. He couldn't risk harming you.

"What's wrong? Afraid to hit a girl?"

"How are you in there, Toji?" He was gathering information, trying to solve the impossible puzzle in front of him. "What did you do to her?"

Every time Toji moved, you felt a new kind of pain. It wasn't just the physical strain on a body not built for this. It was a deeper agony. You felt your own hand trying to hurt the man you loved. Each attack was a betrayal that your own flesh was forced to commit. "She let me in." Toji lied, launching himself forward again. He was a storm of attacks, a whirlwind of kicks and punches. He knew Gojo wouldn't strike back and he was using it, punishing him for his affection. "She was tired of waiting for a hero who couldn't protect his own students."

Gojo didn't rise to the bait. His hands would come up to parry, deflecting a blow at the last second, his fingers trying to graze your skin. "You're a parasite." He saw an opening. He lunged forward, his hand open, aiming for your shoulder.

Toji twisted away but Gojo's fingers brushed against the fabric of your gown. For a split second, he made contact. He saw it again. Your soul, a terrified light, and Toji's, a cold void wrapped around it. "She's still in there."

The fight was taking its toll. This body was failing. Toji felt it too. He leaped back, breathing heavily through your mouth. Gojo was figuring it out. The bridge. The blood.

Toji decided to end it. He gathered his strength for one final, brutal assault. He launched himself across the rooftop, his fist aimed at his heart. You couldn't take it anymore. You couldn't be the weapon that killed him. With every ounce of will you had left, you fought back. The punch suddenly faltered. Your arm twitched violently to the side, the blow missing Gojo by a foot. The body stumbled

Toji roared in frustration inside your head. "Let go!"

Gojo saw it. He saw the internal war. He saw you. "I'm not going to hurt you." Gojo said, speaking not to Toji but to you. "But I'm going to get him out."

"You can try-"

He never finished the sentence.

From the courtyard below, a voice, dripping with boredom cut through the sky. "This soap opera has run its course."

Both Gojo and Toji froze. Their heads snapped down to see Sukuna. He had grown tired of watching the show.

"You're both an annoyance." Sukuna stated, raising a hand. A wave of world-slicing energy erupted from the ground, aimed to bisect the entire rooftop. Toji moved to leap away, to save the vessel he had just claimed.

But Gojo was faster. He crossed the ten feet between them and slammed into you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight against his chest, his back turning to face the oncoming wave of death. It was the same protective embrace he had held you with in the infirmary.

The world went white. But you felt no pain. You were encased in a pocket of stillness, a perfect, absolute calm, pressed against the solid, unyielding wall of his body. The attack passed. Gojo's arms loosened. He stumbled back a step, his body shielding you from view.

His black top was shredded. A deep gash ran from his shoulder down across his back, blood pouring from the wound in a torrent. He had taken the full force of Cleave. His Infinity, forced to protect two bodies had not been absolute. It had been a shield and that shield had been grievously damaged.
He was heavily wounded, but he was standing. And you, held loosely in his arms, were completely untouched. Toji, looking out through your eyes, simply stared at the blood-soaked back of the man who had just saved his life.

A new figure landed silently on the rooftop beside them. Yuta Okkotsu. He was covered in his own blood too.

Gojo didn't look at him. His eyes were locked on Sukuna. King Of Curses turned his back. Sukuna wasn't waiting for a fight. He was ending the war on his own terms.

"Damn it." Gojo cursed, blood dripping from his chin.

"See? He doesn't even see you as a threat."

Gojo's head snapped toward you. "Not now."

"Yes, now." Toji retorted, your lips twisting into his smirk. He gestured with the naginata toward the battle that had just stalled. "You're throwing power at a cage, trying to break it. You're aiming at the wrong target. You'll never win that way."

"What are you talking about?" Yuta demanded, his own gaze shifting between Gojo and the figure you had become.

Toji ignored him, his focus locked entirely on Gojo. "He's a soul in a vessel. Just like me in here." He said, tapping your chest with his thumb. "He doesn't belong. You can't just destroy the body, you have to force an eviction."

Gojo stared. "How?"

"A huge amount of focused power. Hit the soul with enough raw force, and you can rip it right out of the body. Just like I did to get in here."

The comparison was a lit match dropped on a barrel of gasoline. To equate his violent, parasitical possession of you with a strategy for victory was the ultimate violation.

Gojo moved. His fist, glowing with the brilliant energy of Blue, shot forward, aimed to obliterate the smirking face that was wearing yours.

It stopped a single millimeter from your nose. The force of his restrained blow was a physical thing, making your gown whip violently and your hair fly back. Gojo's entire body trembled with the effort of not completing the punch. "Don't you ever compare what you did to her... to anything."

Toji looked at the glowing fist that was inches from ending his second life, then up into Gojo's furious, bleeding face. The smirk on your lips widened. He had found the nerve. He had proven his point.

"I'm telling you how to win. But it gets worse." He looked Gojo dead in the eye. "You can't do it. Your power hits the cage. Yuta's power hits the cage. You're throwing rocks at a fortress. But us..." He tapped your chest again. "We're not playing by the rules of this world anymore. We're the one thing in this world that can touch a soul like his directly and tell it to get the hell out."

Gojo’s fist trembled, the blue energy flickering. He was listening.

"The final blow has to come from me. From this body. Our souls are the key to forcing him out. So this is the plan. I need two things." He held up one of your fingers. "First, a battery. A huge amount of cursed energy from everyone. All of your power, all of his." He nodded at Yuta. "focused into a single point. You build the bullet." He held up a second finger. "Second, I pull the trigger. That bullet has to be delivered through us. It's the only way."

When Toji first inhabited your body, he saw it as nothing more than a "cheap rental". It was weak, unfamiliar and tainted with the sickeningly powerful energy of Gojo Satoru. However, the brutal fight with Kashimo revealed a terrifying and useful truth. Gojo inadvertently created a weapon. By pumping his own blood and cursed energy into you, he turned your body into a "loaded gun".

Cursed energy from Gojo is the "bullet" chambered inside you. It is not your power to control.
Your physical body, miraculously healed and stabilized, is the "gun" itself.
Toji is the "trigger." His own soul, a perfect void of cursed energy due to his Heavenly Restriction, acts as a natural suppressor. It instinctively smothers and contains the foreign power of Gojo's blood within you, keeping it from overwhelming you or manifesting on its own. However, as he demonstrated against Kashimo, he can choose to release that suppression. He can focus that dormant energy and channel it, using his perfect physical control to aim it. He is the only one with his finger on the trigger.
Gojo's ultimate act of love to save you has resulted in a weapon that only his killer can wield. He has armed his greatest enemy by saving his greatest love. The horrifying reality of the plan settled over them. To win, Gojo would have to pour all of his power into the hands of the man he hated most, who was possessing the body of the woman he loved.

He pulled his hand back. He had made his choice. He still didn't trust Toji. But he had to trust you and your choices. If you had given your body to Toji, there must have been a logical explanation for it. Because in his eyes, you were still the girl in the subway station who tried to save people with just a gun and a knife. Brave and compassionate. That was the first side of you he had seen. This was how he had come to know you. And he was going to choose to trust that.

As for Toji getting the hell out... yes, he would absolutely make that happen.

"Yuta." Gojo commanded, not taking his eyes off Sukuna. "Gather them. Everyone who can still stand. Choso, Maki, the kids."

"Sensei, what about you?" Yuta asked, his sword held ready.

"I'm going to take out the trash." He then shifted his gaze, his brilliant, bloody eyes meeting yours—meeting Toji's. "It's time for a change of venue."

"How heroic. And what happens when you run out of gas, kid? That's a nasty set of cuts you've got there."

"Stay out of this, corpse."

"I can't." Toji replied through your lips. "It concerns me when the only thing keeping this body from falling apart is depending on you not to get yourself killed in the next five minutes." He gestured with the naginata toward the courtyard. "You can't be the bait. You're too slow right now. You're wounded. You're not the bait, you're just the main course. He'll kill you before you can even think about using that purple trick of yours."

Gojo’s jaw tightened. "What's your point?"

"My point." Toji said, your lips twisting into his grin. "is that you need a distraction. A real one. Someone fast enough to get in his face, someone annoying enough to make him chase, and someone disposable enough that it doesn't matter if they get hit." He tapped your chest with his thumb. "Lucky for you, I'm all three."

"You'll get her killed."

"She's already dead. I'm just borrowing the shell. Now, are you going to let me do my job, or are we all going to die here because of your pride?"

Below, Sukuna had grown tired of their drama. "Are you children done talking?"

That was it. The decision was made for him.

"Fine. Keep him busy. Lure him west, toward the old training fields. I'll meet you there."

"Finally." Toji said. He looked at Gojo, a glint of a decade-old rivalry in his—your—eyes. "Try to keep up this time."

You were thrown back into the heart of the fire, a piece of bait in a war between monsters.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Toji landed in the courtyard with the force of a meteor. Sukuna paused, his hand still holding his own severed finger. He looked at you.

"Heard you were the main event." Toji said through your lips. "Don't look like much up close."

"You're a fascinating thing, you know." He called out. "I can see you in there. Both of you."

A cut, faster than the rest, slipped past his guard. A long, clean gash opened across your back, and you felt the shocking, intimate heat of your own blood—his blood—spilling down your skin. He was already moving, putting distance between them, leading the chase west, toward the old training fields. Sukuna followed. "I see a dead man's soul, a stubborn parasite clinging to a new host." His gaze intensified, and you felt it like a physical violation, as if he were peeling back your skin to see the machinery within. "And I see a dead girl's soul, a little ghost, tethered to a body that's not quite hers anymore."

He popped the last finger into his own mout, swallowing it whole. A fresh wave of malevolent, suffocating power rolled across the school grounds. His grin widened, becoming something truly monstrous.
He wasn't after Megumi anymore.
He was after death.

"And it's all being held together." His eyes glowed with a new, terrifying light, "by the faintest, most pathetic trace of Gojo Satoru's power. A Frankenstein's monster made of my three greatest annoyances. You're a beautifully broken toy."

Toji knew he couldn't survive being trapped. He used the last of the body's explosive power to launch himself backward, out of the immediate effective radius. "Run, little monster. Run back to your master. This was a delightful appetizer."

Toji landed fifty yards away, your body screaming, your back a sheet of fire. He had done it. He had lured the king away.

"Mission accomplished." He looked down at your trembling, bleeding hands. "Barely. This body's about to fall apart."

Sukuna took a slow step forward, the ground around him still being diced into ribbons by his technique. "I see you in there. A soul with no cursed energy. And you're fighting it, aren't you? The power Gojo Satoru left behind. You see it as a stain."

Toji said nothing.

"You're a fool." Sukuna stated with the certainty of a god. "It's not a stain. It's a weapon. Imagine it. Your perfect physical prowess, your immunity to their techniques... combined with a flicker of the Limitless. You could be a great death machine. Unstoppable." He gestured dismissively. "She makes you weak. Her fear, her morality... it's a chain."

The King of Curses offered a deal. "Join me. We can erase Gojo Satoru, and then we can deal with the rest of this pathetic world. In return, I'll give you something he never could. I will teach you how to devour her soul completely. Make the vessel yours. The one inside you should stay forever and conquer the body for the rest of its life."

This was your end.

But you didn't feel a flicker of temptation from Toji. "Work for you?" Toji said through your lips. "I don't work for anyone. Especially not an overconfident lump of cursed energy who's still stuck in a teenager's body." He shifted his grip on the naginata. "I'm here to do a job. You're the job."

Sukuna's grin didn't falter. He looked genuinely, royally amused. "A pity. But I respect a man who knows his own worth."

His expression then hardened into a mask of cold, absolute finality. "Then you have chosen your side. The losing one. When I'm done with Gojo Satoru, I will come back for you. And I'll take that body anyway." His eyes glinted with a dark, chilling promise. "It'll be more fun to break it first."

High above, Gojo gathered his power, a living star preparing to go supernova, his focus locked on the King of Curses. Sukuna, however, was no longer looking at Toji. His gaze lifted, his crimson eyes piercing through the distance, through Gojo's Infinity, and locking directly with his. "You can hear me, can't you, Gojo Satoru?" Gojo’s hands, which had been gathering the chaotic energy for his attack, clenched into fists.

He was no longer looking at the soul. He was looking at the body. Your body. "The vessel itself... it's a fine piece of work. Fragile. I can see every place he's bruised it, every muscle he's torn just by moving. I wonder how many pieces it would break into if I hit it properly. I think I'll keep the body. It'll make a fine toy."

Gojo had been willing to work with Toji to save his students. He had been willing to play the game. But this... this was a line that had been crossed. The mission was no longer tactical. It was personal. He was going to erase Sukuna from existence for the satisfying finality of it.

As if summoned by the sheer, absolute gravity of his rage, the world responded.

Yuki Tsukumo. Kinji Hakari. A bloodied but resolute Choso stepped out from behind a pillar, his gaze locked on the monster wearing his brother’s face. Utahime Iori appeared on a nearby rooftop, her hands already forming the signs for a ritual. They were followed by a score of others—every sorcerer who could still stand, every survivor of Shibuya's hell.

They formed a semi-circle behind Sukuna, a silent, ragged army of survivors ready to make their last stand.

Sukuna didn't even turn. He kept his gaze locked on Gojo. "All your little friends have come to watch you die."

But Gojo wasn't looking at them. He wasn't formulating a plan. The strategic, calculating part of his brain had been incinerated. All that was left was the god, and the god was furious.

He slowly brought his hands together, the index fingers of both hands extending.
You saw the impossible energies of Blue and Red beginning to swirl and collide. But this was different. It was bigger. It was uncontrolled. It was a star killer. "He's not aiming at Sukuna. He's aiming at the whole damn courtyard. He's going to erase everything."

"Sensei, wait!" Yuta screamed from below, seeing the same terrifying preparation.

But Gojo couldn't hear him. He couldn't see anything but the smirking face of the monster who had just defiled your memory. He was going to unmake the world to get him.
"Hollow Technique..." He began, his voice no longer human. "...Purple."

࣪ ִֶָ☾. ────

You sat on the non-existent floor, your back against a pile of spectral skeletons that had long since become furniture. Gojo’s head rested in your lap, his eyes closed. His white hair, soft as silk, spilled over your thighs. Your fingers moved gently, through his hair, your thumbs pressing in slow circles against his scalp. He let out a low hum, a sound that vibrated from his throat through your legs. It was a sound so relaxed, it felt wrong in a place like this.

"Don't stop."

"You're like a giant cat."

"Been a while since it's been this quiet." He replied, not opening his eyes. "No missions. No meetings. No one shouting my name."

You looked down at his peaceful face. For a man trapped, for the strongest sorcerer neutralized and imprisoned, he seemed... happy. Was this what he wanted? A break from the world? An escape? To be stuck in here, with just you, away from all the impossible weight he carried?

But you couldn't ask. It felt too cruel of your own desperate need for this quiet, shared solitude to mean something more.

Instead, your fingers continued their slow rhythm. "Does this help? With... everything?"

He was silent for a long moment, and you thought he had fallen asleep. Then, he spoke. "I'm not thinking about everything. That's why it helps." He shifted slightly, settling his head more comfortably in your lap.

"They must be worried sick."

"They'll be fine. They're strong."

"Still, it's a lot to leave on their shoulders."

He finally opened his eyes but they were unfocused, looking past you into the grey nothingness. "Their shoulders are strong because I made them strong. That's the point of them." His head shifted, turning slightly so he could look up at your face. "Besides, what could they do? Break this thing open? No one can get in here."

A chill traced its way down your spine. "That's... a good thing, right?"

His hand came up, his long fingers lightly tracing the line of your jaw. "It's a perfect thing." His eyes, now a dark, possessive shade of blue, locked onto yours. "No curses. No council. No missions." He paused, his thumb brushing slowly over your bottom lip. "No one to get in the way. No one who can take you away from me."

Your hands froze. The massage stopped.

The smile vanished from his face. He saw the flicker of fear in your eyes. He didn't seem to care. "Why'd you stop?"

This wasn't the playful Gojo Satoru from his stories. This was someone else entirely.

"I... I thought you'd fallen asleep." The excuse felt foolish.

"I haven't felt this awake in years." His hand, which had been tracing your jaw moved, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, a gentle but firm grip that held you in place. "Out there... It's exhausting."

It was then that you understood. The full, terrifying, heartbreaking truth of it settled over you. You saw the possessiveness in his eyes , the hollow sorrow that scared you more than any curse. He wasn't trapped in here with you. He was free. Free from the world, free from his duties, free from the crushing weight of being "the strongest". This place, this endless nothingness, was not his prison. It was his sanctuary.
And you were its most precious feature.

"There's no space. There's just... this." He shifted, pressing the side of his head more firmly into your lap. "You. The only real thing left."

You looked down at the man in your lap, a man who the world saw as a god. You saw his true face. A man so starved for a simple, human connection that he would find comfort in a cage, so long as he wasn't in it alone. The thought was terrifying. It was also the most profoundly sad thing you had ever known.

He saw the understanding dawn in your eyes. He saw that you finally understood his terrible secret. The smile on his face became genuine.

"So you see it now, don't you?" He whispered, his eyes closing again as he settled into your touch.
He wasn't just happy to be here. He was terrified of leaving.

"Everyone else is trapped out there, without us."

────

Chapter Text

No sound, no light, no sensation. Only a silent, expanding sphere of absolute nothingness where the courtyard had been.
The purple void devoured everything in its path.
Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone.
Where the courtyard, the training fields, and a portion of the school building had once stood, there was now only a massive crater. A figure resolved itself in the center of the dust cloud.

Sukuna stood alone. Or, what was left of him. His left arm was gone. His right leg had been erased from the knee down. He stood on his remaining leg, using a jagged piece of rubble to keep from falling. He tried to heal. He focused his immense cursed energy but nothing happened. The energy from Hollow Purple clung to his wounds like a poison, actively negating his Reverse Cursed Technique. King of Curses was grievously wounded and he could not heal. He looked at his missing limbs. Then, he began to laugh.

The other sorcerers picked themselves up from behind whatever cover they had managed to find. They were bleeding but they were alive. They had seen Gojo’s preparation and had scattered. Now, they regrouped.

Gojo was on one knee. His black top was in tatters, fresh blood mixing with the old cuts. His entire body trembled with the aftershock of unleashing so much uncontrolled power. His gaze was sweeping across the new, barren landscape he had just created, desperately searching through the dust and smoke. His Six Eyes looking for his students, praying to a god he didn't believe in that he hadn't just erased them all along with his enemy.

From your shared vantage point, Toji watched the dust settle. He had seen a lot of things. He had caused a lot of destruction. But he'd never seen a temper tantrum on this scale.

Ten years ago. A younger, more arrogant Gojo Satoru.
A massive, swirling orb of the same purple.
He remembered the feeling of his own matter unmaking itself, the ultimate professional failure, the only time he had ever been completely outplayed.

He looked from the crater to the kneeling figure of Gojo Satoru. The god was bleeding. The god was tired. He had just fired the single most powerful bullet in his arsenal and he was spent. He looked at Sukuna, furious in the center of the devastation. The king was vulnerable.

The board was wide open.

"NOW!" Yuki screamed. From every direction, the survivors unleashed everything they had left. Sukuna, even with one arm and one leg, was still a god, swatting away their attacks with a contemptuous ease.

"It's our turn." Toji commanded in your shared consciousness.

"What? No! I can't!"

"Listen to me. You have to focus. You have to put a little effort in."

"I can't!" You screamed back. "I don't know how!"

"You don't have to know how! You just have to want it! You want to save him, don't you? This is how. Stop being a victim. For one goddamn second, be the weapon."

He was right. You had died for Satoru once. You had made a deal with this devil to protect him. This was the price. This was the final act. You closed your spectral eyes in the void and focused on the memory of Gojo's face when he held you in the infirmary, the desperate love in his eyes. You focused on the promise you had made to yourself.

Toji felt the shift instantly. Gojo's energy in your veins. It was answering your will.

"That's it... Now, let's go to work."

Gojo pushed himself to his feet. He saw the brilliant blue aura that was beginning to shimmer around your form. He didn't understand how but he trusted you. He vanished.

At the exact same moment, Toji launched himself. It was a perfect, two-pronged assault. Gojo appeared directly in front of Sukuna. Sukuna turned, ready to counter the god before him. He never saw the one coming from behind. You poured every ounce of your will, every memory of Satoru's grief, every desperate hope for a future, into a single burning point of intention. You wanted this to end. You wanted him to be safe.

Toji aimed for the center of his being, the place where the parasite soul had anchored itself to Yuji's body. He raised the naginata. The blade shimmered with an aura of brilliant blue. A bullet chambered by love and fired by a killer.

He thrust the blade forward. It met Sukuna's back and passed through it, disappearing into his body without leaving a single mark or spilling a single drop of blood. It was a spear of pure, soul-tearing energy.

Sukuna’s body locked. His eyes went wide with shock. He had been untouchable for a thousand years, a god in a fortress of flesh. And a ghost in a girl's body had just stabbed him in the soul. The image of Yuji's face flickered, replaced for a moment by the four-eyed, monstrous visage of the King of Curses. The markings on his skin glowed.

"GET OUT... OF ME!" He roared, the voice a horrifying fusion of his own and Yuji's. The moment the soul-strike hit, the energy from Sukuna's wound surged back up the blade of the naginata. It slammed into your body. It felt like being ripped apart and put back together a thousand times in a single second. A scream, your own this time, tore through your lips as the shared body was thrown backward, landing in a heap fifty feet away. The naginata clattered from your numb fingers. The blue aura was gone. The connection was broken. Toji was gone, his consciousness blasted from your body by the sheer force of the impact. You were alone in your own skin again, for the first time since you had woken up.

Your vision tunneled, the edges blurring into a dark, swimming vignette. All you could see was the spot where the eviction had begun.

But it wasn't a vortex of energy anymore. The battle was over. A new form rose. Taller. Broader. Two more arms, scarred and powerful, ripped themselves into existence from its sides. A second face, cruel and demonic, formed on its cheek, its eyes snapping open to gaze in a different direction. It was no longer a curse in a boy's body. It was Ryomen Sukuna, whole, manifest, and complete.

Yuji Itadori lay on his knees in the center of the crater, his head bowed. He was just a boy again, small and wounded in his torn uniform. A few feet in front of him, the monstrous, four-armed form of Ryomen Sukuna stood, a king returned to his throne of flesh. But something was wrong. He looked down at his own hands, at the monstrous form he had just reclaimed, a look of pure disbelief on his face.

The soul-strike had been a fatal blow. It hadn't just separated him, it had destabilized his very essence. "Impossible..." Sukuna whispered. He began to disintegrate.

It started with his fingers, which crumbled into fine, red motes of dust that drifted away on the wind. The process accelerated, moving up his arms, his chest. His form, which had been a monument to terror a moment ago, was now a dissolving sandcastle in the tide. He was being unmade.

Yuji looked up, his face streaked with tears and watched the end of his tormentor. The last of Sukuna's monstrous form dissolved, leaving only a cloud of swirling, crimson dust. Yuji reached out his trembling hands. The last motes of the King of Curses, the residue of a thousand-year-old evil, settled into his open palms like weightless ash.

He closed his hands into a loose fist, bringing them to his chest.

"Sukuna." Yuji whispered to the silence. "You are me."
And then it was over. The King of Curses was gone.

The moment the threat vanished, the world for Gojo Satoru contracted to a single point. You. He didn't celebrate. He didn't check on Yuji. He knelt in the dirt. He had seen your body thrown like a ragdoll. He was expecting to find you bleeding, or worse.

His hands, trembling violently, reached for you. He was bracing for the worst, for the cold finality he had already experienced once. He pushed aside the tattered, smoking remains of your hospital gown to check the deep, bloody gash that had been torn across your back.

And then he froze.

There was nothing there. He stared, his Six Eyes blazing, scanning every inch of you. The gash was gone. The cuts and bruises from Toji's brutal fight were gone. Even the singed fabric of your gown seemed to be slowly mending itself. Your skin was flawless, unblemished, and warm with a steady, miraculous life.

He looked at you, then at his own hands, then back at you. His blood was not just sustaining you. It was impossibly rewriting your reality, healing wounds faster than even his own Reverse Cursed Technique could manage. He gently gathered you into his arms, pulling you against his chest, holding you with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. The battle was won. But as he held you, the living, breathing paradox he had created, he knew that a new, far more terrifying and personal mystery had just begun.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Jujutsu High was no more. Where ancient dojos and serene walkways had once stood, there was now a massive, glassy crater smoking with the residual energy of Hollow Purple. The surrounding buildings were skeletal ruins, and the forest that bordered the school was a splintered, burnt wasteland. It was a wound carved into the very earth. The old world of Jujutsu was dead, buried in the ashes of Shibuya and the ruins of the school. As Gojo stood with you in his arms, surrounded by the remnants of his family, it was clear that the war against the curses was over.

You were back inside your own head but your mind was no longer a kitchen or a formless void. It was a memory. His memory.

And you were not alone. Leaning against a stone pillar, his hands in the pockets of a dark school uniform, was Geto Suguru. But he was younger, the lines of his face softer, the weariness not yet carved into his features. He looked exactly as Satoru had described him from their high school days. Further down the corridor, another figure was shrouded in shadow. Toji Fushiguro. He wasn't looking at you. He was pointedly staring at the stone ceiling, a man so profoundly bored with his surroundings—and your existence—that he couldn't be bothered to even glance in your direction. The job was done. You were no longer his concern. The fight that had defined Gojo's life, the one that had shattered his youth and sent his best friend down a path of darkness, was supposed to happen here. But there was no fight.

You stopped in front of Geto. "Why are we all here?"

"When Satoru brought you back, he anchored your soul with his own power. And in doing so, he made you a... a meeting place." He gestured with his head toward the silent, brooding figure down the hall. "Our souls were drawn to you before. Now, we're tied to you. Ghosts haunting the house Satoru rebuilt."

You looked from Geto's sad face to Toji.
The monk and the killer. The two ghosts of Gojo Satoru's past, now permanent residents in the soul he had refused to let go.

"So I'm... trapped?"

Geto offered a small, sad smile, pushing himself off the pillar. "No. This isn't a prison. It's a crossroads." His gaze flickered down the hall to the silent, brooding figure. "He used that path to get what he wanted. To protect his son. And now that it's over, there's nothing left for him to hold onto here." As he spoke, Toji’s form began to shimmer, becoming translucent, like a heat haze in the dark. Without a word, without a final glance, he simply faded away, a ghost who had finished his business and had no interest in lingering for a farewell.

Geto turned his full attention back to you. "He was a means to an end. A necessary evil, perhaps. But you... you are different." He took a step closer, and the warmth radiating from him was comforting. "He's not alone with our ghosts anymore. He has you."

He reached out, and for a moment, you thought he would just place a hand on your shoulder. Instead, his arms wrapped around you in a gentle, brotherly embrace. It was not the desperate, clinging hold of Satoru. It was a gesture of profound, peaceful gratitude.

"Thank you. For being his new beginning. Now... my soul can finally rest."

You felt him begin to fade in your arms. The warmth, the weight, the gentle pressure... It all dissolved like mist. When you opened your eyes, you were alone again.
The ghosts were gone.

And then, the cool stone of the tomb dissolved, and you felt the real warmth of Satoru's arms around you and heard the desperate sound of his voice calling your name.

Chapter Text

Days later, you woke up to the smell of sugar and the warm light of a late morning. The room wasn't the sterile white of the infirmary. It was a minimalist bedroom with a large window that looked out onto a peaceful forest. You were in a comfortable bed, wearing an oversized t-shirt that definitely wasn't yours.

"You're awake!"

You turned your head. Satoru was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the bed, surrounded by a mountain of snacks. He had a box of Pocky in one hand and was beaming at you with the unrestrained joy of a child on Christmas morning. The dark look was gone, replaced by his incredibly childish grin.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. I wasn't sure which you'd want, so I got all of them. We have strawberry daifuku, matcha kikufuku, a variety of melonpan..." He gestured with the Pocky box to the small convenience store's worth of sweets piled on your bedside table. "This one's my favorite. It has healing properties."

You couldn't help but laugh. This was the Gojo from the stories, the lovable idiot. "Healing properties?"

"The power of deliciousness is the strongest cursed technique of all." He leaned forward, offering you the box. "Try one."

The absurdly normal scene was so welcome it made your eyes well up. You took a Pocky stick and as you did, the door to the room slid open.

"Her vitals are stable, but she still needs rest and proper nutrition, not a..." Shoko Ieiri's voice trailed off as she entered, a medical chart in her hand. She stopped dead, her tired eyes taking in the mountain of sugar surrounding her patient. "Gojo Satoru. What did I say about contraband?"

"This isn't contraband, Shoko." Gojo said, snatching a daifuku from the pile and holding it protectively. "This is medicinal mochi. It's for her morale."

"She is a patient who just came back from the dead, not a tamagotchi you're trying to keep alive with a sugar high." Shoko retorted, marching over to the bed. She started to gather the boxes of sweets. "Give me the Pocky."

"No!" Gojo yelped, holding the box behind his back like a child.

She tried to grab the box. He leaned away and the box seemed to just... stop in the air, a millimeter from her fingers.

Shoko’s eye twitched. "Are you using Infinity on me over a box of chocolate biscuits?"

"You're a threat to the patient's happiness!"

You just sat there, laughing until your sides hurt.

It was only then that you noticed him. Yaga was sitting on a simple armchair in the corner of the room. He had been there the whole time. He wasn't watching the chase. He wasn't smiling. His gaze was fixed directly on you. He watched you laugh and his expression didn't change.

The laughter died in your throat. You were still the ghost who had come back, a miracle that the rest of the world was still trying to understand.

The chase ended abruptly when Gojo simply popped the last Pocky stick into his mouth. "All gone. The medicine has been administered."

"You are an infant. A giant, infuriating, six-foot-tall infant. I'm noting in her chart that her primary physician is a menace." She turned and left the room.

Gojo's grin returned as he turned back to you, ready to offer you a "medicinal" daifuku. But your laughter had vanished. Your smile was gone, replaced by an uncertain expression. You weren't looking at him. You were staring at the corner of the room.

His playful demeanor evaporated in an instant. He moved from the floor to the edge of your bed. "What's wrong?"

He followed your gaze to the armchair where Principal Yaga sat. His hand found yours under the blankets, his fingers giving a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry about him. He's not angry. He's just... thinking. Loudly."

You looked from Yaga's unnerving stare back to Gojo. "They just need answers. To make sure you're not a threat." He paused, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "It's not personal. It's just how they are. How they have to be." He leaned in a little closer, his brilliant blue eyes holding yours. "But it doesn't matter what they think. Or what questions they have. I'm right here. They have to go through me first. And no one is getting through me."

"She is a variable we cannot account for, Satoru. It is my duty to understand it."

Gojo didn't even turn to look at him. He just smiled at you. "See? Just a big, grumpy teddy bear who's worried about his paperwork."

"You said Gojo Satoru's blood brought you back. Does that mean you now possess cursed energy?"

You flinched at the direct question. You looked down at your hands, then back at Yaga, your mind a blank. "I... I don't know."

"Can you sense curses? See them?"

"Since I was a kid..."

"When your leg healed, did you feel anything? A flow of energy? Or was it involuntary?"

"I don't know." What were you now? Were you still human? Were you part curse? Part Gojo?

"The connection to Satoru's energy..." Yaga continued, leaning forward slightly, "is it constant? Does his proximity affect your abilities? Does his emotional state influence yours? What are the limits?"

Your breath hitched. Your hands began to tremble. You didn't know. You didn't know anything. You were a stranger in your own skin, a ghost tethered to a life you couldn't comprehend, and the weight of that unknown was suffocating.

"That's enough." Gojo, who had been sitting beside you, his hand still holding yours, was now looking at Yaga. "She's been through hell. She needs rest, not an interrogation."

"I need to understand the parameters, Satoru. For her safety and for everyone else's."

"Her safety..." Gojo countered, his voice dropping even lower. "is with me. And right now, what she needs is for you to leave."

Yaga stared at Gojo for a long moment. He saw the line that had been drawn. "Very well. We will speak later." He gave you one last, unreadable look before turning and leaving the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

You were alone with Gojo now. Truly alone. He hadn't let go of your hand. His thumb was still stroking the back of it. He looked from the closed door back to you, the hard lines around his eyes softening, the quiet intensity of his protection replaced by a simple, profound relief. The world outside seemed to fade away again.

He leaned in a little closer, a hesitant, almost shy look flickering across his features – a look so utterly unlike the Gojo Satoru the world knew. "So... just checking... is the grumpy, homicidal ghost still borrowing your face, or am I actually talking to you this time?" He visibly shuddered. "Because that last conversation was... memorably awful. Never letting him live that kiss down, by the way. Ugh."

A small laugh escaped you. "He's gone. It's just me."

The relief that washed over his face was absolute. It was like watching the sun break through storm clouds. "Good." He lifted your hand, the one he was holding and pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles. "Definitely prefer this version."

He didn't pull away immediately. He kept your hand held gently between both of his, his brilliant blue eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. He shifted closer on the bed, his knee brushing against yours. The vast, infinite space he usually commanded seemed to collapse, drawing him inexorably toward you. His free hand came up, gently cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin just under your eye. "No more hiding. No more ghosts." His gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second, then met yours again, a silent question asked and answered.

When his lips finally met yours, it was hesitant, a stark contrast to the desperate, claiming kisses from before. This was a kiss of rediscovery, a gentle affirmation of the life he had fought so hard to reclaim. It was a promise. This was a new beginning.

His hand left your cheek, sliding down your neck, his thumb tracing the frantic pulse just beneath your skin. The other hand, the one still holding yours, tightened its grip, fingers lacing through yours. He pulled you closer, shifting his weight until you were pressed fully against him on the bed. You could feel the hard lines of his body. Your own hands moved from his chest, tangling in the soft, impossibly white strands of his hair at the nape of his neck. A low groan rumbled in his chest.

His lips left yours, trailing a line of fire down your jaw, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. You gasped, your head tilting back, giving him freer access. His hand slid from your waist, moving upward, fingers brushing against the swell of your hip before settling possessively on your side, thumb stroking slow circles.

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, mirroring your own. He rested his forehead against yours, a single bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple. "O-okay..." He breathed out. "Okay, we... we need to stop. Because if we don't stop right now..." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "...I'm not going to be able to. And you're still recovering. And Shoko would actually kill me this time."

He carefully disentangled himself, rolling off the bed and onto his feet. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, deliberately putting a few feet of distance between you.

"Right.." He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of his usual composure. Though the flush high on his cheekbones betrayed him.

The silence stretched....

...

The intense intimacy of moments ago now felt like a high-voltage wire humming between you. You looked down at the oversized t-shirt you were already wearing, the one you'd woken up in. It smelled faintly of him.

"This shirt..." Your voice was a little shaky as you smoothed down the soft cotton over your thighs. "Whose is it?"

He finally looked at you. "Oh. That?" He shifted his weight, suddenly looking anywhere but directly at you. "It's... mine. Figured it'd be more comfortable than the infirmary stuff."

"It is." You pulled the hem down slightly. It swallowed you whole, the sleeves falling past your fingertips, the collar wide around your neck. It felt incredibly intimate, wearing his clothes in his bed. "It's really soft."

"Yeah, well..." He scratched the back of his neck, clearly flustered. "Only the best for... uh... guests."

He finally let his gaze properly land on you. Really see you. Sitting there on his bed, bathed in the soft morning light filtering through the window, in his t-shirt. Your hair was a mess, your face was pale but your eyes were clear, alive, looking back at him.

His eyes widened slightly. The blush on his cheeks deepened into a full-blown crimson flush that spread down his neck. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, but no sound came out.

"I... uh... snacks!" He suddenly blurted out, pointing vaguely towards the door. "Forgot! More snacks! Very important! For morale! Be right back!"

And before you could even register the words, he turned and practically bolted from the room, sliding the door shut behind him.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and deep violet. You sat on a polished wooden veranda—an engawa, Gojo had called it—overlooking a garden that seemed impossible. Smooth grey stones formed a path around a tranquil koi pond, and ancient, gnarled maple trees stood like silent guardians. There was no sign of the ruin, no smell of dust or blood. Hours had bled into a strange, dreamlike day. You had learned, in bits and pieces, that this quiet, secluded paradise was the main Gojo estate. You'd also learned that it was now a makeshift refugee camp. The school was gone, a crater where a home had been.

Gojo slid the paper screen door open and walked out onto the veranda, carrying two steaming mugs. He wore a simple black yukata, and the setting sun caught in his white hair, making it glow. He handed you a mug, the warmth seeping into your cold hands.

"You're quiet." He said, sitting beside you, his shoulder brushing yours.

"I'm listening."
And you had been. All day, you had heard the whispers, the fragments of conversation from the other side of the paper walls. They were all here.

"So..." You began, looking into your tea. "The man from the training grounds... the one who hurt my leg."

Gojo took a slow sip of his tea. "He's not a problem anymore."

You had pieced it together from the hushed conversations. He tried to explain it to you earlier, a tangle of words and concepts that made your head spin. Something about a 'power vacuum' now that the old men in charge were gone. The Zenin clan, Naoya's family, had tried to fill it. "Maki handled it." Gojo said, confirming the whispers you'd heard. He said the name with a note of dark pride. "Seems her 'Heavenly Restriction' finally came into full bloom. The Zenin clan... well, they're not a problem anymore, either."

Jujutsu stuff. You didn't understand half of it. To you, it was just a string of violence, a casual mention of a whole family being wiped out. The casual brutality of their world still made your stomach churn.

Sensing the shift in your mood, Gojo put his mug down and gently took yours, placing it beside his. He took your hand in both of his. "You don't have to understand all that. It's a mess. It's always been a mess." His brilliant blue eyes held yours. "None of that is your concern. Your only job right now is to get better. To rest. That's it."

He was building a wall around you, a fortress of peace in the middle of his broken world. You didn't ask for it, but you were so profoundly grateful for it. You knew the Gojo estate had opened its arms to you, but it wasn't the estate.

It was him. He had opened his home, his life, to you, and for now, in this strange, beautiful prison, that was enough.

He offered a small, reassuring smile. "When you're strong enough, we'll leave. Go anywhere you want. We can go back to your apartment. We'll pretend none of this ever happened. Just go back to your normal life."

The words, meant to be a comfort, were a dagger. "Normal life?"
You pulled your hand from his.
You stood up, wrapping your arms around yourself as a familiar, terrifying tremor started in your hands.

"Satoru, what 'normal life' is there to go back to? I died. I came back. My body heals itself from wounds that should kill me. I can see ghosts that no one else can. I'm not... I'm not the same person. I don't even know what I am anymore." The serene garden began to feel like a cage, the walls of the estate closing in. "What am I?"

"Hey." He was in front of you in an instant, his hands on your shoulders. "Hey, look at me. Breathe."

You couldn't. You shook your head, a sob tearing from your throat.

"Stop it." He cupped your face, forcing your terrified, tear-filled eyes to meet his. "Listen to me."

He waited until your ragged breathing hitched, until he had your full, undivided attention.

"You are not a monster. You are not an anomaly. You are not a variable, or a ghost, or a mistake." He leaned closer, his forehead pressing against yours. "You are the woman I love."

The world, which had been tilting and spinning, snapped back into focus. You just stared at him, the tears still tracking paths down your cheeks. "I don't know how to do this. This... 'love' thing. I've had friends, students... I've cared about people. But this..." He shook his head, looking down for a moment as if the words were too heavy to say while looking at you. "It's... different. It's terrifying. I don't know what to do with it."

He looked away then, his gaze fixed on the tranquil koi pond in the garden but you knew he wasn't seeing it. He was seeing the grey, endless void of the Prison Realm.

"In the prison... I thought if I could just keep you safe, keep you talking... it would be enough. It was selfish. I was glad I wasn't alone. But it was just... that." His voice cracked. "But when you... when the blade... and you were in my arms..." He choked on the words, his own breath catching. "The only thing I could feel... was that everything that made me 'Gojo Satoru... It was all just... empty noise. Meaningless. Because you were gone."

He finally turned his gaze back to you. "That was the moment I knew. Not when you were laughing, or when you were sleeping in my lap... but when I held your body and realized I would have stayed in that void forever, I would have let the whole world burn, just to have you back for one more second. You're the only thing that makes any of this..." He let out a shaky breath. "...matter. So, I don't know what you are right now. I don't know what we are. But I know you are the woman I love. And that's the only answer I need."

He had seen you die. He had held your cold body. And in that absolute, final emptiness, he had found a name for the feeling that you left behind.

Love.

You were not a monster. You were not a mistake. You were a miracle he had fought for, a life he valued more than the world itself. All the questions—what am I?—suddenly felt small, insignificant. They didn't matter. The only answer you needed was right here, his forehead pressed against yours, his hands holding you as if you were the most precious, fragile thing in existence.

You had come back from the dead to a world that was broken and terrifying but you hadn't come back alone.

Slowly, you lifted your own trembling hands to mirror his gesture, framing his face. Your thumbs brushed away the tears you hadn't realized were still glistening on his own cheeks.

"Satoru..." You whispered.

And then you closed the last inch of space between you.

It was the taste of salt from both your tears, a shared baptism in a grief you had both survived. It was an answer to every question, every fear. You were the woman he loved. And in the quiet of his garden, in the safety of his arms, you were finally home.

Chapter Text

The days that followed were a strange, hazy dream of peace. You ate. You slept. You walked the polished wooden verandas, feeling the strength returning to your limbs. You were, for all intents and purposes, recovered. And you knew it was time to leave. This quiet world was his, not yours.
The change in Satoru had been gradual, then total. The first few days, he had been a constant, almost suffocating presence, his playful energy a shield against the darkness you'd both endured. But for the last two days, he had been a ghost. He would be there one moment and gone the next. Meals were left for you on trays. The snacks stopped appearing. The warmth had been replaced by a distance.

You packed the few things you had, the soft sweatshirt and sweatpants he'd given you into a small, borrowed bag. You searched for him, wandering the endless, sunlit corridors but the estate was a labyrinth designed to keep secrets. The impassive maids would only bow and murmur that "Gojo-sama is occupied."

You were standing at the grand entrance, a gate that looked out onto the real world.
Was that it? Was his confession just a fever dream, a desperate, heat of the moment declaration he now regretted?

"Ready to go?"

You turned. It was Yuji. Beside him stood Megumi, his hands in his pockets, his gaze as stoic as ever. And with them, leaning against a pillar with a new eyepatch covering her left eye, was Nobara Kugisaki. The fire in her one good eye was just as fierce as Satoru had described. She was a survivor.

"We're taking you home." Yuji said.

"Where... where's Satoru?"

"Sensei's orders." Nobara cut in. "He's busy. Tasked the three of us with getting you back to your apartment safely. Basically, we're your glorified bodyguards until you're back behind your own locked door."

He was still protecting you, but from a distance. He was sending his students, his family, to do the job he wouldn't do himself.

"He said it wasn't safe for you to be alone yet." Megumi added.

There was nothing left to say. You nodded, a lump forming in your throat and followed them out of the gate. A sleek black car, the kind you only see in movies, was waiting for them. The journey back to your world was a silent one. You sat in the back with Nobara and Yuji, watching the ancient, secluded forests of the Gojo estate give way to highways, suburbs, and finally, the familiar, bustling streets of the city.

Yuji tried to fill the silence with cheerful, empty chatter about a movie he'd seen, but it quickly died. Megumi just stared out the window. Nobara, surprisingly, was the one who seemed to understand.
You stared out at the normal world passing by—people on their phones, couples laughing, the everyday rhythm of a life you no longer felt a part of.
He had faced down the King of Curses. He had torn down the entire power structure of his world. He had pulled your soul back from the very edge of nothingness.
So why couldn't he face you to say goodbye?

You watched the back of Megumi's head, the spiky, dark hair. And in the sharp line of his jaw, reflected in the side-view mirror, you saw a ghost.

Toji.

His cold, cynical voice in your head. His ruthless efficiency. His final mission: to protect his son. This quiet, stoic boy in front of you, who had no idea his father's ghost had just worn your skin as a weapon.
You had to know. You had to ask.

"Megumi."

He didn't turn around, but you saw his eyes flick up to meet yours in the rearview mirror. "What is it?"

You took a breath, your heart pounding. "Did you know someone named Toji Fushiguro?"

The reaction was instantaneous and violent. Megumi's entire body went rigid. Yuji’s head snapped up from his phone, his eyes wide.

"Gojo-sensei told me." He said. He still hadn't turned around, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "He told me everything. That it was his soul... inside you. During the fight."

You felt a desperate need to offer something, a piece of comfort, a reason for the monstrous thing that had happened.

"He said he was there to protect you. That was the only thing he cared about. He really..." You trailed off, the words "loved you" feeling like a lie, an impossible thing to say about a man like that. "...he really seemed to care."

Megumi didn't answer.

The wall he put up was so high and so thick that you knew, with a certainty that made your own heart ache, that you would never be able to cross it. He wasn't just silent. He was gone.

It was Yuji who, as always, couldn't stand the quiet.

"That was SO COOL!"

You flinched.

"I mean, seriously!" Yuji continued, his hands gesturing wildly. "The way you just showed up? And that fight with the lightning guy? And then Sukuna! You just... you stabbed him! Right in the soul! I felt it! It was like BAM! Straight through! Nobody's ever done that before! Can you teach me how to do that? Is it a special technique? A soul punch?"

"That wasn't actually me."

He just waved his hand dismissively, a huge grin on his face. "Don't be so modest! I saw you! The way you dodged his attacks, you were like a blur! And that spin you did with the naginata? I didn't even know you could fight!"

"I really can't. It was someone else."

"She's trying to tell you she was possessed, moron." Nobara's voice was a dry, deadpan slice of reality from the seat beside you. "By a deadbeat assassin who happens to be Fushiguro's dad. Were you not paying attention to the incredibly traumatic conversation we just had?"

Yuji blinked, his brain clearly taking a moment to process the words. You braced yourself for the horror, the questions, the pity.

Instead, his eyes got even wider.

"Possessed? By Megumi's DAD? So you, like, teamed up with a ghost to beat up Sukuna? That's even cooler! It's like a tag-team from beyond the grave! A spiritual tag-team!"

"It wasn't a team-up, Yuji. I was... the car. He was the driver."

The metaphor was a terrible choice. Yuji's face lit up as if you'd just revealed the greatest secret in the universe. "So you're like a super-powered car?! And a ghost drives you?! Can you transform?! Can you teach me how to be a car?!"

"I'm surrounded by idiots." Nobara muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eye again.

"Can you ask him for tips? The ghost dad? About the soul punch? Or maybe just about how to look that cool while holding a really big stick? Because you looked awesome. You were just like, swoosh, wham, 'get out of his body, you big jerk!'"

He was acting out the fight now, making sound effects. You couldn't help it. A small hysterical laugh escaped you. You had died. You had come back. You had been a vessel for a legendary killer. And Yuji Itadori wanted fighting tips from your possessor.

You looked over at Megumi. He was still staring out the front window.

"I... I'll ask him. If I see him again."

"YES!" Yuji pumped his fist, finally settling back into his seat, a satisfied grin on his face.

The last of your hysterical laughter died in your throat. The car slowed, pulling up to the curb in a quiet neighborhood. You looked out the window. It was your building—a two-story wooden apartment complex, older than the surrounding structures, with weathered dark wood, traditional tiled roof, and delicate paper screens over the windows. It had always been a cozy, quiet refuge. Now, it just looked small and lonely.

"Well, here you are! Home sweet home!" Yuji said, unbuckling his seatbelt with a cheerful click.

This was it. They would walk you to the door, say goodbye, and then you would be alone in your quiet apartment with your ghosts, both real and imagined.

"We'll walk you up." Nobara said.

You didn't want them to leave.
They were a chaotic, broken, and deeply weird shield against the world. They were a connection to him.

"Do you... do you want to come in for a bit?" The question felt foolish. "I don't have much. Maybe some tea? Or water? I think there's still some cheap beer in the fridge. Wait, you guys aren't old enough to drink..."

Yuji's face lit up instantly. "Really?! Awesome! I'm starving!"

Nobara let out a long sigh. "Fine. But we're sweeping the entire apartment first. No weird curses hiding in your closet. We're not losing you on our watch."

You looked at Megumi. He was still quiet but he gave a single nod. He wouldn't leave his post.
For a little while longer, you wouldn't have to be alone. You stepped out of the car, and for the first time since you had woken up, you led the way home.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

"Place is clean." Nobara announced, emerging from your tiny bathroom. She had done a full, serious sweep of the apartment, checking for cursed energy in your closet, under your bed, and even behind the shower curtain. "No curses hiding in the plumbing. You're clear."

"Awesome!" Yuji cheered from the living room, where he was already making himself at home, inspecting the titles on your small manga shelf. "So, ramen?"

"I... think I have ramen."

The kitchen was a cramped, one-person affair. You moved with a cautious stiffness, acutely aware of the three powerful sorcerers now crammed into your small living space. It was absurd. Yuji was peering over the counter with the unrestrained excitement of a golden retriever, while Megumi stood silently by the window.

You pulled three packets of instant ramen from a cupboard. It felt like a pathetic offering for people who had just been fighting for their lives.

"Ooh, is that the spicy miso kind?" Yuji asked, his eyes lighting up. "That's the best! Can I have an egg in mine? Please? If you have one?"

"Don't beg, Itadori. She just came back from the dead, she's not your personal chef."

"But ramen needs an egg! It's the law!"

"I have eggs." You said, pulling a carton from the fridge. You placed the steaming bowls down and they all settled around it, their large frames making the space feel even smaller. "It's not much." You said apologetically.

Yuji, who had already inhaled a third of his noodles, looked up with his cheeks full. "Ith aweshome!" He managed to say before swallowing. "Seriously, this is the best thing I've eaten in days. Thank you!"

"It's instant noodles, you vacuum." Nobara said, though she was eating with an appreciative energy. She glanced at you. "It's good, though. Better than the rations we've been eating."

"It's just... ramen."

"Yeah, but it's safe ramen." Yuji said, pointing his chopsticks at you with complete seriousness. "There's no chance of it suddenly growing a face and trying to eat you back. That happened once. It was super weird."

You froze, your own chopsticks hovering over your bowl, staring at him.

"Can you not talk about possessed food while we are trying to be normal people for five minutes?" She turned to you. "He's an idiot. The ramen wasn't possessed, he just ate it before the water was boiled and gave himself food poisoning."

"It could have been possessed!" Yuji argued, his mouth full of noodles again. "You don't know!"

It was the first time you had laughed like that since you had come back.

Nobara set her chopsticks down. Her one good eye was fixed on you. "So... What's the deal with you and Gojo-sensei?"

You froze, your own chopsticks hovering over your half-eaten ramen. A hot blush instantly crept up your neck.

Before you could even form a response, Yuji slammed his own bowl down, his face lighting up. "Yeah! I was gonna ask that! When he showed up, he was so cool! He was all like, 'Where is she?!' and his voice was all scary!" He leaned forward, his eyes wide with excitement. "And when he found you, he held you like you were the most important thing in the world! It was like a scene from a movie!"

"Shut up, Itadori, I'm not talking about his fight scenes." Nobara said, not taking her eyes off you. "I've been his student for a while. I've seen him angry, I've seen him be an idiot, I've seen him be terrifying. But I have never, not once, seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

The directness of her observation left no room for easy denial. You looked down at your bowl, the steam clouding your vision. How could you explain a love born in a cage at the end of the world? How could you describe a connection forged by death and a miracle?

"It's...It's complicated."

"Well, 'complicated' or not," She said, picking her chopsticks back up. "You're the first thing I've ever seen that's actually managed to make him act his age. So, points for that."

You looked at these three teenagers—Gojo's students, his family—who had just crashed back into your life, bringing their chaos and their quiet support with them.

Yuji, having finished his own bowl and most of the leftover broth, started gathering the empty dishes.

"That was seriously the best! I'll wash up!"

"You'll break something." Nobara was looking around your small living room, her gaze lingering on the worn-out video game console and the stack of well-read books on a low shelf. "So, this is it, huh? Your whole world in one room."

The observation wasn't cruel, just... a fact. "It's not much."

"Must be weird. After... everything. So, what's the plan? You just going to stay here? Alone?"

The plan was to be normal, but nothing about this was normal. You were a living ghost in a world of monsters. "I... I don't know. I don't know what else to do."

It was then that Megumi, who had been a silent statue for the entire meal, finally spoke. "You shouldn't be alone." He finally looked at you. "Gojo-sensei's orders were to see you home safely. He didn't say we had to leave."

They weren't just dropping you off. They were a security detail. Your security detail.

Yuji's head snapped up from the sink where he was already making a mess with the dishes. "A sleepover! I call the couch!"

"It's a protective detail. And you're not sleeping on the couch, you'll probably try to eat the cushions." Nobara looked around your tiny apartment. "I'll take the floor by the door. Fushiguro can take the other side. We'll set a perimeter."

They were staying.

These powerful, broken teenagers were going to camp out on your floor. The absurdity of it was overwhelming. You looked at the empty space beside you on the floor, a space big enough for one more person, and felt a sharp, profound ache for the one who had sent them. You were surrounded by his family, but the one you wanted most was still a ghost.

The teacup you had been holding trembled in your hand, rattling against its saucer. You tried to set it down on the low table, but your fingers refused to cooperate. The cup slipped, clattering to the floor and shattering, the last of the lukewarm tea spreading across the wood like a dark stain.

And then you broke. A wail tore from your throat, a sound of such profound, hopeless grief that it silenced the entire room. You collapsed in on yourself, your arms wrapping around your stomach as if trying to hold your very organs in place, your shoulders shaking violently. Tears streamed down your face, hot and endless, blurring the shocked faces of the teenagers around you.

Yuji’s cheerful energy vanished in an instant. He took a half-step toward you, his hands hovering uselessly in the air. "Hey, what's... what's wrong? Did I say something?"

"What are you doing?" you finally choked out between ragged, tearing sobs. You looked at them, these children, these soldiers, setting up a perimeter in your tiny, normal life. "You shouldn't be here. You should be... kids. You should be worried about homework and stupid things, not... not this." Your voice rose. "And what am I supposed to do?" You were on your feet now, pacing the tiny space like a caged, wounded animal. "He... he saved me. He pulled me back from nothing. He looked at me... and he told me... he told me he loved me." The confession was a fresh wave of agony. "And now he's gone! He's not here! Does he hate me now? Is he afraid of what I've become? The thing he made?"

The questions were a torrent of fear and pain you had been holding back since you woke up. You finally stumbled to a halt in the middle of the room, wrapping your arms around yourself again.

"I shouldn't have come back." You whispered to the floor. "It would have been better for everyone... it would have been better for him... if I just stayed dead."

Yuji stood frozen by the sink, looking utterly lost. Megumi hadn't moved from his spot by the window. It was Nobara who moved. he stood in front of you for a moment, her single eye taking in your shattered state. Then, she simply sat down on the floor, right at your feet. "So that's it?" She said, not turning to look at you, her gaze fixed on the shattered teacup on the floor. "You just get to decide you were better off dead? That all of it... what Sensei did, what you did... was a waste?"

"You don't understand."

"No, I don't." She shot back, finally twisting to look up at you. "I was on a table just like you were. Half my face was gone. I was dead, too. But I'm not sitting here wishing they'd left me there."

"That's because you weren't alone when you woke up." Your voice cracked. "My friends... the ones I went to Shibuya with... they're gone." You remembered Catwoman, swallowed by the chaos in the subway. You remembered Albert Wesker, left in the 7-Eleven, erased from existence by Sukuna's rampage. "Everyone I had is dead. I came back to nothing."

She knew that feeling. She remembered Nanami. She remembered the faces in Shibuya. She remembered the feeling of her own world shattering.

You looked past her, at Yuji and Megumi, these two boys who had walked through hell with her, who were still here, still a part of her broken, beaten-down family. A single, final tear traced a path down your cheek.

"It must be nice. To have them still by your side."

Yuji looked from your trembling form to Megumi, then to Nobara. He shuffled forward on his knees. He wrapped his arms around your waist. It wasn't a perfectly comforting hug, he was trying to physically hold you together because he had no words to do so.

Nobara shifted, leaning her weight firmly against your side and wrapping an arm around your legs.

For a long moment, Megumi remained by the window. He was a boy who had built walls around his own grief, and he was out of his depth in the face of yours. But he saw his friends, his family, forming a broken, makeshift shield around you. He saw the person his teacher had crossed the line for, completely falling apart. He walked over. He didn't join the hug. He just knelt beside you and placed a hand, warm and steady, on your shoulder.

You were surrounded. Trapped in a clumsy, awkward, and profoundly gentle embrace by three broken teenagers who had no idea what to do, but were doing it anyway.

"About Gojo-sensei…" Megumi said. "He's not gone because he wants to be. He's..."

He didn't get to finish the sentence.

𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎-𝘋𝘖𝘕𝘎.

You looked at the three of them—your super-powered, world-saving bodyguards—who were now looking at you expectantly, all smiling, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for the person they were supposed to be protecting to answer a strange knock at the door.

The doorbell rang again.

"Well?" Nobara prompted, gesturing with her head. "It's your apartment."

You walked the few steps to the door, your bare feet cold on the wooden floor. What if it was another threat? What if it was someone who had followed you? You glanced back. The three of them were still sitting there, watching you with expectant, smiling faces, not a single one of them in a defensive stance. Idiots. The lot of them. Your hand trembled as you reached for the door. You hesitated, then leaned forward, pressing your eye to the peephole.

The world on the other side was a distorted, fish-eye lens of your apartment's hallway. And standing in the middle of it was a shock of impossible white hair and a pair of dark, round sunglasses, even though it was now dark outside.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You fumbled with the lock, your fingers suddenly clumsy and pulled the door open.

He wore a simple, dark hoodie and casual pants, looking unnervingly normal. In his hands, he held two large, steaming pizza boxes. He wasn't beaming with his usual manic grin. Instead, a hesitant smile touched his lips.

You just stared, completely speechless.

"Figured you guys might be hungry."

Before you could answer, a voice roared from behind you. "PIZZA! I KNEW IT! SENSEI, YOU'RE THE BEST!" In a second, Yuji was between the two of you.

"You couldn't just teleport in?" Nobara said. "You had to use the doorbell?"

Gojo's gaze lifted from the pizza boxes and met yours over Yuji's bouncing head. The hesitant smile was still there, but it was meant only for you. "Trying something new."

Yuji, having successfully relieved his teacher of the pizza, was already halfway back to the living room, shouting, "I CALL PEPPERONI!"

The chaotic energy of his students swirled around him but Gojo didn't move. He stood in your doorway, a god trying to pretend he was just a man bringing takeout.

"I'm sorry." He said, his voice dropping so low only you could hear it. "For being... gone the last few days. I had to... clean things up. Make sure it was really safe. Not just 'barriers and bodyguards' safe, but... safe." He took a breath. "And... I didn't know how to... be. Around you. After everything."

He looked down, then back at you. "So I figured... I'd start here. Normal." He gestured with his head toward the sounds of his students already arguing over the last slice. "Is this... is this how normal starts?"

You stared at him. At the dark sunglasses hiding eyes that had seen you die and brought you back. At the hesitant smile that felt like a cheap bandage on a gaping wound.

Normal?

After the void? After Toji? After waking up alone in his ridiculously large bed? After spending two days wondering if his confession was a hallucination? This was his attempt at normal? Pizza?

Without a word, you slammed the door in his face.

The bang echoed through your small apartment, followed by a profound, shocked silence. Yuji, who had been mid-bite into a massive slice of pepperoni, froze, cheese stretching from his mouth.

"Ow! Hey! What was that for?!" Gojo's voice was muffled by the wood. "I brought pizza! The good kind!"

You ignored him. You turned your back on the door, walked calmly over to the low table where the pizza boxes sat open, grabbed the biggest, cheesiest slice you could find, and took a large, deliberate bite. The cheap, greasy pepperoni and warm cheese were the most normal, most grounding thing you had experienced all day.

"Did... did you just slam the door on Gojo-sensei?" Yuji whispered.

You took another bite, chewing slowly.

"Hey! Open the door!" Gojo yelled from the hallway. There was a loud thump against the wood, like he'd kicked it. "Seriously! It's cold out here! And I'm pretty sure a neighbor's cat is eyeing me!"

Megumi actually cracked a tiny, almost imperceptible smile.

"I killed like, twenty incredibly powerful old dudes!" Gojo's voice rose in frustration. "Single-handedly! Dismantled the entire corrupt system! For you! And I get the door slammed in my face?! Where's the gratitude?!"

You finished the crust, licking the grease from your fingers. You walked back to the door, the half-eaten slice still in your hand.

"Are you going to apologize properly this time?" you asked, leaning against the doorframe, your voice cool and calm.

"Apologize?! I brought peace, justice, and extra cheese!" he retorted indignantly. "What more do you want?!"

You took another slow bite of pizza, savoring it.

"Okay! Fine! I'm sorry I disappeared. I'm sorry I didn't explain. I panicked. Okay? Happy?"

You chewed thoughtfully. "A little."

You finally opened the door. He stood there, looking utterly bewildered, his white hair slightly mussed, his sunglasses askew. He looked less like the strongest sorcerer and more like a kicked puppy holding pizza.

You held up your slice. "Want some?" you asked innocently. "It has healing properties."

He just stared at you, then at the pizza, then back at you, a slow, disbelieving grin finally spreading across his face. "You..." He said, shaking his head, a laugh finally breaking free. "Are unbelievable."

"So I've been told."

The anger that had made you slam the door just... evaporated. It felt petty. Childish.

He hadn't disappeared because he was a god who had tired of his new toy. He had disappeared because he was a man who had no idea what he was doing.
You remembered his confession in the garden, the raw terror in his voice. "I don't know how to do this. This 'love' thing." He had faced down curses, conspiracies, and death itself. But this? A feeling? That was the one thing that truly scared him.
He had run away. Not from you, but from the overwhelming, terrifying weight of what you now meant to him. The strongest man in the world had panicked. The thought was so absurd, so profoundly human, that a forgiving smile touched your lips.

You took his hand. It was cold.
He looked down at your intertwined fingers, then up at you.

"You're an idiot, Satoru Gojo."

A flicker of confusion crossed his face. "I... probably deserved that."

"You can unmake the world with a flick of your wrist. You can pull a soul back from the dead. But you're scared of a feeling? So you run away for two days and show up with pizza like a teenager apologizing for a bad date?"

He had the grace to look embarrassed. He looked away, his gaze falling on his students. "It's... complicated."

"No, it's not." You said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, making him look at you again. "It's the most normal, human thing in the world to be scared of something you can't control."

You saw the understanding dawn in his eyes. He wasn't a god to you. You weren't his miracle or his mistake. You were just the person who saw the scared, clumsy man underneath it all.

"So... Are you going to run away again?"

He looked at your joined hands, then back at you, a slow, genuine smile finally breaking through his uncertainty. "No." He whispered, his own hand tightening around yours. "I think... I think I'll stay for pizza."

You would heal. The things you had been through weren't easy, and you had both changed so much. You were wounded. Your soul wasn't at peace either and your mind was scarred.

But you would heal.

Even in this world where death was real, you had found each other again. You had to heal... For your future.

Chapter Text

"Pspspsp. C'mon, little guy. I've got snacks."

The cat, perched regally on a stone stoop ignored him.

"Pspspsp!"

You leaned against the warm, sun-drenched wall of an old building. "I don't think he speaks that language."

"It's the universal cat language!" He argued, still crouched. "Every cat in Japan knows 'pspspsp'. This one must be an aristocrat. Too good for the common tongue."

"Try this instead. Pisi pisi pisi."

Satoru glanced back at you. "Pissy pissy? Are you insulting him?"

"No, pisi pisi. Just try it."

He turned back to the cat, looking slightly embarrassed. He cleared his throat. "Okay, uh... pisi pisi pisi?"

The cat's head snapped up, its ears perked. It let out a soft meow, hopped down from its perch, and trotted directly over to Satoru, winding itself around his ankles and purring. Satoru's face lit up. "It worked!" He scooped the cat into his arms. "I'm the cat whisperer! You see this?" He said, beaming at you.

This was your life now. A quiet, rambling journey with a god who was learning how to be a man. The past year had been a slow, fragile process of mending. The new Jujutsu world, led by Yuta and the others under his guidance, was finding its footing. The wars were over. The silence was filled with the hard work of rebuilding. And Satoru had kept his promise. He had built a wall of peace around you, a world away from it all.

He stood up, the cat still purring contentedly in his arms. "Seriously, how many cats are in this city? It's like they run the place."

You walked over, leaning your head against his shoulder. He instinctively wrapped his free arm around you, pulling you close. The warmth of his body, the soft rumble of the cat's purr, the scent of roasting chestnuts from a nearby street vendor—it was all so beautifully normal.

"It's their city, we're just visiting."

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Well, I like their city." He looked past you, his brilliant blue eyes taking in the view at the end of the narrow street. The sun was setting, casting a golden, hazy light over the rooftops, and in the distance you could see the dark, ancient silhouette of a tower against the fiery sky. "I could get used to Istanbul."

As if on cue, the cat suddenly tensed. Its purring stopped. With a flick of its tail and a graceful leap it sprang from his arms, landed silently on the cobblestones and darted down a narrow alleyway disappearing in the blink of an eye.

"He left me..." He turned to you, his bottom lip trembling. "Just like that. After all we've been through." He let out a long, theatrical whine that was so utterly pathetic you couldn't help but laugh.

"Come on, you big baby." You took his hand. His fingers were long and warm and they curled around yours instantly. "It's a cat. It has important cat business to attend to."

"But I was whispering to it..." He whined, letting you pull him along the street.

"I know how to fix this." You tugged him toward a small shop a few doors down. It was a traditional dessert shop.

He stopped pouting the moment he saw the display.

Through the gleaming glass window was a wonderland of sweets, a landscape of textures and colors he had never seen before. There were trays of glistening, diamond-cut baklava, some filled with pistachios, others with walnuts. There were delicate rolled wafers, chocolate-covered profiteroles swimming in a thick sauce, and individual earthen bowls of rice pudding.

Satoru went completely still. He let go of your hand and pressed his face against the glass like a small child, his breath fogging the surface.

"Whoa... What is all this?" He started pointing, his finger smudging the glass. "What's that one? The one that looks like shredded wheat on fire? And that wobbly one? Does it wobble when you eat it? And that? Is that just a block of chocolate? Can you buy the whole block?" He turned to you. "Okay. New plan. We're getting one of everything."

The discussion with the shop owner had been less of a transaction and more of a lengthy, passionate negotiation. The result was a small mountain of cardboard boxes and paper bags, which you both carried down to the waterfront.
The chaos of the city faded behind you, replaced by the rhythmic lapping of the Bosphorus against the stone promenade. You found an empty bench. Across the dark shimmering water, the ancient silhouette of the Maiden's Tower stood. The city on the European side was a distant.

"This..." Satoru declared, looking at the collection of boxes piled between you with the pride of a conquering general, "is the greatest victory of my entire life."

"Beating the King of Curses was nothing compared to convincing a man to sell you one of every pastry he had?"

"That was business. This... this is art." He held up a perfect, glistening diamond of baklava, the flaky layers translucent under the soft lamplight.

He didn't offer you the box. Instead, he held the single piece between his long, elegant fingers. "Open up."

You hesitated, a faint blush creeping up your neck. "I can take it myself."

"Nope. The person who discovers the treasure gets to share it. Now, open."

You did as he said. He brought the pastry to your lips. His fingers, slightly sticky with syrup, brushed against your mouth as he placed the baklava on your tongue.

The taste was an explosion of honey and crisp, buttery layers that melted the moment you closed your mouth. It was perfect.

He didn't pull his hand away immediately. He watched your reaction. Then he brought his own thumb to his lips, licking away a stray drop of honey.

The world seemed to shrink to the space on this bench, to the sound of the water and the steady, reassuring warmth of his shoulder beside yours. You thought of the endless grey of the prison and then looked at the thousand glittering lights across the water.

Satoru’s gaze followed yours to the lonely tower in the water. "They say a king locked his daughter in that tower to protect her from a prophecy. To keep her safe from the world." He was silent for a long moment, watching the tower's light. "He was an idiot." He turned to you, the city lights reflecting in his eyes, turning them into a galaxy of brilliant blue. "You don't protect the things you love by locking them away. You protect them by staying right here."

He took your hand, the one not holding a pastry box, and brought it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to your knuckles.

You leaned in, closing the small space between you. The kiss tasted sweet. His hand left yours, moving to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. When you finally pulled away, it was only for a breath. You rested your forehead against his, the cool sea breeze a stark contrast to the warmth radiating between you.

"Better the second time."

"You just want another bite of baklava."

"Maybe. But mostly I just missed this." He paused. "Your laugh. I really missed that sound."

You were about to say something, to tell him you'd missed his stupid, arrogant grin, when a new sound intruded on your perfect private world.

"Tsk tsk..." An elderly voice muttered in another language, bundled in a thick coat and headscarf, shuffled past your bench. She shot you both a look of disapproval.

You instantly pulled back. You scrambled to put a respectable few inches of space between you and Satoru on the bench, suddenly feeling like a teenager caught misbehaving.

Satoru, on the other hand, was completely unfazed. He just watched the old woman shuffle away. "I think she likes us."

"What? She was mad!"

"Exactly!" He raised his voice, calling out cheerfully after the woman's retreating back. "Good evening!"

The woman didn't turn around.

He turned back to you. "You're so easy to fluster." He teased, leaning in close again. "It's adorable."

He stole another kiss, quick and sweet this time before you could protest. He picked up the box with the milky, caramelized pudding. "Are you going to feed me this one, or do I have to cause another public scandal?"

You picked up a small spoon and dipped it into the milky, caramelized pudding—kazandibi. "Fine. But only because you're causing a scene."

You held the spoon up to his mouth. He leaned in, his eyes crinkling at the corners and took the bite. "Mmm. Burnt. In a good way. It's perfect."

He settled back against the bench, a comfortable silence falling between you as you both watched the lights of the city glitter across the water. The mountain of pastry boxes sat between you.

"It's weird." You said, looking out at the dark water. "Seeing cities like this again. So alive. So... normal."

"Normal is good." His shoulder pressed against yours. "It's what we fought for."

You hesitated, then asked the question that sometimes surfaced in the quiet moments. "Do you ever worry? About them? Back home?"

"No. Not anymore. Yuta's in charge. He's leading the new council with the Kamo clan's support. He's got a good head on his shoulders. Serious enough for twenty of the old fools we got rid of."

"And the others?"

"They're building the world I always wanted for them. Megumi's right there with him. He's... finding his own strength." He paused. "Yuji's finally free. He's with Choso, traveling, helping people on a smaller scale. Finding his own way to save people without being a cage." A faint smile touched his lips. "And Maki... you should see her. After she was done with the Zenin clan, no one dares to question her. She's terrifying, and she's exactly what the Jujutsu world needs. Even Nobara's back in the field, eyepatch and all."

"So they don't need you?"

"Oh, they need me. Everyone behaves because they know I'm out here, watching. But my job isn't there anymore." He took your hand, his fingers lacing through yours. "It's right here. They're building their future. And I'm finally getting to build mine."

The arrogant god, the broken survivor, the chaotic child—they were all still there, but they had settled into something new. Something whole. Something that was just... Satoru. Your Satoru.

A year ago, there had been no lights. No sound. No taste of honey or the feeling of a cool sea breeze. There had only been the endless, silent grey, a place where your soul had unraveled. You remembered the feeling of being a ghost, a passenger in your own skin, a weapon in a killer’s hands. But he had never seen you as any of that. He had only ever seen you. The girl he had tried to save in a subway station. The woman who had massaged his scalp in a cage at the end of the world. The life he had refused to let go. His love hadn't just been a bridge back from the void. It had been an anchor, the one solid point in the universe that had told your shattered soul where home was.

The ghosts were still there, of course. The scar on your soul from Toji's presence, the phantom echo of a blade at your throat. They would always be a part of you. But they were quiet now, their monstrous whispers drowned out by the gentle lapping of the Bosphorus and the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing beside you. They were just stories now, stories of a war you had both survived.

You had been a dead end. But with him, you were finally an open road.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

He stood up, pulling you gently to your feet. "That's enough sitting around being romantic. The real mission starts now."

You blinked. "Mission? What mission?"

"Exorcising the curses in the city, of course! Think of it as... a working vacation."

Before you could protest, he was pulling you along the promenade, away from the soft lights of the waterfront and toward the darker, narrower streets of the old city.

"Satoru, wait!" you said, stumbling to keep up. "I can't fight curses! I'm not a sorcerer!"

He stopped under a dim, flickering streetlamp, turning to you. "You're not. You're something else." He took both of your hands in his,still holding the bags of desserts. "You have my blood in your veins. My energy. It's a part of you now. A part of us."

He led you into a dark, narrow alleyway between two ancient buildings. A twisted thing made of shadow and discarded worry, huddled in the far corner. You froze, a primal fear seizing you. He didn't let go of your hands. Instead, he stepped behind you, his arms wrapping around you from the back, his hands covering yours. His chin rested on your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear. You were completely enveloped by him, a human shield of warmth and power.

"Feel that? That low hum inside you, like a live wire? That's it. That's the power."

You could feel it, the energy you had been trying to ignore for weeks.

"Don't fight it. It's yours. It answers to you. I just gave you the key." He directed your intertwined hands toward the cowering curse. "Now, I want you to focus on that thing. And I want you to... push."

You tried. You focused on the feeling, on the dark shape ahead, and pushed with your will. Nothing happened. "I can't!"

"Stop trying so hard." He chuckled softly, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're not using a technique. You're just telling it to go away. It's your space. That thing doesn't belong here." He nuzzled the side of your neck. "Be possessive."

You closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath, focusing on the feeling of him surrounding you, on the absolute certainty that this was your space, your moment. You focused on the curse, and with a surge of feeling that was less a command and more a pure, instinctual rejection, you pushed. A brilliant blue light, no bigger than your hand, pulsed from your outstretched fingers. The curse didn't scream or dissolve. It simply... came apart, unmade by a whisper of the same infinite power that held you.

The alley was empty. The cold was gone.

Satoru spun you around in his arms. "A natural."

He didn't give you time to answer. He just kissed you, a deep kiss under the single flickering streetlamp. When he pulled back, his eyes were dancing with a thousand new possibilities.

"Now... Lesson two."

The world dissolved. Before you could even gasp, you were standing on plush carpet, the cool night air of the alley replaced by the soft, warm glow of a hotel room. Below, the city was a breathtaking tapestry of glittering lights.

You stumbled, your head swimming but he was there, his arms steadying you. "Lesson two..."

The small mountain of pastry boxes and paper bags he was still holding tumbled to the floor. His hands came up to frame your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.

"Is that you're not going anywhere."

He kissed you. Deep and hungry, full of a year's worth of unspoken promises and borrowed moments.

He backed you up, one step at a time, his mouth never leaving yours. You were walking backward, blind, trusting him completely. He pushed you back until the backs of your knees hit the soft mattress of the huge bed and you tumbled backward onto the crisp, white duvet.
He followed you down. His hands braced on either side of your head, pinning you with nothing but the intensity of his gaze. He looked down at you.

"And this time..." He breathed, his lips brushing against yours with every word. "I'm not going anyhwere too."

His mouth captured yours again and all the restraint he had shown was gone. A groan rumbled in his chest as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him down, urging him closer. You were not a fragile thing to be protected anymore. You were his equal in this desperate, beautiful hunger. His hand slid from your side, moving with a searing slowness up your ribs, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast through the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You gasped into his mouth, your back arching off the mattress. He took the invitation, his lips leaving yours to trail a line of open-mouthed kisses down your throat, finding the frantic, fluttering pulse at its base. He lingered there, his breath hot against your skin, and you could feel the faint tremor that ran through his entire body. He was losing control and it was the most terrifying, most exhilarating feeling in the world.

"S-satoru..."

"You're mine. You were mine in the prison. You were mine when you were a ghost. And you're mine now. Say yes."

"Yes." You whispered.

It was all he needed. He broke the kiss to tear off his own hoodie in a single motion, tossing it aside without looking. The room was dim, lit only by the glittering city lights from the window but the pale skin of his chest and the sharp, defined lines of his abdomen seemed to glow in the darkness. He was a statue come to life, a perfect form and he was yours.

With a slow reverence that made your heart pound, he took the hem of the shirt in his hands and pulled it up and over your head, leaving you bare beneath his intense gaze. He didn't move for a long moment, just looked at you, his blue eyes drinking in the sight of you, a look of such possessive awe on his face that it made you feel like the most beautiful thing in existence.

"God, you are-" His lips trailed slowly downwards from your navel, and without hesitation, he grabbed the waistband of your shorts with his two large hands and pulled them down your legs.
His kisses moved to the inside of your leg this time and he couldn't take his eyes off you. He watched in awe how wet you were. It was all for him. When you felt his first kiss between your legs, you unconsciously moaned and lifted your hips up towards his face. Satoru took this as an invitation. His lips continued to leave kisses without hesitation, then his tongue found your clit and this time you were sure you were going to heaven. You grabbed him by the hair. Should you push or pull? You didn't know. You were only focused on pleasure. His tongue was moving in places no one had touched before, and finally, it slid between your wet folds and made you see stars.

"Satoru- I can't-"

"Yes, you can."

His tongue got faster, sucking and kissing. When you finally came, he sucked everything you gave him with pride. This closeness was too much, you wanted to cover your face with your hand but he didn't let you. He was looking at you completely differently now. When he lifted his head between your legs, his lips and chin were shining with your fluid. He touched the fluid dripping from his chin and licked it off his fingers. "You were sweeter than any dessert we had today..."

His voice was shaking and the bulge in his pants was too big to ignore. But he was more focused on you than on himself. He climbed up, standing completely on top of your body. Your eyes were still blurry, and he saw the traces of the tears you had shed without realizing it. Was it normal for him to enjoy this? It was as if something else, something darker, had awakened within him as you cried and writhed in pleasure for him. The desire to possess. Forever. Just to have you.

He whispered your name like a prayer. Then he slowly unbuckled his own pants. "If you don't want this, say now. If you're not ready, we can wait. But I... I really don't want to stop. I want you. I want you so much that I can't think of anything else right now."

He was giving you a choice, an exit, even as every line of his body screamed that he wanted you to stay.

You answered not with words, but with an action.

You leaned up, your hands sliding from his shoulders to cup his face and you kissed him. You pulled back just enough to look into his searching eyes. "I'm here." Your voice a little shaky, but your gaze was steady. "And I'm yours."

Something between a choked laugh and a sob of relief escaped his throat. The last of his hesitation was incinerated in the certainty of your words. Within seconds, he had stripped off every piece of clothing he was wearing and positioned himself between your legs. He couldn't take his eyes off you and you couldn't look anywhere but into his eyes. Satoru never wore glasses or blindfolds when he was with you because you were relieving his pain. So he could watch you 24/7... Your presence had healed him in many ways. It was still the case now... Shaking, he took support from his one hand and pushed it inside. His other hand grabbed you by the hips and prevented you from escaping. Because he was so big, he knew you would back away first because of the pain.

"It's-It's too big- It's not-"

"Shh, calm down. I won't hurt you." He gave you time to get used to it. How much was inside you? 2 inches? Just the head? You broke eye contact and looked down, towards where the two of you were joined.

Satoru suddenly felt embarrassed and buried his face in your neck. He inhaled your scent and tried to stop his body from shaking. "Can I keep going...please?"

He was in pain. His desire to have you all at once was so strong that he had a hard time stopping himself. You nodded and dug your nails into his back. "I'm ready."

With every inch, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. It was as if he was trying to tear your whole body apart, but the pain came with the pleasure. Satoru was kissing your neck and caressing your hair the whole time. "You're great. Almost there."

There were no more words, only the language of touch, of ragged breaths and soft, broken sounds that filled the quiet room. He learned the shape of you, the taste of you. And you met him with an equal, desperate hunger. It was messy and desperate. You were not his miracle or his mission. You were his home. And he had finally, truly, come back to it.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The city was a silent. You were both awake. The hours of intimacy had given way to a sense of relaxation. Your bodies were warm, yet you couldn't stay away from each other. Sweat was trickling down your back. Satoru, for his part, was still breathless. Tired, you rested your head on his shoulder, one of your legs draped over his. With one hand, Satoru caressed your hip, while his other held your waist, pulling you even closer.

"You know..." He began, his hand tracing lazy circles on the small of your back. "For my entire life, the future just meant the next mission. The next curse to kill. The next student to save. The next meeting with a bunch of old fossils who wanted me dead." A laugh escaped him. "It was never a place I actually wanted to go. It was just... the next thing on the schedule."

You lifted your head slightly, looking at his profile in the dim light. His eyes were open, fixed on the glittering city outside the window, but he was seeing something else entirely. "But now..." He turned his head, his brilliant blue eyes finding yours in the darkness. "When I think about tomorrow... all I can picture is waking up, and you're still here. And then I think about what kind of ridiculous, overpriced breakfast we should get. And after that, I think about that arcade date I owe you. We still need to get those matching Digimon keychains, you know. It's a very serious, binding vow."

He shifted, rolling onto his side to face you fully, pulling you with him so you were nose-to-nose. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. "I want to do all the stupid, normal things. I want to argue with you about which movie to watch. I want to get lost in a city we've never been to. I want to buy you so many desserts that we have to call it a mission just to eat them all."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "I spent my whole life being 'Gojo Satoru'. I don't want to be that anymore."

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. "I just want to be yours."

Tears, quiet and warm, welled in your eyes and slipped down your temples into the pillow. You lifted a hand, your fingers tracing the sharp, beautiful line of his jaw. "You already are. You have been since you told me not to stop massaging your head in a place that didn't exist."

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms tightening around you, holding you. "Was I that obvious?"

"You were terrifying." Your fingers tangled in his hair. "And you were the safest place I'd ever been. It was... confusing."

"And now?"

"Now... It's just a Digimon keychain. And maybe some of that burnt pudding for breakfast."

He laughed and pulled you tight against him, rolling so you were nestled into his side, your head on his chest, his arm a secure weight around you.

"Deal."

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The sun was warm on your skin, a stark, beautiful contrast to the cool sea breeze coming off the Bosphorus. The water glittered, a million tiny diamonds dancing on its surface. Your hand was enveloped in his. It was a familiar weight but now every point of contact felt electric. You were acutely aware of the warmth of his palm, the way his long fingers were laced through yours. It was the same hand that had held you with such desperate tenderness, the same hand you had felt on your skin in the dark.

You risked a glance at him. He was staring intently at a ferry chugging its way across the water but you could see the faint tension in his jaw. He was just as aware of this new, fragile space between you as you were.

"So...Hungry?"

"Not really." You replied.

You watched a seagull land on a nearby post, tucking its wings with a practiced neatness. You could feel his gaze on you and turned to meet it. For a fraction of a second, your eyes locked. His were brilliant, impossibly blue, and you saw a flicker of the same raw vulnerability from the night before. It was too much. You both looked away at the same time.

A small, orange cat darted across the promenade in front of you, its tail held high. It paused to look at Satoru, then seemed to think better of it and vanished into a nearby garden.

"See?" His voice returning to its usual playful tone, a clear attempt to break the tension. "This one's running away from me. The word is out. I'm a heartbreaker."

"You're an idiot."

He stopped walking, turning to face you. "A little. Not used to... this part. The 'morning after' part." He lifted your joined hands, his thumb stroking the back of yours. "I like this part, though."

"Rose? For the beautiful lady?"

The voice was raspy and kind. An old woman, her face a lovely map of wrinkles, stood before you, a plastic bucket filled with deep, red roses in her arms. She held one out, not to you, but to Satoru.

"An excellent idea." He said in English. He reached for his wallet. "Yes, of course. The most beautiful one you have."

As he fumbled for some lira, the old woman’s gaze drifted from his smile up to his hair. Her eyes widened with a look of pure awe. She was completely mesmerized.

"Your hair...It is like snow. Like... like an angel."

Of course. Even here, a world away from curses and sorcerers, he was still a spectacle. You were just the beautiful, generic "lady" in the sales pitch. He was the angel. You felt your grip on his hand tighten almost imperceptibly.

Satoru just laughed. He was used to it. "An angel? Me? I don't know about that." He said, handing the woman a bill that was clearly far too much. She took it with a grateful, toothless smile, her eyes still fixed on his hair as if he might ascend to the heavens at any moment.

He took the single, perfect red rose from her. The moment the transaction was over, he turned his back on the woman, on the world, his entire universe of attention contracting to focus solely on you. He saw the faint pout on your lips, the slight shadow in your eyes. He didn't call it out. Instead, he lifted the rose, its petals a deep, velvety red, and with a surprising gentleness, he tucked the stem behind your ear, the flower resting against your hair.

He leaned in close. "She has good taste." His lips brushed against your temple, sending a shiver down your spine. "But she was looking at the wrong angel."

The world could look at him but he was only looking at you.

You were about to tease him again when your own gaze caught on a large, colorful banner plastered on the side of a building. It was an advertisement for a museum exhibit, featuring a grand, stoic portrait of a young man. The text above him read: The Conqueror's Legacy.

You stopped dead in your tracks, pulling Gojo to a halt beside you. You lifted your free hand, pointing dramatically at the stern-faced sultan on the banner. "Oh, look." You said, your voice a deadpan note of casual recognition. "That's my friend I was talking about."

Gojo followed your finger to the portrait. He blinked once, then a second time.
He looked from the portrait of the conqueror, back to your completely serious face, and then back to the portrait.

He wasn't falling for it this time.

"Really? He looks a little... intense for your crowd. Are you sure?"

"He was much more relaxed in person. A little moody, sure, but he mostly just complained about the stray cats in the palace garden scratching him."

That was the key. The specific, absurd detail from your story in the void. "The cat story! I almost believed that one." He said, shaking his head as he pulled you closer.

"Believed it? It's true!" You insisted, trying and failing to keep a straight face as he laughed. "Ask me about Vlad the Impaler sometime. That was a whole thing."

He leaned in, his blue eyes dancing with amusement. He was so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. "You know... For a 14,000-year-old immortal who's seen empires rise and fall... you blush way too easily."

It was a joke only the two of you in the entire world could possibly understand.

"You think I'd just make up a detail like that? He was a surprisingly good listener, once you got past the whole 'conquering empires' thing."

"Oh, I'm sure." He was playing along, indulging your ridiculous story with the easy confidence of someone who knew it was just a game. "Next, you'll tell me you taught Da Vinci how to paint."

"He was a terrible student. No patience."

You were so caught up in the banter, in the light, easy rhythm of your new life, that you didn't notice it at first. The hand holding yours, which had been warm and relaxed, suddenly tightened.

"Satoru?"

The playful smile was gone from his face. His gaze wasn't on you or the bustling street. It was fixed on something far beyond, a point in the distance only he could see, piercing through buildings and earth.

"I think I found something."

You squeezed his hand, trying to pull him back into your game. "Another curse that needs exorcising?"

He finally turned his head, his gaze meeting yours. "No... His head."

And so, your half-joking search ended with the police. Because the cursed energy Satoru felt was so strong, he thought it might be connected to Vlad's head, which was buried somewhere. And he was about to start digging in the middle of a random street. It didn't take long for you both to be reported for "treasure smuggling."

But, to spare Satoru's pride, we don't tell this story.

At the end of the day, your trip to Istanbul had come to an end. Next up were Egypt and Rome. And you wouldn't stop until you had memorized the whole world.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The sun in Egypt was a different beast entirely. Satoru had apparently met his match.

"It's trying to kill me." He dramatically fanned himself with a tourist map. He was draped over the side of a small, traditional sailboat—a felucca—its triangular sail a stark white against the deep blue of the Nile. "I can feel it. It's a personal attack."

You sat under the small canopy, a cool glass of hibiscus tea in your hand. "I thought your Infinity stopped things from touching you?"

"It's offensive to my eyes. My very soul is getting a sunburn." A small, brown beetle landed on his arm. He froze... He stared at it for a long, silent moment before looking at you. "Help....." He mouthed silently.

You just laughed, a sound that carried easily over the gentle lapping of the water. "The strongest sorcerer in the world taken down by a beetle and a sunny day. I'm so glad I'm here to witness this."

He gently flicked the beetle off his arm and into the river. He abandoned his post at the railing and slid onto the cushioned bench beside you, immediately draping himself over you like a giant, overheated cat. He rested his head in your lap, the same way he had in the endless grey of the prison, but this time, the world around you was alive with color and light.

"Is this better?" You asked, your fingers automatically finding their way into his soft hair, scratching gently at his scalp.

"Much. You have healing properties."

"Okay, stop saying that."

You sat in comfortable silence as the boat drifted, the sun beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of fiery orange and soft lavender. The distant, ancient shapes of Luxor's temples were dark silhouettes against the horizon. "It's still weird, you know." He said softly.

"The sun?"

"No." He took your free hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your palm. "This. I never knew what it felt like to be the calm. I'm never going back to the storm, you know."

"I know."

"Good."

࣪ ִֶָ☾.

You stared at the world outside from a small, oval window. Below, the Mediterranean Sea was a vast, shimmering sheet of sapphire, the coast of Greece a distant, hazy line in the afternoon sun.

"I'm bored."

He was upside down. He had somehow managed to contort his ridiculously long frame so that his head was hanging off the plush leather seat, his white hair brushing against the carpet. He was staring at the ceiling with a look of profound, existential ennui.

"We've been in the air for exactly one hour and twenty-three minutes." You said, glancing at your watch. "How are you possibly bored already?"

"It's boring up here." He turned his upside-down gaze to you, his blue eyes wide and pleading. "I'm wilting."

This was the trade-off. After a week of crowded markets, dusty tombs, and navigating the glorious chaos of public transport, he had finally caved and chartered a private jet for the leg to Rome. He had insisted it was for your comfort. You knew it was because he was tired of not being able to stretch his legs.

"Come here." You said, patting the empty seat beside you.

He slid into the seat beside you, immediately invading your personal space, draping an arm over your shoulders and resting his head against yours with a contented sigh.

"Better?"

"Always."

You were home.

"Hey."

"Hmm?"

"When we get to Rome... What's the cat-calling word there?"

"I have no idea."

"Good." He said, his smile widening. "New mission."

ִֶָ☾.

You leaned against Satoru's shoulder, the steady, slow rhythm of his breathing a soothing presence. And then it came back. A subtle, familiar static in the air, a cold prickle on the back of your neck that had nothing to do with the cabin's temperature. The feeling of being watched. You slowly lifted your head from Satoru's shoulder. He was asleep, his face peaceful, his long lashes dark against his cheekbones. The last thing you wanted to do was disturb this rare, perfect moment of rest.

Your gaze drifted across the cabin. It was empty, a luxurious, sterile space of cream leather and polished wood. But the feeling persisted, a focused, unwavering observation. You scanned the seats, your eyes adjusting to the bright light.

And you saw him.

He was sitting in the furthest seat at the very back of the cabin, almost hidden in the shadows cast by the afternoon sun. He was a man in a perfectly tailored suit, his blonde hair neatly combed. He wore a pair of distinctive, goggle-like glasses and was staring out his own window at the endless expanse of blue, his posture rigid and formal. He looked completely out of place, a businessman who had wandered onto the wrong flight. But he wasn't a man. You knew, with the same certainty that you knew your own name, that he was another ghost. Another echo from Satoru’s broken past.

You were a crossroads. A final stop for the lost souls in his orbit. You slipped from your seat, your bare feet silent on the thick carpet.

You walked the length of the quiet cabin. You stopped and slid into the seat directly opposite him. He still didn't look at you. He just continued to stare out the window. You remembered Satoru's stories, the descriptions of his friends, the ones he had lost. You knew who this was.

You waited for a moment, and when he didn't speak, you did.

"Hi, Nanami."

He looked at you. He had clearly been waiting.

"You are the anomaly. I had wondered."

"I'm sorry to disturb you." You said.

"Considering the circumstances, I believe I am the one disturbing you. My apologies." He spoke with a formal politeness that felt achingly sad.

You looked at this tired, lost soul, a man who had died in a hell you had only just escaped. You remembered Geto's gratitude, Toji's violent purpose. You knew your role now. "How can I help you? Find peace? Move on?"

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze returning to the window. "Peace." He repeated, the word tasting strange. "Peace was always the goal. The endpoint. I simply chose the wrong path to get there."

He looked down at his own spectral hands, resting on his knees. "I hated being a sorcerer. It's a marathon of regret. You were right to be afraid of it." He looked back at you, his gaze clear and direct. "I have no grand unfinished business. No desire for revenge. Just a single, foolish, and sentimental regret." He paused, a wistful smile finally touching his lip.

"I always wanted to go to Malaysia." He said, his voice soft with the memory of a dream. "Kuantan. I read about it once. The beaches are quiet. I imagined building a small house. Reading books I've piled up but never opened. Just... to be somewhere quiet. That would have made me happy."

You squeezed your eyes shut, and when you opened them again, you had made a new promise to yourself.

"I can arrange that for you."

Then, you stood. Your own mission.

Your bare feet made no sound on the thick carpet as you walked to the front of the cabin. You gave a soft, hesitant knock on the cockpit door. A moment later, it opened, and one of the pilots, a man with a kind, professional face, looked out.

"Ma'am? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, sorry to bother you. But I need to ask a huge favor. It's... a bit last-minute."

The pilot's expression remained neutral, waiting.

"Can we change our destination?"

"Change destination, ma'am? We've filed our flight plan for Rome. We're about an hour out."

"I know, and I'm so sorry, but..." You put on your most sincere, slightly flustered expression. "I want to surprise him." You gestured with your head back toward the sleeping Satoru. "He was just talking about... a place. A beach he read about somewhere. Somewhere quiet, away from everything. I just thought... it would be the perfect surprise. To just... show up there."

The pilot looked from your earnest face to the sleeping form of his employer. He knew who signed his paychecks. And he knew the look of a man who was, for the first time, genuinely, completely happy. Making the man's companion happy was part of the job description. "Of course, ma'am. That's a very thoughtful gesture. Where to?"

"Kuantan, Malaysia."

The pilot's eyebrows shot up for a fraction of a second at the drastic change in continent, but his professionalism won out. "I'll re-route and check our fuel reserves. We'll likely need to make a quick stop, but it's possible. I'll handle it."

"Thank you so much."

You didn't look at Satoru. Instead, your gaze drifted to the back of the cabin, to the empty seat where Nanami had been. And he was there again. You closed your eyes, and in the quiet space of your own mind, you were sitting opposite him once more.

"Thank you." His spectral form said, his voice a calm, grateful thought in your consciousness. "That is... an unnecessarily kind gesture."

"You helped his students." Your own thought replied. "You were his friend. It's the least I can do. Should I... tell him you're here? I think he'd want to know."

"No, thank you. He once tried to draw a penis on my face with a marker. He'll probably try to draw one on my ghost face too. I'd rather not risk it."

You opened your eyes. The seat at the back of the cabin was empty. The ghost was gone. You were left alone with the quiet hum of the engines.

They were all a part of you, scars on a soul that had seen the other side and chosen to come back. Toji. Nanami. Geto. And maybe...Some day...Sukuna. You had been a prisoner, a weapon, a ghost, a miracle. You had been a dead end. But here, thirty thousand feet in the air, with the warmth of Satoru’s hand in yours and a secret mission to a quiet beach in your heart, you were none of those things. You were just a woman on a journey, a quiet pilgrimage through a world you had forgotten how to live in, with a man who was learning right alongside you. The wars were over. The past was settled. The future was not a destination, but a direction. You were both finally facing it together.

So, what was the correct answer? Would the soul win the real battle, or the body? Who knew. You weren't going to search for the answer to this question that had gone unanswered for thousands of years. You would just accept everything as it was.

"Babe... No, you can't be Ada Wong..." Satoru was talking in his sleep. You leaned in toward his lips to hear what he was saying.

"...grappling hook."

His brow was furrowed in concentration, his lips barely moving.

"You don't have the... the grappling hook... where's your grappling hook...?"

You stifled a laugh. The memory hit you with the force of a perfectly timed punchline. Shibuya. Halloween. You had gone as Ada Wong from Resident Evil. His subconscious, it seemed, had decided to turn the most traumatic event of his existence into a video game level.

"Stupid dress." He shifted in his sleep, his arm tightening around your waist, pulling you closer as if to protect you from his dream monsters. "Not practical for... for zombies... curses... whatever."

He wasn't having a nightmare about losing you. He was having a nightmare about you being under-equipped for the zombie-curse apocalypse.

You couldn't help it. You gently shook his shoulder. "Satoru. Hey. Wake up." His eyes fluttered open. He looked at you, a slow, soft smile spreading across his face as his brain caught up with reality. "Hey. Good dream."

"Was I in it?"

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his voice muffled. "Always." He was quiet for a moment. "Was I... talking?"

"A little."

He pulled back, his eyes now wide with a familiar, boyish panic. "Anything... stupid?"

You pretended to think about it, tapping a finger on your chin. "Just some very serious, very important mission planning."

He looked relieved. "Oh, good. Like what?"

"You seemed very, very concerned about my lack of a grappling hook."

You could practically see the gears in his brain grinding, connecting the dots from his dream to his memory to your Halloween costume. The color started at his neck, a faint pink that rapidly spread up to his cheeks, until his entire face was a brilliant, mortified crimson.

"Oh crap." he groaned, burying his face in your shoulder. "No. Please tell me I didn't say that out loud."

"Don't worry..." You said, patting his back as he hid from the world. "I'll add it to my birthday list. Right after the matching Digimon keychains."

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the end 𝜗ৎ