The morning hadn't quite stretched itself awake. The sky still carried traces of night's embrace, reluctant to let go. A chill slithered through the dormitory halls, whispering against the windowpanes, creeping into the bones of anyone foolish enough to rise this early.
Tetsuya exhaled, watching his breath dissolve into the dim air. It was too damn early—but if he didn't start moving, who else would make sure the others woke up on time?
He dragged himself out of bed, stretching just enough to shake the stiffness from his limbs, then stepped into the silent corridor. The floorboards barely creaked under his careful steps, but the quiet was thick, pressing in from all sides.
First stop: Ryou.
A few knocks. No answer.
Tetsuya sighed. Expected.
He twisted the doorknob and peeked inside—dark, save for the faint sliver of light slipping through the drawn curtains. Ryou was little more than a bundle of blankets on the bed, his messy black hair the only visible part of him. A human-shaped lump resisting the call of morning.
Tetsuya approached. "Hey. Wake up."
No response.
"If you don't get up, I'm opening the curtains."
Still nothing.
With a flick of his wrist, Tetsuya yanked the curtains open. Light flooded the room, spilling golden hues across the floor. The reaction was immediate.
Ryou recoiled as if burned, groaning like a creature dragged from the depths of hell. One arm flopped over his eyes. "Turn it off."
Tetsuya smirked. "Do I look like I control the sun?"
"Turn it off." The voice was hoarse, drenched in suffering. Shaking his head, Tetsuya left him to his misery. One down.
Next: Himari. Except… her room was empty. The sheets were untouched. The air undisturbed.
A frown crept onto his face.
Before he could wonder too much, movement outside caught his eye. He turned toward the window, and there she was—Himari, a lone figure in the courtyard, bathed in morning mist.
She moved with the effortless grace of someone who knew they were being watched. Every stretch, every measured breath, was deliberate. The soft sheen of sweat on her skin glistened under the rising sun. Even the wind seemed to hesitate before brushing past her, careful not to disrupt the elegance of her routine.
Tetsuya exhaled. Of course she was already awake.
Still, that left one more. Reika. His steps slowed as he reached her door. Knuckles met wood. Once. Twice.
No response.
"…Reika?"
Silence.
A different kind of silence.
The air around her door felt heavier, like stepping into a room where a conversation had been abruptly cut short. A draft slipped beneath the door, carrying something cold with it—not temperature cold, but the kind that settled in the stomach, gnawed at the back of the mind.
Tetsuya pressed his ear to the door. Listened.
Nothing.
The back of his neck prickled.
He swallowed, shaking off the unease, and turned away. Probably just his imagination.
───⭑⭒⚊奈落の顎⚊⭒⭑───
The scent of simmering broth filled the dormitory. A controlled clatter of chopsticks against ceramic, the crisp sizzle of something frying—breakfast was coming together, the kitchen bathed in warmth that chased away the last remnants of night.
Tetsuya laid out the dishes: bowls of steaming miso soup, neatly folded omelets, grilled fish still crackling from the heat. The kind of meal that made mornings feel less cruel.
By the time Ryou dragged himself to the table, half-awake and still vaguely resembling a ghost, Himari had already settled in, scrolling through her phone with a critical eye.
"This looks decent," she mused, snapping a picture. "Almost like a real restaurant." Ryou yawned. "Tetsuya's basically a housewife."
"As long as you don't starve to death, I'll take that as a compliment." The conversation drifted. A normal morning, if such a thing existed in this place.
Then, somewhere between one breath and—there was another presence at the table. A seat that had been empty just a moment ago… wasn't.
Tetsuya didn't flinch. Ryou stopped mid-chew. Himari, in the middle of lifting her chopsticks, froze.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three.
Himari's breath hitched, heartbeat a sudden drum in her ears. The soup in her spoon trembled.
Across from her, Reika sat motionless. She hadn't walked in. No door had opened. No chair had scraped against the floor.
But she was here.
Her eyes—deep red, shadowed in ways that light could never touch—were fixed on Himari. Empty, unreadable. A stare that wasn't a stare, like looking into something that existed just outside the edges of perception.
Himari's grip on her chopsticks tightened.
She had been about to take a bite. A simple motion. Food from plate to mouth. But now—She couldn't.
Something in her gut whispered, Don't.
Too late. The moment stretched too long, the tension wound too tight. Himari inhaled sharply, hands jerking—
Her chopsticks slipped. Rice tumbled. A bite of egg rolled off her plate. Straight toward Reika. It never hit the table. It never hit her, either. It was just… gone.
Not fallen. Not knocked aside. Just—
—gone.
Himari sucked in a breath. Her skin crawled. Tetsuya, calm as ever, reached for his own chopsticks. "Reika, want some breakfast?"
Silence.
Then, slowly, Reika turned toward him.
Himari swore she saw it—the slightest movement, something inhuman in the way Reika's lips parted, just barely, as if tasting the air.
Ryou, still leaning back in his chair, finally exhaled. "Damn. That was a jumpscare."
The rhythmic clink of silverware against porcelain was the only sound filling the room. It wasn't the comforting kind of silence—it was loaded, heavy, like a blade hovering just above the skin, waiting to slice through.
Himari sipped her tea with deliberate elegance, her fingers curling around the delicate cup as if she were hosting a high-class soirée rather than sitting in a dimly lit academy dining hall. A practiced smile rested on her lips, but the sharp glint in her golden eyes betrayed her lingering irritation from earlier events. Across from her, Tetsuya was too engrossed in his food to care, stuffing his mouth with the enthusiasm of someone who thought a full stomach could drown out unease.
Ryou, however, had barely touched his meal. He sat back in his chair, absentmindedly tapping his fork against his plate, his mind clearly miles away.
At the far end of the table, nearly blending into the background like a shadow forgotten by the light, sat Reika.
She didn't move much. Didn't fidget. Didn't do anything that would suggest she was truly present. Her plate remained untouched except for a few superficial disturbances—enough to make it look like she had at least considered eating. But that was all.
For a moment, there was nothing but the dull hum of tension simmering beneath the surface. Then, Tetsuya—blissfully unaware or simply too naive to care—broke the silence.
"Hey, Reika…" He barely glanced up from his plate, voice casual, like he was asking about the weather. "What exactly is your technique?"
A simple question. One that should've been harmless.
Himari paused mid-stir, her spoon hovering over her cup as interest flickered across her face. Ryou, who had spent the past few minutes looking thoroughly unimpressed with existence itself, arched a brow.
"Yeah," Himari mused, leaning back against her chair. "Now that you mention it..." All eyes turned to Reika.
She remained still, almost as if she hadn't heard them. But then, slowly—painstakingly slowly—she lifted her gaze.
Something shifted.
It wasn't dramatic. There were no sudden changes in the air, no ominous flickering of the lights. And yet, the temperature in the room felt colder. The air, heavier.
"I…" Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but it cut through the room like a blade through silk.
"I consume."
Silence.
Tetsuya blinked. "Consume?" He repeated, as if tasting the word on his tongue, unsure of whether to swallow it or spit it out. "You mean, like… literally eating?"
Reika didn't nod. Didn't confirm. But she also didn't deny it.
Ryou leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. "You mean cursed energy? Or—"
She didn't answer. Not immediately. Instead, she let the question hang, let them draw their own conclusions, let them squirm in the unease of their own thoughts. Then, after a heartbeat too long, she added:
"I don't need to do much. Just being near them is enough."
Himari exhaled through her nose, crossing her arms. "That's it?" Disappointment laced her tone. "I was expecting something flashier."
Reika didn't react. She didn't need to. Her lack of expression said enough: Your expectations mean nothing to me.
Ryou kept watching her, his gaze weighing, calculating. But he didn't push. Not yet. He knew better than to dig when the ground was still too solid—better to wait for a crack.
Then, as if sensing the conversation had hit a dead end, Himari pivoted. "You guys ever think about how much harsher the academy is now?" she said, swirling her tea idly. "I mean, the training's insane. If you don't have the mental strength, you'll die before you even fight a real curse."
Ryou scoffed. "You surprised? You think Jujutsu High was built for fun?"
"Obviously not," she shot back, "but still..." She sighed. "Back then, Satoru Gojo was in charge. Now? We have Yuuji-sensei."
"The guy who supposedly took down the King of Curses," Tetsuya added, though his tone lacked conviction.
"Yeah," Himari mused, then—casually, almost lazily—she dropped, "But have you ever noticed? There's no footage of that fight."
The table went still.
Ryou's fingers drummed against the surface. "You think it's a lie?"
"Not exactly," she said, setting down her cup. "I just think… it's convenient that all we have are stories. No proof. Just a legend."
Tetsuya swallowed hard. "So what? You're saying we're studying under a myth?"
"Something like that." Ryou exhaled sharply. "You think Sukuna's really dead?" And just like that, the room felt smaller.
Tetsuya forced out a nervous laugh. "If he was alive, the world would've already ended, right?"
"Then why," Himari murmured, her golden eyes narrowing, "does everything still feel so... unsteady?"
No one noticed the way Reika's fingers had curled ever so slightly around the edge of her plate. The way her grip had tightened.
No one noticed the faintest flicker of something unreadable in her dark, hollow gaze.
───⭑⭒⚊奈落の顎⚊⭒⭑───
The Jujutsu High training grounds stretched out before them, a vast expanse of compacted earth bordered by towering trees. The morning air carried the crisp bite of early sunlight, fresh and sharp, but the tension in the air coiled like an invisible rope, tightening around the four students standing in a loose line.
Yuuji stood before them, arms folded, his usual easygoing demeanor tempered by something more serious. More assessing.
"Before we start pushing you harder," he said, voice steady, "I need to know what I'm working with. Show me your techniques. I'll evaluate, and we'll go from there."
A short distance away, several low-level Curses had been released into the field. They varied in shape—some vaguely humanoid, others grotesque masses of writhing flesh and scattered eyes. Individually, they weren't dangerous. But the raw presence of them was enough to set instincts on edge.
Himari stepped forward first, rolling her shoulders back with the confidence of someone who knew she was about to put on a show. A slow, knowing smile tugged at her lips as she raised her hands.
"Don't look directly at me," she warned, but it came out more as a tease than an actual concern.
No one listened.
She moved. Swift, precise. The moment her hands formed a seal, light erupted from her body—not just brightness, but something more. Gold, raw and blinding, flared like the sun incarnate, distorting the very air with its heat.
The Curse before her recoiled, an instinctual, futile attempt at retreat.
Too late.
With the speed of a lightning strike, Himari launched forward, twisting mid-air. A radiant arc of energy followed her movement, a spear of condensed sunlight slamming into her target with surgical precision.
There was no scream. No resistance.
Only silence.
Then, a whisper of ashes as the Curse disintegrated into nothing.
Himari landed with effortless grace, golden hair catching the light as she flicked it back. She barely looked winded.
"Too easy," she hummed, flashing a self-satisfied grin.
Yuuji tilted his head slightly, unreadable. "Strong. But can you sustain that in a real fight?"
Her smile faltered for half a second before she shrugged. "If it takes too long, I'd run out of juice. But I don't need it to take long."
Tetsuya rubbed the back of his neck, stepping forward next. He didn't have Himari's arrogance, or Ryou's calculating silence. He wasn't flashy.
But then, his eyes sharpened.
And with a single, casual flick of his fingers
The air cracked—not just with sound, but with something deeper, something that wormed its way into the skull and settled there like an unwelcome guest. It wasn't an explosion, nor a scream, but a pressure that seemed to vibrate through the marrow of their bones.
The curse in front of Tetsuya jerked violently, its body seizing up as if an invisible hand had just yanked the strings of a broken marionette. Its wild, malevolent eyes dulled in an instant. Its mouth moved soundlessly, forming words it could no longer speak.
Tetsuya took a slow, deliberate step forward. There was no arrogance in his stance, no dramatic flair—just quiet precision. "My technique scrambles brain signals," he said, voice even, almost clinical. "It can mess with their orientation, or if I push it a little further…"
He snapped his fingers again.
The curse spasmed. Hard. Its limbs contorted at angles that should never exist. Then, without a single cry of pain, it collapsed. Dead before it even hit the ground.
Himari sucked in a breath, lips pressing together as something unreadable flickered in her golden eyes. "That's… creepy."
Yuuji, arms folded, observed Tetsuya like he was picking apart a puzzle. "A powerful ability," he mused. "But it relies on precision. What if your target has a high resistance to mental interference?"
Tetsuya flashed a wry smile. "Then I run?"
No one laughed.
The atmosphere shifted as Ryou stepped forward. There was something unsettling about the way he moved—not hurried, not hesitant, just deliberate. Like a predator that didn't need to chase.
The curse before him hissed, as if sensing the shift in the air.
Ryou raised one hand. Then—
He moved.
Not with superhuman speed, not with the blinding radiance of Himari's attacks or the eerie precision of Tetsuya's technique. He simply wasn't where he had been a moment ago.
One instant, he stood across from the curse. The next, he was behind it.
With a casual flick of his wrist, his knuckles barely grazing the curse's back, the world seemed to snap.
A force erupted outward, unseen yet undeniable. The curse was hurled forward like a ragdoll caught in a hurricane, slamming into the dirt with enough force to send dust billowing into the sky.
Ryou took his time walking over, nudging the still-twitching creature with the tip of his shoe. Then, without looking up, he said, "I manipulate momentum. Speed things up, slow them down, change their trajectory. Simple."
Himari blinked, dumbfounded. "Simple? You just turned that thing into a human—uh, curse cannonball."
Ryou shrugged. "Depends on how you look at it." Yuuji's gaze sharpened. "And how far can you push it?"
A slow, almost lazy smirk tugged at Ryou's lips. "Depends on how much I want to break something." And then, there was one left.
Reika.
She stepped forward without a word, her presence eerily quiet—not the calculated stillness of someone planning an attack, but the kind of quiet that made it easy to forget she was even there.
The curse before her trembled. Not from fear. From something else. Something primal. Reika did not make a grand gesture. She did not summon flames or distort reality.
She merely lifted a hand.
The air turned dense.
The curse twitched, its form beginning to—change. To break. It slumped, limbs growing sluggish, as if something inside of it was being unraveled, unwoven thread by thread. Its skin paled, its mass thinning, not as though it was dying—but as though it was being… drained.
The color of Reika's skin darkened, ever so slightly, as if absorbing something invisible from the creature in front of her.
Yuuji's expression barely shifted, but his voice was cool, measured. "So, you consume them?"
Reika lowered her hand. Her face remained unreadable. "Only parts of them."
Silence.
Tetsuya swallowed hard. Himari's lips pressed into a thin line. Ryou watched her, unblinking, like someone trying to solve a riddle they weren't sure they wanted the answer to.
Because for the first time, it wasn't just that they didn't understand Reika's ability. It was that they weren't entirely sure what she was.