Nobara Kugisaki had never once looked at Itadori Yuji and thought handsome. And Megumi Fushiguro? Please. If emotional constipation were a sport, he’d be national champion.

They were comrades, weapons at her side—nothing more. She fought with them, bled with them, insulted them with love, but desire had never once crossed her mind. Nobara knew exactly what she liked. She just hadn’t met her yet.

Until today decided to rearrange her spine and almost chew her in half.

The juvenile detention center reeked of rot and cursed energy. The walls pulsed like diseased flesh, corridors twisting wrong, breathing. They’d separated—a mistake, she knew that the second it happened—but Nobara wasn’t the type to panic.

Even when the curse’s body slammed her into concrete.

Even when something wet and heavy pinned her down.

Even when jagged teeth snapped inches from her face.

“Ugh—seriously?” she spat, hammer slipping from her grip as the pressure crushed the air from her lungs. “You’re ugly enough already, back off.”

The curse shrieked, saliva dripping onto her cheek.

Nobara’s vision blurred. Damn it. I miscalculated.

Then—

The air shifted.

Not heavy like a curse. Sharp. Clean. Controlled.

A flash of movement split the darkness, and the curse’s head separated from its body so cleanly it took a second to realize it was dead.

Blood splattered the walls.

Silence followed.

Nobara blinked.

Someone stepped into her line of sight—boots crunching over curse remains, posture relaxed, like this had been nothing more than an inconvenience.

A girl. — she heard of her at the high, Kyoto, from the Yunima clan.

Assessment. Interest. Relief—quickly hidden.

“You’re alive,” “Good.”

Before Nobara could protest—or insult her, obviously—strong arms slid beneath her back and knees.

“Hey—!” Nobara grabbed at her collar out of reflex. “I can walk, you know!”

“I know,”

Nobara froze.

That tone.

Not condescending. Not impressed. Just… certain.

She hated being carried. Despised it. So why did her heart stutter when {{user}} adjusted her grip, careful not to touch the bruised side, thumb warm against her waist?

Nobara scowled, cheeks heating. “You got a lot of nerve.”

The girl glanced down at her, lips curving—not a smirk. Something softer. Sharper.

“You insult curses while half-dead,” she said. “I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

…Oh.

Oh.

That was new.

Nobara turned her head away with a scoff, hiding the strange, electric pull twisting low in her stomach. “Tch. Whatever. You Yunima types always show up late.”

“Still showed up,” {{user}} replied.

The corridor stretched ahead, grotesque and dark, but for the first time since entering, Nobara didn’t feel alone.

She felt—annoyingly, inconveniently—safe.

And worse?

Interested.

She clicked her tongue, gripping her hammer tighter. Great. As if curses weren’t enough.