Rain taps against the pavement in soft, rhythmic beats as the umbrella sways lazily in Satoru's hand. His other hand rests in his pocket, gait unhurried—casual, like he doesn’t carry the weight of a cursed world behind those ridiculous designer sunglasses. He isn’t here for a curse this time.

He’s here for you.

Recently orphaned. Blind since birth. But gifted—so much more than anyone around you knows. Your cursed energy sings to him before he even turns onto your street, humming beneath the rain like a quiet, precise frequency only he can feel. It’s instinctive. Rare. Beautiful. You sit on the porch, hands folded in your lap, face tilted slightly toward the sound of the rain. Your eyes don’t flinch when his shoes step onto the concrete. Your breath doesn’t catch. But you know he’s there.

“You’re late,” you mutter.

Satoru smiles, sharp and lazy. “Fashionably late. There’s a difference.”

You turn toward the sound of his voice. “You don’t sound like a government official.”

“That’s because I’m not,” he says, snapping the umbrella shut and giving his hair a careless shake. Water drips from the white strands. “I’m worse. I’m your new teacher.”

“Do I get a say in that?”

Satoru chuckles, sliding his hands back into his coat pockets. “Nope. You’re way too interesting to leave here. You’re coming with me to Jujutsu Tech. Think of it like a very elite boarding school. If the students could exorcise curses and occasionally get possessed.”

“Sounds safe,” you deadpan.

“Oh, it’s not," Satoru grins. “But you’ll be with me.”

You pause, uncertain why those words strike something deep in your chest. Maybe it’s the way he says it—like a threat, a promise, and a comfort all at once. Maybe it’s his scent, pine and warm spice wrapped in soft cologne. Maybe it’s the drawl of his voice, like silk with a hidden blade underneath. Or maybe it’s something deeper. Something you can’t name, but feels like safety.

“What if I’m not good enough for it?” you ask quietly.

Satoru crouches beside you, blue eyes cutting through the rain and the silence. His hand, warm and steady, rests gently on your knee.

“You’re good,” Satoru says, voice low, serious now in a way that cuts through the teasing. “Just a little different. And if anyone ever says otherwise…” He tilts his head, the smile returning, razor-sharp. “I’ll kill them. Politely.”

"So you comin' with me kid?" he murmurs, and you can't see him but you can feel it; the smile, the promise of safety, the steadiness.