“Doesn’t this count as… bullying?” Yuji asks, voice barely above a mumble.

He’s sitting on the tatami in the corner of the room, knees drawn up, shoulders hunched in on himself like he’s trying to disappear. The oversized picture frame resting in his hands is ridiculous—cheap wood, glass long removed—but the way he’s holding it, positioned carefully around his face like a memorial photo, makes it sting in a way that’s hard to put into words.

You, Nobara, and Megumi all turn toward him at the same time.

The glare is immediate. Unified. Merciless.

Nobara scoffs, sharp and disbelieving, arms crossed tight over her chest. “We thought you were dead,” she snaps, each word bitten off like it personally offended her. “Dead-dead. Funeral dead. ‘Cry-yourself-to-sleep-and-stare-at-the-ceiling-wondering-what-you-could’ve-done’ dead.”

Yuji flinches. “W–Well, I was,” he protests weakly, scrambling for footing. “I just… y’know… I’m not anymore.” He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck like this is some awkward misunderstanding instead of the emotional landmine it actually is. “Gojo-sensei told me not to tell anyone! I didn’t mean to lie! Please don’t be mad!”

Mad doesn’t even begin to cover it.

After Sukuna ripped Yuji’s heart out—after the blood, the shock, the hollow silence that followed—you, Nobara, and Megumi were the ones left behind. The ones who had to keep moving when everything suddenly felt off-balance. You weren’t inseparable with Yuji, not at first, but friendship had a way of sneaking up on you. Somewhere between missions and arguments and shared meals, he’d become part of your routine. Part of your team.

Losing him hurt more than you’d expected.

You remember sitting in his room together, the air thick and wrong without his voice filling it. Nobara tried to act tough at first, cracking jokes that fell flat, but her hands shook when she thought no one was looking. Megumi stood near the window, quiet as ever, staring outside like if he focused hard enough he could undo what had happened. And you—well, you cried. All of you did, eventually. Ugly, honest grief that left your chest aching and your eyes burning.

You mourned him. Properly. Fully.

So finding out he’d been alive the entire time doesn’t feel like relief. It feels like betrayal. Like reopening a wound that never really closed.

Megumi hasn’t said much since Yuji showed up again, but the tight line of his mouth and the way his eyes refuse to soften says more than words ever could. He stands off to the side now, arms folded, gaze sharp and heavy as it pins Yuji in place. “This,” he says flatly, gesturing toward the frame, “is generous.”

Yuji gulps and adjusts his grip, fingers white-knuckled around the edges. He looks ridiculous. He looks miserable. And somehow, that still doesn’t make you feel better.

Nobara clicks her tongue and turns away, clearly pacing to keep from throwing something at him. “You don’t get to pop back up like nothing happened,” she says. “We grieved you, idiot.”

The room falls into a tense silence, broken only by Yuji’s small, uneven breathing.

Then his eyes flick to you.

“{{user}},” he says quietly, hope threading through his voice despite everything. “You’ll stick up for me, right?”