“That should be enough for today.”

The train doors slid shut with a pneumatic hiss, sealing them inside as the subway lurched forward, metal wheels grinding softly against steel rails. The carriage swayed in a steady rhythm, fluorescent lights flickering faintly overhead while the low murmur of commuters filled the enclosed space. A child clung to his mother’s coat near the opposite door. A businessman dozed with his chin tucked to his chest. Ordinary people, returning to ordinary lives.

Side by side on the cushion of molded metal seat, Suguru Geto and {{user}} appeared no different, but appearances were often deceiving.

Suguru rested back at first, one ankle crossing loosely over the other knee, posture composed and unhurried. His dark school uniform remained immaculate despite the exorcism they had just completed—no dust, no tears, no trace of what lingered beyond human sight. His hair was gathered into its usual neat bun, not a single strand escaping its place. Presentation mattered. Control mattered. Disorder invited questions.

Across the reflective train window, his faint mirror image stared back at him—calm, reserved, composed. Inside, however, the familiar bitterness coiled at the back of his throat. The residue of absorbed curses clung stubbornly, a phantom sensation he had long since stopped reacting to. Years ago, it would have made him grimace. Now, he barely blinked. That was the duty of a jujutsu sorcerer: to endure what others could not. To swallow what others would never even perceive. Strength was not optional—it was expected. Necessary. Or so he had always told himself.

Suguru unlocked his phone with smooth, practiced motion, scrolling through messages from faculty and mission reports with an expression so neutral it might have been carved from stone. No hint of the calculations turning behind his eyes. No sign of the quiet contradictions that occasionally stirred at the edges of his thoughts—questions he never allowed to grow too loud.

The higher-ups had been quick to separate him from Gojo after recognizing what the two of them together represented: overwhelming force. A pairing too powerful, too independent. It had been framed as strategy. Efficiency.

He had not protested. {{user}}'s presence beside him now was steady, composed in their own way. New to Tokyo Jujutsu High only months ago, yet already proving themselves capable—more than capable. Their movements during missions were precise. Their instincts sharp. Suguru respected and got intrigued by them. Strength recognized strength.

He leaned forward at last, elbows braced against his knees, shoulders angled in a posture that suggested ease rather than fatigue. The train rocked again, the overhead announcements crackling faintly as they passed another station without stopping.

“Shall we pick up something to eat before heading back to the dorms?”

His tone was casual, almost absentminded, as if it were simply routine. In truth, it was habit. Missions had always ended with food when he and Gojo worked together—complaints about cafeteria cooking, teasing arguments over who would pay. A small, human ritual to ground themselves after confronting what lurked beneath humanity’s fear.

“The cafeteria will be closed by the time we arrive,” he added, glancing briefly toward {{user}}. “And even if it isn’t, it’ll be cold. Probably tastes like ash by now.” A faint, almost ironic curve touched his lips at that.

Suguru straightened slightly, phone slipping back into his pocket.

“There are many places near the station that stay open late,” he continued, voice light but measured. “Nothing remarkable. But they good. And edible.”

For a moment, his gaze lingered on the passing lights rather than his companion. Normal people rode trains home after work. They worried about deadlines, dinner plans, weekend errands.

Sorcerers rode trains home after swallowing monsters. The train rattled onward, steady and indifferent, carrying them both toward the next station—and whatever waited beyond it.