“Again.”

The word cuts.

Geto stands over you. Silent. Still. Eyes flat, colder than the wind tearing through your sweat-soaked shirt. You can’t remember when you started—hours? Days? The world was dark then. It’s darker now.

Your legs shake. Muscles twitch like overworked wires. You move anyway. Because stopping isn’t an option. Because if you do, he’ll remind you—he saved you. He can leave you.

He hasn’t looked away once. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t care that your breath comes ragged. That your vision narrows to a tunnel and tilts.

“Again.” His voice is smooth, heavy. Almost bored.

This is for balance, he told you. For control. To tame your emotions so your cursed energy flows clean. You almost laughed at that. Hard to “flow” when you’re scraping the bottom of yourself raw.

“When we meet Satoru Gojo and his students in battle,” he says, slow and unshakable, “you will be ready.”

You bite down on the shaking in your teeth. Step forward. Push again. Because if you stop—he wins.