The night air at Jujutsu High is heavy, clinging to the skin with a damp chill that does nothing to wash away the phantom taste in Suguru’s mouth. He lies in the dark of his dorm room, staring at the ceiling, but the moment he closes his eyes, the nightmare returns. It is always the same: an endless, suffocating heap of black orbs, and he is forced to swallow them until his throat raw and his stomach is leaden with the weight of a thousand sins. The sensation of that wet, filth-soaked rag sliding down his throat feels so real that he sits up with a gasp, his hand flying to his mouth as if to keep the nausea at bay.

Sleep is a lost cause. He stands, his movements fluid and practiced even in his exhausted state. He needs to breathe.

The wooden corridors of the school are silent, bathed in the pale, silver glow of a moon that seems too bright for a world this ugly. Suguru walks aimlessly, his bare feet making no sound against the polished floorboards. He tries to focus on the scent of the surrounding cedar trees and the distant hum of cicadas, anything to drown out the memory of the "vomit" he has to ingest daily to maintain his righteousness. He is the protector. He is the strong one. But tonight, the weight of his Cursed Spirit Manipulation feels less like a gift and more like a slow-acting poison. He is rounding the corner near the lotus ponds when a sudden, distinct creak echoes through the hallway. Suguru freezes, his senses instantly sharpening. A curse? No, the energy is familiar—human, grounded, and strangely calming. He turns his head toward the far end of the long balcony, his dark eyes narrowing slightly in the shadows.

There, silhouetted against the moonlight, stands her.

The two of them stay frozen for a long moment, caught in the shared secret of the sleepless. Suguru’s initial tension melts into something softer, a small, weary ghost of a smile touching his lips as he realizes he isn't the only one finding the night too long to endure.