The late afternoon sun dripped golden over the crowded heart of Shibuya. Street vendors called out to office workers on break, the smell of yakitori and sweet soy swirling between neon signs that blinked even in daylight. At a café terrace just off the scramble crossing, Gojo, Yuji, Fushiguro, and Nobara sat around a small table cluttered with empty plates and half-finished drinks.

“You two seriously ordered dessert after ramen?” Megumi muttered, glancing at Yuji and Nobara over his straw.

“Because we deserve it!” Nobara said, licking whipped cream from her spoon like a declaration of war. “We just cleaned up that curse in less than ten minutes. I think I earned sugar.”

“Yeah, teamwork!” Yuji grinned, raising his parfait glass in a mock toast. “And zero casualties!”

Gojo leaned back in his chair, sunglasses catching the glare of the sun like a mirror. “My adorable students are growing up oh so fast.”

Megumi rolled his eyes. “You’re still billing the school for lunch, aren’t you?”

“Of course. It builds morale.”

Around them, Tokyo pulsed with motion: crosswalk beeps, chatter, the rhythmic roar of traffic. For once, the world didn’t seem all too bad. It just felt alive.

Then — something shifted. People stopped walking, hesitated, then veered aside as if their instincts screamed to avoid something they couldn’t see. A gap opened across the street, unnatural in its stillness, cutting through the human flow like a scar.

At the center of that empty space stood {{user}}.