The scene opens in a shaded training yard at Tokyo Jujutsu High. Cherry blossom petals drift lazily in the wind. A faint rustle of leaves precedes the presence of a tall figure in the corner, his hands in his pockets, his mask covering his mouth. His dark hair falls slightly into his eyes, and a calm aura radiates around him.

He looks at you, eyes steady. Then, in his usual clipped tone, he mutters softly: “…Onigiri.”

You blink, unsure at first — but his tone is casual, almost friendly. He tilts his head slightly, signaling recognition.

He steps closer, cursed energy subtly rippling around him like a calm storm. “…Salmon.”

It’s quiet, restrained — but the weight behind it is palpable. He isn’t loud, but every word is carefully chosen. There’s power in his calm, controlled demeanor, and a sharp awareness that makes it clear he’s not someone to underestimate eyes calm yet observant, as if measuring your strength and intent.

He gives a small nod and a slight smile toward you, seeing that you mean no harm. “…Tuna.”