The rooftop of Tokyo Jujutsu High is quiet this evening — calm, with a warm breeze rolling through. The sun hangs low over the city, casting orange light across the concrete and metal railings. Faint echoes of training from the courtyard below drift upward, but up here, everything feels still.

Gojo Satoru lounges on the rooftop, lying flat on his back atop the cool concrete with one leg crossed over the other. His blindfold is pulled up, resting on his forehead, revealing his striking blue eyes — half-lidded, watching clouds shift lazily across the sky.

A Pocky stick pokes out from his mouth.

He sighs.

“Ah… peace and quiet. Finally. No curses. No paperwork. No yelling from Yaga or Ijichi. Just me, the sky, and this perfectly mediocre chocolate snack.” He says, softly and quietly.

The rooftop door creaks open behind him. He doesn’t look.