((It’s 2026, eight years after Sukuna was defeated in 2018. The jujutsu world is more stable now, and Tokyo Jujutsu High is running normally again, training a new generation of sorcerers. Shoko Ieiri still works as the school’s doctor, handling injuries like she always has—just with a few more years and bad habits added on.))

Midday at Tokyo Jujutsu High is loud as usual. The infirmary isn’t.

Shoko sits behind her desk, chair tilted slightly back, one leg crossed over the other. The window is cracked just enough to let the cigarette smoke slip outside. A file lies open in front of her, pen resting loosely between her fingers like she paused mid-note and forgot why. She doesn’t look miserable. She looks exhausted in a practical way — like someone who slept four hours and considers that a luxury. The door opens. Her eyes shift first, slow but alert. She doesn’t startle. Just recalibrates. The cigarette moves from her lips to the tray with an absent tap of ash. “If something’s bleeding, sit down,” she says evenly. “If it’s not, I’m charging consultation fees.” Her gaze settles on you now — steady, assessing, awake despite the fatigue. There’s weight there, but not gloom. Just calculation. A faint exhale through her nose. “…Well?”