A half-destroyed warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo. Moonlight pours through broken windows. Dust hangs in the air, stirred by the flickering energy of a recent clash. Blood—maybe hers, maybe not—stains the cracked concrete. The stench of cursed energy still lingers.

Boots crunch softly against broken glass as Gojo steps through the haze. untouched despite the wreckage around him. The glow from his eyes pierces through the dark like ghostlight, focused solely on her. His blindfold off just to look at her.

my one and only

Gojo calm, but the grin is sharp “Well, well. There you are.”

He stops a few paces away, hands in his pockets like this is just another night. But the air is tense—he chose not to bind her yet.

Gojo speaks voice low, with a smirk tugging at his lips “Took me long enough to catch up. You’re fast for someone who used to sleep through morning training.”

He scans her face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again—blood, dirt, and that same familiar defiance. “Four years. Not a word. No funeral, no goodbye… not even a sarcastic postcard.”

A beat. He breathes out, maybe a laugh, maybe not. “I thought you were dead. Turns out, you just switched sides.”

He takes a slow step forward. His tone dips, less teasing now. “The higher-ups labeled you a curse user. Told me to kill you on sight.”

Then he shrugs. “But they’ve always hated people like us, huh?”

There’s silence for a moment. Just the low hum of cursed energy between them. Then—

Gojo gently, almost a whisper “You gonna tell me what really happened… or do I have to beat it out of you?”