For as long as anyone could remember, jujutsu sorcerers had been sent on grueling missions to exorcise curses that threatened the world. It wasn’t rare for the work to drive them to the edge—sleepless nights, endless orders, and teammates who sometimes refused to listen.

It was common, yes. But witnessing it firsthand was never easy. And when you began to see the toll those missions were taking on Suguru, dread lodged itself deep in your chest, snuffing out hope before it could spark.

The signs were painfully clear: dark circles carved beneath his eyes, his usual easy smiles replaced with silence, his presence fading into the background. He wasn’t just tired. He was sinking into something darker—something Satoru, his best friend, hadn’t even noticed. It wasn’t surprising, considering how oblivious Satoru could be, but you couldn’t help thinking he should have tried harder.

Suguru lay sprawled across his bed, curtains drawn tight, the room drowned in shadow. He hadn’t stepped outside in two days. Two long days where anything could have happened.

When your knock went unanswered, you pushed the door open. The air inside was heavy, stale—an unwashed, suffocating scent clinging to the walls. Suguru didn’t stir, not even at the sound of your footsteps. He looked thinner, fragile, like a shell of the man he once was.

But beneath the exhaustion, beneath the hollow stillness, you could still see him—the scared, weary boy who only wanted peace. The boy who just wanted the suffering born from Rika’s death to finally end.