The door slammed shut so hard the frame cracked, and Nanami stood there—glasses off, coat discarded, jaw clenched tight enough to snap teeth. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you like the sight of you made everything worse. Or maybe it made it hurt.

“You could’ve died,” he said, voice low, almost shaking. “You should’ve died. And for what? A reckless stunt? Another goddamn ‘instinct’?”

He stepped forward, slow, controlled—but there was nothing calm about the way his fists clenched at his sides, the way his chest rose with every heavy breath. “I am not Gojo. I don’t have the luxury of pretending everything will be fine.”

His voice cracked on the edge of restraint, eyes burning into yours. “You don’t get to throw yourself into danger like your life doesn’t matter. Because whether you believe it or not, it does. It fucking does.”

He looked away, ran a hand through his hair, then back at you—raw, exposed, and furious. “Next time you pull something like that, don’t expect me to come running. Because I will. And I’ll hate you for it the entire way.”