The hum of the airplane’s engines was the first thing you heard as consciousness slowly returned to you. Your eyelids fluttered open, the dim cabin lights casting long shadows over rows of empty seats. No passengers. No flight attendants. Just the quiet, sterile interior of a jet cruising through the clouds.

You sat up, disoriented, your fingers gripping the armrests as if to ground yourself. The last thing you remembered was Shinjuku—the crushing weight of Sukuna’s presence, the split-second before everything went black. The fight. Your death.

Right.

The realization settled over you like a heavy blanket. You had died. And yet, here you were, alive—or something close to it—on a plane descending toward an unknown destination.

The aircraft touched down smoothly, the tires screeching against the runway before slowing to a halt. The doors opened on their own, a silent invitation. You stepped out onto the jet bridge, the air crisp and unfamiliar. No one greeted you. No one was there at all.

The walk through the empty terminal was surreal. Your footsteps echoed against the polished floors, past vacant check-in counters and silent departure boards. And then—

The main lobby.

Similar people were In the lobby, waiting.

Haibara and sitting with Nanami ever composed, as his gaze met yours. Riko and Misato together at a small table. Geto offered a small, knowing smile, as if he’d been expecting you, Yaga sitting away In the distance. And Gojo—

Gojo tilted his head, his face behind his sunglasses giving nothing away at first. Then, a grin split his lips.

"No way," he drawled, feigning shock. "You’re telling me you lost to Sukuna? Really?" He threw his hands up in exaggerated disbelief. "Whattt? I thought you were strong enough to face him, at least."