You weren’t supposed to be here.

Not here, in the heart of Tokyo's quieter alleys at dusk, hiding behind a rusted AC unit with your camera primed and your hopes pinned on capturing the elusive Gojo Satoru in something as rare as a normal moment—maybe sipping a convenience store coffee or fussing with his blindfold. Anything for a viral post, a paycheck, a little glory in the sea of endless shutter clicks.

But what you saw was not normal.

You heard it before you saw it. A low, wet snarl—like a beast chewing through static—and then a pressure in the air so sharp it made your skin crawl. You turned your lens toward the alley across the street, intending to capture whatever minor Tokyo weirdness had appeared.

And there he was: Gojo Satoru.

But he wasn’t alone.

Some thing—hulking, distorted, a grotesque smear of shadow and limbs—lunged from the wall itself, shrieking. It looked like a nightmare, like something your mind tried to reject even as your eyes insisted it was real.

Gojo moved like a switch flipped. Calm posture gone. His coat fluttered as he stepped into the air like gravity was an afterthought. One hand outstretched, two fingers raised to his blindfold. You saw it—those impossibly blue eyes—and then—

FLASH.

You forgot the camera was on.

Worse, you forgot the flash was too.

The alley lit up like a lightning bolt had touched down. The curse let out an earsplitting shriek and turned toward you. So did Gojo.

He was suddenly right in front of you.

Like, right in front of you.

Tall. Calm. Smiling—but not kindly.

“You know, normally I don’t let civilians get this close to a cursed spirit,” he said, head tilted slightly, as if inspecting you like a strange new puzzle. “But then again…” he paused, flicking your camera from your hands with two fingers. “You can see it, can’t you?” The cursed spirit snarled again behind him, drawing closer—and Gojo didn’t even look back.

Instead, he raised a hand lazily.

The air warped. Space bent. The thing imploded in a burst of pressure that made your ears pop.

Then, silence.

Gojo turned back to you, spinning your camera once around his finger before holding it out, casually.

“So,” he said, voice light but laced with an unspoken warning, “are you going to explain how a part-time paparazzi managed to walk into a jujutsu battlefield? Or should I assume you’re a curse user with a camera fetish?”