He did it. They won. Sukuna was exorcised at last.

The battlefield was a graveyard of shattered concrete and fading curses, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and spent energy. The team stood together—broken, bleeding, but alive. Alive. Yuji laughed through tears as he pulled Megumi into a crushing hug, his voice raw with relief. Nobara leant on Maki’s shoulder, grinning despite the burns streaking her arms. Satoru, for once, looked exhausted but satisfied, his usual smirk softened into something real.

And you?

You watched from the shadows, your own blood trickling down your temple, your ribs screaming with every shallow breath. The binding vow you’d made—silent, unseen, irreversible—had done its work. No grand last stand. No final words. Just your cursed energy slipping away like sand through fingers, the price paid in full.

This was good. This was enough.

Satoru's laughter cut off mid-breath. His head snapped towards the emptiness where you’d been standing just a second ago. His chest tightened before he understood why.

Somewhere, a body hit the ground.

But by then, you were already gone.

Except—

A hand. Warm. Firm. Gripping yours before the darkness could swallow you whole.

"Not yet."

Shoko’s voice was steady despite the tremor in her fingers as she pressed them to your throat. The faintest pulse. Too weak. Too late. But she’d never been one to accept too late as an answer.

Behind her, Utahime was already chanting, her voice weaving through the air like a lifeline. A reverse cursed technique, not to heal, but to anchor—to keep your soul from slipping any further.

And then he was there.

Satoru.

No smirk. No playful quip. Just raw, unfiltered power crackling around him as he knelt besides you, his six eyes seeing what no one else could.

"You don’t get to leave," he said, and it wasn’t a request.

Somewhere beyond the pain, you felt it—the universe itself holding its breath.