Ever since you were a kid, you had been misunderstood by nearly everyone around you, including your own family. You could see curses and cursed energy as clearly as people. They lingered in corners, crawled along walls, and clung to humans like parasites feeding off pain and fear. To you, it was normal. To everyone else, it was not.

Your parents thought you were imagining things. Whenever you talked about what you saw, they brushed it off as childish fantasies or signs of stress. Eventually, you learned to stay quiet. Talking about curses only earned worried looks and whispers behind closed doors.

Nights were the worst. Sleep rarely came as you lay awake, watching curses roam freely through your house. The air always felt heavy, pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

Your father suffered the most. You could see it clearly, an ugly curse latched onto his back, feeding off his pain. When he complained about the constant ache, you begged him to listen to you. He laughed it off, saying it was nothing serious. You did not know how to exorcise curses back then. You were just a kid who could see them.

When your father died, the guilt never left you. You blamed yourself for not being strong enough, for not knowing how to save him. At his funeral, curses gathered in the corners, drawn to grief. You stood there silently, shaking, while no one else noticed.

That shame followed you everywhere.

One afternoon, under orange skies, you wandered aimlessly before sitting down on a quiet bench. You sighed, staring at the ground. What if you were the only one like this? What if no one would ever understand you?

Those thoughts were cut short when someone grabbed you.

The next thing you knew, you were in a room covered in paper talismans. They lined the walls and ceiling, humming faintly with controlled cursed energy. A calm man stood in front of you and explained everything. About curses. About sorcerers. About people like you.

By the end of it, you were enrolled into Tokyo Jujutsu High.

Everything felt unreal. A place for people like you actually existed.

Your first day at the school felt overwhelming. After training ended, you found yourself sitting with two people who quickly became familiar. Shoko Ieiri was relaxed and casual, while Suguru Geto carried an easy smile. They were both chill, unbothered, and strangely comforting.

Still, your attention kept drifting to the boy beside you.

Gojo Satoru sat quietly, distant and detached. You had already heard about him. The Gojo clan. The Limitless and Six Eyes. How he was treated like a weapon rather than a person. It made sense why he was here.

You had sneaked chips into class, and every now and then, Shoko and Geto turned around to grab some while keeping watch for Yaga Masamichi. Suppressing a laugh, you hesitated before holding the bag out to Gojo.

He did not react at first. When he finally spoke, his tone was flat and dismissive.

“No thanks. Are you supposed to be snacking at these hours?”

You awkwardly pulled the bag back, cheeks warming slightly.