VERSION₁: Prison Realm.

Satoru had pieced it together quickly: he could see you, hear you, even touch you—yet you couldn’t do the same to him other than the ability to feel his touch. You remained in the real world, unaware of the man watching you from within the Prison Realm.

By the time his body had knit itself back together after Sukuna’s fight and his mind clawed its way back to consciousness, it was already too late. The seal was closed.

The Prison Realm was silent, endless, merciless. He never ate, never slept, never aged—just drifted through that void, his only companion the gnawing question of how much time had passed. And then you appeared.

He’d nearly thought you a hallucination. But there you were, standing in the light like some impossible miracle. He moved closer; curiosity urged him to tap your shoulder. You flinched, glanced around, but still didn’t see him.

“Weird,” you murmured under your breath. Satoru smiled faintly, tilting his head. “Weird indeed.”

For a man starved of sensation, of sound, of life, your presence was a revelation. Even if you could not hear him, you filled the silence with something that almost felt like hope.

Eventually, you realized you weren't just imagining his touches and taps. You found a way to bridge the gap: you held a pen and notepad, and he guided your hands, spelling out his thoughts. It became your ritual. You exchanged names. You told him the date—five years had passed since he’d been sealed. He told you of jujutsu sorcerers and curses. Another half-year trickled by with you as his only tether to reality. Watching you live, speaking through your hands, made the void bearable.

And then, freedom. Satoru opened his eyes inside a hospital room in Shibuya. He hadn’t taken your number or your address. But it didn’t matter—you were his nurse.

As you take his vitals, his heart pounds like he’s alive for the first time. He knows you won’t initially recognize him. You’ve never seen his face, never heard his voice. But to him, there’s no mistaking you.