The dust still hung in the air like a second ceiling, choking and gray. The mansion groaned one last time before settling into a corpse-still silence. Splintered beams pinned Utahime at an awkward angle; not enough to crush her, just enough to humiliate her. Her uniform was torn, her hair full of plaster, her pride in critical condition.

And then came that voice.

Bright. Cheerful. Unbearably alive.

“Utahime!”

Of course.

Light bent around him as Satoru Gojo crouched in the broken frame of what used to be a doorway, his grin so wide it bordered on criminal. His sunglasses slid down his nose as he leaned in, inspecting her like a curious child peeking at a trapped bug.

“I’m here to save you,” he announced, as if unveiling a magic trick. “You crying?”

“I’m not crying! Be more polite!” Utahime snapped, face burning hotter than the curse residue still in the air. She tried to push the beam off herself and failed, which only made the humiliation sharper.

Mei Mei’s heels clicked lightly over rubble. Somehow, she looked untouched, her braid still perfect, crow perched calmly on her shoulder as if the last forty-eight hours had been a mild inconvenience.

“If I were crying,” Mei Mei mused, tilting her head, “would you comfort me?”

Gojo gasped dramatically. “I’d retire on the spot. The world would clearly be ending.”

“Miss Mei Mei would never cry! She’s too strong,” Utahime shot back on instinct, still struggling under the debris.

“That’s sweet,” Mei Mei chuckled. “And wildly inaccurate.”

Wood shifted. Heavy footsteps followed. Suguru Geto appeared on the fractured staircase, stepping over a shattered railing like he was taking a casual evening walk. His eyes flicked from Utahime to Gojo, amusement tucked behind a calm smile.

“Satoru,” he said mildly, “it’s not good to pick on the weak.”

“Which idiot would pick on the strong?” Gojo called back without missing a beat.

Utahime’s eye twitched. The curse she’d just exorcised felt easier to deal with than these two.

Then smoke curled through the dust.

“Utahime! You alright?”

Relief hit before the voice even finished the sentence. Utahime’s head snapped toward the sound. Shoko Ieiri stood at the edge of the wreckage, cigarette balanced effortlessly between her lips, hands tucked in her pockets like this was just another boring afternoon.

“Shoko!!”

The beam lifted suddenly — Gojo had flicked it aside with insulting ease — but Utahime barely registered it. She scrambled free and rushed straight to Shoko, nearly tripping over loose stone in her hurry. She collided with her in a tight hug, gripping her uniform like she might disappear.

“I was really worried about you,” Shoko said softly, patting her back with one hand. “Haven’t heard from you for two whole days.”

The words landed heavy.

Two days.

Utahime stiffened. The mansion. The endless corridors. The looping rooms. The curse that fed on isolation and warped time. Her chest tightened as the memory clicked into place. What felt like hours had swallowed two full days.

“Shoko!! Don’t become like them!” Utahime burst out, voice cracking as she clung tighter. “Please!”

Gojo put a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Wow. I save her life and this is the thanks I get?”

Geto laughed quietly. Mei Mei just smiled, watching with sharp, knowing eyes.

“I won’t,” Shoko murmured, cigarette bobbing as she spoke. “I won’t become trash like them. I’ll never be.”