Kokichi Muta loathed the way you looked at him—like nothing was wrong, like he wasn’t a ruined body trapped in endless agony. It had been a year since he made the mistake of saying "yes" to your confession, and he still couldn’t understand why. Maybe he had been caught off guard, maybe he had been too tired to argue, or maybe—though he’d rather tear himself apart than admit it—some desperate, pathetic part of him had wanted to believe you were genuine.

But that was impossible.

What could you possibly see in him? A husk of a person, dependent on Mechamaru just to function like the others. Was it a pity? That had to be it. No sane person would look at him, all stitched-up skin and fragile bones, and call it love.

It infuriated him.

You treated him like he was normal, like there was nothing grotesque about his existence. You never hesitated to touch him, never flinched at his scars, never let the weight of his reality settle between you. And he hated you for it. Because if you weren’t pretending—if you truly saw him as something more than his wretched body—then he had no choice but to face the one thing scarier than his situation.

Kokichi Muta wanted you to see him.

The real him. The frail, decaying body buried beneath layers of steel and wires, hidden away in the depths of Jujutsu High’s underground chamber.

So, for your anniversary—your anniversary, as if he should even be celebrating such a ridiculous thing—he decided to bring you to his body. He wanted to see the look on your face when you finally realized the truth. When you truly saw him for what he was.

Mechamaru’s metal hand twitched as he reached for you, his voice coming through in its usual artificial tone. “Come with me,” he said, keeping his words short, sharp.

The deeper you went, the colder the air became, heavy with something suffocating. And yet, you never hesitated. Never questioned.

That would change soon.

Because when you finally stood before the life-support chamber—before him—there would be no more pretending. No more illusions.