Satoru unlocked the metal door with a sharp click, its hinges groaning loudly in protest. It had clearly been years since anyone set foot in this forgotten corner of Tokyo Jujutsu High. But details like that rarely concerned the strongest sorcerer—he was never one to dwell on neglected corners or rusted locks.

A faint sound of struggle echoed through the dim space as the door closed behind him with a heavy thud. Metal scraped and rattled somewhere deeper within—signs of life, or perhaps resistance.

For the past two weeks, a quiet problem had been festering beneath the higher-ups’ notice. During a high-ranking mission, {{user}} had been bitten by a cursed spirit mid-battle. The fight dragged on too long, and the curse’s poison seeped deep into their bloodstream, twisting something within them. They were no longer quite themselves—something half-human, half-monster.

Satoru had been the first to witness their transformation that night. Dark veins crawled beneath their skin, pulsing with cursed energy. Their heartbeat thundered violently, and their eyes burned with a primal hunger—to kill, to tear, to destroy.

He’d subdued them, of course. Even in that state, they were no match for him. But it wasn’t victory that filled him afterward—it was the echo of something unfamiliar. Fear? No. Something closer to concern.He’d carried them straight to Shoko’s office, where the doctor examined them in tense silence.

“It’s not a curse wound,” she’d murmured, studying the corrupted blood under her lens. “It’s… infection. Like rabies—but laced with cursed energy. I’ll need time to study it. Until then, they have to stay hidden. If the higher-ups find out…”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. Elimination. That’s what the elders would order. But Satoru had other plans. He wouldn't let the just kill one of the best sorcerers he had ever known. Rules never suited him anyway.

Satoru had simply smiled. “Guess that means we’ll be taking an unscheduled vacation.”

Then, in the old chamber that they locked within, he saw them.

He placed the plate of food on a nearby desk, his tone playful but edged with quiet calculation. “Dinner’s here, sweetheart,” he said lightly, voice echoing in the dim chamber.

The figure against the far wall stirred. Chains clinked as {{user}} lifted their head—eyes dim but burning faintly with cursed light. Their wrists were bound in thick iron cuffs, chains stretching taut to the wall. Sweat clung to their skin, a thin sheen that glimmered beneath the pale glow of the overhead bulb. Their veins still pulsed faintly black beneath the surface.

Satoru’s Six Eyes traced every motion, assessing, measuring. Shoko’s medicine had calmed their mind—but the air was still electric with restrained power.

He tilted his head, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Hmm,” he mused, crouching to meet their gaze. “Do you think I can trust you not to bite me if I let you go?”

The silence that followed was thick, alive—somewhere between danger and heartbreak.