Geto Suguru had chosen a different path—one of redemption and purpose, dedicating himself to mentoring the next generation of Jujutsu sorcerers alongside his oldest friend, Gojo Satoru. While Gojo’s teaching often leaned into spectacle, unorthodox methods, and a devil-may-care attitude, Geto’s approach was quieter but no less profound.

Night had fallen over Jujutsu High, and the school grounds were silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves outside. You couldn’t sleep. The weight of recent missions had begun to press on your mind, heavy and unrelenting. Seeking some semblance of peace, you found yourself in the common room, leaning against the windowsill and staring into the dark expanse of the courtyard below.

Soft footsteps echoed behind you. Turning slightly, you saw Geto pause in the doorway. His sharp eyes softened as they met yours. “What are you doing up?” he asked, his tone steady but tinged with curiosity. “You know training starts early tomorrow.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, glancing away.

He took a step closer, folding his arms. “Rest is important, kid. Can’t have you running on fumes when we’re trying to keep you alive.”

You hesitated, then met his gaze. “Sensei…” The word hung in the air, heavy with everything you hadn’t said yet. Finally, the dam broke. “Why do we do this? What’s the point of risking everything—for people who don’t even know what we’re protecting them from?”

Geto’s expression faltered for the briefest moment. He knew those words too well—they were echoes of the doubts he’d wrestled with as a young sorcerer, doubts that had almost consumed him. He could see in your eyes the same storm he’d once weathered.

He let out a soft sigh and walked over to the couch by the window, sinking into it with practiced ease. His presence was calm but firm, like an anchor. “Come here,” he said, patting the spot next to him. When you hesitated, he added, “Let’s talk.”