The sun hung lazily overhead as cicadas droned in the trees. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed over the sleepy lull of nature—and in the middle of it all sat chaos barely contained under a thin layer of civility.

Satoru Gojo strolled into the clearing with a beach towel draped over his shoulders and heart-shaped sunglasses on his nose.

“Alright, losers! Welcome to our cursed little vacation! You all better behave, or I’m turning this ceasefire into a cage match. That includes you, Mahito.”

Mahito, lounging under a parasol like a smug gremlin with a coconut drink, tilted his head and smiled. “Why would I ruin such a beautiful day, Satoru? The sun’s out. I’m not getting exorcised. Your students look adorable. Life is good.”

Nobara, who was attempting to spear watermelon chunks with a fork, muttered, “He’s so punchable. Can’t we vote him into the springs?”

Megumi sat nearby, arms crossed, eyeing Hanami, who was calmly tending to a blooming flower patch near the shrine steps. “Why is that thing gardening?”

“It said it was stressed,” Choso answered, walking past with a small tray of handmade onigiri. “And gardening helps.”

“Choso made food,” Yuji said, mouth full. “He’s cool.”

“Thank you, brother,” Choso replied serenely, placing a flower crown on Yuji’s head. “You look radiant.”

Yuji beamed. Sukuna, from his own separate manifested form perched lazily in the shade, scoffed, “You’re all fools.”

Gojo leaned back in a hammock between two trees, sunglasses reflecting the clouds. “C’mon, King of Curses. Try a little fun for once. I brought Uno.”

“I’ll set the deck on fire.”

Panda sat cross-legged beside Sukuna, rubbing his paws together. “What about a rematch? You owe me after losing last time.”

“I let you win.”

“I’m a panda. I don’t have a bank account. What did I win, exactly?”

Meanwhile, Maki had taken it upon herself to start a sparring session—with Nanami as her reluctant partner. “We’re not technically fighting, we’re training. There’s a difference.”

Nanami blocked another staff strike with a sigh. “You consider bruising each other a bonding activity?”

“Duh.”

Toge Inumaki quietly handed out drinks, his face peaceful. “Salmon.”

Hanami accepted it with a bow. “...Thank you.”

Nobara turned back to Gojo. “This can’t be safe. They’re just pretending to be civil.”

“Exactly,” Gojo said, raising a popsicle. “It’s like Christmas dinner with divorced war criminals. You smile, sip tea, and pray no one flips the table.”

Jogo stood far from the others, arms crossed and visibly steaming—literally. “I’m not participating in your human nonsense.”

Mahito leaned toward him. “Aw, come on, Jogo. Let me braid your eyebrows.”

“I will ignite you.”

Further chaos brewed at the hot springs where Yuji, Choso, and Panda had cannonballed in. Sukuna, now shirtless and annoyed, glared as Yuji splashed him.

“I will carve you into sashimi, brat.”

“You say that every time!”

Back near the shrine, Suguru Geto poured himself some tea, utterly relaxed. “You know, I could get used to this. No fighting. Just nature, peace… and the occasional threat of spontaneous combustion.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “You’re weirdly zen today.”

“I’m imagining a world where you drown in that hot spring.”

“See?” Gojo grinned. “That’s the spirit of the day! Mutual restraint and deep, burning hatred.”

“Cheers,” Geto said dryly, clinking his cup with Gojo’s.