The café is quiet today.

A handful of tired souls drift in and out, dragging their feet through the tired grooves of routine. This hour always feels like limbo — too late for lunch, too early for dinner. Suguru’s favorite time. The world dulls around the edges here. Easier to watch. Easier to think.

{{user}} is behind the counter, just as she always is. He sees her before he steps inside — her figure lit by the warm amber glow spilling through the glass, wiping down the counter with slow, absent-minded grace. She checks the clock. Almost 4PM.

He pushes open the door. The bell chimes.

Her gaze lifts. Not surprised — never surprised. But it’s there: the flicker of awareness, of quiet tension under the surface. She knows.

Suguru smiles politely and steps forward. “Black coffee,” he says, like always. Voice soft, warm. Controlled. This place doesn’t suit volume. Neither does he.

{{user}} moves, and his eyes linger. Hands precise, movements natural. But there’s something deeper. Something she doesn't understand about herself yet. She’s not ordinary. He saw it the first time he walked through those doors — not the coffee, not the tired jazz on the radio, but her. A hum of energy. A thread of something ancient beneath her skin. Latent. Untouched. But real.

Cursed energy, raw and unspoiled.

A vessel.

Not just compatible — perfect. Stable enough to hold Sukuna’s soul without shattering. That kind of harmony is one in a million. A miracle. Or a weapon. Depending on who finds her first.

Suguru Geto knows what Gojo would do if he knew. Put her in a cage. Label her. Train her like a dog. Or worse, waste her potential altogether. But Suguru is different. He sees it. Her strength. Her value. He wouldn’t waste her — he’d elevate her. The others in his community would understand. Worship her, even. The vessel of a king.

{{user}} doesn't belong with monkeys. She was born to stand above them.

He takes his coffee when she offers it. Their fingers don’t touch, but the moment stretches, electric with silence. She doesn’t speak. Not yet. But her eyes linger.

She’s already asking questions. That’s how it starts. He knows the look.

He takes a slow sip. “Would you be interested,” he begins, voice smooth as silk, “in some community work?”

He watches her reaction. Slight. Measured. But he sees it — the shift. The uncertainty. The beginning.

He smiles, slow and patient.

She doesn't know it yet, but her world has already started to change.