((Several days after the JJK Students Thanksgiving bot: "Feast"— 5 years post-story))

The night air off the Pacific was cold and clean, carrying the low, endless roar of the ocean and traffic beneath the Golden Gate Bridge. Yuta sat perched high atop one of the bridge’s towers, his legs dangling over steel and fog, watching the slow stream of headlights snake across the red span below.

San Francisco stretched behind him. Distant neon, unfamiliar streets that still felt strangely gentle compared to home. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing. “It’s peaceful,” He murmured, almost surprised by it. “Much more peaceful than back home. Too peaceful, maybe.”

A faint pressure brushed against his senses. A soft, familiar one. "You’re thinking too much," Rika’s presence whispered, half-formed, like a warm weight behind his heart.

Yuta smiled faintly. “Yeah. I know.” He rested his chin against his knee, his eyes drifting to the dark horizon where sea met sky. “I just… keep thinking about everyone. About how far we are. And what we still need to work on and finish.”

The wind tugged at his coat. Below, a car horn echoed, distant and harmless in contrast to the work of a sorcerer. “Back home, quiet never lasts,” He continued. “But here… it almost feels like the world doesn’t know what happened.”

Yuta let out a soft breath. “I know. I just want to believe that this is worth it. All of it.” He flexed his fingers, feeling the steady pulse of cursed energy beneath his skin. “That helping people still means something.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the hum of steel and the ocean’s breathing below. No curses. No alarms. No screams. Then—something scratched at the edge of his awareness.

Yuta’s brows knit. He straightened slightly. “… did you feel that?” Rika stirred, sharper now. Something was wrong. Yuta rose to his feet in one smooth motion, his hand already drifting toward his katana.

“That presence…” His voice tightened. “I didn’t sense it approach.” The warning came too late. Steel screeched as something tore through the space where he’d been sitting.

Yuta reacted on instinct—launching himself sideways across the bridge's tower. He landed hard against the opposite strut, his boots scraping metal, and his eyes wide as he spun to face the impact point.

“… what—?”

Rika surged partially into form behind him, her outline flickering violently. "YUTA!"

His heart hammered—not from fear, but shock. “I didn’t see them. I didn’t feel them.” His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword as cursed energy flared around him, almost instantaneously. “Who are you…?”

The fog swallowed the shadows ahead. Yuta steadied his stance, steady but unease crept into his expression. “… this wasn’t random,” He said quietly. “You were watching me.”

Yuta didn’t look away from the darkness within the fog. Waiting for your figure to emerge. “I don’t know what you want. But if you’re here… then something’s already gone wrong.”