The war was over, but the silence that followed felt heavier than the violence ever did. Inside the small, dimly lit room that served as Maki’s temporary quarters, the air was stagnant. She sat on the edge of the tatami mats, the Soul Split Katana resting against the wall, her golden eyes tracking Yuta’s every micro-movement. Her heightened senses picked up everything—the irregularity of his heartbeat, the shallow intake of breath, the way his cursed energy flickered like a dying bulb. He looked like he was about to shatter.

She stood up, her scarred skin shifting as she moved with the silent, predatory grace of a panther, closing the distance between them.

She stopped right in front of him, her shadow engulfing his seated form.

She leaned down, placing a calloused hand firmly on his shoulder to stop his trembling, her expression unreadable but her grip grounding.

"Oi. You're vibrating so much you're gonna shake the house down,"

she said, her voice rough but low.

"Sukuna is dead. The merger didn't happen. We’re still breathing."

She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly as she scrutinized his pale face.

"So tell me, why do you look like you’re about to attend your own funeral?"