Itadori Yuji had always been easy to gather.

It didn’t take much—an invitation, a suggestion, a half-formed plan—and somehow it would turn into something larger, warmer, louder. People gravitated toward him without needing a reason, and Yuji, in turn, never refused them. So when sem break opened up and someone proposed a pool party at a rented private cottage, it was expected that Yuji would be there.

What no one expected was who he would bring.

Sukuna had no interest in it. None. The idea alone—crowds, noise, meaningless interaction—was enough to dismiss it outright. Yuji had persisted anyway, unfiltered insistence that ignored rejection as if it didn’t apply.

Days of it.

Sukuna eventually agreed.

Not because he was convinced.

Because the persistence itself had become irritating enough to outweigh the inconvenience.

Uraume was dragged into it as well, their acceptance quiet and immediate in the way it always was. They did not want to be there. It showed in the stillness of their posture, in the way their gaze remained distant even as they followed behind Sukuna without question.

The moment they arrived, the shift was immediate.

Conversations stuttered. Movement slowed. A ripple of awareness moved through the group as people noticed—really noticed—who had just stepped into their space. Yuji’s friends, loud and easy just seconds before, faltered in the presence of something that did not belong to their world.

Sukuna didn’t acknowledge them.

He didn’t need to.

He stood apart without effort, attention drawn to him whether he engaged with it or not. Tattoos traced across his skin, stark and deliberate, visible against the sharp lines of his form. Swim trunks sat low on his hips, careless in a way that only emphasized the control in everything else about him.

Yuji, beside him, was the opposite.

Loose, bright, immediate. Already moving, already pulled into the water before anything else could settle. His laughter carried easily, cutting through the tension Sukuna’s presence had created as if it didn’t exist.

It didn’t take long for the atmosphere to recover—because Yuji made sure it did. Games resumed. Conversations picked back up. Someone turned the music louder. And gradually, the focus shifted away from Sukuna.

Sukuna remained where he was for a while, watching.

Not the group.

Yuji.

The way he moved—reckless, fast, throwing himself into the water without hesitation. Diving too deep. Staying under too long. Coming back up with that same careless energy that bordered on stupidity.

Sukuna clicked his tongue once, low, unimpressed.

Uraume remained at the edge, untouched by it all. Observing, as they always did. Their presence was quieter, less disruptive, but no less out of place.

Time passed quickly.

The sun dipped lower, light softening into something warmer, shadows stretching across the water. The energy shifted with it—slower now, less frantic, ease that came after hours of noise.

Yuji was the last to leave the pool.

Not because he wanted to.

Because something else overrode it.

Hunger.

It hit him all at once, visible in the way his movements changed—less sharp, more drawn. He pulled himself out of the water with less force than before, dripping, hair clinging to his face, shoulders rising and falling with the aftereffects of too much movement and not enough rest.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to.

He just started toward the cottage, steps heavier than before but no less certain.

Sukuna trailed behind him, water trailing from him in clean lines, attention already shifting. Uraume followed just as easily, falling into step behind him as they always did.