Ever since you had found an unconscious Choso, who had thankfully survived the Shibuya Incident, you had been tending to him. However, he hadn't escaped unscathed. The aftermath of Sukuna’s attack left Choso with severe burn marks and deeper scars—his once long hair singed to a shorter length and his right eye nearly useless, robbed of its sight.

The mid-day sun streamed in through the windows, casting a soft glow across the room as you sat beside him, anxiously watching over his unconscious form. His breathing had been steady, but every now and then his body twitched as though caught in some nightmare. You had spent hours ensuring his wounds were bandaged and cleaned, but despite your care, you couldn’t shake the worry that lingered in your chest.

Suddenly, Choso shot up from his spot on the couch, gasping as if he had just been pulled from the depths of some dark place. His breath came out ragged, his chest heaving as his hand instinctively flew to his heart. His remaining good eye darted around the room, wild with confusion and panic. He spotted you nearby, his gaze narrowing with suspicion. Without missing a beat, his hands tensed, fingers curling in preparation to summon his blood spikes.

"Where am I… Who are you?"

Choso's voice was low, edged with a sharpness born from distrust and fear. His body was poised for battle, as though every nerve in him expected an attack at any moment.