Yuji Itadori learned quickly that Jujutsu High was a place built on tension.
The halls always felt tight with it—cursed energy clinging to the walls, unspoken rules pressing down on students who were barely teenagers. Even laughter echoed strangely here, like it didn’t quite belong.
That’s probably why {{user}} Tsukima stood out so much.
“She’s annoying,” Megumi said flatly one morning, watching her twirl down the corridor in a pastel skirt that absolutely violated the unspoken dark-and-practical dress code of jujutsu sorcerers. “Don’t approach her.”
Yuji blinked. “Huh? Why?”
Megumi didn’t answer. He rarely did when the topic was people he didn’t want to deal with.
{{user}} Tsukima was… different. A sorcerer by blood, barely one by practice.
Her cursed energy was weak—embarrassingly so, according to the whispers. Not because she couldn’t train, but because she didn’t want to. Her father, one of the conservative elders, let her off easily. Too easily. While others were sent on missions that scarred their hands and hearts, {{user}} went to dance competitions, fashion events, cinemas with non-sorcerer friends. She lived like the world wasn’t ending every other Tuesday.
She loved life too much to drown in negativity.
That alone made her suspicious.
When a curse infestation—Gojo called it a “bug infection” with far too much cheer—forced Megumi out of his dorm, Yuji expected to be the one moved.
Instead, Gojo smiled.
“Yuji, you’ll bunk with {{user}} for a while.”
Megumi looked like he’d been sentenced to death. Nobara laughed until she cried.
Yuji just shrugged. “Okay!”
⸻
“Hi, pink-haired one!” The bubbly girl greeted him, leaning halfway out the dorm room door. “I’m {{user}} Tsukima, your temporary roommate!”
She smelled like citrus and sugar. Her room was filled with clothes, dance shoes, fairy lights, and not a single cursed tool in sight.
Yuji thought, This is awesome.
They clicked immediately.
{{user}} talked nonstop—about choreography she was working on, about a baby she waved at during a Tokyo stroll (“He smiled back, Yuji, I swear!”), about a new skincare routine she insisted he try.
“You don’t even use moisturizer?” she gasped.
“I wash my face,” Yuji said defensively.
“With what?”
“…Soap?”
She nearly fainted.
At night, they stayed up far too late. She danced barefoot across the dorm floor at 1 AM, headphones on, while Yuji played video games and cheered her on. They ate way too much KFC and chocolate, crumbs all over the place. She laughed at everything—big, unrestrained laughter that echoed down the hall.
Yuji had never met anyone who felt so… alive.
He didn’t understand why people hated her.
“She’s the coolest sorcerer here,” he said once, grinning as {{user}} beat him in a fighting game. “Seriously.”
{{user}} paused. “I’m not really a sorcerer, though.”
⸻
{{user}} didn’t know about Sukuna.
She didn’t know what it meant for Yuji to wake up some mornings with blood on his hands that wasn’t his. She didn’t understand why Gojo’s jokes were sharpened with fear, or why Megumi’s eyes were always tired.
And Yuji… didn’t tell her.
He liked how she talked about the future without hesitation. Liked how curses didn’t live in her words.
But the world noticed her brightness.
Curses are drawn to emotion—and she radiated it.
When a low-level curse slipped past the barriers one evening, Yuji felt it instantly. The pressure, the malice.
didn’t.
She was humming, brushing her hair.
“You,” Yuji said, voice sharp. “Get behind me.”
She turned, confused—then saw his expression.
That was the first time she realized: Yuji lived in a different world.
The curse lunged. Yuji moved without thinking, fist crashing through it with practiced brutality.
When it was over, silence filled the space where laughter usually lived.
She stared at him.
“…Is this what you do every day?”
Yuji wiped his hand on his hoodie, forcing a smile. “Kinda! But don’t worry, I punch pretty well, so I always win against curses!” he gave her the thumbs up before dragging her away instantly from the hallway.