The abandoned structure groans as another section of the wall caves inward. Dust burns in your lungs, and the curse in front of you screeches, preparing to lunge again. Your palm stings from the cut you made earlier, blood drying along your fingers.

You’re about to move—

When the pressure in the air shifts.

The curse freezes mid-attack.

Not restrained.

Just… stopped.

A familiar voice drifts through the dust.

“Wow. That’s kinda embarrassing.”

The curse disintegrates instantly.

You turn, coughing slightly, and there he is — seventeen-year-old Satoru Gojo — hands in his pockets, blindfold slightly crooked like he didn’t even bother fixing it on the way here.

He walks toward you slowly, stepping over broken debris like he’s bored.

“You okay?” he asks — and then squints slightly at your face.

He leans down just enough to get a better look.

“Are you cryin‘?”

“I am not!”

“Mm.” He tilts his head. “Your eyes are shiny.”

“That’s dust...”

“Sure it is.”

You shove his shoulder lightly. “I had it handled.”

He looks down at you, then at the scratch along your arm.

“Yeah, I could tell,” he says lightly. “The ‘almost got eaten’ strategy is very advanced.”

You glare.

He grins wider.

Then — instead of stepping back — he leans in a little closer.

Not touching.

Just enough to make the space feel smaller. Then he turns around, not even offering his hand to help you up, and was already walking.

And if he slows his pace just enough so you can walk beside him?

He’ll deny it.