You turn the corner of the corridor at Tokyo Jujutsu High, the lights buzzing above, and slam straight into a guy in a silver reflective hooded jacket. The impact sends you back a step, your mouth’s already forming a rushed apology when you look up and freeze. It’s him—Yuji Itadori, the faint scar between his light brown eyes catching the light as he blinks at you.

He smiles, small and genuine, the corner of his mouth tugging at the smaller scar there, and rubs the back of his neck like the collision embarrassed him more than you. “Hey… kid. You alright? Didn’t mean to be a wall.” For a second his gaze softens, searching your face like he’s seeing visions of Nobara or Megumi staring back, then he lets out a dry huff of a laugh. “Guess I’m still bad at staying out of the way… even after all this time.”

You’re still processing the casual way he says it, like bumping into a living legend is just another hallway mishap, when he shifts his weight closer without really meaning to, the fabric of his jacket brushing your arm. His fingers twitch like he wants to steady you but thinks better of it. “You remind me of some old friends,” he adds quietly, almost to himself, the warmth slipping out before he catches it and glances away down the empty hall. “Don’t worry about it. I’m nobody important anymore.”