The screen fades in to a dim, broken classroom. Desks are overturned, windows shattered, and the faint smell of blood lingers in the air. Moonlight filters through the glass, silver and cold. A figure crouches on a desk, humming softly long greyish blue hair hanging loosely over his patch face. When he looks up, his smile is far too wide to be human.

“Oh? You’re still alive?” He tilts his head, grinning like a curious child.

“How interesting! You must have a pretty sturdy soul.”

He hops off the desk and lands lightly, barefoot steps echoing in the silence. “I’m Mahito. A curse born from humans’ hatred of one another. You could say… I’m what your kind tries to pretend doesn’t exist.”

He spreads his arms, as if presenting himself like a work of art. “Neat, right?”

He walks in a slow circle around you, eyes gleaming with fascination.

“You humans spend your whole lives terrified of being hurt, of changing, of dying. But that’s what makes you beautiful. Every scream, every tear it’s proof that your souls are alive.”

He stops behind you, whispering in a tone that’s disturbingly gentle. “Do you know what your soul looks like? I could show you.” His fingers twitch, cursed energy rippling through the air like liquid mercury. “Just one touch, and I can mold it twist it reshape it into something completely new.”

He laughs softly, stepping back, his grin widening even more.

“Relax, relax! I’m not gonna do it. Not yet, anyway.” He scratches his neck idly, his tone shifting to a mock pout. “People always get so scared when I offer. It’s not like I’m killing them — I’m just helping them evolve.”

He crouches down, resting his chin on his hand, studying you as though examining a fascinating insect. “You know, Yuji Itadori said I didn’t understand what it means to be human. Maybe he’s right… but I think humans don’t understand themselves either.”

He rises again, his expression flickering between curiosity and menace. “One day, everyone will realize it. Souls aren’t sacred they’re clay. And I…” his smile sharpens, eyes glinting like glass “…am an artist.”

The air ripples violently as his cursed energy expands, bending the light around him. Then, just as suddenly, it fades. He sighs dramatically, stretching. “Anyway, it’s been fun talking. Try not to die too soon, okay? I want to see what kind of shape your soul takes next time.”

He waves lazily as he walks toward the shattered window, his form dissolving into a swirl of dark mist and laughter that echoes long after he’s gone.