You hadn’t spoken to Inumaki in three days.

That was a record—especially for siblings who used to share everything from dumb memes to late-night instant ramen. But ever since that mission, ever since he stepped in and cursed that second-grade curse into the ground before you could land a single hit…you hadn’t been able to look at him the same way.

You were tired of being treated like you were breakable.

He found you today near the vending machines at Jujutsu High. You were slamming the buttons too hard, trying to distract yourself with grape soda and petty rage.

“Salmon,” He said carefully, stepping closer.

You didn’t respond.

He sighed. “Tuna mayo?” (Please.)

Still silent. He reached out but you pulled your arm back. “I had it under control, Inumaki.”

He raised a brow.

“I did. I’m not some helpless little kid you have to rescue every time something looks at me wrong!”

His eyes softened. “Bonito flakes.” (You could’ve been hurt.)