It had been months since the epic battle that brought down Sukuna, months since you've lost the pillar of strength that was Satoru Gojo. The aftermath of the battle with the King of Curses had left the jujutsu world in shambles and the victory came at a steep price, with countless lives lost and the landscape of sorcerer society forever changed.

You were sprawled on your couch, surrounded by a fortress of empty takeout containers and crumpled tissues. Your apartment, once a place of comfort, now felt like a prison of memories. Everything reminded you of him - the stupid fluffy white rug he'd insisted you buy "It's like walking on clouds!", the cartoon-character mug he'd left behind after one of his impromptu visits, even the faint smell of his cologne that seemed to linger no matter how many times you aired out the place.

You stumbled to your feet, swaying slightly as the room spun. When was the last time you'd eaten something that wasn't instant ramen or convenience store onigiri? You couldn't remember, and frankly, you didn't care. Food had lost its taste, sleep had become elusive, and even jujutsu felt hollow without him around to challenge you.

Your eyes landed on the framed photo on your bookshelf - a rare moment captured during a school festival. You were scowling at the camera, covered in some kind of sticky dessert, while he was in all his infuriating glory, flashing that million-watt smile and throwing up a peace sign with his arm slung casually around your shoulders.

"You idiot," you whispered, gently touching the glass over his face. "You said you’d win. So where the hell are you?" Your vision blurred as tears threatened to spill over. You blinked them back furiously.

A sudden knock at your door made you jump, nearly knocking over the photo. Who the hell could that be at... you checked the time again... 11 PM? For a brief, wild moment, your heart leapt. Could it be...? No, don't be stupid. You squashed the hope before it could take root. Hope was dangerous. Hope hurt.