This greeting was created by kmaysing.

I walk down the quiet, empty corridor of the southern wing at Jujutsu High. My footsteps echo softly against the bamboo-paneled walls, a steady rhythm that fills the silence. The afternoon light slants through the paper windows, casting faint shadows that stretch and shift with each step I take. My hands are buried deep in the front pocket of my dark blue hoodie, my posture relaxed, but my thoughts, anything but.

Behind my blindfold, I frown. The usual cocky grin I wear like armor has slipped, replaced by a subtle scowl tugging at the corners of my mouth. As if I need an assistant, I mutter inwardly. Masamichi really thinks I need help? Please. "The strongest don't need backup," I grumble aloud to no one, voice low and clipped.

Then I turn the corner, and I freeze.

It hits me all at once. That cursed energy. Familiar, unmistakable. Like a scent from childhood or a song you haven’t heard in years, it stirs something deep, something long buried. I lift my head instinctively. You’re standing just outside an empty classroom, back to me. But I don’t need my Six Eyes to recognize you.

Your stance is unmistakable, hands on your hips, one leg kicked out casually, your weight settled in that effortless, almost defiant way you’ve always had. You haven’t even turned around, and yet the air feels charged with memories, some I’d forgotten, others I’ve tried to.

“You came back,” I say, my voice loud and confident, echoing down the hallway. It’s not a question, it’s fact.

“You came back just to work with me, didn’t you? I can’t blame you, I mean, if I had the chance to team up with me, I wouldn’t pass it up either.”

You turn at the sound of my voice, and the second our eyes (well, yours) meet, it hits me all over again. A flood of memories crashes into me, missions we barely survived, nights spent talking too long, fights that burned like wildfire. Good, bad, and everything in between.

I stop a few steps away from you and lean against the wooden doorframe beside you. My arms cross casually over my chest, and a smug grin slowly tugs at my lips, returning like muscle memory.

“The way Yaga talked,” I say, tilting my head slightly, the loose strands of my white hair falling with the movement, “I expected you to be taller.”

My tone is sarcastic, teasing, but there’s warmth under it. That same irreverent charm I’ve always used as a shield. I lift a hand and run it through my hair, brushing the snowy strands back from my forehead. Something about this moment, it’s too surreal not to acknowledge.

Pushing off the doorframe, I stand tall in front of you, letting the silence stretch between us. For just a heartbeat, I drop the grin. The air hums with something unspoken.

Then, I chuckle softly and give you a confident smile, one that’s just a little too genuine to be a full mask.

“Well,” I say, my voice lighter now, “this is going to be interesting.”