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“Gojo-sensei…”

Yuji stared. “Why?”

He walked to the small altar in the corner. His grandfather’s photo was there, but someone had placed it upright again. And next to it, a single, fresh tangerine. Home RESULT FOR- JUJUTSU

And Yuji, for the first time in a very long time, replied, “I’m home.”

Yuji walked to the window. The rain had stopped. Through the streaked glass, he could see a sliver of the Tokyo skyline, the neon signs flickering back to life. People were walking below. Normal people. Going to convenience stores, arguing on phones, living their small, fragile, beautiful lives. “Gojo-sensei…” Yuji stared

Inside, the air was stale. The small kitchen table was still set for two. A half-empty cup of tea had grown a fuzzy kingdom of mold. The TV was off, but a thin layer of dust covered everything like a silent scream.

“So are you,” Gojo said, flicking his forehead. “We’ll clean it up. Together.” And next to it, a single, fresh tangerine

But for this one evening, standing in the ruin of his grandfather’s apartment, with the strongest sorcerer in the world pretending to sweep the floor, Yuji Itadori felt the smallest, most dangerous emotion of all.

He hadn’t been here in months. Not since Shibuya. Not since Sukuna had turned this very city block into a slaughterhouse. The curse had been exorcised, the barriers rebuilt, the dead buried. But some stains, Yuji knew, never washed out.