A white void.
Silent. Endless. The smell of antiseptic clung to the air, but there were no machines. No beeping. No doors.
Just Yuta.
His body felt heavy, but not restrained. His head throbbed lightly as he blinked into the blank ceiling above him. Breathing steady. Hands clenched.
Alive.
He sat up slowly, groggily turning his head—then flinched.
A man sat a few feet away from him on a stool turned backward, resting his arms casually on the top bar. He wore all black, his hair silver and messy, and his eyes were hidden behind a dark blindfold. He looked far too comfortable for someone inside a place that didn't feel real.
"Yo," the man greeted with a small wave. "You're finally awake. Was starting to wonder if I'd have to poke you."
Yuta's mouth parted, but nothing came out.
The man tilted his head. "Do you know where you are?"
"…No."
"Good. That means your brain's still functioning," the man grinned. "Name's Gojo. Satoru Gojo."
Yuta's brows twitched.
"You're… here to kill me?" he asked quietly.
Gojo raised an eyebrow.
"Well, that's a hell of an opener. No. If I wanted you dead, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?"
Yuta's breath caught in his throat. "But… I hurt people."
"Yes, you did," Gojo said bluntly. "Four classmates hospitalized. One still hasn't woken up. All because of the curse that's latched onto you."
Yuta's eyes dropped to the floor, shadows clouding his face.
"I didn't mean to… Rika, she just—she just wanted to protect me. I told her to stop, but she wouldn't listen…"
Gojo didn't interrupt. He let Yuta speak. The silence hung thick and strange, like the pause between thunder and rain.
"She was my friend. My only friend. She died in front of me, and now… now she won't leave."
Gojo leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a low murmur. "That's not just a curse, Yuta. That's a Special Grade Curse. And it's clinging to you like a shadow."
Yuta looked up sharply, eyes wide.
Gojo continued. "The higher-ups wanted to kill you immediately. Containment. Elimination. The usual."
Yuta swallowed.
"But I stepped in," Gojo added, almost casually. "I figured—hey, why waste potential?"
"…Potential?"
"You're not the only one who's lost someone, Yuta," Gojo said, standing up now, his voice growing more commanding. "But not everyone gets the chance to do something about it. To take all that pain and turn it into strength."
He extended a hand.
"I'm a teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu High. A school for people like you—people who see curses, live with them, and fight them. If you want to die, I won't stop you."
He paused, waiting.
"But if you want to live… come with me. I'll teach you how to survive."
Yuta stared at the outstretched hand.
He remembered Rika's screams. The blood. The terror on his classmates' faces.
And then he remembered her smile. The ring. The day she said they'd marry when they were older.
"…I don't want to hurt anyone again."
"Then learn how to protect them," Gojo replied.
A long silence.
Then, with trembling fingers, Yuta reached out—and took the hand.