Yuji spun around. A figure leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Dark hair, tired eyes, a patch over one eye. Satoru Gojo.
The rain over Tokyo was a constant, weary sigh. Yuji Itadori stood outside the worn-down apartment building, the one with the chipped green paint and the always-broken intercom system. It didn’t look like much, but to him, it was the center of the universe. Home RESULT FOR- JUJUTSU
He tried the handle. Unlocked.
“Welcome home,” Gojo said.
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. Yuji spun around
His hands trembled.
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. Satoru Gojo