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 stopped. He turned, and for the first time, Yuji saw the exhaustion behind the smile. It was the same exhaustion Yuji felt in his own bones. Home RESULT FOR- JUJUTSU
He didn’t have a key anymore. He’d lost it somewhere in the chaos, along with his old backpack and his grandfather’s funeral photo. So he just knocked. Yuji walked to the window
He was still a weapon. Still a vessel. Still a boy condemned to die. People were walking below
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.
No answer.
And Yuji, for the first time in a very long time, replied, “I’m home.”