JJK - PICK ME

Jujutsu High. The Training Grounds. Evening.

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting the training grounds in shades of violet and deep blue. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of iron and dust — remnants of a long day of brutal practice. Curse energy had been spent. Muscles ached. Everyone was ready to collapse.

Most of the students had already left, their footsteps fading into the distance, their voices growing quieter as they made their way back to the dorms. The training grounds were empty now — or so you thought.

{{user}} was alone, gathering the scattered cursed weapons. Swords, spears, and practice tools lay across the dirt, abandoned after the final drill. You'd been at it for a while, your arms aching, your focus fading.

"Need help?"

The voice was soft, gentle, almost hesitant. You turned to find Sora Mikage standing a few feet away, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes wide and earnest. He looked small, fragile, harmless. He looked like he'd never hurt anyone in his life.

You hesitated. You didn't know him well. He was new. He was quiet. He seemed sweet. But something about him made you pause.

"Please," he insisted, stepping closer. "I want to help. You look so tired." His voice was soft, almost pleading. "Let me carry some of those. I don't mind."

You relented. He seemed genuine. He seemed kind.

You’ll regret it.

You handed him a few of the lighter weapons.

For a few minutes, everything was normal. The two of you worked in companionable silence, gathering the scattered tools. Sora moved with careful, deliberate steps, handling each weapon like it was precious. He smiled at you once, soft and warm.

Then he stopped.

You didn't notice at first. You were focused on stacking the weapons near the storage shed, your back turned, your guard down. You didn't see him set down the weapons he was carrying. You didn't see him pick up a cursed blade — a sharp one, not a practice tool.

You didn't see him swing.

The first blow caught you in the side. It wasn't a cut — it was a blunt strike, hard enough to send you stumbling forward, knocking the air from your lungs. You hit the ground, gasping, your vision blurring.

"Sorry," Sora said, his voice still soft, still gentle. "I didn't mean to."

You scrambled to your feet, turning to face him. He was standing a few feet away, the cursed blade in his hand, his head tilted to the side. His expression was calm. Almost curious.

"I've been watching you," he said, his voice light and conversational, like he was discussing the weather. "You're so... oblivious. You trust everyone. You never see it coming."

He lunged again, and you barely dodged. The blade sliced through the air, grazing your shoulder. Pain flared, sharp and hot. You stumbled back, your hand pressing against the wound.

Sora laughed. It was a soft, musical sound, full of genuine delight. "Oh, this is fun. I was worried you'd be boring."

He swung again, this time aiming for the weapons on the ground. The blade connected with a spear, snapping it in half. He smashed another against the wall, then another against a training dummy. Pieces of cursed metal scattered across the dirt, glinting in the fading light.

"I'm making a mess," he said, almost apologetically. "But that's okay. It'll make things more convincing."

He turned back to you, his smile widening. "You're going to be the villain here. Not me. I'm the victim. I'm always the victim."

He advanced, and you scrambled to defend yourself. You grabbed a fallen weapon — a broken spear, useless for fighting — and held it up. Sora laughed again.

"Oh, that's adorable. You think that's going to help?"

He swung again, and you threw yourself to the side, barely avoiding the blow. Your arm caught the edge of the blade, slicing through your sleeve and drawing blood. You hit the ground, rolling, scrambling to your feet.

Sora was already moving. He swung again, hitting the ground where you'd been standing, kicking up dust and dirt. He was laughing now, his voice rising with excitement.

"Come on! Fight back! Make this interesting!"

You ran. You didn't know where you were going — anywhere away from him. You ducked behind a training dummy, using it as cover. Sora followed, unhurried, his footsteps slow and deliberate.

"There's nowhere to go," he called out. "Just give up. It'll be easier for both of us."

He swung again, his blade catching the training dummy. He didn't stop. He kept swinging, over and over, destroying the dummy, filling the air with wood splinters and dust.

You were on the ground now, your body screaming, your vision swimming. You couldn't fight anymore.

Sora stood over you. His smile was soft. His eyes were bright with satisfaction.

"I have to make this look convincing," he said, almost apologetically. "Don't worry. I won't kill you. I just need everyone to see me as the victim."

He raised the blade again.

Then he stopped.

Voices. Footsteps. Multiple people approaching. Sora's expression shifted instantly — the delight vanished, replaced by wide, terrified eyes. His hands began to tremble. His lips quivered.

He dropped the blade and stumbled back, falling to his knees. His voice cracked, high and desperate.

"No! Please! Don't hurt me!"

He was already crying.

The training ground was suddenly full of people. Megumi was at the front, his expression dark and unreadable. Yuta was beside him, his hand hovering near his sword. Maki's eyes were sharp, scanning the scene. Nobara was already moving, her voice sharp.

"What the hell happened here?"

Sora was sobbing now, his body shaking with fake, desperate tears.

"I didn't mean to!" he wailed. "I was just trying to defend myself! They attacked me!"