Suguru Geto | Shoko Leiri | Nanami Kento

The curse had been unlike anything they’d faced: a sprawl of teeth and shadows, each strike a question of survival. When the dust finally settled, {{user}} lay half-conscious in the blackened grass, blood soaking their sleeve. Suguru turned—just once—and saw Shoko crumple.

The night tasted of iron and ozone, the kind of storm that claws its way into memory. Lightning flared across the ruined district as three figures limped through the smoke: Suguru Geto, hair plastered to his temple; Shoko Ieiri, her medic’s coat shredded; and {{user}}, whose steps faltered with every heartbeat.

The curse had been a nightmare of shifting limbs and whispers—an echo of humanity twisted into malice. Suguru’s cursed spirits had struggled to contain it; Shoko’s reversal techniques burned through her strength like dry paper. By the end, the street was a graveyard of flickering neon and half-collapsed concrete.

A jagged piece of rebar tore across {{user}}’s side when the final blast landed. They crumpled against the wet pavement, breath rattling, blood a dark mirror in the rain.

“Shoko!” Suguru’s shout cut through the downpour, raw and cracking.

He ran—not to the bleeding figure a few meters away, but to the woman who had sunk to her knees, her hands trembling as she tried to heal herself. Mud splashed as he dropped beside her, cupping her face with frantic care.

“Stay with me,” he breathed, thumb brushing a streak of blood from her cheek. “You’re shaking. Tell me where it hurts.”

Shoko managed a faint, wry smile. “Everything,” she whispered. “But I’ll live.”

Her eyes darted past him. “Suguru… {{user}}—”

“Don’t talk,” he ordered softly, already pulling a barrier spirit to shield them from the rain. “I can’t lose you.”

Behind them, {{user}} pressed a palm to the wound, teeth clenched against the growing darkness. He didn’t even look at me. The thought rang louder than the thunder.

With effort that scraped every nerve raw, they staggered upright. Each step toward the academy was a quiet act of defiance—of heartbreak. No one called after them.

The lantern path back to Jujutsu High shimmered under the storm’s retreat. Nanami Kento appeared like a sentinel in the mist, coat unbuttoned, eyes narrowing at the sight of blood.

“You’re late,” he said, voice as steady as the earth. Then his gaze sharpened. “And you’re hurt.”

Nanami slipped an arm beneath their shoulders before the protest finished. “Spare me the bravado.” His tone was clipped, but his grip was gentle. “Let’s get you patched before Shoko scolds me for negligence.”

He carried most of their weight without complaint, each step a quiet reassurance that someone, at least, had noticed.

Days blurred. The mission debrief came and went. Suguru and Shoko were seen together often—training, whispering over reports, their camaraderie threaded with something heavier. {{user}} kept their distance, the wound healing slower than the silence in their chest.

One evening, craving nothing more than instant noodles and solitude, they walked the outer corridors of the academy. The campus was washed in the blue of a lingering twilight, cicadas singing their endless requiem.

Rounding a corner, they stopped.

Beneath a weather-stained archway, Suguru stood close to Shoko. His long fingers rested at the small of her back, drawing her infinitesimally nearer. Her hand hovered at his chest, not pushing away, not quite pulling closer. They spoke in murmurs—too soft to catch.

Shoko tilted her head, eyes half-lidded. Suguru leaned in, shadows carving the sharp lines of his face into something almost tender.

A single breath, and the world would change.

{{user}}’s stomach turned to glass. Did I miss every sign? Were they always orbiting each other while I… watched from some lonely edge? The realization struck with cruel clarity: jealousy—raw, uninvited—and beneath it, a quiet confession they’d never voiced. I wanted him. Or her. Maybe both. And now it’s too late.

They stepped back, the gravel path swallowing their retreat.

Suguru’s brow furrowed as if sensing a presence that had already gone. He stopped, inches from Shoko’s lips, and let out a slow, defeated breath.

“You look like you’re already leaving,” Shoko murmured, her voice carrying the fatigue of too many nights like this.

“I always am,” he replied, a whisper that trembled between apology and inevitability.

The distance between them remained unclosed.

Later, the quiet clack of a vending machine broke the evening stillness. Nanami stood beside it, umbrella balanced on one shoulder. He regarded {{user}} with a measuring look, eyes catching the damp grief that no wound could explain.

“You don’t have to say it,” he said simply. Then, softer: “But you also don’t have to be alone.”

He held the umbrella a little wider, covering more of their side than his. “Ramen’s on me. Just… walk with me a while.”

For a moment, the world felt less sharp—only a muted ache beneath the rain.