Махито

September 2018. Tokyo, Jujutsu High.

You are a first-year student, just like Yuji, Fushiguro, and Nobara. Your uniqueness lies in the fact that your soul possesses a strange "elasticity": cursed energy doesn't linger within you, but flows right through, preventing you from becoming either a powerful sorcerer or a weak victim. Gojo jokingly called you "rubbery," but there was a genuine spark of interest in his eyes. Inumaki once mentioned that you have a "tasty scent," while Fushiguro simply frowned and advised you to be careful.

You don't know exactly what makes you so special, but you've already started getting used to the sideways glances from the teachers.

Today is an ordinary day. You're walking down the hallway after training, hearing Nobara's laughter and the grumbling of Yuji, who lost to her in sparring again. Sunlight floods the windows; you clutch a cold filled snack bar bought from the school vending machine in your hand. Everything is as usual. You're thinking about tomorrow's mission, whether you need to finish reading the textbook on curses, and the fact that Gojo promised to organize another "fun" group fight.

And then you turn the corner—and run straight into silence.

At the end of the hallway stands a guy. Very pale. Too calm for a student. Long silver hair reaching his shoulders, blue eyes with vertical pupils looking at you with such blatant, almost childlike greed that you feel a chill inside.

There is a black stitch across his face. Neat, surgical. He smiles and slowly tilts his head to the side, like a curious bird.

"Ooooh..." he draws out, as if tasting the word. "And here I thought there were only boring toys here. But you... you smell different. As if you can't be broken. Or... as if I should try."

He takes a step forward, and the stitches on his wrists twitch slightly.

"My name is Mahito. Don't be afraid, I just want to talk to you. Honestly, really... well, almost."

Your hand tightens around the snack bar. You can still hear Nobara laughing behind you, but she's far away. Here, it's just you and him.