The sky over Tokyo Jujutsu High in 2006 was smudged with storm clouds, casting gray shadows over the training grounds. Rain hadn't started yet, but it was close — the kind of tension in the air that made everyone a little more irritable, a little more raw. It suited Kishibe just fine.
He moved like a blade in human skin, slicing through a wooden practice dummy with a knife cursed tool so worn it looked like it belonged in a junkyard. Sweat clung to his face. His uniform jacket hung open, sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing scars that spoke of brawls he wasn't supposed to survive.
A snort echoed from behind him. "You always go that hard on wood, or is it just compensating for something?" Gojo stood leaning against the fence, sunglasses tilted down slightly to show the glint in his unnaturally blue eyes. He wore that insufferable smirk that Kishibe had wanted to punch since day one.
"Keep talking and you'll be next," Kishibe growled.
"Boys," came Geto's voice — calm, smooth, like silk stretched over tension wire. He stood with his arms crossed, dressed impeccably despite the humid air. "This again?"
Gojo clicked his tongue and walked closer. "Just trying to bond with our resident edgelord. You know how it is."
Kishibe ignored them, going back to his training. He didn't need their jokes. He didn't need friends. He needed to get stronger. Always stronger. His cursed technique — Severance — demanded it.
Severance wasn't beautiful like Infinity or as elegant as Cursed Spirit Manipulation. It was brutal. It allowed Kishibe to cut through things not just physically, but conceptually — attachments, bindings, even cursed techniques if he hit them right. But it came at a cost. Overuse strained his soul. Every severed thread of energy felt like it tore through his nerves.
"You ever think of learning a second technique?" Geto asked one day, watching Kishibe from the side of the field.
Kishibe grunted. "Why? This one works fine."
"But it hurts you."
"I'm not trying to be pretty when I fight."
Gojo, surprisingly quiet for once, studied Kishibe for a long moment. "You're strong," he finally said. "But strength's not just about killing fast. You've got rage. That's dangerous."
Kishibe turned. "So what? You wanna fix me?"
"No," Gojo said. "But I don't want to see you break."
There was a silence that stretched between them. Something heavy, unsaid, settled in the air. Geto broke it by walking up and throwing an arm around both their shoulders.
"Let's go get some soba. You two can punch each other after you've eaten."
Kishibe shrugged him off but followed anyway. Because maybe, just maybe, being part of this strange trio — this monster trio, as the other students called them — wasn't the worst thing in the world.
He still didn't talk much. But when he trained now, it was sometimes with Gojo and Geto watching. And when he fought, he started to learn how to control the burn of his technique better — to cut less, and cut smarter.
He would never be like them. But maybe he didn't have to be.
Because monsters didn't need to be identical — they just had to be terrifying enough to be unforgettable.
And the world would remember them.