The aftermath of the mission left the Monster Trio bruised but intact. The cursed spirits were gone, but the lingering weight of the encounter clung to their shoulders like damp cloaks. Back at Jujutsu High, the skies were painted a soft, washed-out blue, the kind of day that almost made you forget how violent the world could be.
Kishibe sat beneath the courtyard tree, bandages wrapping half his torso, a lit cigarette pressed between his lips. He barely smoked it—just let the thing burn. Gojo sprawled beside him on the bench, sunglasses still cracked from the fight, fiddling with a juice box like a child.
"Y'know," Gojo began, slurping obnoxiously. "You're quiet after a mission. That's weird. Usually, you're the one cracking jokes about how we almost died."
"I'm thinking," Kishibe muttered.
"Dangerous," Geto teased, approaching with a lazy stride, hands tucked in his sleeves.
Kishibe didn't laugh. He stared at the courtyard, the wind rustling through his blood-stained coat hanging on the tree branch beside him. "We were sloppy."
Gojo tilted his head. "We won."
"Barely," Kishibe said, flicking ash onto the grass. "You almost got skewered because you tried to show off again."
Gojo pouted. "It was a good move. Besides, I saved your ass five seconds later."
"Only because I was cleaning up Geto's mess," Kishibe said.
Geto scoffed. "My mess?" He sat down beside Kishibe. "I'm not the one who ignored my own cursed technique and charged in like a wild dog."
That earned a wry grin from Kishibe. "Wild dogs kill faster."
They sat in companionable silence, watching the second-years practicing katas in the distance. The school grounds felt distant from the darkness they usually waded into.
"You ever wonder," Geto said suddenly, "what we'd be if we weren't born into all this?"
Gojo snorted. "Rich. Handsome. Worshipped."
Kishibe gave him a flat look.
"Okay," Gojo said, laughing. "I get it. But seriously—what would you be?"
"Dead," Kishibe replied. "Probably younger."
Geto chuckled quietly. "That dark sense of humor keeps us all grounded."
Gojo glanced over at Kishibe, noticing something in his expression—a shadow that hadn't quite left. "That cursed technique of yours... Severance, right? What does it actually cost you?"
Kishibe looked at him. "Everything. If I'm not careful."
Geto leaned in slightly. "Meaning?"
"Every time I sever a cursed technique, I risk severing something else. Memory. Emotion. Control." He flicked the cigarette away. "You use your technique too much, it becomes part of you. Mine's like holding a knife to my own throat every time I use it."
Gojo was quiet for once.
"That's why you always fight like there's no tomorrow," Geto said, realization dawning.
"I fight," Kishibe said, "because I've seen what happens when I don't."
They didn't speak for a while after that. The afternoon sun warmed their faces. Somewhere nearby, Yaga's dog-shaped puppet chased after a broom.
"Hey," Gojo said finally, eyes on the horizon. "We should do something stupid. Like skip class."
"Already did something stupid," Kishibe muttered.
"No, I mean—like real stupid. Steal Yaga's cursed tool stash and go curse-hunting in Shibuya."
Kishibe raised an eyebrow. "You're insane."
"I'm bored."
Geto sighed. "You're both idiots. But I'm in."
The three of them rose slowly, bruised, aching—but somehow lighter. Like for just one day, they could pretend to be teenagers. Not weapons.
And in that small, quiet hour between wars, the Monster Trio laughed like they had all the time in the world.