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Now, it felt like a cursed object. Every shadow held a memory. The corner where his grandfather’s oxygen tank used to sit. The scuff mark on the floor from Yuji’s wrestling practice shoes. The faint smell of miso soup, ghosting through the years.

Yuji stared. “Why?”

He was still a weapon. Still a vessel. Still a boy condemned to die. Home RESULT FOR- JUJUTSU

Hope.

Yuji walked to the window. The rain had stopped. Through the streaked glass, he could see a sliver of the Tokyo skyline, the neon signs flickering back to life. People were walking below. Normal people. Going to convenience stores, arguing on phones, living their small, fragile, beautiful lives. Now, it felt like a cursed object

No answer.

He didn’t have a key anymore. He’d lost it somewhere in the chaos, along with his old backpack and his grandfather’s funeral photo. So he just knocked. The scuff mark on the floor from Yuji’s

This was the apartment he’d shared with his grandfather. This was the place he’d left every morning, shouting “I’m off!” to a grunt and a wave. This was home .