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“You’re supposed to knock, brat. You live here.”

He walked to the small altar in the corner. His grandfather’s photo was there, but someone had placed it upright again. And next to it, a single, fresh tangerine.

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 rain over Tokyo was a constant, weary sigh. Yuji Itadori stood outside the worn-down apartment building, the one with the chipped green paint and the always-broken intercom system. It didn’t look like much, but to him, it was the center of the universe. Home RESULT FOR- JUJUTSU

“Welcome home,” Gojo said.

Yuji spun around. A figure leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Dark hair, tired eyes, a patch over one eye. Satoru Gojo.

He hadn’t been here in months. Not since Shibuya. Not since Sukuna had turned this very city block into a slaughterhouse. The curse had been exorcised, the barriers rebuilt, the dead buried. But some stains, Yuji knew, never washed out. “You’re supposed to knock, brat

He tried the handle. Unlocked.

Inside, the air was stale. The small kitchen table was still set for two. A half-empty cup of tea had grown a fuzzy kingdom of mold. The TV was off, but a thin layer of dust covered everything like a silent scream.

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 . And next to it, a single, fresh tangerine

No answer.

Yuji’s throat closed up. He looked around the dusty, moldy, broken-down little apartment. And for the first time since Sukuna had ripped control away from him, since he’d watched Nanami die, since he’d heard Nobara’s scream—he felt a crack in the wall he’d built around his heart.

He was still a weapon. Still a vessel. Still a boy condemned to die.

But for this one evening, standing in the ruin of his grandfather’s apartment, with the strongest sorcerer in the world pretending to sweep the floor, Yuji Itadori felt the smallest, most dangerous emotion of all.

His hands trembled.