Third Person POV

In the dimly lit room, the soft flicker of lanterns cast long shadows on the talismans that lined every wall. Shiki stood next to Gojo, her eyes fixed on the unconscious figure of Itadori Yuji, slumped in a chair and bound by thick ropes that snaked across the floor.

The talismans, meticulously placed to suppress cursed energy, seemed almost excessive to Shiki. She had dealt with curses, yet this setup struck her as overkill. She remained silent for a moment, her gaze lingering on the boy's peaceful face, then turned her attention to Gojo.

"What's with the over-containment?" she muttered, her voice laced with quiet curiosity. "He's just a kid."

"Well, that 'just a kid' also happens to be the vessel for Sukuna, the King of Curses," Gojo replied.

"You're wondering why we didn't just cut him down right there, aren't you?"

"Not really? Megumi wants him alive, so there's that."

She wasn't interested in the moral dilemmas of keeping Sukuna's vessel around. If Megumi wanted the Itadori boy alive, that was enough for her.

"Haha, that's so very like you, Shiki. But you can guess how the higher-ups reacted when they heard the news, right?" Gojo's tone shifted between amusement and exasperation as he folded his arms, glancing at her.

Shiki gave a slight nod. The higher-ups, ever paranoid, would see Itadori as nothing more than a ticking time bomb. She knew they'd prefer to eliminate him rather than gamble on containing Sukuna. Yet none of that stirred any emotion in her. If anything, the situation was just another example of the twisted logic behind the Jujutsu society's decisions.

Not that she was against it, though. If she thought logically, eliminating Itadori made sense. A vessel for the King of Curses was a liability, a threat that could spiral out of control at any moment. But the fate of the Jujutsu world? That had nothing to do with her.

"They probably wanted him dead the moment they found out," she said flatly, her voice devoid of surprise.

"You're not wrong." Gojo let out a small chuckle.

The room fell silent again, the soft rustle of the talismans the only sound breaking the tension. Shiki shifted her stance, her gaze drifting back to the unconscious boy.

For now, she'd watch and wait.

"Oh, he's waking up"

"Morning" Gojo

"Huh...? What's going on?" Itadori blinked, groggy and disoriented. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the talismans, the lanterns, and the two figures in front of him.

"So, which one are you right now?" Gojo asked, his eyes narrowing playfully behind his eyes cover.

Itadori's gaze focused on Gojo, recognition slowly dawning in his expression. "Aren't you..." he began, the memories of their previous encounter coming back in pieces.

"Gojo Satoru, I'm in charge of the first years at Jujutsu Tech, and this one—" he gestured toward Shiki, who stood quietly to the side, her arms crossed "—is Ryougi Shiki, a second year."

"Jujutsu… Fushiguro... Senpai!" Itadori's voice spiked with panic as he suddenly recalled the fight. He tried to lurch forward, but the chains binding him held firm.

"Huh?" Itadori grunted in surprise as he struggled to move, only now realizing he was tied down.

"What is this…?" He tugged at the thick ropes, confusion written all over his face.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, a casual smile tugging at his lips as he addressed Itadori. "I'm not sure you should be worrying about others, Itadori Yuuji."

Itadori blinked, his confusion deepening. "Ah...?"

Gojo's grin widened slightly. "It's been decided that you'll be secretly executed."

"Huh?" Itadori's shock was immediate, but it was Shiki who looked genuinely dumbfounded.

"What do you mean exceuted?" she asked, her tone unusually sharp. She wasn't one to show much emotion, but this caught her off guard.

For a moment, Gojo ignored her question, continuing as though he hadn't heard her at all. Instead, he shifted his focus back to Itadori, who sat frozen in shock. Gojo began recounting the series of events that led to this moment—not in dialogue, but with a brief, matter-of-fact summary. He explained how Itadori's consumption of Sukuna's finger had marked him as a danger to the world, a living vessel for the most infamous curse in history.

"As a result," Gojo finished his explanation, "the higher-ups at Jujutsu Tech decided on a secret execution."

Shiki's confusion lingered, her eyes narrowing as she processed Gojo's casual explanation. "If they still want to execute him," she started, her voice cold and matter-of-fact, "why don't I just cut him down now? It would be faster."

Gojo finally turned to her, his grin still present but tinged with something more serious now.

"Hey, relax. I got it sorted out. The execution's still on, but I managed to get it suspended for now," he said, waving off her confusion like it was no big deal.

Itadori, still reeling, could only manage a weak, "Wha..."

"The recap and the current events don't exactly line up, I know," Gojo added, as though reading Itadori's thoughts. But don't worry—I did my best, you're still scheduled for execution, but like I said, your sentence is suspended for now."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar object—it was one of Sukuna's fingers.

"This is the same cursed object you ate. There are twenty in total," Gojo began, spinning the finger between his fingers before holding it up. "Well, technically, there's 19 left. We possess 5 of them."

"Wait, 19? What happened to the last one? Did he lose a toe or something?" Itadori asked, genuinely confused.

Gojo chuckled. "No, no, Sukuna's got four arms."

With that, Gojo casually tossed the cursed finger into the air before blasting it against the wall with an effortless display of cursed energy. The impact left a noticeable dent, but the finger itself remained unharmed.

"As you can see," Gojo continued, "we can't destroy them. The curse is just that powerful."

"If it's indestructible, then why are there only 19 left?" Itadori ask again.

Gojo's grin widened mischievously as he pointed directly at Shiki. "Ah, well, she's the reason."

Shiki remained silent, unable to deny the truth of his statement.

Gojo continued, his tone shifting slightly to convey seriousness. "Shiki's eyes are a little… special."

Itadori blinked, trying to wrap his mind around this revelation. "Special?"

"That's right, Thanks to her abilities, one of those fingers met its end because of her." He turned to Shiki, giving her a playful nudge.

Shiki remains silent as she recognized the danger of her eyes.

In the past, she had seen faint lines of death around Gojo's body, confirming her unsettling ability to "kill" cursed techniques. Though she could potentially eliminate another's cursed technique permanently, she had never pursued that path—and honestly, she had little interest in it.

"Now, back to the matter at hand," Gojo continued, his tone shifting back to a more casual demeanor.

"The curse grows stronger every day, and the seals of modern-day jujutsu sorcerers can't keep up. That's where you come in."

"Huh?"

"When you die, the curse inside you will die as well. Our elders are cowards, demanding we kill you right away. But that would be a waste, don't you think?"

"A waste?" Itadori echoed, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

"There's no guarantee another vessel capable of handling Sukuna will ever be born again. So here's my proposal: if we're going to kill you anyway, why not do it after you've absorbed all of Sukuna? The higher-ups agreed, so now you have two options: you can die right now, or you can find all the parts of Sukuna and die after you've absorbed them."

Itadori fell into deep thought, the weight of his choices pressing down on him. Slowly, his gaze became more determined.

"I will..."

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Shiki POV

I lay in the grass beneath the tree, the sun filtering through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on my face. It was almost in the afternoon. With nothing else to occupy my time, I found myself lost in contemplation.

I felt bored. An odd thing to acknowledge, considering what I am—what I know myself to be. But this? This restless, unsettling boredom? It was new.

Ever since the fight with Sukuna, something inside me had shifted. There was an urge now. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the sensation, but it only made it worse.

"Sigh..."

I exhaled slowly, trying to push the feeling down. But no matter how much I buried it, the urge remained.

Gojo and Megumi were out on a mission, off picking up another first-year student. Their absence left the dojo quiet, save for the distant sounds of training—mostly Maki and the others going at it.

It had been three days since Itadori made his decision, and his words still echoed in my mind.

"If I'm going to die either way, I want to make my death more meaningful, huh..."

Meaningful death…

The concept itself was strange. The idea of finding purpose in death, rather than in life—it was something that never quite resonated with me. Death was death. It had no meaning, no grand narrative. It was simply the end.

I exhaled slowly, opening my eyes to the shimmering sunlight peeking through the branches above. Meaningful death. Was there such a thing?

"Should I go to the city?" I muttered to myself, pushing myself up from the ground. Maybe a walk through the crowded streets would keep me distracted, or at the very least, give me something to do.

Just as I brushed off the grass and turned to leave, I saw Maki and the others approaching from a distance, their figures framed by the dojo's main entrance.

Panda lumbered beside her, looking worse for wear, his fur disheveled and patches of dirt clinging to him. Toge trailed behind, also looking roughed up, his uniform crumpled and a small cut visible above his eyebrow. It didn't take much to guess the reason for their condition.

"Yo, Shiki! Heading out?"

Maki called out as they neared, her sharp condition contrasting sharply with the battered state of her two sparring partners.

"Yeah. Thought I'd go to the city. Nothing else to do."

"You're leaving just when I could've used some backup. Maki's in one of her moods." Panda let out a groan, rubbing the back of his head.

Toge nodded in agreement, though the exasperation in his eyes told me he didn't sign up for that much of a beating.

"Backup? Please, you both asked for it."

Panda grumbled something under his breath, but quickly perked up as he remembered. "By the way, Shiki, watch yourself in the city. There's been an increase in missing persons lately."

"Missing people?"

"Yeah, those zombie-like cursed spirits have been showing up more frequently too. You know, the ones that are half-dead, half-cursed. We've been getting reports from all over."

"I'll keep that in mind."

As I walked away, I could still hear Maki's teasing remarks and Panda's complaints, their playful bickering filling the air behind me.

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Third Person POV

Shiki arrived at the city, her quiet demeanor at odds with the bustling energy that surrounded her. The streets were alive with people moving in every direction, each absorbed in their own world. Cars honked in the distance, street vendors called out to passersby, and the hum of countless conversations blended into an indistinct murmur.

She watched them—people going about their lives with purpose, some rushing, others lingering, each driven by their own agendas, their own plans. Looking at the masses, she felt like an outsider.

Her gaze briefly caught on a billboard overhead, flashing images of missing persons—faces she didn't recognize, but stories she had heard before. The reports were becoming more frequent, stories of disappearances and strange occurrences, just as Maki and Panda had mentioned.

Her gaze flickered upward, briefly catching on a billboard overhead. Images of missing persons flashed by—faces she didn't recognize, but the stories felt familiar. Disappearances, strange occurrences... the kind of thing Maki and Panda had warned her about.

Shiki continued to walk, aimlessly on the city streets. Without realizing it, he began to drift towards quieter and less crowded areas.

As she wandered, something caught her eye. An old sign hung on the side of a modest building: Calligraphy Workshop. There was nothing flashy about it, but it piqued her interest. She paused, staring at the sign for a moment, her mind turning over the idea.

Calligraphy… they say it calms the mind, she wasn't searching for peace, but the curiosity was there. Maybe trying something can be a distraction. Something to fill the boredom, even if just for a little while.

Without much thought, she decided to step inside.

Shiki pushed open the door, and a soft chime echoed through the modest space. Inside, the workshop was simple—quiet, with low wooden tables neatly arranged in rows.

There were a few people seated at the tables, each absorbed in their work, brushes gliding smoothly over paper. No one seemed to notice her arrival, which suited her just fine.

The faint scent of ink hung in the air, mingling with the earthy smell of old paper.

As Shiki stood near the entrance, a young woman with a neat bun and a warm smile approached her.

"Excuse me," the woman began, her voice soft but welcoming, "is this your first time here?"

Shiki gave a slight nod.

"Would you like to learn calligraphy today?" the receptionist continued, her tone polite yet professional. "We offer guided practice for beginners, or if you prefer, you can explore it on your own. It's a great way to focus the mind and find a bit of peace."

Shiki glanced around at the quiet room, the faint scent of ink filling the air.

"I guess," Shiki replied.

She briefly explained the basics to Shiki, starting with the tools: the brush, ink, paper, and how each was chosen for its specific purpose. Holding up the brush, she demonstrated the proper grip and posture, emphasizing the importance of fluidity in each stroke.

Shiki listened in silence. The words were informative, but she didn't absorb them the way someone eager to learn might. She wasn't here to master calligraphy. It was just a way to pass the time.

"Let me show you to a spot where you can get started."

The receptionist then led Shiki to an empty table near the window, offering her a brush, ink, and paper. Everything was neatly arranged.

Shiki sat at the table, taking in the materials laid out before her. The paper, marked with faint outlines for beginners. It reminded her of the patterns she often followed, movements that had become so second nature she no longer had to think about them.

She dipped the brush into the ink, watching the dark liquid soak into the bristles, then brought it to the paper.

Her first few strokes were clumsy, slightly off. Sometimes she pressed too hard, causing the ink to bleed, and other times the brush barely skimmed the surface, leaving weak, uneven marks. She frowned slightly but didn't dwell on it.

With each trial and error, her hand began to find its rhythm. The brush moved more smoothly, gliding across the paper with an ease that came naturally to her.

It was pretty easy once you got accustomed to it. For Shiki, anything she did with her body, she could eventually do it with perfection.

If you could make a comparison, her body was like a high-performance sports car. On the outside, everything was perfect, a seamless machine capable of executing any task with ease and mastery.

But beneath that flawless exterior, there was a different story. Though the engine ran flawlessly, something critical was missing inside—a hollow space that no amount of thing could fill.

The machinery was perfect, but the core, the very essence of what drove it, felt incomplete.

As the brush glided across the paper, her strokes grew more fluid, more refined. It was as if she had been practicing calligraphy for years rather than mere minutes. Her movements were instinctual, each line precise, each curve executed with near mechanical perfection.

And yet, despite the effortless mastery, the boredom lingered. But for now, this gave her something to focus on for now, something to fill the void left by that ever-present boredom.

Shiki, caught in the steady rhythm of her strokes, barely registered the soft hum that interrupted the quiet. It was only when she finished another piece, she noticed someone standing behind her.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as they fell upon an old man, his silver hair tied in a neat bun. He was watching her, his expression calm yet mildly curious.

"Hmm, that's quite impressive, Is this your first time doing calligraphy?" the old man finally spoke.

"Yeah, First time."

The man's eyes flickered to her paper, where her once clumsy strokes had now become elegant and precise, almost as if she'd been doing it for years.

"You have a natural talent for it," he said, stepping a little closer to inspect her work. "Most people struggle with their brush control at first."

"It's not that hard. You just need to get used to the motions."

The old man chuckled softly. "True, but not everyone adapts so quickly. You're quite remarkable."

"It's just a distraction," she said flatly, her fingers absentmindedly running along the brush handle.

"A distraction from what, if I may ask?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she dipped the brush in ink again and resumed her strokes.

"From whatever," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

The old man smiled faintly but didn't press any further. "Sometimes, distractions are what we need, but remember, even in distractions, there can be purpose.

Shiki didn't respond, her focus returning fully to the paper. Purpose… the word lingered in her mind for a second, but she quickly brushed it aside.

The sun was finally setting, casting a warm orange glow over the city. Unknowingly, Shiki had spent a considerable amount of time in the calligraphy workshop. Though she wouldn't admit it, there was something enjoyable about the quiet of the place.

As she gathered her things, the old man from earlier gave her a gentle smile and said, "Come back if you have the time."

Shiki gave a slight nod before stepping outside. She checked her phone and noticed several missed calls from Gojo. She had instinctively put it on mute earlier, and now, seeing the missed calls, she was glad she had.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, but she felt no rush to call back. The prospect of dealing with Gojo's antics right now was... unappealing, to say the least.

Instead, she slid the phone back into her pocket and exhaled softly.

Reluctant to head back, especially after seeing Gojo's persistent attempts to contact her, she decided to wander around the city instead.

She just walked.

And walked.

With no destination in mind.

Time seemed to blur as the bustling city gradually quieted. The once jammed traffic, filled with impatient honking, had now dwindled to only a few cars cruising along the streets. The many shops that had been buzzing with activity were now closing, their lights dimming one by one, leaving only a handful of 24-hour establishments still open.

Shiki kept walking.

Shiki stopped in her tracks.

A sudden chill crept through the air, biting at her skin and causing her breath to form visible vapors, as if she had been dropped in the middle of a tundra. The temperature had plummeted unnaturally fast. it was the kind of cold that didn't belong in a city like Tokyo, especially not this time of year.

She knew instantly what this meant.

Cursed Energy.

But even with the frigid air clinging to her, there were no signs of ice forming. No frost on the windows, no snow falling from the sky. Just an eerie, bone-deep cold that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Shiki narrowed her eyes, sharpening her senses. She could trace cursed energy like a predator sniffing out its prey, and this was no different. Her heightened awareness picked up on it immediately.

The faint signature of a curse lingering in the atmosphere, tainting everything around it. Her instincts guided her feet before her mind had fully decided.

She began to follow the source.

With each step, the surrounding seemed to grow unnaturaly quiet. not even the distant hum of insect can be heard. t was as though the city had been abandoned, left untouched by life.

It was unsettling.

She then arrived in the plain area. Everything around seemed to be frozen. The ground was frozen. Only single patch of flower in the middle of the field seemet untouched by the frozen surrounding.

She continue to follow the trail until she arrived at a plain field.

Shiki's gaze shifted to the odd scene before her—a plain, frozen over with frost, yet in the center of it all, a single patch of flowers remained untouched by the icy grip surrounding it.

"It's interesting, isn't it?"

The sudden voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

She spun around swiftly, eyes locking onto the source. A man with white hair, walking casually towards her, as if the suffocating cursed energy radiating from him didn't exist. He didn't bother to conceal the immense energy leaking from his presence.

This man wasn't a sorcerer.

No sorcerer exuded cursed energy this vile.

The man continued his leisurely approach, his pale features calm and collected, as if they weren't standing in the middle of a cursed wasteland. His hands were tucked into his pockets, but his expression was empty.

"That flower… it stands there, untouched by the cold, defying the world around it. Like all things, it clings to life, unaware of how fragile it truly is."

Shiki just observed the man he walk past her and walking toward the flower untouched by the cold.

He crouched down near the flower, and caressing it carefully. His eyes rose, meeting Shiki's with an intensity that mirrored the frozen wasteland.

"Humans are no different from a flower defying the frost. Both are nothing more than temporary sparks in a world that will crush them when it chooses. And that's why I will—"

Before the cursed spirit could finish, Shiki moved in a blur. Her hand slid beneath her clothes, fingers wrapping around a switchblade hidden at her side. It was just a simple, unassuming blade she'd picked up as a bonus from an antique shop.

She carried it around out of habit, though she rarely had reason to use it with her sword always at hand. Today, however, the sword was absent, making the switchblade her only option.

Without hesitation, Shiki lunged, slashing at the spirit for a killing blow. But he lunged backward, evading her strike entirely.

"You didn't let me finish," he said, his voice calm, as if completely unfazed by her attack.

"Stop with your nonsense,"

"...Ryougi Shiki," he muttered, almost to himself.

Shiki's eyes narrowed. "How do you know my name?"

"Just as that man said, you really are a variable."

Suddenly, Shiki's feet felt heavy, a cold numbness creeping up as ice slowly formed around her ankles, freezing her to the ground.

"Tch,"

She had to shatter the ice before it immobilized her completely. But just as she prepared to break the ice, she noticed movement—a sharp sound of cutting wind—and several jagged pieces of ice shot toward her from the cursed spirit's direction.

Goddammit.

Her mind raced.

Before she could react, the ice shards suddenly shattered mid-air, breaking into tiny fragments. For a split second, Shiki's instincts flared—she recognized that interference. It was a familiar presence, one she couldn't ignore.

Shiki glanced up, and there, standing a short distance away, was a figure with piercing crimson eyes.

Asagami Fujino.

Her expression was calm, but her intense gaze locked onto Shiki. Fujino's ability was unmistakable—the power to twist and distort anything within her line of sight. But the question lingered: What was she doing here?

Shiki didn't have time to dwell on it. A twisting sensation rippled through the air, and the ice around her feet cracked, breaking apart in an instant. The ice holding her down was obliterated by Fujino's ability, but the force also contorted Shiki's feet in the process. Pain surged through her, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to let it show.

She was free now, but with the added complication of Fujino's arrival, the situation had shifted dramatically.

"What are you doing here, Fujino?" Shiki's voice was low, her eyes not leaving the cursed spirit, but her question directed at the newcomer.

Fujino shot a brief glance at Shiki, before her gaze shifted back to the cursed spirit.

The cursed spirit's gaze shifted between them, its expression unreadable as it let out a slow, exasperated breath.

"Another variable…" it muttered, almost as if speaking to itself. Its hollow eyes flicked towards Shiki and then Fujino.

"Life never goes as planned, does it? Well, that's probably enough for today." The cursed spirit turned away, his voice carrying a dismissive tone.

Shiki, on the other hand, felt something entirely different.

Shiki's world narrowed as the cursed spirit's back turned. The primal urge surged within her.

The broken foot was a distant memory, drowned out by a need far more consuming. Her grip on the dagger tightened, her body instinctively coiling like a predator ready to strike. She could feel her muscles tense, the line between thought and action blurring.

Just one more step.

But then, a voice cut through her trance.

"What the hell are you about to do?" Asagami Fujino's voice was sharp, pulling Shiki back from the edge.

Shiki's body froze mid-motion. Her eyes snapped to Fujino, who stood there, unimpressed.

"Are you stupid? What are you going to do with a broken leg like that?" Fujino's gaze was steady, as if looking at a fool who had forgotten the simplest of facts.

For a brief second, the two of them stood there, locked in a silent clash, each refusing to back down. Fujino's words had struck a nerve.

"What?" Fujino finally snapped, eyes narrowing.

Shiki didn't answer, but the tension between them crackled in the air like static.

Shiki's piercing blue eyes met Fujino's intense crimson stare.

Shiki stared at the spot where the cursed spirit had vanished, her jaw clenched in frustration. The cold air lingered around them, but it felt far more suffocating now. The unfinished thirst clawed at her insides, making her pulse race.

Fujino, on the other hand, sighed casually, as if none of it mattered.

"So? What's your next brilliant move?" Fujino asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Shiki shot her a sideways glare, the irritation in her gaze enough to freeze someone else in place, but Fujino just shrugged.

"What? I'm just being practical here. You've got a twisted leg, and he's already gone. Chasing after a ghost isn't exactly the smartest move."

Shiki remained silent, but the way her hand gripped the dagger—white-knuckled—said enough. Her patience was thinner than the ice beneath them.

"You know, you could at least say thank you. I did just save your leg from becoming a popsicle back there."

"…I didn't ask for help,"

"Yeah, well, you didn't exactly have a choice, did you? You were seconds away from becoming a Shiki-flavored icicle. ou're welcome, by the way."

"You're annoying, if you hadn't interfered, that cursed spirit would be dead by now."

Fujino crossed her arms, unbothered by Shiki's tone. "Oh, really? With your leg frozen solid? I'd love to see that."

Shiki clenched her jaw, biting back a retort. The reality of her injury was gnawing at her, but the thought of leaving things unfinished was worse. She took a step forward, only to wince as her twisted foot reminded her of its condition.

Seeing the state Shiki was in, Fujino silently turned. Without a word, she began walking away, her footsteps calm and unhurried, as if Shiki's presence no longer mattered.

"Wait," Shiki called out, her voice laced with a simmering frustration.

Fujino stopped but didn't turn immediately. After a moment of silence, she slowly looked over her shoulder, her crimson eyes meeting Shiki's intense gaze.

"You really want to try this?"

Shiki's glare sharpened, but before she could retort, Fujino turned fully to face her,

"Look, I know you're stubborn, but you're not in any shape to chase me down today. Besides…" Fujino's lips curled into a small smile. "We'll meet again soon. You'll get your chance."

With a final glance, Fujino turned and walked away, her figure disappearing into the distance.

Shiki stared after her, the frustration still lingering. As much as she wanted to chase after Fujino now, her body refused to cooperate.

For now, the prey had slipped away—both of them.

Shiki glanced down at her own condition, the dull ache in her leg finally registering in the back of her mind. Her body, though battered, remained steady.

Without much thought, Shiki pulled out her phone. She stared at it for a moment, her thumb hovering over the screen. A deep breath, then she dialed.

The call connected after a few rings.

"Shoko-san? Can I come to your place?" Shiki's voice was calm, unnervingly so. If anyone else saw her current state—bloodied, limping—they'd expect a much different tone.

There was a brief pause on the other end, but Shiki didn't need to explain further.

— ...Alright,

No more words were needed. Shiki closed her phone.

She took one last look at the empty field, then started walking.

[END]

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That's it for the chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it!

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[Thanks fo Reading!]