The phone vibrated on the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the caller ID. It was the only person she would take a call from right now. She grabbed the phone and left the room.

To shake off some tension, she rolled her neck left and right, loosening her facial muscles. Only then did she pick up.

"Hey, Satoru. You're calling early today—did you miss me?"

"When do I not miss you, (Y/n)?" His voice was more soothing than anything else. "Am I interrupting something?"

She thought she had masked her discomfort well enough. What had tipped him off?

"Why do you ask?" she countered, keeping her voice light as she leaned against the wall.

Gojo hummed. "I don't know, you just sound… a little off. Your usual charming self, but with a hint of 'I just committed a crime' in your tone."

(Y/n) let out a soft chuckle. "Oh, please. You're the one always getting into trouble."

"You wound me, sweetheart," he sighed dramatically. "But actually, I have some real business tonight. Might get a little messy."

Her fingers tapped absently against her thigh. "Messy how?"

"Nothing to worry about. Just some work in Shibuya." His voice was casual, but something about the way he said it made her pause. She didn't press further.

"Hmm. Well, you better not be getting yourself in trouble," she teased.

"Trouble? Me?" He gasped in mock offense. "I was about to ask if you wanted to go trick-or-treating with me, but now I'm reconsidering."

(Y/n) smiled, playing along. "You'd probably just steal all the candy from kids."

"Obviously. And then I'd give you the best pieces, because I'm a gentleman."

She laughed softly. "How considerate of you."

He sighed. "Wish I could actually see you, though. These phone calls aren't enough."

Her grip on the phone tightened. "...I know."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, warm yet fragile.

"Don't disappear on me, alright?" His voice was quieter now, more serious.

She exhaled, shifting against the wall. "I won't."

They exchanged a few more words—lighthearted again—before she finally hung up.

The second the call ended, her smile faded. She rolled her shoulders back, exhaling slowly before pushing open the door.

Anthony was still there, slumped against the chair, his breathing ragged.

"Where were we?" she murmured, stepping closer.

His body tensed. "P—please, no more."

(Y/n) tilted her head.

She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, letting the sound of her footsteps echo in the dimly lit room. Anthony flinched when she reached for him, but she only rested a hand on his shoulder—her grip light, almost comforting.

"Come on, Anthony," she said softly. "You're a smart man. You know this won't stop until I get what I want."

His breath was shallow, his fingers twitching where they were tied to the chair. Sweat beaded along his temple, his entire body trembling. She had seen that look before—the fragile line between pain and complete mental collapse.

(Y/n) crouched in front of him, her eyes scanning his face. "Or…" she continued, voice gentle, "we could make this easier. You talk, and I stop."

His lips quivered, but he pressed them shut, squeezing his eyes closed as if that would make her disappear.

She sighed. "Fine. Have it your way."

Her fingers brushed against his wrist, and the second she made contact, she let her cursed energy seep into him.

A sharp, broken gasp tore from his throat.

Anthony's body seized, his back arching against the chair as his own cursed energy twisted inside him, warping and convulsing under her influence. His veins darkened, his skin paled as he choked on his own breath.

"Do you feel that?" she asked, her voice calm. "I'm not even taking that much. Just enough to make your own energy turn against you. Feels like drowning, doesn't it?"

His mouth opened, but no words came—just a strangled sound, halfway between a sob and a scream.

(Y/n) tilted her head. "I wonder how long you can last before it drives you mad."

His body jerked violently. She could feel his cursed energy spiraling, unraveling at the edges like a fraying thread. She had been experimenting, finding new ways to use her ability. She knew if she pushed a little further, she could make it snap—make him lose himself completely.

But before she could, he broke.

"I—I'll talk!" he sobbed. "Please—please, just stop!"

She stilled, watching him shake. Then, after a long pause, she withdrew her hand. Instantly, his body sagged, chest heaving with ragged, desperate breaths.

She leaned in closer. "Good."

Anthony let out a weak, shuddering laugh—one that quickly turned into a broken sob. "You… you look so much like her."

(Y/n)'s entire body tensed. "...What?"

His bloodshot eyes met hers. His voice cracked.

"Your mother." His breath hitched. "I—I'm sorry. I never meant for her to die. I just—I only wanted to kill your father because I—I loved her."

Silence.

A slow, suffocating silence stretched between them.

(Y/n) didn't move. She didn't blink. She just stared, her mind blank and yet somehow overflowing at the same time.

Anthony was still crying, still begging for her to understand, but she wasn't listening anymore.

Everything inside her went cold. She finally had her answers.

Anthony's sobs had quieted into exhausted whimpers. He lay slumped against the chair, head hanging forward. His breath hitched when she stepped closer, reaching out to cup his face—almost tender, if not for the way her fingers dug into his skin.

"(Y/n)… please," he rasped, voice raw.

She didn't listen. She couldn't.

Instead, she reached deeper, sinking into his cursed energy like grasping a tangled thread. She pulled, feeling the resistance—his body instinctively fighting to hold onto what had been his for so long. But she had learned how to find the root of it. How to twist it. How to break it.

Anthony gasped, convulsing as his energy unraveled beneath her grip. It surged into her, intoxicating as always. A rush of power, of control.

And then—sickness.

His memories crashed into her. The twisted love he had held for her mother. The jealousy that drove him to murder. His obsession. His regret. She felt it all as if it had been carved into her very bones.

Her stomach twisted violently.

She staggered back, breath shallow, hands trembling. He was still there, gasping, but his cursed energy was gone. He was nothing now.

But she—she was tainted.

"Anthony?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He looked up, eyes glossy with tears.

She turned away, bile rising in her throat. The cursed energy she had taken from him, the pieces of him lingering inside her—it had to go.

Her hands curled into fists. She forced the energy outward, rejecting it, purging it from her body before it could root itself any deeper. The room pulsed, crackling with residual energy before dissipating.

Only then did she exhale.

Anthony was still sobbing. But she couldn't bring herself to care.

Not anymore.

Later that night *

The hotel room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the television screen in front of her. (Y/n) lay on the bed, exhausted, the remnants of her earlier purge still leaving her body hollow. She had taken a long shower, scrubbing her skin raw as if that would rid her of Anthony's lingering presence. It hadn't.

She stared blankly at the news broadcast, barely paying attention—until she saw it.

"Breaking News: Unprecedented Disaster in Shibuya."

Her breath caught in her throat as the screen filled with chaos. Smoke billowed into the sky, sirens wailed, and people ran screaming through the streets. The camera footage was shaky, but she recognized the district immediately.

(Y/n) watched in silence, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. She knew what she was seeing. This wasn't just some natural disaster.

She grabbed her phone and called Gojo. No answer. She tried again. Still nothing.

That's when real fear set in. He always picked up. Always.

Her chest tightened. She tried once more. No response.

The exhaustion weighing down her limbs no longer mattered. Her body protested, weak from draining her cursed energy earlier, but she forced herself to move.

She had to go back. Now.

Dragging herself off the bed, she grabbed her bag and shoved her essentials inside with shaking hands. Fatigue threatened to pull her down, but she gritted her teeth and ignored it. There was no time to hesitate.

By the time she zipped up her bag, her mind was made up.

She was going back to Tokyo.

*

This was my initial idea for the second part of the story. It would have set a darker tone, showing how (Y/n) had almost split into two different versions of herself. I was also playing with the idea that her burning marks could be similar to Sukuna's—I remember hinting at that in a chapter. The plan was for Gojo to eventually pull her out of that dark place.

As I mentioned before, I won't be writing a second part, but I still wanted to put this down.

Next chapter will be definitely the last one. It is an idea a had after finishing reading the manga. So I'll warning you now—there will be HUGE SPOILERS for the end of the manga. Don't read the next chapter if you don't want spoilers.