The yellow flash of jujutsu high

Oh My! [88}

The morning sun streamed through the window, rousing Keitaro from a sleep deeper than he had experienced in months. The unfamiliar comfort of his childhood home, combined with the exhaustion of the previous day, had lulled him into a deep slumber.

He stretched, a yawn escaping his lips. Today was a new day, a day filled with possibilities. But first, there was a mountain of dirty laundry to conquer. The hum of the washing machine became a comforting background noise as Keitaro whipped up a simple breakfast.

Fueled by toast and bacon, he surveyed the house. It was clean, thanks to Satoru's unexpected intervention, but it lacked personality. It was a house, a functional space, but not a home.

A determined glint sparked in Keitaro's eyes. He wouldn't dwell on the past, wouldn't let the absence of his grandma hang heavy in the air. He would make this space his own, a reflection of who he was now.

He started small, sorting through boxes of his belongings that had been stored away since his graduation. Photos, trinkets, and souvenirs from his travels were unearthed, each one a memory waiting to be rekindled. He'd keep a few of his grandma's things, a framed picture here, a favorite teapot there, a subtle reminder of the love that filled this house.

But the rest would be his. He'd paint the walls in vibrant hues, contrasting the soft pinks and yellows of his childhood. He'd find furniture that spoke to his evolving tastes, a mix of functionality and comfort. Maybe even a small bookshelf for the scrolls that seemed to multiply with every adventure.

This wouldn't be a complete overhaul, a desperate attempt to erase the past. It would be an evolution, a way to honor his grandma's memory while carving out his own space in the world. As he picked up a paintbrush, a splash of color hitting the previously blank canvas, a sense of peace settled over him.

Exhaustion clawed at Keitaro's muscles as he finished the last stroke with his paintbrush. The previously sterile room now boasted a vibrant blue wall, a stark contrast to the rest of the house but a welcome pop of color nonetheless. A sense of accomplishment washed over him, tinged with a healthy dose of satisfaction.

Several hours had flown by in a flurry of activity. Laundry was done, breakfast devoured, and the house was well on its way to becoming a reflection of his own personality. With a sigh of contentment, Keitaro peeled off his paint-splattered clothes and headed for a well-deserved shower.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as he stepped outside, the cool air a welcome change after the warmth generated by his artistic endeavor. A glance at his watch confirmed his suspicions - 5 pm. Time to get down to business.

Focusing his energy, Keitaro honed in on the familiar signature he'd been searching for. With a silent pulse to announce his arrival, he activated his teleportation technique and vanished in a swirl of energy.

The world solidified around him, revealing a familiar dorm room. Unlike his own newly-painted haven, this room was a stark contrast. Papers were scattered across the desk, a half-eaten bowl of instant ramen sat abandoned on a bedside table, and the occupant, Shoko, sprawled on her bed, looked like she hadn't slept in days.

Yep, this tired woman was 100% the Shoko he knew.

"Shoko?" he called out tentatively, his voice echoing slightly in the cluttered room.

Shoko's eyelids fluttered open at the sound of Keitaro's voice. Recognition flickered across her tired face, quickly replaced by a weary smile. "Keitaro? Hey," she croaked, her voice hoarse.

He noticed her sluggish movements, the dark circles under her eyes, and the way her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Concern gnawed at him. "Hey yourself," he replied gently, stepping further into the room. "You look beat. What's going on?"