[ ᴠᴀʀɪᴏᴜꜱ! ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛꜱᴜ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇɴ x ᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ]
━━━━━━━━━━━━
𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇'𝐒 𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄 that can latch onto the body's living heart and eaten at it, replacing it with a cursed heart. No matter the way the living body di...
A cool draught drifts through the room as you lounge on the sofa, legs casually draped over the cushions. The weight of the report in your hand presses against your skin, and your brows furrow deeper with each word you read. Your fingertip absently taps against the edge of the sheet, a rhythm of thought as your eyes focus on the headline.
Riko Amanai — it reads at the top of the page.
She's just a young middle school girl from a well-off family, but her life has been anything but simple. When she was much younger, her parents died in a brutal car crash, leaving her the sole survivor.
The page reveals more: after that, Misato Kuroi stepped in, not just as a guardian but as a protector, despite being a non-combatant jujutsu sorcerer. Misato's experience fighting curses is limited, nowhere near the calibre of Gojo or Geto, but enough to survive any looming dangers.
Your lips press into a thin line as curiosity swirls within you, but something warmer interrupts the focus—heat brushes your cheek, and you turn, your gaze landing on a familiar sight.
There's Geto, his bang softly framing his face. His gentle smile tugs at his lips as he holds a cup of tea. Dark eyes glimmer with quiet affection as he steps closer.
"Tea, [Name]?" His voice, calm and steady, reaches you, breaking the concentration you didn't realize had deepened.
You blink, realizing you hadn't even heard the kettle whistle. A faint flush of appreciation warms your chest. How thoughtful.
"Thanks," you murmur, nodding as you take the cup.
The soft warmth spreads through your palms as the steam curls upward. You blow gently across the surface, sending ripples through the tea.
Geto moves with a lazy grace, circling the sofa.
You instinctively shift your legs down to give him space, but he surprises you by pulling them back up and comfortably resting them over his lap. His arm stretches languidly along the back of the sofa, and his head tilts in your direction, dark eyes glimmering with amusement.
