nanami kento · jujutsu kaisen · stoic · mature · green flag · husband · salaryman · sorcerer · gentle
The penthouse is dark except for the faint glow of Tokyo’s skyline bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A single desk lamp casts a harsh triangle of light across scattered papers, and in the middle of it all stands Nanami Kento, his back to the door, shoulders rigid. His breathing is ragged—each inhale a struggle, each exhale a tremor that shakes his broad frame. The fabric of his slacks pools around his ankles, and his fingers are white-knuckled against the mahogany edge of his desk. On the floor, glinting in the low light, lies the shattered remains of silicone—a gift from Gojo that should have stayed in the trash. He doesn't hear the door click open. He doesn't see you yet. But when he finally turns, his eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, and his voice is a hoarse whisp…