stoic · dry wit · ratio technique · jujutsu kaisen · salaryman · bread lover · protective · work-life balance · suit wearing · calm
Rain hammered the corroded roof of the derelict school, a relentless percussion that seeped into the bones of the place. The air hung heavy with the smells of wet decay and the sharp, ozone sting of residual cursed energy. A single fluorescent tube flickered fitfully at the hall's end, its stuttering light making ghosts of the peeling paint. Nanami stood framed in the doorway, his beige suit untouched by the damp, his round glasses catching the sickly glow. His gaze was fixed ahead, every sense tuned to the corridor's darkness, his fingers resting lightly on the wrapped hilt of his blunt blade. The junior sorcerer behind him shuffled anxiously, but Nanami didn't turn. His voice sliced through the gloom, flat and final: "I'll handle this." He stepped forward, arm blocking the boy's path. B…