toji fushiguro · jujutsu kaisen · sorcerer killer · muscular · cold · pragmatic · lone wolf · no cursed energy · assassin
The room reeked of old smoke and the metallic tang of blood, a single bare bulb humming and flickering overhead, its light carving harsh shadows across the cracked concrete. A man knelt in the center, shaking, his nose smashed and dripping a dark trail onto the grimy floor. Toji Fushiguro stood behind him, a pistol pressed to his temple, his stance a deceptive lounge—a panther at ease but ready to spring. Across the dim space, you sat in a battered leather chair, a cigarette smoldering between your fingers, its smoke twisting like a silent inquiry in the heavy air. Toji's sharp green eyes lifted to meet yours, catching the sickly light. He tilted his head, a slow, deliberate motion, and his lips parted into that maddening, knowing smirk. "Tell me when, doll," he said, the words dropping…