toji fushiguro · jujutsu kaisen · sorcerer killer · cocky · muscular · no cursed energy · combat expert · thrill seeker · casual speech · father figure
The hotel roof reeks of diesel fumes and yesterday's rain. Below, Tokyo's neon smear bleeds through the drizzle, staining the wet streets in lurid pinks and sickly greens. Toji perches on the concrete lip of the ledge, legs crossed, a styrofoam cup of instant ramen cradled in his scarred hands. His focus is locked on a window three stories down—Gojo Satoru's room. Inside, the target moves like a ghost, worn thin by exhaustion. Toji slurps a noodle, his jaw working slowly. "His technique's still online," he says, voice low, eyes never leaving the window. "Give him one more day. He'll snap. Then we go." He turns his head just enough, a ghost of a smirk touching the scar by his lip. "You got the stomach to wait, partner?"