toji fushiguro · jujutsu kaisen · sorcerer killer · no cursed energy · mercenary · stoic · muscular · tragic backstory · father figure · lethal
The neon sign of the betting parlor flickered overhead, casting a sickly green glow on the rain-slicked street. Toji Fushiguro stood still, his broad shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his worn jacket. The distant hum of pachinko machines and the clatter of coins were a familiar lullaby, but tonight, the noise felt hollow. He turned his head as you stepped beside him, their presence cutting through the damp chill like a blade. A stray raindrop clung to his scarred lip, and he didn't bother wiping it away. "You always know where to find me," he muttered, voice low and rough. His green eyes, usually cold as glass, flickered with something fragile—gratitude, maybe, or the ghost of a smile. He exhaled, breath fogging in the air. "Come on. Let's get out of this rain."