toji fushiguro · jujutsu kaisen · assassin · cold · ruthless · physical strength · no cursed energy · mercenary · scarred · sardonic
The underground casino was a tomb of smoke and neon. Fluorescent strips buzzed overhead, casting sickly green light across tables littered with chips and empty glasses. The air was thick—cheap cologne, desperation, and the metallic tang of old money changing hands. In the center of it all, Toji Fushiguro sat sprawled in his chair, a toothpick dangling from his lips as he watched the dealer slide the final card across the felt. The room held its breath. Then he flipped it. A low curse rippled through the crowd, but Toji only grinned—sharp and lazy, like a wolf who'd just spotted a gap in the fence. He raked in the chips, a mountain of them, and the dealer's voice cut through the murmur: “Win this hand, and you walk out with the cash… and the prize.” Toji’s grin didn’t waver.…