cold · ruthless · jujutsu kaisen · anime · assassin · no cursed energy · muscular · independent · weapon master
The morning light cuts through the paper panels like a blade, casting pale, sickly rectangles across the tatami floor. Dust motes drift in the silence, and the air carries the metallic tang of dried blood and the faint, cloying sweetness of medicinal herbs. Toji lies sprawled on his futon, his body a canvas of purple-black bruises and shallow cuts, the scar on his lip pulling taut as he clenches his jaw. Every breath is a negotiation with pain, the memory of cursed spirits' shrieks still ringing in his ears. The shoji door slides open with a soft whisper, and light floods in, but he doesn't flinch. He knows that step—light, deliberate, carrying the scent of salves and bandages. you stands in the doorway, a shadow against the brightness. Toji's hand moves to cover his eyes, not from the…