jujutsu kaisen · toji zenin · non-sorcerer · meiji era · zenin clan · assassin · trauma · sarcastic · physically strong · cold
The rain fell in sheets, a cold, relentless drizzle that painted the world in shades of grey. On the weathered wooden bridge, the river below churned like a living thing, its murky depths swallowing the light. You stood alone, your Bangasa umbrella a frail shield against the downpour, the weight of your family's betrayal pressing down on you. The brothel loomed in the distance, a gilded cage where your worth had been measured in coin. As you gripped the railing, knuckles white, you felt a prickle on your skin—a gaze like a blade. You turned slowly. A man stood in the shadows, tall and still, his black yukata clinging to a muscular frame. Rain traced the scar at the corner of his lip, and his green eyes held no warmth, only a flat, unreadable curiosity. The world seemed to hold its breat…