It was a grey morning when Shoko stepped out into the courtyard of Jujutsu High, coffee in hand, cigarette tucked behind one ear. The school felt subdued, like it was holding its breath. She stood by the corner of the veranda, looking out over the training yard. It was empty now, save for the fading scorch marks and torn-up ground from yesterday's emergency mission.
She took a sip and sighed. "Idiots."
Her voice didn't carry far, but the bitterness lingered. Shoko had patched up more wounds in the last week than she had in the last two months. The cursed energy injuries had grown more vicious—deeper cuts, burns that resisted healing, damage even reverse cursed technique struggled to touch. But the worst injuries, she'd found, were the ones no one let her treat.
She turned when footsteps approached. Yaga, silent as ever, nodded to her. He didn't have to speak. They both knew.
"How is he?" she asked, eyes still fixed on the horizon.
"Stubborn," Yaga replied. "But he'll live."
Shoko scoffed lightly. "Of course he will. Kishibe doesn't know how to die quietly."
They stood in silence for a while, letting the breeze pass over them.
"He threw himself in front of Gojo," Yaga said eventually.
"Of course he did," Shoko muttered, grinding her cigarette against the post. "Because that idiot Gojo never sees danger until it screams in his face."
Yaga gave her a side glance. "You worry more than you let on."
She exhaled. "They all think they're invincible. Him, Geto, Gojo. And Kishibe... he's the one that bleeds for them."
---
Later, she visited the infirmary.
Kishibe was asleep. Bandages across his ribs and shoulder, arm in a sling, sword leaned against the wall where someone (probably Geto) had carefully placed it.
She sat beside the bed and watched him breathe.
His face twitched in sleep. Not from pain, but something heavier. A dream, maybe. She could guess.
"You know," she said softly, "you look older when you're unconscious. All that brooding catches up."
He didn't stir.
Shoko rested her elbows on her knees, lacing her fingers together.
"You scare me sometimes," she admitted. "Because you don't pretend like the others. You accept that you might die. You carry it like a fact. And somehow, that makes it worse."
She didn't expect an answer, and he didn't give one.
But she stayed there, keeping watch.
---
That evening, Gojo stopped by. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, silent.
"He's gonna be fine," Shoko told him without looking up.
"I know," Gojo said. "Still. I keep thinking about what would've happened if he didn't jump in."
"Then you'd be the one here."
Gojo didn't reply.
Shoko finally turned to him. "You should thank him."
He gave a tired smile. "I will. When he wakes up."
They stood there in silence again.
There was a lot that hadn't been said between the four of them. A lot that lingered in the air, heavy as smoke.
But for now, Kishibe breathed. He lived. And that was enough.
Just for today.