Okinawa smelled like salt and possibility.
Kage stood on the beach, his enhanced senses cataloguing waves crashing, seabirds calling, tourists laughing without knowledge that three sorcerers and a human sacrifice stood among them. The sun was warm—he felt it through temperature shifts, through the way air moved differently in heat, through Gojo's cursed energy signature practically glowing with contentment.
"This was a terrible idea," Kage said.
"This was a necessary idea," Gojo countered, sprawled on a beach towel with zero concern for tactical positioning. "Riko's got one day left before the merger. Let her have some fun before she becomes part of an immortal barrier user."
"Fun makes her a target."
"Existing makes her a target. At least this way she gets to enjoy the beach." Gojo's Six Eyes were tracking every person within a mile radius, his Infinity ready to activate at microsecond notice. "Besides, we're here. Nothing's getting through us."
Kage wanted to argue, but couldn't. Because Gojo was right—Riko deserved this. Twenty-four hours before losing her identity, she should get to be a normal teenager. Even if normal was an illusion maintained by three of jujutsu society's strongest sorcerers standing guard.
"Look at her," Suguru said quietly, standing beside Kage. His cursed spirits were deployed in a perimeter, invisible to civilians but ready for immediate combat. "When's the last time she looked that happy?"
Riko was building a sandcastle with Kuroi, her laughter carrying on the ocean breeze. For a moment, she wasn't the Star Plasma Vessel—just a girl who liked the beach, who wanted to feel sand between her toes, who was desperately clinging to humanity before it was subsumed into something greater.
"We should've brought her here earlier," Kage observed. "Given her more time to be herself."
"We were busy keeping her alive," Gojo pointed out. "Time Vessel Association, curse users, Q trying to turn everyone into meat sculptures. You know, normal Tuesday stuff."
"Nothing about this is normal."
"Which is why this moment matters." Suguru's cursed energy carried melancholy. "Tomorrow she merges with Tengen. Today she gets to be Riko Amanai. That has value."
They stood in comfortable silence, three teenagers playing soldier while a fourth played civilian. The dichotomy wasn't lost on Kage—they were the same age as Riko, but they'd been forged into weapons while she'd been groomed as a sacrifice. Different paths to the same destination: useful to jujutsu society until they weren't.
"Kage!"
Riko's voice cut through his brooding. She was waving at him, Kuroi smiling beside her, both of them wearing expressions that said come join us in ways that made his social anxiety spike.
"Pretend you didn't hear her," Kage suggested to himself.
"Too late, she's walking over." Gojo's grin was audible. "And she looks determined. You're doomed."
Rico arrived with purpose, grabbed Kage's arm, and started dragging him toward the nearby aquarium. "You're coming with me. No arguments."
"I have several arguments."
"Don't care. You've been standing there like a creepy statue for an hour. Time to socialize." She pulled harder, surprisingly strong for someone who wasn't a sorcerer. "Besides, I want to see the jellyfish, and you're going to describe them to me."
"You can see them yourself."
"But you see them differently. Through cursed energy or whatever. I want to know what that's like." Her voice softened. "Please? It's my last day."
The plea hit harder than any cursed technique. Kage couldn't refuse—wouldn't refuse. If Riko wanted him to describe jellyfish through cursed energy perception on her last day of existence, then he'd describe jellyfish through cursed energy perception.
"Fine. But I reserve the right to be awkward about it."
"You're always awkward. It's part of your charm."
"I don't have charm."
"Exactly."
The aquarium. Afternoon.
The building was cool, dark, illuminated primarily by tank lighting that created an otherworldly atmosphere. Perfect for someone who experienced the world through senses beyond sight.
Kage's enhanced perception mapped the aquarium immediately—structural layout, emergency exits, potential threat vectors. Old habits from years of survival training. But beneath the tactical analysis, he felt something else.
Beauty.
The fish moved through water with cursed energy signatures that were simple, pure, unencumbered by human complexity. Each species had its own pattern—the sharks moved with predatory focus, the schooling fish with collective harmony, the sea turtles with ancient patience.
And the jellyfish...
"Tell me," Riko said, standing in front of the jellyfish exhibit. The tank was massive, filled with translucent creatures that pulsed through water like living ghosts. "What do you see?"
Kage focused his perception, letting his enhanced senses parse the details his eyes couldn't provide. "They're like floating constellations. Each jellyfish has a cursed energy signature—barely present, almost nonexistent, but there. And when they move, they create patterns. Rhythms. Like watching music made visible."
"That's beautiful."
"That's cursed energy perception. Everything has a signature. Usually it's just utility—tracking enemies, detecting threats, mapping environments. But sometimes..." He paused, searching for words. "Sometimes it's just beautiful."
Riko moved closer to the glass, her reflection merging with jellyfish beyond. "Do you ever wish you could see normally? Like everyone else?"
"I don't know what normal seeing is, so I can't miss it. It's like asking if I wish I had wings—I've never had them, so their absence isn't a loss."
"But other people have sight. You know you're missing something they have."
"Other people have cursed energy blind spots. They miss things I perceive." Kage's hand touched the glass, feeling the cool surface, the vibrations of water beyond. "Different doesn't mean lesser. Just different."
"Is that what you tell yourself? Or what you actually believe?"
The question was too perceptive, too honest, too much like looking in a mirror and not liking the reflection.
"Both," Kage admitted. "I tell myself I'm not lesser because I'm different. Some days I believe it. Other days I wonder if the Zen'in Clan was right—that I'm defective, broken, something that should've been discarded at birth."
"They were wrong." Riko's voice was fierce. "You're not defective. You're just... you. And you is someone who describes jellyfish like constellations and protects people you barely know and refuses to let a bratty teenager die without a fight."
"You're not bratty."
"I'm incredibly bratty. But I appreciate the lie." She turned to face him, her expression serious despite the aquarium's ethereal lighting. "Can I tell you something?"
"Sure."
"I'm terrified." Her voice cracked. "Everyone keeps saying how honored I should be, how privileged, how the merger with Tengen is a sacred duty. But I'm just Riko. I don't want to be part of someone else. I don't want to lose myself. I want to—" She stopped, tears threatening. "I want to live."
Kage didn't have practiced responses for emotional vulnerability. The Zen'in Clan had beaten empathy out of him, Tokyo Jujutsu High was still teaching him how to be human, and he'd spent six years learning to be a weapon when what he needed was to be a person.
But Riko was crying. And she had one day left. And sometimes human connection mattered more than tactical efficiency.
"Then live," he said simply. "For the next twenty-four hours, be as alive as possible. Eat good food. Watch the jellyfish. Laugh at stupid jokes. Make memories so bright that even Tengen can't erase them."
"And after? After the merger?"
"After... I don't know. Maybe you become part of Tengen and lose yourself completely. Maybe some part of you remains, influencing him in ways we can't predict. Maybe consciousness isn't binary—maybe you're both yourself and something greater simultaneously."
"That's not comforting."
"I'm not good at comfort. But I'm good at honesty." Kage turned to face her properly. "You're scared. That's reasonable. You're grieving for a life you won't get to live. That's human. And you're standing here looking at jellyfish instead of falling apart. That's brave."
"I don't feel brave."
"Bravery isn't the absence of fear. It's functioning despite it." He paused. "And for what it's worth—even if you're abnormal, even if you're a sacrifice, even if tomorrow you stop being Riko Amanai—right now, in this moment, you're my friend. And that matters."
Rico's tears fell properly now, but her smile was genuine. "We're both pretty abnormal, huh? The blind sorcerer and the human sacrifice."
"Exceptionally abnormal."
"Good. Normal's overrated anyway." She wiped her eyes. "Thank you. For being honest. For treating me like a person instead of a duty. For... for being you."
"I don't know how to be anyone else."
"Perfect. Don't change."
Later. The beach.
Gojo and Suguru found them sitting on the beach wall, watching the ocean through their respective senses—Riko through sight, Kage through sound and temperature and the way water's cursed energy signature felt different from land.
"There you are," Gojo announced, dropping beside them with his characteristic lack of personal space. "We were starting to think the jellyfish had kidnapped you."
"The jellyfish were innocent," Riko said, her earlier tears dried but not forgotten. "Kage was showing me how he perceives the world."
"Did he tell you it's deeply weird?" Gojo asked.
"Did he tell you it's beautiful?" Suguru countered, sitting on Riko's other side.
"Both, actually."
"Accurate." Gojo stretched, his Infinity creating slight distortions in the air around him. "So. Last day of freedom. What's the verdict? Worth the potential security risk?"
"Absolutely." Riko's voice was firm. "This is the best day I've had in... maybe ever. Thank you. All of you."
"Don't thank us yet," Suguru said gently. "Tomorrow's going to be hard."
"Tomorrow I'll be strong. Today I'm just happy." She leaned against Kuroi, who'd joined them silently. "Is this what normal teenagers do? Hang out at the beach with friends?"
"Normal teenagers don't have bodyguards capable of leveling city blocks," Gojo observed. "But otherwise, yeah. This is pretty standard."
"Good. I like standard."
They sat in comfortable silence, watching the ocean, existing in that moment between mission objectives and personal connection. Four teenagers and one guardian, all of them carrying weights too heavy for their ages, all of them pretending for a few hours that weights didn't exist.
Kage's enhanced senses catalogued everything—the way Riko's cursed energy signature had stabilized from earlier distress, the way Suguru's remained troubled despite his smiles, the way Gojo's confidence hid something fragile underneath.
And at the very edge of his perception range—miles away, barely detectible, a cursed energy signature that didn't exist.
Toji.
The Sorcerer Killer was here. Watching. Waiting. Preparing for whatever contract he'd accepted that brought him to Okinawa on the same day as the Star Plasma Vessel.
Kage should warn them. Should alert Gojo and Suguru, activate emergency protocols, get Riko to safety immediately.
But then he looked at her—really perceived her through cursed energy—and saw happiness. Genuine, uncomplicated joy on her last day of existence.
The warning could wait five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Just a little longer.
Let her have this.
"Kage?" Riko's voice pulled him back. "You okay? You went all tense."
"Fine. Just... thinking."
"About tomorrow?"
"About right now." He forced himself to relax. "About how this moment matters more than any mission briefing."
"Getting philosophical on us?" Gojo teased. "Should I be worried?"
"You should always be worried about me. I'm unpredictable."
"You're the most predictable person I know. Stubborn, sarcastic, secretly caring despite pretending otherwise." Gojo's grin was audible. "But we love you anyway."
"Speak for yourself."
"I am. Suguru agrees with me."
"I didn't say anything," Suguru protested.
"You were thinking it loudly."
Riko laughed—bright and genuine, the sound echoing across the beach. And for that moment, Kage let himself believe the warning could wait. That they could have this peace. That tomorrow's complications didn't matter as much as today's joy.
He was wrong, of course.
But the wrongness was worth it for that laugh.
Evening. Sunset.
"I don't want to merge with Tengen."
Riko said it quietly, standing at the ocean's edge with the sunset painting the sky in colors Kage couldn't see but felt through temperature changes. The others had gone to get dinner, leaving Kage on guard duty—which really meant 'standing nearby while Riko processed her approaching death.'
"Okay," Kage said simply.
"That's it? Just 'okay'? No lecture about duty or the greater good or how millions depend on Tengen's barriers?"
"You already know all that. You don't need me repeating it." Kage's shadow stretched long in the fading light. "What you need is someone to acknowledge that not wanting to die is reasonable."
"But I have to die. The merger happens tomorrow. I don't get a choice."
"Everyone gets a choice. Sometimes all the options are terrible, but choosing is still choosing."
Riko turned to face him, her cursed energy signature turbulent with emotion. "What if I choose not to merge? What if I run?"
"Then we'd protect you."
"Even knowing it means Tengen's barriers fail? Even knowing millions could die?"
Kage considered the question—really considered it, weighing duty against morality, greater good against personal autonomy, the calculations that had defined his entire life.
"Yes," he said finally. "Even then."
"That's not very heroic."
"I'm not a hero. I'm someone who thinks forcing a fourteen-year-old to sacrifice herself is wrong, regardless of the consequences." His voice was firm. "If you choose to merge, we'll support you. If you choose to run, we'll protect you. Either way, it's your choice. Not Tengen's. Not jujutsu society's. Yours."
"Gojo and Suguru feel the same way?"
"We haven't discussed it explicitly. But yeah, I think they do." Kage's enhanced hearing caught Gojo's approach from the restaurant. "Though Gojo might phrase it more dramatically."
"Everything's dramatic with him."
"It's part of his charm."
"You just said you don't have charm."
"I don't. Gojo has enough for both of us."
Riko laughed, and some of the tension dissolved. "Okay. I've decided."
"Decided what?"
"I want to live." Her voice was stronger now, certain. "I want to see more aquariums, eat more good food, have more days like today. I want to be Riko Amanai, not the Star Plasma Vessel."
"Then that's what you'll be."
"Even if it's just for tonight? Even if tomorrow I have to go through with the merger?"
"Even then. Tonight you're just Riko." Kage offered his hand—awkward, uncertain, but genuine. "And we're just your friends who want you to be happy."
She took the hand, squeezed once, then pulled him toward where the others were approaching with dinner. "Come on. Gojo probably bought enough food for twelve people, and I want to eat it all while making terrible jokes."
"That sounds perfect."
And it was—for those few hours, sitting on the beach eating too much food, laughing at Gojo's terrible impressions, listening to Suguru's philosophy tangents, watching Kuroi's quiet contentment, feeling Riko's joy radiate like physical warmth.
Perfect.
Temporary.
Doomed.
But perfect nonetheless.
Night. Guard duty.
Kage stood watch while the others slept, his enhanced senses mapping the night-time beach. Fewer people now, mostly couples walking along the shore, late-night fishermen, the occasional drunk tourist.
And at the very edge of his perception—
Toji.
Still there. Still watching. His absence of cursed energy somehow more ominous than any hostile signature.
"You're here," Kage said quietly to the empty air. "Have been all day. What are you waiting for?"
No response. Toji was too far away for normal conversation, too professional to reveal himself prematurely.
But Kage knew. The Sorcerer Killer had accepted a contract on the Star Plasma Vessel. He was here to kill Riko, prevent the merger, destabilize Tengen's barriers for whoever was paying him.
And Kage had said nothing to warn the others.
Let Rico have her day. Let her experience happiness one final time. Let her choose to live before circumstances stole that choice.
Selfish? Definitely.
Dangerous? Absolutely.
Worth it?
He looked back at the beach house where Riko slept peacefully, her cursed energy signature calm in a way it hadn't been since they met. She'd had a good day. Maybe her last good day. And Kage had given that to her by delaying the warning.
Tomorrow would bring violence. Tomorrow Toji would strike. Tomorrow they'd have to choose between protecting Riko and maintaining Tengen's barriers.
But tonight—tonight she was just a girl who'd seen jellyfish and laughed with friends and decided she wanted to live.
Kage's shadow expanded, wrapping the beach house in a protective barrier invisible to normal sight. His Abyss technique woven into darkness itself, creating a perimeter that would alert him to any approach.
"Come tomorrow," he whispered to Toji's distant presence. "Tonight's off limits."
The warning wasn't acknowledged. But the absence-that-was-Toji didn't move closer either.
An understanding between teacher and student.
Between the Sorcerer Killer and the void child.
Tonight was sacred.
Tomorrow they'd fight.
Tonight Riko got to be alive.
Kage stood guard through the darkness, his enhanced senses tracking every sound, every movement, every potential threat. Protecting not just a mission objective, but a girl who'd become a friend despite impossible circumstances.
The jellyfish had been beautiful.
Riko's laughter had been beautiful.
This moment—fragile and temporary and doomed—was beautiful.
Tomorrow would bring blood and tears and impossible choices.
But tonight there was only the ocean, the stars, and a blind boy standing guard over something precious.
It would have to be enough.