The rain tapped lightly on the windows of Yaga's office, the grey clouds stretching wide across the sky, cloaking Tokyo Jujutsu High in a dim hush. Principal Yaga sat at his desk, eyes narrowed at the stack of reports in front of him, though his mind wandered. His thoughts weren't on the words scrawled in ink—but on the trio that had steadily begun to shift the heart of the school.
Gojo Satoru. Suguru Geto. Kishibe.
Three names that had become impossible to ignore.
He had seen many students come and go, but those three… they weren't just strong. They were dangerous in ways that went beyond cursed energy. Gojo burned too bright, Geto thought too deeply, and Kishibe—Kishibe was a storm still trying to understand its own destruction.
Yaga leaned back, staring out the rain-soaked window. He remembered the first day he brought Kishibe in. The boy's knuckles were bloodied, his face unreadable, and his silence louder than any curse. He hadn't said a word during the entire ride to the school.
"You're not here because someone owed you a chance," Yaga had told him then. "You're here because I see something that might survive this world. If you want to prove me wrong, walk away."
Kishibe hadn't.
---
Training Grounds – That Afternoon
The storm had passed, leaving the training fields soaked and glistening under a rare break of sunlight. The trio stood facing each other.
"Alright," Gojo stretched lazily, pushing his blindfold up just enough to squint. "Yaga says no holding back today."
Geto exhaled, tying his hair back. "Because we totally hold back every other day."
Kishibe drew his blade without a word, the air around him already buzzing faintly. He wasn't smiling, but something in his stance was looser, less guarded.
They began with drills—sparring at first. Gojo dashed in with playful arrogance, Geto intercepting with summoned curses that moved like shadows around his frame. Kishibe didn't dance—he dissected, blade cutting between them like punctuation. Every movement was precise, built from survival, not style.
At one point, Gojo slipped through Geto's distraction and lunged at Kishibe, grinning. "C'mon, don't make it easy!"
Kishibe's hand shot out—too fast—and Gojo barely blinked in time to avoid the Severance-imbued strike. The wind of it sliced a chunk off a training dummy ten feet behind them.
Gojo whistled. "You've got zero chill."
"You've got too much," Kishibe replied.
They broke apart, breathing hard, drenched in sweat. For a moment, they just stood there, the three of them. Then, Geto chuckled.
"What?" Gojo asked.
"Just remembering the first week," Geto said. "You two couldn't stand each other."
Gojo snorted. "Yeah, he tried to gut me."
"You were being annoying," Kishibe said flatly.
Geto smiled. "Now look at us. Almost functional."
A rare expression—half-smile, half-sigh—ghosted over Kishibe's face. "Don't get used to it."
But he didn't step away.
---
Later – Dorm Rooftop
That night, the three of them gathered on the dorm rooftop. The sky had cleared entirely, stars blinking quietly above.
Gojo leaned back on his elbows, a lollipop in his mouth. "Y'know, we should come up with a name. Like a team name. We're too badass not to have one."
"Absolutely not," Kishibe muttered.
Geto smirked. "What, like 'The Unholy Trinity' ?"
Gojo snapped his fingers. "Ooh, I like that. Has a ring to it."
Kishibe rolled his eyes. "That sounds like a circus act."
Gojo leaned forward. "Yeah, but think about it. We've taken down three Grade 1 curses and one Semi Special Grade curse in two months. We're breaking records. We're…"
"Troubled," Geto offered.
Gojo paused. Then he laughed. "Yeah. But damn if it doesn't work."
Silence returned—but it was the good kind. The kind that didn't need filling.
Kishibe stared at the sky, remembering his first nights on the street, when stars were the only constant. He didn't say much. He rarely did. But in that moment, he let the quiet hold him.
He wasn't alone. Not anymore.
---
Elsewhere – Yaga's Office
Yaga looked down at a sealed envelope on his desk, stamped with the Jujutsu Higher Council's seal. He hadn't opened it yet, but he knew what it said.
Something was coming. Something big.
But for now, his students were still together. Still whole.
He allowed himself a moment—just one—to hope it would stay that way.