Shoko Ieiri
The doors burst open.
Shoko looked up from the infirmary table, her hands still gloved and wet from blood—Geto's blood. She hadn't slept in nearly a full day, but the scream of approaching footsteps jolted her more than caffeine ever could.
Then she saw them.
Gojo, staggering under Kishibe's weight. Geto leaning heavily on the doorframe, his shoulder bandaged but still oozing. And Kishibe—
"God."
It wasn't a whisper. It was a cracked gasp.
Kishibe's entire left side was torn open. His uniform shredded. His chest barely rising. Deep lacerations crisscrossed his stomach and side like someone had tried to carve him apart with surgical precision. His face was pale, lips blue-tinged, soaked in dried blood. One eye swollen shut. His hand dangled lifelessly off Gojo's shoulder.
For one long second, Shoko couldn't move.
Not even breathe.
She had never seen him like this.
Not Kishibe.
Not the man who always came back.
---
Yaga
Yaga arrived a minute later, furious and hollow-eyed.
"What the hell happened?"
No one answered immediately.
Shoko barked at the aides to clear the table and help her prep, voice cracking as she swore at them to hurry. She was already activating her reverse cursed technique, hands pressed over Kishibe's chest, but the damage ran deep—too deep. She could feel muscle torn, ribs shattered, internal organs sliced just shy of fatal.
"He kept fighting," Gojo murmured.
Yaga turned toward him. "What?"
Gojo's blindfold was missing. His eyes looked clearer than they ever had—burning, hollow.
"He stood back up. Again. And again. Even when we were down. Even after Riko—"
The room froze.
Geto looked away.
---
"Don't talk," Shoko said softly, still focused on her work. "Just keep pressure here—yes, there."
Her hands trembled for a second.
Kishibe was more than a classmate.
More than a fellow sorcerer.
He was one of them. The first to rise when others hesitated. The first to bleed. The one who carried everything on his shoulders so no one else had to.
And now he was barely breathing.
"You idiot," she whispered, voice breaking. "Why didn't you run?"
Blood soaked the linen under her palms.
"He did it for us," Geto said quietly. "For her."
---
Gojo
He stood near the wall, silent.
His hands were still stained with Riko's blood.
Shoko didn't say anything about it.
Neither did Geto.
Yaga watched them all—his three students—and something in his expression changed. Whatever lecture, whatever reprimand he'd prepared… it died in his throat.
He just walked forward and rested a hand on Gojo's shoulder.
"We'll talk later," he said. "For now… let's bring him back."
---
Kishibe
He hovered between worlds.
Pain flickered at the edges of his mind like static—distant, fading, then rushing back in a wave. Everything else was drowned in a thick, red ocean of silence. Somewhere beneath his ribs, Severance still stirred. Hungry. Restless. But he didn't have the strength to restrain it or let it loose.
Just breathe.
Just… keep breathing.
---
Shoko Ieiri
She refused to step away from the table.
Hours passed. The room had long since cleared of assistants. Her reverse cursed technique worked non-stop—cell by cell, nerve by nerve. The internal bleeding slowed. Some organs responded. But the wounds made by that man—they weren't just brutal. They were precise.
And deeper than the body.
She stared down at Kishibe's face. Still pale. Still unconscious.
"You're not allowed to die," she murmured. "You hear me?"
Geto sat nearby on the bench, one arm in a sling, the other resting on his knee. He hadn't said a word in over an hour.
Gojo stood by the door, unmoving. Like a statue of himself. Unblinking. Wrapped in a silence so deep it was choking.
---
Geto Suguru
He exhaled, finally.
"I thought I understood what we were fighting," he said. "But that man… Toji…"
He looked up at Gojo. "You saw it too, didn't you? The truth of what happens when you fight someone who has nothing left to lose."
Gojo didn't respond.
Geto turned his gaze back to Kishibe.
"I didn't know he could fight like that."
"He was never fighting to win," Shoko whispered without looking up. "He was fighting to outlast. To give you time."
---
Gojo Satoru
He stepped forward, finally.
His footsteps were soft against the tile. He stood on the other side of the operating table now, directly across from Shoko. Looking down at the battered body of the man who bled so Riko could live a little longer.
But Riko was still gone.
And Kishibe… looked almost gone, too.
"I thought he was reckless," Gojo said softly, his voice flat. "I thought he was just angry all the time."
Shoko looked up. "He is."
"But now I get it," Gojo whispered. "He's angry because the world is unfair. And he's been carrying that weight longer than any of us."
He stared at Kishibe's unmoving hand.
"I should've saved her."
No one responded.
The silence was answer enough.
---
Flashback Fragment – Riko
Just for a second, the room faded from Gojo's view.
He saw her again—Riko Amanai.
That smile. The way she joked. The way she laughed and tugged at his sleeve.
He had wanted to give her the world.
He hadn't even managed to give her tomorrow.
---
Yaga
The door opened quietly.
Yaga stood there, arms folded, his expression unreadable. But his eyes scanned each of them—and lingered on Kishibe.
"How bad?"
Shoko swallowed. "I'm keeping him alive. But it's… it's not enough. Something inside him is unraveling. Like… Severance won't let go."
Yaga frowned. "Is it out of control?"
"No," she said. "But it's close. If it activates on its own while he's unconscious…"
"We'd lose him," Geto finished.
Yaga nodded once.
"I'll notify the higher-ups. They'll want answers soon. But none of that matters until we get him back."
He paused, then looked at Gojo.
"You okay, Satoru?"
Gojo didn't answer.
He just stared at Kishibe.
---
Kishibe, barely breathing.
A tube down his throat. A charm seal pulsing faintly beside his bed to keep Severance contained. His blade, scorched and cracked, sat beside him on a blood-stained table.
Outside, the sun was beginning to rise.
But inside, it still felt like midnight.