The sun hung low over Jujutsu High, casting long amber shadows across the training field. The cicadas cried in the distance, underscoring the dull thuds of practice strikes and sharp exhales. Yu Haibara leaned against the wooden fence bordering the field, chewing thoughtfully on a snack bar as his eyes tracked the unrelenting form of Kishibe.
Kishibe wasn't flashy like Gojo, or graceful like Geto. His style didn't dance; it bled. His strikes were all murder and muscle memory, no room for excess. With each vicious arc of his training blade, he forced the third-year cursed construct to retreat. He moved like a wounded animal that had never stopped fighting.
"He always like this?" Haibara asked as Nanami joined him.
"Since the first day I saw him." Nanami folded his arms, eyes narrowed. "No wasted motion. No hesitation. Like fighting is all he knows."
"He doesn't even talk during breaks. I offered him milk bread yesterday. Thought he was gonna gut me."
Nanami grunted in amusement. "He's not used to warmth. You can see it in his eyes."
Kishibe ended the match with a brutal jab that sent the construct to the ground. Without a word, he turned and walked away, sweat trailing down his temple, his expression unreadable.
---
Inside the break room, a small congregation had formed. Utahime leaned against the wall nursing barley tea, Shoko slouched on the couch leafing through a mangled anatomy text, and Gojo sprawled upside-down on a bench with his blindfold pulled up halfway, revealing half-lidded blue eyes. Geto sat cross-legged on the floor, absently twirling a cursed tool between his fingers.
"So he's still all steel and silence?" Utahime asked, flicking her drink can.
"Kishibe? Yeah," Gojo replied. "I tried roping him into lunch with us. He left the room. Didn't even give me a no."
"Doesn't surprise me," Shoko said. "That guy bleeds ghosts. You feel it when you're near him."
"He wasn't always like this," Geto murmured. "Back when we were first years, he spoke more. Not much. But enough."
"Then something changed," Shoko added. "Yaga doesn't tell us everything, but… I asked. Said he had it rough before he even came here."
"He doesn't fight for pride," Utahime said. "It's like he fights to survive. Like he never stopped."
Gojo sat up. "He's colder now, yeah. But when we fought together, I trusted him. More than almost anyone. Still do."
"Then maybe it's not about changing him," Geto said. "Maybe it's about waiting until he remembers how to trust us back."
---
Kishibe sat behind the equipment shed, away from the noise, rewrapping his bandaged hands. The sky was stained purple and orange. A cigarette burned between his fingers.
Footsteps crunched the gravel. "Hey. Hope I'm not interrupting."
It was Haibara again. Unshaken. Cheerful. He plopped down on the ground across from Kishibe without hesitation.
"Still won't eat with us, huh? I brought you tea. It's cold, though. Sorry."
Kishibe took the bottle wordlessly. Sipped.
"You're weird," Haibara said. "But kind of cool. Not like Gojo-senpai 'cool.' You're like… cold cool."
Kishibe exhaled slowly through his nose. "You talk too much."
"I get that a lot." Haibara grinned. "But I'm curious. You were in the same class as Gojo and Geto, right? That's crazy. You three were the originals, huh? The monster trio."
Kishibe's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. He stubbed out the cigarette on a rock.
"What happened to you guys? You were legends."
"Life happened," Kishibe replied, almost too quietly to hear.
Haibara didn't press. He just nodded, eyes soft. "Still think it's cool. I hope we're like that someday. Me, Nanami even if it's just a little."
For a long time, neither spoke. Then Kishibe handed back the tea.
"Thanks."
Haibara's eyes widened a bit, then softened into a smile.
---
That night, Shoko rewrapped Kishibe's bandages in the infirmary, her hands firm but careful.
"You're different lately," she said.
Kishibe didn't answer.
"The kids. They're getting to you. Even Haibara."
"They don't know anything."
"And maybe that's why it works," she said. "They don't know your scars. They just… see you."
Kishibe stared at the ceiling. For once, he didn't light another cigarette.
---
Elsewhere, in Yaga's office, Gojo, Geto, and Yaga looked out the window as the lights around the training field dimmed.
"He's changing," Geto said.
"More like remembering," Gojo corrected.
Yaga nodded once. "Don't push him. He'll open when he's ready. Until then, you keep standing beside him. That's all you can do."
And outside, under a sky full of stars, the bond between monsters—wounded and wary—stretched, quiet and strong, toward something like healing.