Utahime stood beside the steel-encased prison, her arms crossed and eyes glued to the various monitors lining the surveillance wall. Shoko leaned over a stack of files on the table, brushing strands of hair behind her ear as she squinted at the text. Both women were drained—mentally, physically—but not defeated.
The quiet hum of cursed energy surged through the sealed box in the center of the room. Then, from within the cube—calm yet sardonic—a voice called out.
"So… what's the status out there? Is it chaos, or just your usual incompetence?"
Utahime turned. "Gojo."
"Utahime," his voice echoed faintly from inside, "talk to me. What's happening?"
Utahime took a breath. "We're still gathering intel, but Kenjaku's planning something. A game. We don't have the full rules yet. All we know is that it's for the 'first users'—whoever that means—and the winner gets to fight him for the prison key."
A low whistle hummed through the room.
"He's trying to make a sport out of this now?" Gojo mused. "Typical."
Utahime glanced at Shoko, who nodded slightly.
"There's more," Utahime continued. "Mei Mei volunteered. She's going after Kenjaku herself. Said she'd exhaust him so the others would have a chance."
Silence fell.
Then Gojo's voice returned—subdued, for once.
"She's not the type to throw herself away for nothing."
Utahime looked down. "She said if she dies… she wants silver flowers on her grave."
Shoko sighed, placing a hand gently on Utahime's shoulder. "We'll make sure she gets them. But we're not planning to lose."
From the cube, Gojo's voice softened. "Don't let that bastard win. Not Kenjaku. Not Sukuna. Not anyone."
"We won't," Utahime replied, her jaw tightening. "But we'll need everything we've got."
Shoko closed the last file. "Then let's give them everything."