The day had been long in the way only idle days could be, the kind where nothing truly important happened, yet time refused to move faster.
Mahito had spent the morning in the training grounds, circling Panda in a slow dance of trial and error. The cursed corpse's blows were heavy, the kind that rattled through bone even if you blocked cleanly, and Panda's personality was every bit as broad as his frame.
The spar had started with a challenge, Panda's usual brand of good-natured ribbing, and had quickly shifted into something more serious. Mahito didn't need to use his cursed technique to win, but he did have to respect the way Panda moved.
The bear's footwork was deceptively light, his fists finding their way through gaps Mahito left open on purpose, just to see how Panda would take them.
Panda fought with all his forms before the session ended, and Mahito noted each shift, Triceratops-like brute strength, Gorilla Mode's seemingly uncontrollable aggression, filing them away in that quiet corner of his mind where he kept anything remotely interesting.
The shift to the Triceratops Core was the most unusual one to Mahito, an almost complete shift in both abilities and strength.
It did not provide just strength, however. Gorilla mode's 'Unblockable Drumming Beat' packed a stronger punch, strong enough to blow holes into the training grounds. It was also deployed faster.
But the Triceratops provided an uncanny endurance, and another strange ability which allowed Panda to absorb impacts and release the stored force into a rather devastating bull rush, putting his newly grown horns to good use.
Mahito learned from them, trying to figure out ways he could incorporate those techniques into his own creations.
In the end, they'd both walked off the field with a rather clear victor. Mahito had not even broken a sweat, but Panda was exhausted beyond belief. Regardless, it hadn't been about who won. The spar was a conversation, and Mahito had learned enough.
By afternoon, the noise of the match had faded into the stillness of the grounds. The clouds hung low, the light thinning into the softer edges of evening.
That was when he saw her once more.
Kugisaki Nobara sat alone near the far wall, her wheelchair angled toward the empty dirt of the training field. She didn't fidget or sigh; she just… sat there, as if keeping watch over something no one else could see.
Her body was intact, Mahito had already studied her from a distance. The damage was deeper, bound into the shape of her soul.
And he could see it. The brand that Kenjaku had placed.
Mahito's lips twitched faintly upward. He could break it. He could make her walk again before the sun finished setting.
But why? The question wasn't cruel, not to Mahito. It was honest.
From Kenjaku's point of view, Mahito was already "rehabilitated", a curse turned pet project of Gojo Satoru.
He'd saved Yuji on more than one occasion, spared Kugisaki from Haruta, and fought alongside sorcerers against other curses. Jogo's reports and other rumours would have carried that narrative far enough for Kenjaku to believe it.
And if that were true, what would be the most natural thing for him to do? Heal her. Prove his value. Cement his role as a trusted member of Gojo's circle.
But he didn't really need to strengthen his standing any further. He was already planning to do that by helping Maki, someone with much more potential to be useful in the future.
Mahito let his gaze wander past her, toward the edge of the field where the trees cast long shadows. 'If I heal her now, Kenjaku will know for sure. He'll confirm my technique's actual purpose.'
Information like that wasn't something you just gave away. His reasoning was simple: there was no reward worth the risk right now.
The soft crunch of footsteps on gravel pulled him from his thoughts. Gojo Satoru didn't so much approach as arrive, his presence washing into the space before his voice did.
"Mahito," he said, easy as ever, though there was a subtle tension in it. "Need a word."
Mahito glanced over, the lazy half-smile already in place. "About what?"
Gojo stopped a few paces away, his hands buried in his pockets, shoulders loose in a deliberate way. "Nobara. Think you can help her?"
Mahito tilted his head, letting the silence stretch. "Help how?"
"You know exactly how," Gojo said. The usual playfulness had thinned, leaving something heavier underneath. "Whatever's wrong with her isn't physical. That's your speciality."
Mahito rose from the steps in one slow motion. "I can take a look."
Gojo stepped aside, gesturing with a small tilt of his head. "Be my guest."
Kugisaki's eyes followed him as he crouched beside her, but she said nothing. Mahito didn't bother looking at her face; he was focused on the thing beneath it, on the brand's fine edges and the way it bit into her.
It would be so easy to strip it away.
Instead, he frowned faintly. "It's… more complicated than it looks. There's a barrier wound directly into her soul. Like a tripwire. If I force it open, it might kill her."
Gojo's jaw worked behind the blindfold. "Might?"
Mahito straightened, "I don't have much experience with barriers, but removing one directly tied to the soul may have adverse effects." The Special Grade Curse dusted his hands as if the matter was already settled. "If it were me, I wouldn't risk it. The odds aren't in her favor."
Kugisaki didn't speak, but her fingers tightened on the armrests of her chair.
It was impossible to tell how she felt in that moment, but Mahito could feel the sorrow rolling in the depths of her soul. It didn't concern him.
She was not determined enough to give her life away for a chance to walk again. She had other things she wanted to do with her life, people she hadn't managed to meet just yet.
'Maybe one day...' That was all she thought before she turned her wheelchair around on her own and left. Neither Mahito nor Gojo stopped her.
Gojo exhaled, a slow breath that seemed to pull his shoulders down a fraction. "Alright. If that's the situation... She'll have to make that decision on her own."
He turned, walking off without another word.
Mahito watched him go, that same faint smirk tugging at his mouth. He'd played it well, given just enough truth to make the lie believable.
The reality was simple: he could have fixed her in a heartbeat. But nothing had changed for him, not really. He still only moved when there was something to be gained.
If Gojo, or Kugisaki herself, ever found a way to offer him something worth the trouble, maybe then he'd remove the mark. Until then, she would remain as she was.
Keeping Kenjaku in the dark was important for now. He was bound to eventually learn of his technique, but it would no longer matter by that point.
Mahito was already confident in his growth, confident in fighting anyone from Kenjaku to Gojo, to even Sukuna. Of course, winning and fighting were vastly different terms.
The grounds fell quiet again, the horizon fading into the deep blue of oncoming night.
Mahito leaned back against the steps, eyes half-lidded, letting the thought drift away like smoke, as he turned back to his previous musings about his still-growing personal army.
In the end, it always came back to the same rule, no matter what world he lived in. Help was never free.