Wednesday afternoon, a gentle breeze bent and sent flying the pink petals of the magnolia trees lining the Komorebi Study Café — a bright space halfway between a neighborhood library and an artisanal coffee shop, much like a literary café, tucked away on a quiet side street in Kichijōji. It was a place where students, remote workers, and the occasional retiree fond of sudoku mingled in the soft rustle of turning pages and the aroma of freshly ground beans and frothed milk.
It was Aiko's first time stepping inside, fresh from a particularly brutal class on "History and Evolution of Special-Grade Curses." She was still wearing the school uniform of the Tokyo High School of Modern Art, though she'd swapped the shoes for a pair of white sneakers and twisted her blond hair into a soft "study-mode" bun. She set her backpack down at the corner table, ordered an Earl Grey tea, and opened her notebook — a mess of diagrams, names of ancient clans, and tangled timelines that looked like spiderwebs.
With her elbow on the pale wooden table, she massaged her temples. "If I bring home this grade, Mom's gonna bake me like an eggplant parmigiana," she thought, flipping through the pages halfheartedly. She sighed. Even the soft hiss of the espresso machine couldn't drown out the chaos of dates and definitions swirling in her head.
At the café entrance, a small bell jingled. Aiko looked up without much expectation — and froze, surprised to see Yuji step inside holding a bag of sweets. He was in casual clothes — a white hoodie, fitted jeans, ripped but not too much — no uniform. His pink hair poked out messily from the hood. There was no Megumi or Nobara with him; it looked like a mission-free afternoon.
Yuji immediately spotted the gathered blond hair and eyes fixed on a notebook, and hesitated for a moment, like someone caught off guard by a familiar face in the wrong setting. Then his expression lit up.
"Hey, Aiko-san!" he greeted softly, approaching her table with careful steps — as if afraid to disturb the place's sacred quiet.
Aiko snapped out of her daze, smiling back. "Hi! What a surprise to see you here."
"Delivery run. Komorebi trades with us — we supply energy (read: sugar) to passing sorcerers, they give us free cakes in the dorm." He held up the bag as proof.
Aiko laughed quietly, gesturing to the chair across from her. "You can sit, if you're not in a hurry."
Yuji sat down, setting the bag on the floor. "What are you studying?" he asked, glancing at the pages crammed with arrows and underlines, leaning his arms on the table.
She sighed. "Occult History. The chapter on special-grade curses. Sensei wants the entire Kamo family tree memorized. I can barely remember where I put my keys this morning."
Yuji rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Mind if I take a look? Maybe I can make it easier."
Aiko slid the notebook over to him. He carefully moved the teacup aside and examined the chaotic chart.
"Okay, problem number one: too many complicated names all in a row. If we turn them into 'menu items,' it might work better."
He picked up Aiko's pencil and sketched a little steaming plate in the margin.
"Kamo clan — old, traditional restaurant; specialty: Cursed Blood in spicy sauce. Gojo clan? Upscale trattoria, invisible portions but insane power." He drew a thick arrow. "Zen'in clan? Noisy tavern, poor maintenance, kitchens infested with… well, curses."
Aiko burst out laughing, earning a glance from the barista. She quickly covered her mouth with a hand and raised the other in apology. "If my sensei heard those metaphors, she'd throw you out of the classroom," she smiled.
"But you'll remember them," Yuji shrugged. "Works for me."
She leaned toward him, elbows on the table. "Could you help me organize the rest? I don't want another failing grade."
"Sure. But not here, with all these people coming and going. How about tomorrow after school?"
Aiko hesitated for a second. "Tomorrow I've got the evening shift… but the afternoon's free." She nodded. "Alright. Where?"
Yuji dug into his jeans pocket, pulled out his phone, and blinked. "Okay, embarrassing part: I still don't have your number. Can we decide this in chat?"
"Fair point, sensei." Aiko pulled out her smartphone and opened her contacts. "Hand it over."
They swapped phones without much fuss. Aiko typed in Aiko – 🍅 & 📚, Yuji entered Yuji Itadori – 🍝 Power, adding a spark emoji. A double ping confirmed the connection.
"Perfect," he murmured, handing it back. "Send me pictures of your notes. I promise I'll turn them into an easy-to-read menu."
She nodded, amused. "Thanks, Yuji-kun!"
Suddenly, a flurry of magnolia petals drifted through the open window beside them, carrying in the damp scent of the garden. Aiko breathed deeply, as if the world had just found a new combination of colors.
***
The day after their meeting at the Komorebi Study Café, Aiko's phone buzzed at 5:32 p.m., just as she was closing her Occult History notebook and pressing her hands to her face in surrender.
- Yuji: Got your hieroglyphics. Tonight I'll whip up a "Curse Appetizer Trio."
She didn't even have time to laugh before another ding announced a voice message. Aiko put in an earbud: in the background, she could hear the distant echo of a gymnasium.
"If you can also send me the Kamo genealogy you saved, I'll pay you in cannoli, promise!"
At 9:15 p.m., while helping her mother close up the restaurant, a PDF arrived: pages full of shortened arrows, clans turned into "rival trattorias," and cutlery icons replacing the cursed symbols. Aiko stifled a laugh, as happy as a child unwrapping an off-season present.
The next morning, on a crowded train, she snapped a photo of the printed PDF—now bright with Yuji's colored pencil notes—and sent it with a simple message:
- Aiko: I'm reviewing your "Zen'in Sauce." It works!
Barely two minutes passed before a fifteen-second audio quiz landed:
"Quick question: who's the head chef of the Cursed Thread dish? Answer before your stop!"
Aiko typed fast, pretending to look serious among the commuters: Clan Kamo, obviously! 🍝🎯
The afternoon slipped by, and in the evening—9:47 p.m.—a new notification popped up:
- Aiko: I passed the test: eight out of ten! Tomorrow at work I'm baking an apple tart. If you swing by, you get a double slice.
Yuji's reply came with the speed of a short incantation:
- Yuji: Deal. Should I bring my own fork, or will you provide the special equipment?
- Aiko: You bring the kunai teaspoon!!
Saturday afternoon.
The scent of butter, cinnamon, and apple bounced off the walls of Tramonto Rosso when, just past noon, the entrance bell rang with a bright double ding! Aiko looked up from a stack of dishes and saw the door swing open like the climactic moment of a college sitcom.
First through was Yuji — dark blue jeans, red hoodie unzipped at the collar — holding a dessert spoon aloft as if it were a flag of truce (or a declaration of war on calories). The moment his eyes met Aiko's, he gave her a thumbs-up.
"Mission Apple Tart — we're here for the reward!"
Behind him came Nobara, leather jacket draped over her shoulders, wearing the smile of a seasoned pastry predator.
"I'm calling dibs on the slice with the most caramelized crust, got it?" she said, already zeroing in on the dessert counter with the determination of someone who had beaten too many curses to be stopped by sugar and flour.
Megumi brought up the rear at a calmer pace, two dripping umbrellas tucked under one arm. He offered Aiko a polite half-smile — the kind he wore when admitting a dessert tempted him more than he cared to show — and set the umbrellas neatly in a corner without a sound.
Aiko slipped off an oven mitt and clapped her hands like an impromptu maître d'.
"Welcome to the official 'Eight Out of Ten' ceremony! Rules are simple: answer my questions correctly and the tart is yours."
Yuji placed a hand over his chest in mock drama.
"Questions, huh? I was hoping the kunai-spoon would be enough."
"The spoon wins you charm points, not dessert." Aiko nodded toward the steaming tray at the center of the counter — glossy apple rings, golden sugar crackling on top. "First question: founding date of the Kamo Clan, and no peeking at your phone."
Nobara rolled her eyes, then rattled it off: "Heian period, Kyoto, Imamiya estate. Now hand over the tart." She drummed her fists lightly on the counter.
Yuji gave her a round of fake applause while Megumi's silent nod confirmed the accuracy. Aiko cut the promised slice — double, as agreed — and set it on a plate.
"First win. But we need two more — one question each. Get your emergency bites ready."
Yuji spread his arms wide, ready to play. "Hit me!" he said, and in the gleam of his eyes, Aiko saw the same enthusiasm that had helped her scrape by with that passing grade the day before.
The restaurant felt brighter in that moment. It wasn't just the midday sun — it was those four twenty-somethings settling in as if Tramonto Rosso were their private cafeteria, a place where curses stayed outside and victory tasted of apple and cinnamon.
As Aiko served the second slice — crisp crust, warm filling — she thought that if friendship had a scent, it would probably be exactly the one filling the room at that moment.
She picked up the knife — holding it like a conductor's baton — and turned to Yuji, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief, her smile radiant.
"Question two, Mr. Kunai-Spoon. You've got ten seconds: who was the first special grade curse ranked 'Special Grade' only in modern history… and what was his 'signature dish'?"
Yuji blinked, clutching the spoon handle like a lucky charm. "Wait, wait… first Special Grade…" He glanced at Nobara, who shrugged; Megumi stayed impassive, giving nothing away. "Ah! Ryomen Sukuna — they called him the King of Curses. Specialty: spreading chaos with twenty fingers… like an endless tasting menu."
"Time's up at seven seconds — correct answer." Aiko sliced decisively into the tart and slid toward him a nearly oversized portion. "Here's your 'twenty-finger' slice, but promise you'll only use two to eat it."
Yuji tapped the spoon against the table like a gong. "Promise!"
Now it was Megumi's turn. Aiko tilted her head, softening her voice.
"Question three, silent strategist: when a sorcerer loses the original Ten Shadows shikigami, what's the ritual to summon the next form?"
Megumi folded his arms, eyes half-closed as if reading the answer off an invisible board. He spoke quietly but with certainty: "You complete the shadow circle and recite Tamamo no mae three times; the new form emerges from the projected shadow on the ground."
Aiko raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Flawless delivery. You get the slice with the most cinnamon."
She cut the last portion — caramelized edge, glistening apples — and set it before Megumi, who gave a polite nod of thanks.
The three shared a collective high-five over the table as the first forkful of tart gave way with a sugary crack. Aiko watched them for a moment, hands on her hips and a proud smile on her face: they fought curses and nightmares, but there at Tramonto Rosso, they were earning dessert like any group of twenty-somethings celebrating a grade snatched at the last moment.
The restaurant kept filling with customers, but for that instant the corner table felt like its own private micro-cosm: crumbs of pastry, low laughter, and a friendship that — slice by slice — was starting to taste more and more like home.