The dojo of the Institute was immersed in the dim light of an afternoon that seemed on the verge of surrendering. From the windows came a mild breeze, carrying the smell of damp wood and sweat trapped in the planks. Inside the training hall, Yuji was wiping his face with a towel, then let himself slide to the ground with his back against the wall, his breath still short.
Every fiber of his body screamed exhaustion, but it was his mind that made the most noise. He couldn't stop thinking about Aiko, about her blue eyes, her small hands, the park… When suddenly, a voice:
"You really pushed yourself today."
The voice came before the footsteps, soft and steady. It was a voice Yuji associated with a gentle, polite girl. He lifted his gaze, and his breath caught for an instant.
Hana Kurimoto.
Second year. Impeccable training. Clean technique, steady spiritual energy. And a gaze that day that held something different. Something sharp. Something cutting.
Her hair was tied up in a high ponytail, her eyes fixed on him, clear and alert. The sharp outline of her shoulder blades showed through a black tank top, low-cut. Her push-up leggings clung to her curves, revealing a breathtaking figure. She walked like someone who knew exactly where she was going, what she was leaving behind, and what she wanted to achieve.
"Extra training?" she asked, sitting down beside him. She crossed her legs, leaned forward, probably to show off her bold neckline. She never waited for permission. Only results.
Yuji nodded, seeking shelter in a neutral tone.
"Had to clear my head. Too many thoughts," he replied, avoiding her gaze.
She watched him with those eyes that always seemed to search for a crack to slip through. She leaned even closer, finding herself just inches from his arm.
Then she bent forward, letting her ponytail fall onto his shoulder.
"The blonde girl… trouble?" she asked, smiling.
She didn't say the name. She didn't need to. Aiko was present in that sentence, even if she wasn't physically there.
Yuji didn't answer right away. A faint tension crossed his shoulders. He was nervous. He felt observed. He was afraid of making a mistake. So he sighed, and only said:
"No. No problem." The truth.
"Too bad," Hana replied with a shrug.
The word fell slowly, almost sadly. And her fingers barely touched his arm. A delicate, measured touch. Just a brush.
But Yuji felt it as a weight.
Things weren't going well.
He looked at her. Just for a second. But long enough to feel the discomfort seep into his chest. He wasn't thinking about attraction — that wasn't there. No.
It was discomfort, for not having sent her away.
It was guilt, for not having stood up.
It was anger — with himself, for having hesitated.
Because Aiko wasn't there.
But Hana was.
"You've got too many thoughts, Itadori." Her voice was calm, inviting. "If you want to talk about them… or even just stay silent with someone… I'm here."
A smile. Too ambiguous.
Not comfort.
A window opened onto something that should never have been opened.
Yuji sprang to his feet.
No words. No hostile gesture. Just the urgent need for distance.
He wasn't angry at Hana.
He was angry at that fragment of himself that had hesitated.
At that half-breath too long. That touch he hadn't avoided.
She didn't move, didn't falter. Just a shrug, almost bored.
"Even the most faithful stumble, you know? There's no shame in being distracted."
Yuji turned toward her. His voice was a blade in the quiet.
"I don't stumble. Not with her."
And he left.
The air outside was colder.
Yuji leaned against the outer wall, forehead bowed, eyes shut.
Nothing had happened. No mistake. No betrayal.
And yet…He felt dirty.
The touch hadn't been inappropriate. The words hadn't either.
But the unspoken — the way — the timing.
That charged silence, that subtle invitation.
Everything had settled inside him like sand beneath his nails.
And the worst part?
The worst part was that he hadn't stood up right away.
That he had thought of it.
For half a beat. For a breath.
What would it have been if…
If he had been another kind of guy.
If Aiko hadn't left his heart overflowing, his hands still trembling from the memory.
If there hadn't been that day of wet grass and tangled breaths beneath the sky.
He bit his tongue, hard.
As if to punish himself.
As if to wake himself up.
It was fear.
Fear of not being enough.
Fear that Aiko saw him as a good guy, but not enough.
And because of that fear, he had let a new unease slip in.
He clenched his fists, as if trying to drive the thought out of his body.
He wasn't that kind of person.
He was hers. Period.
Even if they weren't "officially" together. Even if no one had spoken the right words to define it.
Even if there was still a distance between them made of insecurities, of longing, of jokes and sighs.
Yuji opened his eyes again.
Aiko's last message was still there on his phone.
A red heart, without words.
Sent a few hours earlier, after a playful exchange about who was the better cook.
Yuji smiled. But only halfway.
Then he typed.
Just three words.
Yuji:"Are you there?"
Not to check up on her.
Not to apologize.
Only because he felt the need to see himself reflected in her again. To remember who he had become since she was there.
Aiko: I'm here. Even though I'm dead tired 😵💫 I had to serve a group of eight who looked like a sumo team.
Yuji (a few seconds later): You could've called me, I'd have come with a shovel and rolled them out.
Aiko: I held my ground heroically. But now you owe me a hot chocolate and a massage.
Yuji: With elbows, if I have to.
The laugh that slipped from him was light, but short. And as he typed his reply, his fingers froze for a moment.
There was something…restrained. Yuji was writing the way he always did, and yet it wasn't quite the same. Too quick. Too careful. As if he wanted to end the exchange before she could see past the screen.
He was nervous.
A little later, Hana tried again to get close to him. She reached him. Not fast. Just calculated. Around Yuji, she had begun to sway her hips more when she walked, to wear heavier makeup than usual. Anything to draw his attention.
Yuji felt her approach, and this time he didn't hesitate for even half a second. He raised a hand — steady but not harsh — and made a clear space between them.
"No, Hana. Enough."
Just that. Three words, but with a weight heavy enough to fill the entire room. She looked at him, surprised. For a moment—just a moment—her smile cracked.
"Okay. If you change your mind, and want to stop playing hard to get, you know where to find me."
Yuji didn't add anything. He didn't need to. The message had already been delivered.
Then he turned, left the dojo without looking back and, once outside, pulled out his phone. His fingers trembled slightly. Not because of Hana. Because of Aiko. That night, she needed to know. Everything.
He opened the chat. Typed quickly, without overthinking:
YUJI: Aiko. We're invading your place tonight. Get ready. Me, Nobara, Megumi, and Gojo-sensei. Expect chaos, property damage, and at least one intervention by emergency services.
Three seconds later, the phone buzzed.
AIKO: Emergency services aren't coming, but I've got some expired cookies from 2023. Will that help?
YUJI: Perfect. Nobara will use them as a weapon.
AIKO: Or as shampoo, if you know her.
YUJI: Even Megumi said if Gojo-sensei tries to sing at the table again, he's locking him in a shadow technique.
AIKO: Good. Then I'll set the table for 4 and 1 chaotic entity dressed in white. Or black?
YUJI: I also owe you a serious reason for this dinner. But I'll tell you when I see you.
AIKO: What's going on? And what if I don't like it?
YUJI: Then… I'll try to make it better.
Yuji lowered the phone, and for the first time in hours, he smiled. One of those real smiles, the kind that start in the chest and reach the eyes. Because he was beginning to love her. He was heading toward the one who reminded him who he truly was.
***
Outside the restaurant, the sign flickered on and off. Yuji waited with his hands in his pockets, the clatter of dishes fading behind the door. The last laugh, the last glass, then the sharp click of the lock.
Aiko came out with her apron folded over her arm. Her cheeks were still warm from running around and the steam of the kitchen.
"Disaster face or confession face?" she asked, leaning against the wall beside him.
"Confession."
She nodded, without irony. "Tell me."
Yuji inhaled, eyes fixed on the ground.
"Today… at the dojo. Hana. She came close. Too close. I stopped her right away, Aiko. Right away."
He ran a hand through his hair, impatient with himself.
"But I hesitated. A second. And that second is driving me crazy. Nothing happened, but… it disgusts me just to have thought about it."
Aiko stayed silent for a moment. The distant traffic, a window shutting upstairs.
"Hana Kurimoto?" she asked, more to frame the name than out of curiosity.
"Yes."
"Do you feel anything for her?"
Yuji shook his head, firm.
"No. Zero. I don't want her, I don't like her, I'm not interested. It was just… a stumble. I said no. But the stumble was there, and it makes me angry."
Aiko looked at him in profile. There was no hardness, only focus.
"Okay. Thanks for telling me now."
She sighed softly. "The truth hurts first, then it heals. The unspoken does the opposite."
"I don't want any 'unspoken' with you."
"Then we set a clear boundary. Tomorrow you go to her and say it with no margin: 'No.' Not a 'it's not the right time,' not a 'I'm busy right now.' Just a'No.' And then, if she pushes again, you avoid her. If anything else happens, you text me. Even one word, and I'll deal with it."
Yuji nodded. A weight slipped from his shoulders.
"I'll do it. Tomorrow. And I'll text you: 'done.'" He hesitated. "I'm sorry I told you like this, outside the restaurant, with the smell of broth still on us."
Aiko gave a faint smile.
"Better broth than a lie."
Then she stepped half a pace closer and took his wrist. With the order-marker pen, she drew a small line on the inside, right over the veins.
"This is the boundary," she said. "You set it for yourself, I just remind you. When someone crosses it, you stop here."
"Does it work with Gojo-sensei when he starts singing?" Yuji tried to joke.
"For Gojo, you need a separate exorcism," she replied, and her eyes lit up for an instant. Then she grew serious again.
"Yuji, I'm not asking you to be perfect. I'm asking you to be true. And to choose."
"I choose you." He said it softly, but without a tremor.
"Good. Then tomorrow you'll send me that message. 'Done.' If you want to add something else, I won't complain."
"'Done, mmmhh… I… want you'?"
"See? You learn fast."
The rain began lightly, a dust of water on the street. Aiko adjusted his collar with an absent gesture.
"Listen," she added, cutting straight to it, "I won't pretend it doesn't sting. It stings. Not because of her: because of the possibility. But I'd rather take this small sting now than a deep wound later. As long as we talk and set boundaries, it's the two of us against the rest."
Yuji looked at her as if truly seeing her, beyond the apron and the long shifts: solid, simple, chosen.
"Tomorrow I'll close it," he said. "And then I'll come here for dinner and even pay for dessert."
"Finally, a smart investment." She took his hand, weaving her fingers with his right over the drawn line.
"Shall we go? Before you catch a cold and Gojo ends up as the nurse."
They walked under the rain, step by step. The world kept making noise; inside, for that stretch of road, there was only good silence. And a promise that held. Tomorrow: Done.