Outside, it was cold; the air drifting in through the door was fresh. Inside the restaurant, the line of salt traced by Aiko was still there, unmoving. The black, pitch-like stain clung to the wall—restless, but fortunately fasting, since everyone was outside. Aiko turned the sign on the door: Back in a moment. Then, while waiting for Yuji's arrival, she moved between the kitchen and the dining room as usual—opening windows, offering glasses of water and gently guiding two elderly couples to the bench outside, her smile putting everyone at ease.
She turned once more toward the electrical panel. The stain stared back at her, eyeless. Aiko did not look away.
"Not today, please. Please… go away," she whispered to the creature, before returning to the living room.
Suddenly, the front door burst open, the bell giving a strangled clang.
"Aiko!" Yuji was already inside, breathing hard in his yellow sweatshirt. His ears, as always, were red. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, honey. Look—it's there." Aiko pointed to the electrical panel. On the wall, the darkest stain swayed slowly back and forth, like a black tongue probing for the refrigerator outlet. On the floor, her salt line stretched all the way to the bamboo screen, keeping the room safely sealed.
"Well done," Yuji murmured, both shy and intent. "Don't touch anything hot and keep the doors open." He said this mostly to his parents, without taking his eyes off the stain.
The thing seemed to listen, to understand every word being spoken. Its edges swelled, stretching into two long filaments that groped for a hold. It craved the murmur of people by the door—just a single "what bad luck!"—to feed itself and grow.
Yuji bent down as if to pick something up. From the bucket, he took a broom with a wooden handle. "May I?" he asked Aiko, blushing even there, in the midst of it all.
"Of course," she said softly.
He began with a simple gesture: with the tip of the broom, he traced a half-circle just beyond the salt—completing the enclosure—and laid a thread of cursed energy across it. No sparks, only the air itself trembling. The stain froze for a moment, as if confused. Its food—resentment, complaints—remained outside the perimeter.
"Good..." Yuji inhaled. "Now—"
The curse lashed out. A thin tentacle snapped against the iron pot hanging in the kitchen; the chain swung and struck a pan of still-boiling oil on the stove, now switched off. The oil began to slide toward the edge—it was truly dangerous to stay there. Aiko, reaching for the screen, suddenly found herself beneath it without realizing.
"Watch out!" cried Yuji, springing forward. But there was too little time. It wasn't enough.
In an instant, something shifted. Beneath Yuji's hoodie, the skin at his sternum drew into a fleeting crease; his eyes flickered, as if he'd glimpsed the blow a heartbeat before it landed. A micro-movement—a jolt at his side, an invisible push—tilted his balance. Yuji's elbow "accidentally" struck the lid propped against the stove; it bounced, rising just in time to shield the oil as it tipped. Only one heavy drop escaped, flying past the barrier—straight toward the back of Aiko's hand.
Something brushed her wrist. Not air, not fabric—a cold caress, half a centimeter from the burn. Her hand shifted on its own, just slightly. The heavy drop struck the floor with a hiss.
Aiko froze, her eyes darting to the corners. She felt touched by someone who wasn't there, someone she couldn't see. A wave of unease swelled inside her; for an instant she thought she might faint. Then the pan crashed down with a thud, snapping her back to the present.
Yuji didn't miss a beat. "Sorry!" he stammered, looking at her—redder than before—while already scrambling to his feet. With the broom in hand, he stepped inside the marked perimeter, scoring the wooden floor. Cursed energy coursed along the handle with a sound unlike any other. "This way," he commanded the dark stain, as if addressing a growling dog.
The stain lashed back, two filaments snapping toward him—one reaching for the salt, the other for the fridge handle. Yuji struck them down with an X-shaped sweep, swift but not violent, only precise. The perimeter quivered with the motion; the dark heart of the stain flared for an instant, and Aiko saw it first.
"There," Aiko pointed, steady. "That's the center."
Yuji nodded, grateful for the support. "Okay." He gripped the broom with both hands, stepped in, shifted his weight from the hip and struck the center with a sharp blow—channeling energy into the wood at the instant of impact. Not a crash, but a snap. The center folded inward, then crumbled.
The stain recoiled along the wall, its shape unraveling. The darkened room soon felt lighter, less burdened. From outside, her mother's worried voice drifted in softly: "Is the light back on?"
"Just a minute, Mom!" Aiko exclaimed, without turning around.
"Just a little more," Yuji said through clenched teeth. He turned the handle, aimed at the edge where the stain clung to the fuse box and delivered a second strike—quicker, lighter than the first—to pry the remnants from the wall. The stain yielded. The last shred crumbled and vanished in smoke.
Silence.
"Dad! Try it now."
From the kitchen, Aiko's father flipped the main switch. The hum of the refrigerators rose back into place, a neon tube flickered twice, then glowed steady. The bell above the door gave a small, joyful chime.
Aiko exhaled, relieved. She glanced at the salt line—untouched, at the floor—dry where the drop of boiling oil had struck and at Yuji: yellow sweatshirt, broom in hand, ears red again, heart still racing.
"Are you whole?" he asked first.
"Yes," she answered—and only then let her hand rest lightly against his chest. Beneath her fingers she felt the frantic beating of his heart. And something else. Her thoughts flickered back to Sukuna, to what he had proposed… She pulled herself together. "And you?"
"Good." He cleared his throat, cheeks flushing. "Sorry for… all the chaos. Um… you did a great job holding the room. And thanks for pointing out the creature's core. I caught it after."
Aiko brushed the corner of his mouth with her thumb, the way she always did when she wanted to say, You were great. "Thanks to you, shy boy."
From the door, her mother called:
"Kids, we're coming back in. I'll hold them off another five minutes, then we'll let people in little by little. What do you think?"
"I'm coming," Aiko said, adjusting the screen.
The mother stepped inside, saw Yuji still clutching the broom and her face lit up.
"Itadori-kun!" she called. Without hesitation, she went straight to him, pulled him into a tight embrace and planted two kisses on his cheeks.
"Thank you, dear. You've taken away my fear. Tonight I'll cook you something good—whatever you want: lasagna, pasta… you decide."
Yuji flushed tomato-red in an instant. "N-no need, ma'am, I—"
"Oh, it's very necessary," she cut in sweetly, stroking his hoodie. "I'll spoil you."
His father emerged from the back, drying his hands on a dishtowel. He clasped Yuji's hand in a firm, sincere grip. "Good boy," he said quietly. "Thanks for keeping a cool head. Here, whenever you want, there's always a hot meal for you. You're… at home."
Yuji shrugged, embarrassed but happy. "Thank you, sir. I just… lent a hand."
"The right hand at the right time," his father replied with a half-smile.
Aiko watched the scene, her lips curving into a soft smile. "See? I told you, didn't I?"
Her mother returned to the door to tend to the customers, while her father slipped back into the kitchen behind the stoves.
Left alone, Aiko glanced at her wrist—the one that had shifted on its own. A shiver traced her spine as she recalled that invisible touch, from someone she hadn't seen. Aiko didn't say anything to anyone that evening; she wasn't ready to speak of it yet. Instead, she returned to the dining room, wearing the same reassuring smile that set the restaurant back on its feet.
Outside, the line of people filed in neatly. Inside, Yuji was busy sweeping up the salt. For him, the promise of an eggplant parmigiana was already in the air, as if the home itself had stretched its walls a little wider to make room for him.
***
The evening service was over and Aiko had just finished cleaning. On the serving table, her mother had laid out onigiri wrapped in plastic (ume, kombu, tuna mayo), two small pots of miso, and a carafe of barley tea. Her father was counting the register the old way, coins lined up in three neat columns like toy soldiers.
Nobara claimed the stool closest to the tray.
"I declare war on these two with tuna. In the name of beauty."
Megumi picked up an ume without looking up.
"Beauty needs no excuses… but that's fine."
Yuji sat down next to Aiko, close enough to touch her knee, shy enough to pretend not to blush.
"Can I... have the crispiest seaweed?"
"You deserve it," Aiko said, smiling broadly. She adjusted his sweatshirt over his shoulders (it had become a ritual by now), then turned to her account book. "Okay. Spare eggplant: finished. Soybeans: bottle broken. The fishmonger will be arriving at nine tomorrow."
Nobara looked at Yuji, then at Aiko, then back at Yuji. "Okay, you two are cute. End of announcement."
Yuji blushed instantly. "Thanks... I mean... eat, it's good..."
Megumi turned to the back, one eyebrow slightly raised. "There's still a slight residue of CE. Not much, though; it sounds like an echo."
Aiko followed his gaze: the noren (the kitchen curtain) swayed slightly. She knew it was time.
"Dad, Mom, I'm going away for five minutes. Let's close the note counter! We'll be right there."
Aiko turned to Yuji and stood up; he followed her lead and took her hand. The parents exchanged a glance: okay. Nobara gave a thumbs-up and started telling Megumi about the time she had seen a customer with mismatched socks.
Aiko slipped beneath the noren, at the threshold between the dining room and the kitchen—their physical boundary. With one hand she took Yuji's; with the other she pressed her palm against his sternum, over his sweatshirt. She spoke softly, without emphasis: "I know you're listening. There's no point pretending otherwise."
The skin beneath the fabric tauted for a moment. A thread of ink surfaced, curved: a huge mouth, a fierce smile.
"Speak, brat," Sukuna hissed, his voice laced with mockery.
Aiko kept her gaze forward, not at his mouth. "I don't want you in my house. Or in my restaurant. Never again. Not today, not ever. Here we cut, fry, run. You don't touch anything here. I know it was you who moved my wrist today."
A pause that seemed eternal. The scent of the sauce seemed to grow hotter than usual. Sukuna's mouth widened in a sharp grin.
"Hey, you sniveling runt... the pan was flying. I even had the decency to save you from getting burned. Do you understand? I, who could reduce you to ashes with a thought, spared you. And you dare spit your gratitude in my face?"
"Next time, I'll take the pan. Or he will," Aiko said, tightening her grip on Yuji's fingers. "You're not coming in here. I don't want to owe you any kind of debt."
A heavy silence, then Sukuna's voice became lower, sharper:
"You little idiot... watch your tongue. I don't recognize service signs, or prohibitions, or your ridiculous 'never agains.' I break them, I step on them, and I laugh while I do it."
Aiko didn't raise her voice. "It's not a service sign. It's a boundary. There are others, but this one comes first."
Sukuna's eyes drifted to Aiko's hand on Yuji's chest, and his smile curved into venom.
"A boundary, eh? Tell me, little girl… which one do you guard most fiercely? The one you keep pretending I won't violate?"
Aiko didn't hesitate. "You won't use his body to touch me. Ever."
Yuji's eyes widened; his grip on her fingers tightened. The ink strand remained firm, as if tasting the words.
"This—" Sukuna finally said, "—I will take it. I won't use his body to touch you. Hahahaha!" His voice didn't falter, didn't soften. "I calculate everything. I consider the rest when I need it."
Aiko nodded, like someone facing a supplier who had signed only a single line of the contract. "For now, that's enough for me."
In the dining room, Nobara's laughter rang out, drowning Sukuna's scorn. Without looking up, Megumi simply said: "CE down."
Aiko's mouth closed; the ink receded. Yuji's pulse still beat beneath his sweatshirt, a little too fast.
He looked at her, blushing, grateful.
"Enough," Aiko murmured. "This is my home. You set boundaries at home."
They went back to the table. The mother handed Yuji a "bonus" onigiri (tuna-mayo, his favorite). The father slid the plate with the last slice of tamagoyaki toward him. "For the one who kept a cool head today."
Yuji scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks..."
Nobara tapped her chopsticks like a drum. "Okay, are we done being all tender today? Perfect. Megumi, tell me you also felt my spiritual superiority over these onigiri."
"You just ate faster," he replied, though the corner of his mouth was lifted.
Aiko closed the account book with a light tap. "House rules updated," she said, glancing at the kitchen curtain. "Noren = boundary. And the rest we'll say each time it's needed."
Yuji, in a low voice: "Tonight... I'll take care of carrying the rice sacks."
"Tonight you're sneaking behind the fridge to kiss me... or did you forget?" Aiko corrected him, amused. "Then you can lift the rice too."
Megumi sighed. "There's way too much happiness here for eleven at night."
Nobara raised her teacup. "To happiness, then."
They drank. And the kitchen, for once, was only a kitchen—even for Sukuna, lurking beneath the skin. Because a boundary—if held—can become an entire room. And from that moment, that room belonged to Aiko.