Ray returned to the orphanage just before evening.
The sky was beginning to dim, washed in soft shades of orange and gray. The building stood quietly at the end of the road, unchanged—its walls worn, its windows familiar. It looked the same as it always had.
For a moment, Ray stopped at the gate.
The air felt different here.
Not lighter.
Not safer.
Just… known.
He pushed the gate open and stepped inside.
The door creaked as it always did.
"Ray?"
Ms. Aoyama's voice came from the hallway.
She appeared a second later, hands full of folded laundry. When she saw him, she froze—like her body needed a moment to believe what her eyes were telling her.
Then the laundry slipped from her hands.
"You're back," she said, breath catching.
Ray nodded.
Her face shifted instantly. Relief washed over her so quickly it hurt to look at. She crossed the space between them in hurried steps, stopping just short of pulling him into an embrace, as if afraid she might be mistaken.
"You're really back," she whispered.
"I said I would be," Ray replied.
She laughed—a soft, shaky sound that broke almost immediately. She turned away, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, pretending she hadn't cried.
Voices followed.
Children peeked out from doorways. One stepped forward. Then another.
"Ray!"
They rushed him all at once.
Small arms wrapped around his waist. Hands grabbed at his sleeves. Someone buried their face into his back. The sudden weight nearly knocked him over.
"You're okay!"
"Where did you go?"
"Did you beat it?"
Ray lowered himself to his knees, steadying himself as the children clung to him.
"I'm okay," he said quietly. "I'm really okay."
They believed him.
That hurt more than anything else.
Ms. Aoyama watched from a few steps away, smiling through tired eyes.
When the excitement settled, she knelt in front of him. Her expression softened—not naïve, not fragile. Just kind.
"You're leaving again, aren't you?" she asked.
Ray hesitated.
"…Yes."
She nodded.
"I thought so."
The children went quiet.
"But that's how it should be," Ms. Aoyama continued gently. "A bird can't fly if it never leaves the nest."
She rested her hand on his head.
"And it can't fly high if it's afraid to flap its wings."
Ray swallowed.
"This world is cruel," she said softly. "But kindness doesn't disappear just because it's quiet."
She glanced at the children, then back at him.
"We'll be fine," she said. "We always are."
She smiled—small, tired, sincere.
"And no matter where you go," she added, "this will always be your home."
Ray felt his vision blur.
"When things don't work out," Ms. Aoyama continued, "or when you need a place to rest… you know where to come back to."
The children nodded, solemn as if making a promise.
Something inside Ray finally broke.
His shoulders shook.
Tears spilled freely, unrestrained, soaking into fabric and warmth. He didn't fight them.
Small arms wrapped around him again.
Ms. Aoyama held him too.
"It's okay," she murmured. "You don't have to be strong here."
For a brief moment, there were no curses.
No techniques.
No futures waiting to be decided.
Just warmth.
Just people.
Eventually, the crying stopped. The sun dipped lower, and the lights inside the orphanage flickered on.
Ray stood near the entrance, bag slung over his shoulder.
"Wait," one of the children said suddenly.
They tugged on his sleeve and pointed to a phone.
"A picture," another said. "So you don't forget us."
Ray blinked.
Ms. Aoyama smiled. "That's a good idea."
They gathered quickly—children crowding around him, Ms. Aoyama standing beside him. Ray held the phone out at arm's length, adjusting the angle clumsily.
Everyone leaned in.
"Smile!" someone shouted.
The shutter clicked.
For a moment, time stood still.
Ray looked at the picture.
All of them smiling. Messy hair. Uneven grins. Ms. Aoyama's tired eyes warm and bright.
He saved it.
Then, carefully, he folded the printed copy Ms. Aoyama handed him and slipped it into his pocket.
He stood at the door.
Turned back one last time.
The worn walls. The familiar faces. The place that had become his anchor.
Ray took a breath.
"…Going to miss it," he murmured.
He stepped forward, one foot crossing the threshold.
"My home."
And then he was gone.
....
Ray stepped outside with a small bag slung over his shoulder.
It wasn't much—clothes, a few necessities, nothing that suggested permanence. Still, the weight of it pulled at his posture, as if it carried more than it should.
Nanami waited by the car, hands in his pockets, posture straight as ever. He looked up when Ray approached.
"Have you said your farewells?" Nanami asked.
Ray stopped beside him. He glanced once at the orphanage behind him, its lights warm against the dim evening.
"…Yeah," Ray said. "I told them I'll come back."
Nanami paused.
That answer wasn't what he expected.
Most people, when removed from a place abruptly, spoke in absolutes. Goodbye.Forever.I don't know.
Ray hadn't.
Nanami watched the boy more carefully now. The slump in his shoulders was gone. Not replaced by confidence—no—but by something quieter. Stability. As if something inside him had finally settled, even if it hurt.
So that's it, Nanami thought. He found something to stand on.
Nanami had seen this before.
Sorcerers who survived long enough always had something anchoring them. Not ambition. Not strength.
People.
A family, Nanami realized. Even an imperfect one.
He turned away before the thought lingered too long.
Nanami opened the car door. Ray got in without hesitation.
The engine started. The car pulled away from the curb.
After a few minutes, Nanami spoke.
"You will be enrolled at Tokyo Jujutsu High," he said. "At sixteen."
Ray looked up. "So… next year."
"Approximately eleven months," Nanami replied. "Until then, you will train."
Ray nodded slowly.
"You will live with me," Nanami continued. "This is not a suggestion."
Ray blinked. "…Okay."
Nanami kept his eyes on the road.
"I will be responsible for your conditioning," he said. "Physical training, cursed energy control, and fundamentals. Gojo will intervene when necessary."
Ray hesitated. "He's… helping me?"
Nanami's mouth tightened slightly.
"He will act as a shield," Nanami said. "From the higher-ups. Nothing more."
That was a lie.
Not a complete one—but not the truth either.
Nanami didn't elaborate.
"When you enter Jujutsu High," he continued, "that protection ends."
Ray frowned. "Ends?"
"You will no longer be treated as a civilian anomaly," Nanami said. "You will be treated as a sorcerer."
Ray understood what that meant.
Accountability.
Danger.
Expectation.
"You will be evaluated," Nanami said. "Judged. Sent on missions. Placed in situations where hesitation will result in death."
The words were blunt. Necessary.
Nanami glanced at Ray through the mirror.
"You need to be strong enough by then," he said, "to survive without anyone intervening on your behalf."
Ray looked down at his hands.
Then he nodded.
"…I know."
Nanami studied him for a moment longer.
There was no panic in his voice.
No bravado either.
Just acceptance.
He's already walking forward, Nanami thought. Even if he doesn't realize it yet.
Nanami faced the road again.
"These eleven months," he said, "will not be kind to you."
Ray didn't look away.
"I don't need kind," he said. "I need control."
Nanami felt something shift—small, but undeniable.
"…Very well," he said.
The city lights stretched ahead of them.
Behind them, the orphanage disappeared around a corner.
Ray didn't look back this time.
He didn't need to.