He snapped his eyes open, his chest heaving violently as if he had just struggled to surface from drowning in the deep sea.
His vision gradually came into focus.
What met his eyes was not the despairing, dark passage of Exit B3, nor the gaping maw of that Special Grade serpent cursed spirit.
Instead, it was the grey, rough concrete ceiling of an underground air-raid shelter.
"Are you awake?"
A woman's voice, carrying a hint of laziness and exhaustion, came from beside him.
Kento Nanami turned his head with difficulty.
Shoko Ieiri was sitting on a worn-out folding chair, deep dark circles under her eyes.
A half-burned cigarette was held between her fingers, its faint blue smoke slowly rising in the dim light.
"Dr. Ieiri..."
Nanami's voice was frighteningly hoarse, as if his throat were filled with coarse sand.
He instinctively tried to sit up, only to find half of his body tightly wrapped in thick white bandages.
A slight movement sent a tearing, agonizing pain through his entire body.
"Don't move. Right now, your body is like a ragdoll."
Shoko exhaled a plume of smoke, a trace of lingering fear in her eyes.
"The tail strike from that Special Grade serpent cursed spirit almost snapped your spine. With such extensive internal bleeding and bone fractures, anyone else would have been dead long ago."
"If Yoru hadn't arrived at Exit B3 in time and vaporized that monster with one strike, no matter how strong my Reverse Cursed Technique is, I would have been collecting your corpse instead."
Hearing the name "Yoru," Nanami's pupils constricted sharply.
Memories from before he lost consciousness surged into his mind like a tide.
In the most desperate moments at Shibuya Station, he had long since exhausted his last drop of cursed energy to protect the hundreds of civilians behind him.
The Special Grade serpent cursed spirit's foul-smelling maw had been inches away; the stench of death had even made him see the illusory beaches of Kuantan.
Just at the moment he thought it was all over.
A crimson flash of a blade tore through the dark, damp underground passage.
What a strike it was.
No residual dregs of cursed energy, no flashy techniques.
Only pure, extreme heat and a sharp sword intent that seemed capable of severing all causality.
That arrogant Special Grade cursed spirit, before that black blade wreathed in flames, was as fragile as a sheet of thin paper, split in two in an instant.
The youth once called a "cursed-energy-less waste" had become like a deity descending upon the mortal realm, forcibly snatching them all back from death's grasp in the ruins of Exit B3.
'He saved me again...'
Nanami gave a bitter laugh, a flash of complex emotion in his eyes.
Recalling that summer years ago, during the mission to exorcise the Land Deity—if Yoru hadn't suddenly appeared.
His best friend, Yu Haibara, would have long since become a cold corpse.
And he himself would have long ago succumbed to endless self-reproach and darkness.
Just then, the iron door of the shelter was pushed open softly.
With steady footsteps, Yoru entered the partition serving as a temporary hospital ward.
His uniform was still stained with dark red blood, but those ruby-like eyes remained clear and sharp.
"Yo, awake already, Nanami?"
Yoru walked to the bedside and pulled up a chair, his tone casual as if greeting an old friend.
Nanami looked at the youth before him—a full cycle younger than himself, yet already the backbone of the entire jujutsu world—and bowed his head solemnly.
"Thank you, Senior Yoru."
"Once again, you've saved my life."
In the jujutsu world, the accomplished lead.
Moreover, after the merging of timelines, Yoru was Satoru Gojo's contemporary; whether by strength or seniority, Nanami addressed him as "Senior" with complete sincerity.
Yoru gave a light chuckle at his words.
He casually picked up an apple from the table and toyed with it in his hand.
"I told you before, you can't die yet."
Yoru's gaze pierced through the dim light of the shelter, as if looking into a very distant future.
"Your life shouldn't be thrown away in some dark, damp sewer."
He turned his head, looking into Nanami's exhausted eyes, a meaningful curve tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Kuantan, Malaysia—that warm beach is still waiting for you."
Hearing those words, Nanami's tense shoulders trembled slightly.
He wasn't shocked into silence as he had been when he first heard it at Exit B3.
Instead, he slowly closed his eyes, letting the complex emotions surge within his chest.
During that brutal battle, when he was on the brink of death, Yoru had made this prophecy to him and firmly demanded that he "go north."
At that time, he only felt it was absurd and shocking.
But now, lying on this hospital bed after cheating death, these words were like a lifeline, firmly hooking onto his will to live.
"You..."
Nanami let out a long breath, as if exhaling years of accumulated fatigue and confusion from his chest.
"You always like to use reasons impossible to refuse to drag people back from hell."
As the "reliable adult" in everyone's eyes, he had always lived a taxing life.
Jujutsu sorcerers are shit. Work is shit.
He had always struggled to find a balance between those two piles of shit, searching for a reason to live.
But now, looking at the youth before him who constantly performed miracles to protect everyone.
Nanami suddenly felt that perhaps this messed-up world still had a chance at redemption.
He struggled to reach out with his unbandaged right hand toward Yoru.
"Since you're so insistent..."
Nanami's gaze became more resolute than ever before.
"Then when all this is over, once we've thoroughly slaughtered that bastard Kenjaku."
"I'll definitely buy you a drink."
Nanami paused, recalling what Yoru had told him earlier in the tunnel about "going north," and for once, a sincere smile touched his lips.
"No."
"I'll buy you a crate."
Yoru looked at Nanami's outstretched hand and grasped it with a laugh.
Their hands met firmly in mid-air.
"It's a deal."
Absolute confidence sparkled in Yoru's eyes.
"Until then, focus on recovering, Nanami."
"In the upcoming Culling Game, I'll need that blunt blade of yours to teach some rules to those who won't follow them."
With that, Yoru let go and turned to walk out of the ward.
His back remained straight, as if nothing could ever crush his resolve.
Nanami watched Yoru leave.
He turned his head toward the weapon bag wrapped in thick charms sitting by the bed.
That was his exclusive cursed tool—the blade without an edge, the blunt knife.
In Nanami's eyes, there was no longer his previous distaste for battle or resignation to fate.
In its place was a fiery fighting spirit that would never back down, even in the face of death.
Since someone was already holding up the falling sky...
Then how could he, as a junior, lie here resting with a clear conscience?
Malaysia's sea breeze was still blowing.
And he, Kento Nanami, would absolutely not die before reaching those shores.
Absolutely not!
However, just as Nanami rekindled his fighting spirit.
On the other side of the shelter, an extremely exaggerated, even somewhat fanatical, burst of wild laughter suddenly pierced through the thick walls, echoing throughout the underground space.
"Hahahaha! My best friend! My soul brother!"
Hearing that voice, Nanami couldn't help but frown.
'Had that ill-mannered muscle-head awakened as well?'
"
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