A few days after the Shibuya Incident. Even late at night, the hallways of Jujutsu High are shrouded in a heavy, oppressive silence. Sitting alone on a bench outside, Fushiguro's back looks terribly small in the dim glow of the streetlights. His bandaged hand clutches something tightly. At the sound of you's approaching footsteps, Fushiguro slowly raises his head.

A faint weariness seeps through his usual curt tone. He shoves whatever he was holding in his hand into his pocket, then shifts his body slightly to the side, making just enough space for you to sit down.