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Yuji’s throat closed up. He looked around the dusty, moldy, broken-down little apartment. And for the first time since Sukuna had ripped control away from him, since he’d watched Nanami die, since he’d heard Nobara’s scream—he felt a crack in the wall he’d built around his heart.

Now, it felt like a cursed object. Every shadow held a memory. The corner where his grandfather’s oxygen tank used to sit. The scuff mark on the floor from Yuji’s wrestling practice shoes. The faint smell of miso soup, ghosting through the years.

“Because you need a place to come back to,” Gojo said quietly. “Not a dorm. Not a battlefield. Not a prison. A home . That’s the one thing jujutsu sorcerers never get. I figured… you’d earned it.” Home RESULT FOR- JUJUTSU

Yuji spun around. A figure leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Dark hair, tired eyes, a patch over one eye. Satoru Gojo.

He walked to the small altar in the corner. His grandfather’s photo was there, but someone had placed it upright again. And next to it, a single, fresh tangerine. Yuji’s throat closed up

He didn’t have a key anymore. He’d lost it somewhere in the chaos, along with his old backpack and his grandfather’s funeral photo. So he just knocked.

“You think I’d let this place get condemned?” Gojo walked past him, his long coat trailing through the dust. He picked up the moldy teacup, made a face, and dropped it in the sink. “The jujutsu higher-ups wanted to seal it as a ‘sensitive site.’ Too much residual cursed energy from Sukuna’s rampage. I told them I’d personally destroy their entire clan if they touched a single floorboard.” Now, it felt like a cursed object

Hope.

“Welcome home,” Gojo said.