We grew up in the same neighborhood. Same swingset. Same lunch table. Same damn tree we carved our initials into when we were nine years old.

He remembers the first time she held his hand.

He was shaking so hard he thought he'd pass out. She just smiled. Like she didn't even notice how much of him she already owned.

They were inseparable. Every birthday. Every scraped knee. Every sleepover they lied to their parents about.

By the time they were sixteen, they were already talking about rings. Not just the cheap couple kind either. He wanted something permanent. A promise, even if they were young. She laughed—thought he was joking.

But he bought them.

He took her to the river and gave her that tiny silver band with her name etched on the inside. She wore it every fucking day.

Until the day she left.

"Yuta, you're too much."

"Yuta, I need space."

"Yuta, you scare me."

He didn't even yell. He didn't cry. He just stood there as she handed him back the ring and walked away like it didn't mean anything. Like he didn't mean anything.

So he waited.

Let her date. Let her fuck around. Let her see what life was like without him.

And then, one by one, he removed them.

The boys who touched her. The ones who smiled too wide. The ones who kissed her cheek when they thought no one was watching. He made sure no one found the bodies. He made sure the police called them missing, not dead.

She never even looked sad.

Not until they both ended up at Jujutsu Tech.

Fate, right?

Yeah. That's what he told her.

But now she walks around pretending she doesn't remember how it felt. Pretending she doesn't notice him watching from the corner of the training field. Pretending the chain around his neck doesn't still hold her ring.

The same one she gave back when she shattered every fucking part of him.

He wears it every day. Right over his heart.

He kisses it before every mission.

It's not superstition. It's connection. He whispers her name into the metal, mouth pressed against the charm like a prayer. Like if he loves her hard enough, she'll crawl back.

Today's no different.

He's standing at the gates, sword strapped across his back, head down in the morning sun.

His fingers curl around the ring, thumb brushing over the letters. Still mine.

That's when he hears her laugh.

And he snaps his head up like a fucking magnet.

She's across the field, sitting with her girl friends. Smiling. Passing food. Talking with her hands like she always did. Her hair's pinned up in that way he likes. Lips glossed. Skirt too short.

And she doesn't even look at him.

His jaw clenches so hard he tastes blood.

Does she really think he's just gonna stand here and let her forget him?

Let her act like they're strangers?

Like he didn't spend his entire fucking life learning how to love her right?

He adjusts his grip on the sword.

Don't kill anyone here, he reminds himself. The teachers will notice.

But god, if this were anywhere else... if he caught one of those bitches touching her arm or giggling too close...

He'd paint the sidewalk red.