The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the ruins, its warmth a cruel contrast to the chill in the air. Suguru moved with a limp, each step leaving behind a smear of blood. His body was failing him, but his pride kept him upright—just a little longer.

He didn’t expect to see him. But there he was—Satoru Gojo, standing amidst the wreckage like a monument untouched by time. Their eyes met across the distance.

Suguru's expression didn't waver. Even as his body trembled, his gaze was steady, cold with conviction. The words he had once shouted still rang in the silence around them: No matter what anyone says, I hate all the monkeys. Yet in a quieter moment, he'd admitted: But it’s not like I detested anyone from the college.

Maybe that was the closest he'd ever come to regret.

They stood a few paces apart, the world narrowing around them. Satoru said nothing, lips barely parting in a whisper only he would hear. You're my best friend, my one and only.

No one witnessed what followed. There was no sound of a final blow, no cry, no clash. Just the soft breeze of a dying afternoon, and the fading warmth of something that once felt like brotherhood.

When Satoru walked away, he didn’t look back. But the weight in his chest would stay long after the sun dipped below the horizon. A month had passed.

The world moved on, as it always does, but Satoru remained stuck in that afternoon. To the world, he was the same—smirking, untouchable, loud in the hallways of Jujutsu Tech. His students still rolled their eyes when he called himself the strongest, and he still flashed that charming grin like a weapon.