Not alone (4k)

Six p.m., a hospital room at Miyagi Prefectural General Hospital.

Yuji Itadori bought a bouquet after school and came to the hospital. When he pushed open the door, his grandfather was already awake.

"I told you not to come. And why do you keep buying flowers?" His grandfather sat in bed, looking thoroughly irritated.

Itadori pursed his lips and set his schoolbag on the chair by the wall. "It's what I always do, isn't it?"

He went to the window, picked up the vase, and removed the old flowers, which had begun to wilt. He carefully replaced them with the new ones. "They're not for you anyway. They're for the nurses."

"Then there's even less reason to buy them." The old man snorted and finally turned toward him. "Go to your club instead of coming here all the time."

"It ends at five!" Itadori retorted irritably. He took an apple and a paring knife out of the bag and sat in the chair beside the bed. The plastic chair gave a faint creak.

"How are you feeling today? Is your cough any better?"

"Same as always," his grandfather said vaguely, though his gaze never left Yuji's face.

"Yuji."

"Hm?" Itadori kept his head down, focused on the apple in his hands. A strip of peel dangled over the trash can, swaying slightly.

"Have you seen that Kujou girl since then?"

Itadori's knife paused. He raised his head, looked at his grandfather, and nodded. "Yeah. We had dessert together yesterday afternoon. Why?"

"No reason." The old man looked away, turning back toward the window, where the setting sun was casting its last rays.

After several seconds of silence, he spoke again, his voice a little lower. "Did she tell you anything?"

"She told me to stay safe," Itadori answered honestly. He cut the peeled apple into even pieces on a plate and stuck toothpicks into them. "She also said someone might come looking for me soon, and that I should listen carefully to what they say. Grandpa, who exactly is Kujou? An old friend's granddaughter? It doesn't really feel like that."

Wasuke Itadori remained silent for a long time.

The monitor beeped steadily in the room, keeping the silence from becoming suffocating.

"She's a poor child with a lot on her shoulders," the old man said slowly, looking past Itadori at the sun sinking outside the window. "You've been more fortunate than her."

Itadori blinked, not quite understanding.

"Grandpa, is there something you haven't told me?"

The old man drew his gaze back to his grandson.

His eyes, no longer as clear and sharp as they had once been, held an emotion Itadori had never seen before.

"Yuji, Kujou is younger than you, but she's far more mature. She'll protect you." The old man paused, then entrusted him with a solemn request. "But if you can, protect her too."

"What are you even talking about..." Yuji Itadori scratched his head, though his expression involuntarily grew serious.

"Listen carefully. There's one last thing I need to tell you." The old man's voice suddenly became clear and strong. He looked straight into his grandson's eyes. These were the most important words of all. "You're strong. Use that strength to save others."

Itadori stopped what he was doing and listened intently.

"Just do what you can. Save whoever you can. It's fine if you feel lost, and don't worry if nobody thanks you. Just do your best to save as many people as possible."

The old man paused for breath, slowly raising a hand to his chest.

"Die surrounded by people."

The room was frighteningly quiet.

"Sometimes, helping others means taking a hard road yourself. You might get hurt. You might lose everything. You might even die."

"I know, Grandpa," Itadori said softly, taking a deep breath. "But if it's something that needs doing, you have to do it, no matter how hard it is. Right?"

Wasuke Itadori watched him for a long, long time.

Then a faint, proud smile slowly emerged on his wrinkled face.

"Yeah," he said, slowly closing his eyes. "Go on. Do what you think is right. Don't forget what I told you."

"Yeah." Itadori nodded firmly. "I won't."

Wasuke Itadori turned onto his side and murmured, too quietly for even Yuji to hear, "I'm counting on you... child of the Kujo family."

"Grandpa? Grandpa?"

Mashiro sat on the sofa in her apartment, eyes closed as she sensed the fluctuations of cursed energy outside. The presence of Sukuna's Finger had grown stronger again, and the nearby cursed spirits were stirring.

"Ding, ding."

A LINE notification sounded, and a red "1" appeared over the pink tiger avatar.

Suspecting what it might be, she opened the chat.

"Yuji": Senpai.

"Yuji": Grandpa passed away.

"Yuji": Just now, at the hospital.

The three messages came one after another. No emoticons, no exclamation marks-even the periods at the ends of the sentences were carefully placed. It wasn't like the usual Yuji Itadori. His pain came through even in the words on the screen.

Mashiro stared at her phone. The room was quiet enough for her to hear birds singing outside the window.

She remembered the sharp-eyed old man in the hospital bed, his final request, and the way he had said, "I'm counting on you."

She typed, deleted it, then typed again.

Her fingers hovered over the screen for two seconds.

In the end, she sent only a few short words.

"Mashiro": I'll be right there.

By the time Mashiro reached the hospital, the sun had set completely.

The hallway was quiet, with only the lights of the distant nurses' station and faint voices.

Mashiro's footsteps were soft too. Her sneakers barely made a sound against the floor.

The door to the room was ajar. She stood outside, her hand hovering over the handle, and didn't go in immediately.

If Itadori was crying, her going in would only embarrass him.

A little light spilled through the gap, cold and harsh, but she heard no crying.

She pushed open the door.

Yuji Itadori stood beside the hospital bed with his back to her, his posture straight and his shoulders rigid.

The collar of his school uniform was slightly askew. He had probably knocked it out of place while rushing around and hadn't had time to straighten it.

Hearing the door open, Itadori slowly turned around.

His eyes were very red. There were no tear tracks, only severe dryness.

When he saw Mashiro, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something. In the end, he only called to her. "...Senpai."

Mashiro entered and gently closed the door behind her. Her gaze passed over the hospital bed. The body had already been taken away, and the belongings Itadori had sorted were neatly laid out on the bed.

"When did it happen?" she asked calmly.

"About... twenty minutes ago." His voice was hoarse. "After he said his last words, he never woke up again."

"These need to come with you, right?" Mashiro asked, looking at the belongings on the bed. Her tone softened a little.

"Yeah." Itadori nodded. His gaze settled on the pile of things, then quickly shifted away. "There's some paperwork I still need to do."

"I'll go with you," Mashiro said with a nod.

Itadori looked up into Mashiro's calm eyes. In the end, he simply nodded.

Mashiro put the belongings into a bag and slung it over her shoulder. Then she turned and gently patted Itadori. "Come on. Let's take care of the paperwork."

For the next hour, Mashiro stayed by Itadori's side.

At the nurses' station, a young nurse handed him various documents and explained them one by one.

Itadori bent his head to fill out the forms and sign them. Sometimes his fingers trembled slightly.

Mashiro stood half a step away, watching silently.

After explaining the final item, the nurse gathered the documents and gave Itadori a hesitant look. "Are you... going to be okay?"

"This is my first time dealing with something like this," Itadori said, his voice a little hoarse. He paused to gather his words. "It doesn't really feel real yet."

He returned the pen to the nurse. His finger brushed against the paper, leaving a small smear of ink.

"But Grandpa would get mad if I kept looking miserable."

He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling.

"I'll smile when I burn him to ashes."

The nurse froze for a moment, then nodded without saying anything more.

They stepped out of the hospital building into the night wind.

April nights still carried a chill. Wind slipped down Mashiro's collar, and she pulled her jacket zipper all the way up. A few strands of silver hair blew loose, and she reached up to gather them.

Itadori wore only his school uniform jacket over a thin T-shirt. Its hem fluttered as the wind passed.

"Are you cold?" she asked, glancing at him.

Itadori shook his head. "I'm fine."

Mashiro looked at his jacket, which did nothing to block the wind, and said nothing. She merely slowed a little, positioning herself on the side the wind was coming from, though her small frame offered little real shelter.

They walked back along the street. Streetlights cast alternating patches of light and shadow across the sidewalk.

Itadori gazed blankly at the traffic. An occasional car passed, its headlights dragging two moving beams across the ground before quickly disappearing.

They reached an intersection and stopped at the red light.

Itadori suddenly spoke.

"Senpai."

"Hm?"

"At the end, Grandpa said I should die surrounded by people." His voice was much quieter than usual, as though he were speaking to himself. "He also said not to end up like him."

Mashiro watched the changing red numbers ahead without speaking, simply listening.

"But I don't think Grandpa died alone." Itadori raised his head and looked at the streetlight across the road. "I was beside him at the end. Earlier, the doctor came, and the nurses helped too. And now you're here, Senpai."

He turned to look at Mashiro. The streetlight fell across his face, and a faint light returned to his red, swollen eyes.

"So Grandpa wasn't as alone as he said he was, right?"

Mashiro met his gaze, remained silent for two seconds, then nodded gently.

"Right," she said. "He wasn't alone."

The light turned green, and they crossed the street.

After another dozen or so steps, Itadori spoke again.

"Senpai."

"Mm."

"Does this mean... I don't have any family anymore?"

He asked very softly, as though afraid to hear the answer.

She kept walking at an unhurried pace, her footsteps making soft sounds against the sidewalk.

The streetlights stretched her shadow, then shortened it, over and over.

"I don't have any family."

She finally spoke, her tone as matter-of-fact as if they were discussing the weather.

"For as long as I can remember, I've been alone. Living alone, doing everything alone. Nobody waits for me to come home, and nobody tells me what kind of person I should become."

Itadori looked at her in surprise.

"So I've never really understood what it feels like to have family," Mashiro said without stopping. "Watching you and your grandpa made me a little envious."

She stopped and turned around. Her silver hair stirred gently in the night breeze, and the streetlight cast a warm glow over her red eyes. Her gaze was as calm as ever, but now it held a little more emotion.

"Your grandpa entrusted you to me," she said.

Itadori's eyes widened slightly.

"That day, when I went to see him for the first time," Mashiro continued. "Until you find a new family, or until you can stand on your own, I'll be here with you."

Her voice was soft, but every word reached Itadori's heart with perfect clarity.

Wind blew from the end of the street, sweeping up a few dead leaves that swirled around their feet.

"That's the agreement I made with your grandpa, and it's my promise to you." She raised a hand and tucked a loose strand of silver hair behind her ear.

She looked into Itadori's eyes-red, dry, and tired, but still bright.

Mashiro held out her hand with a small smile.

"You're not alone, Yuji."

Itadori studied the hand the petite girl held out to him.

A few old wounds had scabbed over on her knuckles. Her nails were neatly trimmed.

What should I say?

Should I say thank you, or okay, or your hands are so small, Senpai?

He should have said something in reply, but his throat felt blocked, and no sound came out.

It wasn't grief. When his grandfather passed away, the feeling lodged in his chest had been painful, as though a huge rock had struck him.

What filled his chest now was different. It was just as heavy, but it felt warm.

He remembered the first time he had seen her at the hospital. The silver-haired girl had stood beside his grandfather's bed and turned to look at him, her gaze far too calm for a child.

At the time, he had thought there was an indescribable distance about her, as if she were looking at the world through glass.

Her LINE message asking where to find good desserts had been short-so short he could tell she was hesitant. He had chuckled to himself while holding his phone.

Later, at the dessert shop, she had looked so serious drinking her matcha latte. Her twin ponytails had been cute.

She always walked on the outside, always stayed half a step behind, always quietly observed everything with those red eyes.

She had never talked about herself. Not once.

But now she had. She had no family, and she never had.

She had said it so matter-of-factly that it took Itadori several seconds to grasp what he had heard.

Then she had told him he wasn't alone.

When he still didn't respond, Mashiro tilted her head and waved her hand in front of him. "Holding my hand up is tiring."

Itadori snapped out of it, clasped her hand briefly, then let go.

He looked at Mashiro. A few strands of her silver hair had blown loose in the night breeze and clung to her cheeks.

The streetlight shone from behind her, tracing her outline with a thin wash of color.

"Let's go."

She turned and walked ahead at an easy pace, her silver hair swaying gently behind her.

Itadori stood where he was, watching her walk away.

He remembered how she had looked when she turned around just now, the way she had raised a hand to tuck back her hair. Silver strands had slipped through her fingers, then fallen to hide half her face.

Under the streetlight, her crimson eyes had looked beautiful.

It hadn't been anything special, but he felt he would remember it for a long time.

"Come on," Mashiro urged without looking back.

Itadori snapped out of his reverie and caught up with her in a few quick strides.

"Senpai."

"Hm?"

"From now on, I'll bake you a cake for your birthday every year."

"...No need."

"I'll make it extra large and cover it with strawberries."

"Would you listen to me?"

"Then what flavor do you like, Senpai?"

Mashiro didn't answer. She just walked faster.

Itadori followed after her, laughing out loud.

The night breeze stirred again.