"Did I fail in the end?"
In the moment before death came, Qingxiao was extraordinarily calm.
From the day he set foot on this path, he had never expected to die of old age.
Before he killed anyone, he had prepared himself to be killed.
If he could burst past his limits to turn the tables, naturally Sukuna could too. That was fair.
What was there to regret about dying on the path he pursued?
He told himself that over and over.
But he could not suppress the bitterness deep inside.
It was just... so hard to let go.
Shoko, I'm sorry. I broke my promise again.
His consciousness felt as though it were soaking in warm water, slowly sinking.
The wind in his ears, the roar of collapsing walls, the patter of blood dripping onto rubble-all grew more distant, more faint, as though muffled beneath layer after layer of water.
His eyelids grew heavier, the blood-red and gray in his vision slowly blending into a murky yellow.
He did not struggle.
Let me sink, then.
Qingxiao suddenly plunged.
It felt like missing a step on an endless staircase.
When he opened his eyes again, the familiar scent of lavender laundry detergent reached his nose first, followed by the soft creak of a door hinge.
He stood in the doorway of his rented apartment.
The familiar entryway, the familiar delivery boxes, the familiar gym bag-even the curve of the half-peeled tape in the corner was exactly the same.
The apartment he had rented before crossing worlds.
On the day he left this place, he had been sitting at the computer in the living room. He clicked on that shoddy webpage full of pop-ups, and with a flash of white light, plunged headlong into the world of Jujutsu.
Ten years had