Young_Jedi

Kishibe was a cursed child with a knife and nothing to lose. Thrust into Tokyo Jujutsu High, he crosses paths with two other prodigies—Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. Together, they form a volatile trio bound by power, pain, and the things they can't say out loud.

But growing up as a monster has its cost. As the past catches up to the present, Kishibe must face what he ran from—and fight alongside Gojo one last time, in a battle only one of them will survive.

Jujutsu Kaisen : Dog Unleashed

The infirmary bed was cold when Kishibe finally sat up.

No applause. No fanfare. Just the quiet sound of heart monitors and a stiff neck.

He ignored the brace around his ribs and pulled out the IV with one clean motion. His scarred hands moved automatically, like someone going through the motions of waking up from a hangover.

Shoko had said nothing when she left the room. Only that he was "free to go."

He hadn't asked if she meant the bed, or something more permanent.

The halls of Jujutsu High had changed. Students greeted him in whispers. Some avoided eye contact. Others saluted out of guilt.

Not Nanami. Not Haibara. Not even Gojo.

Kishibe went where no one dared to follow.

It took him two trains and a long walk, but he found it again.

A quiet hill. A cracked shrine. A patch of blood that had long since faded.

He sat down slowly, joints still aching. The bench creaked beneath him. The wind pushed through the empty space beside him like it remembered too.

Not his cursed tool. Just an ordinary one. Cleaned. Sharpened.

A memory surfaced: Riko's bright voice echoing in the hallways, calling him "Onii-san!" and laughing. He remembered pretending not to smile.

Now he didn't bother pretending anything at all.

The voice was soft, dry. Familiar.

Kishibe didn't look up. "You stalking me now, Mei Mei?"

She stepped around the bench, folding her arms. No umbrella, even though the wind had picked up.

"Yaga says you haven't been taking assignments."

Mei Mei didn't push him. She sat beside him, hands folded.

Then she said, "You fought like hell. It still wasn't enough."

Kishibe didn't respond. The smoke curled around his mouth.

"Do you regret getting up that day?"

"No," he said. "I regret not getting up sooner."

He unsheathed the short blade and ran his thumb along the edge.

"First time I held one of these," he muttered, "I was ten. Kitchen knife. Back of a public toilet."

"Every time I cut something," he continued, "something else tears inside."

He thought of Severance. Of the way it carved curses from limb to limb. The way it sliced too easily.

Of the way it punished him each time.

"You keep using it anyway," Mei Mei said.

"Because some things are worse than pain."

Later that night, at the dorms, there was a knock on Kishibe's door.

When he finally opened it, Yaga stood there, arms crossed. Not in anger. In concern.

"You disappeared," Yaga said. "Again."

Kishibe shrugged. "I needed space."

"You're not the only one grieving."

Kishibe leaned against the doorframe. "I know."

Yaga sighed. "Are you ready to come back?"

Then said, "Not to classes. Not to teams. But if there are missions no one wants—the kind that get ignored or passed down or buried in red tape—I'll take them."

Kishibe looked him in the eye. "Then let me."

For a long time, Yaga said nothing.

Then he nodded once. "Don't make me regret this."

Kishibe closed the door behind him.

Kishibe sat alone until night fell.

He glanced one last time at the broken stones where Riko had stood.

As he walked away, he whispered, so soft only the wind heard:

He found a bench in the park near the train station, lit another cigarette, and pulled out a whetstone.

The blade sang under his touch. Slow, patient, practiced.

Someone passed by and stared. He didn't look up.

Kishibe's eyes were hollow, but his hands were steady.

This world doesn't deserve saints.

Chapter 61 : Where the Blade Point