Chapter 67 : What the Strong Choose
The afternoon sun hung low over Jujutsu High, casting long shadows across the quiet courtyard.
Nanami sat on the stone steps with Haibara beside him, sipping from a carton of milk. The silence was comfortable—until the gates creaked open.
Kishibe walked through, alone.
His coat was slung over one shoulder, a deep cut ran across one pant leg, and blood stained the hem of his shirt. But he moved with the same lazy, confident gait as always—just slower now. He wasn't limping. Wasn't grimacing. But there was something heavier in the way he carried himself.
"Hey!" Haibara called, waving.
Kishibe raised a hand without looking over.
Then kept walking.
Haibara lowered his hand slowly. "He didn't used to be like that."
Nanami's eyes narrowed. "No. He didn't."
They watched until Kishibe disappeared inside the main building.
Haibara frowned. "Do you think he's okay?"
Nanami didn't respond immediately. Then: "He didn't used to drink before noon either."
---
Shoko wiped the counter clean with a rag already soaked red. Another day. Another injury. Another curse exorcised by someone who didn't care if they lived or died.
The door opened.
Kishibe stepped inside, silent as ever. He didn't look like he'd just come back from a life-or-death mission, but Shoko knew the signs—frayed nerves, restless eyes, the smell of stale alcohol lingering beneath the smoke.
"Didn't think I'd see you today," she said, gesturing toward the exam table.
"Didn't plan to come," he replied, sitting down. "But protocol's protocol."
She checked his vitals. Superficial cuts. A strained tendon. Bruised ribs at most. But his pulse—
It was too calm.
"You've stopped caring whether you die or not, haven't you?" she asked bluntly.
He didn't flinch. Just lit a cigarette.
"No," he said. "I just don't think I matter that much anymore."
Shoko paused, hand hovering over his wrist. "Still choosing all the worst jobs?"
He took a drag. "The ones nobody else wants done."
"Even if they kill you?"
"That's the point."
She looked at him then—not the scars, not the cigarette burns or bloody shirt—but the eyes.
Empty, but still burning.
"You still see them in your dreams?" she asked, quieter this time.
He didn't answer.
Just stood, nodded, and walked out.
The smell of smoke lingered long after he left.
---
The sun had dipped below the mountains by the time Nanami stepped into the infirmary.
Shoko sat on the cot Kishibe had just vacated, an untouched bottle of whiskey on the desk beside her.
"Thought I'd find you here," Nanami said.
Shoko raised a brow. "You're getting predictable."
He sat beside her. Neither spoke for a moment.
"He's different now," Nanami said finally.
"So are we," Shoko replied.
They sat in the silence.
"He scares me more now than when he was strong," Nanami said.
Shoko nodded slowly. "He's still strong. But now he's hollowing himself out to prove something."
"To himself or someone else?"
"Does it matter?"
Nanami leaned back, exhaling. "He looks like a man who's already made peace with dying."
Shoko turned to look at the bottle. "He keeps drinking like the answers are at the bottom."
They sat until the whiskey bottle was half-empty.
---
The wind howled over the rooftop of Jujutsu High. Kishibe stood at the edge, cigarette glowing faint orange in the dark.
Below, the city stretched out in silence.
He didn't know how long he'd been there. Maybe an hour. Maybe more.
Footsteps behind him.
Gojo.
He didn't say a word. Just leaned on the railing beside him.
They didn't speak. Didn't look at each other. Just watched the dark horizon.
The silence was the closest thing to peace either of them had.
"I'll keep taking the missions no one else wants," Kishibe muttered. "Until there's nothing left of me."
Gojo didn't look at him. But his voice was soft.
"You already gave more than anyone else."
Kishibe scoffed. "Doesn't feel like it."
They watched the lights flicker in the far-off city.
"Monsters don't get memorials," Kishibe said.
"No," Gojo agreed. "But sometimes… monsters save the world anyway."
Fade to black.