Jujutsu High was quiet that afternoon.
A soft breeze drifted through the training field. The sun peeked through scattered clouds, casting long, lazy shadows over the stone path. The usual clang of combat, the echo of curses, or the bickering of first-years was absent.
Kishibe sat in the garden with a half-empty teapot beside him, cigarette tucked behind his ear, eyes half-lidded as he stared up at the sky.
Yaga stepped onto the porch with a small folder in hand.
"I've got a proposition," he said.
Kishibe didn't look at him. "If it's about my drinking, I'm not quitting."
Yaga chuckled. "Not that. Although…"
He tossed the folder down. Inside were evaluations and short profiles.
Kishibe glanced down, blinking once. "Nanami and Haibara?"
"They're promising. And stubborn. They need someone who's not afraid to challenge them—who's survived worse. I want you to tutor just them. One-on-one."
Kishibe raised a brow. "So not a full class of brats?"
"Just those two. Think of it as easing back in."
"I'm not a role model."
"That's exactly why you'd be good at it."
Kishibe scoffed. "I teach 'em, and what? They end up cynical alcoholics with a death wish?"
Yaga's tone softened. "Or they survive long enough to find their own path. Like you did."
Silence.
Kishibe finally took the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it.
"I'll think about it."
"Good. That's all I'm asking."
---
Later, Gojo barged into the staff room with a bag of snacks and sunglasses tilted slightly. He froze mid-step when he spotted Kishibe at the chalkboard, reading over the profiles.
"No way," Gojo said, grin already spreading. "You? Considering babysitting duty?"
Kishibe didn't glance back. "It's not babysitting if they already know how to kill something."
Gojo plopped onto the couch, legs kicked up. "Still. Didn't think you'd be interested in raising the next generation."
"I'm not. Yaga just threw this at me."
"You looked at the files, though," Gojo said, tossing him a soda. "Which means you're halfway in."
Kishibe caught it with a grunt. "I'm halfway into a grave too. Doesn't mean I'm jumping."
Gojo snorted. "Look, I'm gonna start teaching. Shake the system from inside. Be the change. Or whatever cliché suits me best."
"You're gonna teach?" Kishibe raised a brow. "Hell's getting crowded."
"Yeah, yeah. But someone's got to do it. You, me—we're not pretty role models, but we survived. That counts for something."
Kishibe stared at the folder again. "You think I'm gonna turn into some wise old mentor?"
Gojo grinned. "Nah. You'll be terrifying. But effective."
Kishibe chuckled. "Remind me to punch you if I ever give a motivational speech."
"Noted."
A beat passed. Then Gojo said more softly, "You being here—it helps."
Kishibe didn't answer right away. Then he nodded, just once.
---
That evening, Kishibe found Shoko sitting under the sakura tree with a flask and two cups. The blossoms had begun to fall, dotting the grass in pale pink.
"I heard they want you to tutor," she said, pouring a drink.
"Nothing's decided."
She passed him a cup. "Still… it suits you. In a grim, terrifying way."
Kishibe chuckled. "You people keep saying that."
Shoko leaned back against the tree. "You've changed. We all have. But you still came back."
He stared into the cup, then raised it. "Not sure if that's a good thing."
"It is."
They drank.
The quiet stretched, but it wasn't empty. It was restful. Healing.
---
Later that night, as Kishibe walked past the classrooms, he heard laughter from one of the dorm wings. Students sharing snacks. Arguing over card games. Training sticks clacking in the yard.
For a moment, he paused in the hall, listening.
Then he smiled—just faintly—and walked on.