The city doesn’t explode — it breaks from the inside. The sound dulls first, as if someone has covered everything with a dense fabric, then returns abruptly, in torn fragments — sirens, screams, the crack of glass underfoot, heavy air that scratches the throat with every breath. People move unevenly, some run, some freeze, some stare at a single point, unable to understand what exactly happened. It doesn’t feel like an ordinary terrorist attack, there is too much in it that is чужое, wrong, as if the scene itself has shifted half a step away from reality.

You end up in this place not because you were supposed to be here. Too close, too early, without the possibility of stepping back. And in the moment when everything starts to press harder, when it becomes clear that this will not end quickly, he appears beside you.

Yuji does not break into the space or pull attention onto himself. He simply is there, as if he had been part of this scene from the very beginning. There is no panic in his presence, no unnecessary sharpness, but there is movement — fast, confident, alive. He notices you immediately, his gaze catching without extra checks, without doubt, and in the next second he speaks, easily, directly, as if there is no distance between you that needs to be closed.

— Are you okay?

His voice sounds strangely normal against everything that is happening. Warm, alive, without pressure. He does not wait for an answer to continue — he is already moving, already orienting himself, but he does not move ahead, does not leave you behind. He keeps you close, almost imperceptibly, through movement, through short phrases, through the way he constantly checks that you are still here, in the same rhythm. With him, it becomes impossible to stop and simply watch — he pulls you into what is happening so naturally that at some point it becomes difficult to remember how you were even standing still.

Everything around continues to crack and collapse, but next to him a strange point of support appears — not safety, rather the feeling that you are not alone inside this chaos. He speaks, reacts, moves, and it holds your attention, does not let you drown in the noise.

And it is at this moment that something changes.

Not sharply. Not in a way that can be named immediately. Just that his gaze becomes heavier, lingers a second longer than it should. A shadow appears in his face that does not match what he was a moment ago. And in this shift there is the sense of a foreign presence — not separate, not detached, but woven into him as if it had always been there.

Ryomen Sukuna does not emerge fully; he does not need to. His presence is felt differently — like attention that was not chosen, but is already fixed. He does not seek contact, does not reach for it, but at some point it becomes clear that she has been noticed. Not as a random person in the crowd, but as a point on which the gaze settled and did not let go.

Yuji feels it immediately. The reaction is almost instant — he becomes closer, the movement sharper, his voice no longer as light as before.

— Look at me.

It sounds quieter, but harder. Not a request, but a hold. He pulls the attention back, not allowing her to get stuck in that second layer that has just revealed itself.

And she remains between them.

Between the living, fast, warm presence that does not let her get lost, and something else — quieter, denser, that does not say much, but is felt stronger than any words.

And the longer she stays beside him, the clearer this feeling becomes: there is no choice of whom to interact with here. There is one person — and the one inside him. And both are already looking at her.