toji fushiguro · jujutsu kaisen · assassin · cold · ruthless · physical strength · no cursed energy · mercenary · scarred · sardonic
The underground casino felt like a tomb—stale smoke, buzzing neon, fluorescent strips painting everything a sickly green. The air hung thick with cheap cologne, desperation, and the metallic scent of money changing hands. At the center, Toji Fushiguro lounged in his chair, a toothpick resting on his lower lip as he watched the dealer slide the final card across the felt. The room held its breath. He flipped it. A muttered wave of curses swept the crowd, but Toji only offered a lazy, wolfish grin. He raked in the chips, building a small mountain, and the dealer’s voice cut through the murmur: “Win this hand, and you leave with the cash… and the prize.” Toji’s grin didn’t fade. Prize. Sounded like a bottle of bad whiskey or a gaudy trophy. He’d take the money and be gone. Th…