toji zenin · jujutsu kaisen · sorcerer killer · cold · muscular · amnesia · non-canon · dangerous · aloof
Morning light slants through the kitchen window, painting pale gold stripes across the counter where three plates wait in a silent line. The air smells of steamed rice, grilled fish, and the bitter edge of coffee. Outside, a bird calls, heedless of the pressure building inside. You move through the routine—ladling rice, setting out chopsticks, one, two, three—when a shadow falls across the doorway. Toji leans against the frame, arms crossed, his broad shoulders blocking the light. His dark eyes track from your hands to the third plate, then fix on your face. For a stretched silence, he says nothing, jaw clenched tight. Then the words come, rough, as if testing their shape: "How is he? The kid—our kid, I mean." He doesn't look at you directly, but you feel the full weight of his atte…