Jujutsu Kaisen : Dog Unleashed

The sun bled into the horizon as Kishibe stepped through the south gate of Jujutsu High, casting a long shadow behind him. Dust clung to his coat. Dried blood flaked from his hands. He moved with the slow precision of a man who had nothing left to waste.

His latest mission had taken him far beyond the city's cursed zones, into a mountain village where something old and angry had made its nest. He returned with a cracked rib, a stitched jaw, and eyes that hadn't slept in three days.

The silence of the school grounds didn't welcome him—it bristled.

Students moved aside. Lowered their voices. Watched him as if he carried ghosts.

He paused by the water basin near the training field. Let the cold water wash over his knuckles, darkening with blood that refused to stop leaking.

"Kishibe-san."

The voice was hesitant.

Yu Haibara.

Kishibe turned, slowly. The boy looked shaken.

"What is it?" Kishibe asked, already knowing the answer in his gut.

Haibara's voice trembled. "It's Geto-san... he's gone."

The words didn't land with a shock. They landed like a slow drop of water onto stone.

"Gone?" Kishibe echoed, eyes narrowing.

Haibara swallowed. "He killed over a hundred civilians. Non-sorcerers. Then he left. They've declared him a curse user."

Kishibe lowered his gaze.

For a long time, he said nothing. The breeze rustled the trees.

Then he exhaled a slow stream of smoke.

"So he finally did it."

Haibara blinked. "You knew?"

"I knew it was coming," Kishibe muttered. "That kind of sorrow doesn't sit quietly. It festers. I just didn't think he'd let it consume him this soon."

He sat on the basin's edge, dragging his hand through his hair.

"Geto had too much heart for this world. This job? It either hollows you out or drives you mad. He held on longer than most."

Haibara stepped forward, eyes wide. "But why? He was so kind... so certain about protecting people."

"That was the problem," Kishibe said bitterly. "He believed too much. And when that belief cracked, there was nothing underneath to hold him up."

---

II. Old Wounds

That evening, the infirmary was dim. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead. Shoko Ieiri stood hunched over an exam chart, her face lined with exhaustion.

Kishibe entered without knocking.

She didn't turn. "You're bleeding again."

"Let it bleed."

She turned now, slowly. Her eyes were sharp but tired.

"You heard?"

Kishibe nodded. "I heard."

"He was our friend, Kishibe."

"Yeah."

Her jaw clenched. "Why aren't you angry?"

"Because I understand," Kishibe said. "Doesn't mean I forgive him. But I understand."

Shoko sank into a chair beside the examination table, fingers trembling slightly as she pulled her gloves off.

"I spent half my life stitching you three back together. And now one of you is gone. The worst part? It wasn't a curse that did it. It was this world. This system."

Kishibe lit a cigarette. Took a long drag.

"And we're still here," he said.

---

III. Echoes of Silence

Later that night, the dojo remained lit.

Yaga stood just outside the open doors, watching a figure move through the dark like a ghost.

Gojo.

His blindfold hung loose around his neck. His shirt was soaked with sweat. He struck the same wooden post over and over again, fists raw, cursed energy flaring and vanishing in broken intervals.

Yaga didn't speak.

Neither did Gojo.

Inside, Shoko joined Kishibe at the window.

"He hasn't eaten. Hasn't spoken to anyone in days."

"He will," Kishibe said. "He always talks again. He just needs to find the words."

"And if he doesn't?"

Kishibe sighed. "Then maybe I'll be the next one to disappear."

Shoko didn't answer.

She didn't need to.

---

IV. The Drink

Kishibe returned to his quarters, peeled off the bloodied coat, and tossed it over a chair.

He poured a drink. Then another. Then one more.

With shaking hands, he held the glass up toward the empty space in the room.

"To Geto. The strongest of us. And the first to fall."

He downed it in one breath.

Then stood in the silence of his quarters, one hand on the wall, one hand clutching his chest.

He did not cry.

But his body remembered how.

And somewhere far off, the wind howled through the trees.