"What's your type of woman?"
Naoya chuckled dryly, shaking his head as he sipped from his cup.
"Wrong door. This isn't the kitchen."
She laughed—loud, unbothered.
"You're exactly like the rumors."
"Destroying my property and asking questions like you own the room," he said, setting the cup down with a soft clink. "Without even introducing yourself as an elegant object. Typical for women, if you ask me."
Yuki glanced at the busted door and scratched the back of her head.
"Tch. My bad. I usually knock before I break things."
Then she turned back to him, still grinning.
"And 'elegant object,' huh? You want me to stand still so you can put me on a shelf next to your ego?"
Naoya raised an eyebrow.
"That depends. Can you stay quiet long enough to collect dust?"
"If I'm gonna be furniture," Yuki said, clicking her tongue, "I'd at least like to be something useful. Like a cursed tool that breaks your jaw when you get cocky."
Naoya smirked faintly.
"I don't keep cursed tools that talk back."
"Good thing I wasn't planning to stick around on your shelf," she shot back, stepping further into the room. Arms crossed, grin still sharp.
"So?" she said, settling into a chair without asking. "Am I elegant enough for you, or should I start doing the dishes too?"
Naoya's eyes narrowed.
"You're still here."
"Sure am." She leaned back casually. "You said something about women needing to serve a purpose, right?"
He tilted his head, watching her with vague amusement.
"Well," she continued, "I'm here to break that purpose. And maybe a few more doors while I'm at it."
Naoya leaned back, examining her properly now.
Yuki Tsukumo. Special Grade Sorcerer. Strong. Annoying. Beautiful, admittedly—but not his type. Too loud. Too independent. Too everything.
Still, he couldn't help but think—what would the original Naoya think if he met her?
A woman stronger than him. Higher ranked. Probably capable of no-diffing him in a fight.
Would his ego just… shatter? Would he crawl away and die from the sheer humiliation?
Naoya almost laughed at the thought.
"Is it the higher-ups?" he asked suddenly.
Yuki sighed. "Yeah." She rolled her neck like the very mention gave her a headache. "They keep pestering me. Ordering me to stop 'Naoya Zenin's game,' since Gojo Satoru's apparently plugging his ears about the whole thing."
She paused, then added with a shrug, "If you know me, you know I don't take missions. I don't take orders. Especially not from those fossils."
Naoya said nothing, waiting.
"At first, I figured they were just trying to get under my skin. Throw me some pointless errand about a game causing 'chaos' in the world." She waved her hand mockingly. "Obvious nonsense. Until—"
Her tone shifted. Serious now.
"—I saw the trailer."
A beat of silence passed.
"And?" Naoya asked, calm.
"And I realized," she said slowly, "just how dangerous this could be. You're not just making a game."
Her eyes locked on his.
"You're releasing jujutsu information to the public."
Naoya smiled—just slightly.
"And? Do you have a problem with that?"
Yuki sighed, running a hand through her hair as she leaned against the nearby wall.
"Yes and no," she said.
"Yes—because you're opening a door that's been sealed for centuries. Letting civilians learn about cursed energy? That destabilizes everything. The old system, the clans, the veil of secrecy... it all starts to crack. And once it does, it might force society to adapt—evolve, even. Either past cursed energy entirely, or into something new we haven't seen yet."
Her voice lowered, more grounded now.
"The jujutsu world is rotten, Naoya. Rotten to the core. It's run by old men who decide who gets to live or die. Bloodlines are worshiped like religion. Knowledge is hoarded like it's divine. Everything about it is twisted."
She looked him dead in the eye.
"It needs to fall."
Naoya didn't interrupt. Just let her go on.
"But…" she continued, arms folding.
"My belief's always been the same. The system isn't broken—it's poisoned. Especially how cursed energy is tied to suffering. I want a world without curses. One where energy doesn't come from pain or hatred. Where it's not a threat to humanity at all."
She took a step forward, folding her arms across her chest.
"I know I sound radical. And yeah, I've been called worse. But I care about the cost of change. I don't want innocent people suffering because we rushed into chaos. Kids. Non-sorcerers. The weak. They didn't ask to be caught in this."
There was a pause.
Naoya blinked once. Then leaned back in his chair, slowly.
"Wow," he said quietly. "That was very noble. Deep. Touching, even."
He reached under his desk and pulled out a small kitchen knife, spinning it lazily between his fingers.
"For a second, I almost gave a damn."
Then he set the knife down on the table with a quiet clink.
"Take this. Go make me a sandwich and I'll consider forgiving you for wrecking my door."
Yuki stared at him.
Naoya casually picked up the paperback he'd been reading earlier and showed her the cover.
It read: Why Women Deserve Less.
"…"
Yuki stared flatly at the cover.
"How about this—" she began.
Naoya cut her off, smirking. "How about this—let's settle it with a fight."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with challenge.
"If you win, I'll accept your terms. Your complaints, your ideas, all of it. But if you lose..."
He paused, reaching across the desk to slide the knife a few inches closer to her.
"You stop interfering with my plans. No lectures, no moralizing. And you make me a sandwich."
Yuki blinked once.
Then she laughed—slow, dry, and genuinely amused.
"A sandwich?" she echoed. "That's your grand wager?"
Naoya tilted his head. "Think of it as symbolic. A gesture of humility from someone who wouldn't know what that word means."
.................. ................
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