Shoko's POV
Shoko Ieiri stood at the edge of the infirmary doorway, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the unconscious figure resting on the bed. Bandages wrapped tightly around Kishibe's chest and shoulder, blood still seeping faintly through in places. His breathing was shallow but steady.
She'd seen worse. But not on someone like him.
Kishibe always moved like he didn't care if he died—but he never fought like it. His technique was sharp, ruthless, disciplined. He didn't flinch. He didn't hesitate. That's what made this worse.
"He really almost died this time," Shoko muttered under her breath, stepping inside. She began checking the IV drip, adjusting the flow with a practiced hand.
Her gaze lingered on his face. The scar on his mouth always made him look like he was smirking, even in sleep. But today, it looked…tired.
"He's an idiot," she said aloud, as if daring him to argue. "You throw yourself in front of a special grade just to save Gojo? What were you thinking?"
But she knew. Kishibe never said much, but in his silence, there was meaning. A kind of loyalty Shoko respected more than words.
And maybe she cared more than she wanted to admit.
---
Gojo's POV
Satoru Gojo leaned against the infirmary wall, arms folded, blindfold pulled down over weary eyes. His leg bounced with restless energy. Every so often, he stole a glance at Kishibe through the window.
He hadn't moved since they brought him in.
"He should've let me take the hit," Gojo muttered.
But he hadn't. Kishibe had stepped in without hesitation, blade flashing, cursed energy flaring to its limit. And that special grade… it tore through Kishibe like paper.
Gojo clenched his fists.
He thought he was strong enough. Fast enough. But he hadn't learned Hollow Purple yet. He was still cocky, careless—and Kishibe paid the price.
Yaga's voice from earlier still echoed in his head:
> "This isn't a game, Satoru. People get hurt when you treat it like one."
He ran a hand through his hair and stood straighter.
"I'll get stronger," he said quietly, as if making a promise to the unconscious man behind the glass. "I won't let anyone else take a hit for me again."
---
The door creaked open and Haibara poked his head in, eyes wide. Nanami followed, quieter but equally concerned.
"Senpai?" Haibara called softly. "Can we come in?"
Shoko looked up and nodded.
Kishibe didn't respond. Still unconscious.
Nanami approached the bedside slowly, hands in his pockets. "He saved Gojo, didn't he?"
"Yeah," Shoko replied. "Nearly cost him everything."
Haibara frowned. "Is he gonna be okay?"
"He's stable. But recovery will take time."
The two boys stood in silence, watching their senior—the cold, quiet one who rarely acknowledged them, but who'd saved their lives more than once in battle.
"Do you think he… likes being here?" Haibara asked, mostly to himself.
Nanami gave a small shrug. "He wouldn't be here if he didn't believe in something."
Shoko smirked faintly. "He doesn't say it, but he cares more than most."
Haibara stepped closer to the bed and gave a little bow. "Thank you, Kishibe-senpai."
The room was quiet again.
Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten.
---
Kishibe didn't wake that day. But surrounded by the people he'd bled for—and who now waited for him—he wasn't alone.
And when he opened his eyes again, he would see that something had changed.
Not just in them.
But in himself.