Chapter 72: Shoko, do you want to do it?
The night deepened, but the lights of the Jujutsu High infirmary remained lit, like an isolated island, emitting a unique scent mixed with disinfectant and faint tobacco.
Toho Hiroshi's figure silently appeared in the shadows of the corridor outside the infirmary. He paused for a moment, as if gathering some courage, and finally raised his hand and knocked on the door.
"Come in."
A slightly tired female voice came from inside.
He pushed the door open, and the sight that met his eyes overlapped with a distant memory.
Ieiri Shoko had just finished showering, her damp, tea-colored short hair clinging to her cheeks and neck. She was wearing a loose white short-sleeved shirt and long pants, casually drying her hair with a towel. Dark circles were prominent under her eyes, clearly indicating she had just finished a round of high-intensity work, and an aura of weariness and detachment surrounded her.
Seeing that it was Toho Hiroshi, her movements paused almost imperceptibly, then returned to normal, though a faint ripple of emotion flickered deep in her eyes.
She walked to the table, habitually shook a cigarette out of the pack and put it in her mouth, but didn't light it.
"A rare visitor."
Her voice was a little hoarse, carrying the moisture and fatigue from her recent shower, "I thought you'd never come to my little infirmary again."
Her gaze fell on him, and her keen observation immediately noticed a difference.
The Cursed Energy around him had become deeper and more restrained, yet also more dangerous. The faint purple ripples that occasionally flowed through his left eye instinctively made her feel an inexplicable sense of pressure and detachment.
But the deep-seated weariness and heaviness in his brows subtly overlapped with the boy who used to come to her with injuries back then.
Toho Hiroshi didn't answer immediately, just looked at her.
His gaze swept over the dark circles under her eyes, her damp hair, and the subtle movement of her holding an unlit cigarette. Many intentionally forgotten fragments of memory surged forth—the tearing headache after excessive Dōjutsu Power usage, the touch of her fingertips with the warm glow of Reverse Cursed Technique, and the special eye drops she always silently handed him.
He had always carried that bottle of eye drops with him, even though he no longer needed it.
"Just passing by."
He spoke, his voice lower than usual, trying to conceal some emotion.
Shoko let out a soft "heh," with a hint of knowing but not speaking.
She put down the towel and walked to the storage cabinet, rummaging through it. Soon, she took out a small, familiar brown bottle and turned to hand it to him.
"Here, the latest formula. The soothing effect should be better than before."
Her tone was flat, as if casually handing over an ordinary item, "Though you probably don't need it now."
Toho Hiroshi looked at the bottle of eye drops, not immediately taking it. The bottle shimmered in the light, like a solidified amber, preserving a bygone era.
He finally reached out, his fingertips inevitably touching hers—cool, with a hint of dampness.
"Thank you."
He held the bottle in his palm; the familiar cool sensation felt scorching hot.
"Just happened to be convenient."
Shoko averted her gaze, walked to the window, and looked out at the silent night, her back to him, "I heard you caused quite a stir."
"Mm."
"Have you made up your mind?"
"Mm."
After the brief exchange, there was a longer silence.
The air seemed to solidify, with only their faint breathing.
Countless unspoken words flowed in the silence—about the past, about choices, about worries, about unspoken feelings that were understood but never acknowledged.
They were both too skilled at hiding, and too aware that some words, once spoken, would only make parting more difficult.
Finally, Toho Hiroshi carefully put away the eye drops and said in a low voice, "I'm leaving."
Shoko didn't turn around, just looked out the window and softly hummed, "Mm."
Just as Toho Hiroshi's hand touched the doorknob, her voice sounded again, calm without a ripple, yet like a stone thrown into a deep pool, it stirred up a storm in his heart.
"Do you want to do it?"
Toho Hiroshi's body suddenly stiffened, and the hand touching the doorknob instantly tightened.
A wave of heat uncontrollably rushed to his earlobes, his cheeks burned, and his heart pounded like a drum.
He could almost hear the blood rushing.
He abruptly turned to look at her.
Shoko had turned around at some point, still leaning by the window, the unlit cigarette in her mouth, her expression her usual lazy and indifferent one, as if that earth-shattering question had merely been a casual "Have you eaten?".
But Toho Hiroshi saw it—the fleeting, extremely complex glimmer deep in her eyes, a hint of testing, a desperate impulse, and perhaps a trace of the same deeply suppressed emotion he felt.
Toho Hiroshi's fingers were frozen on the doorknob.
Shoko's words were like a stone dropped into still water, creating ripples in his heart.
He didn't turn around, but he heard her approach, followed by the soft click of the door lock.
"Wait..."
His voice was hoarse.
Shoko didn't stop. Her fingers deftly unbuttoned her loungewear, the first, the second... There was no seduction in her movements, only a nearly resolute frankness. Her collar slightly parted, revealing her distinct collarbone and a patch of fair skin.
"Once you leave,"
Her voice was very low, "who knows if you'll come back in one piece."
Her fingertips paused on the third button, trembling slightly, but her gaze was fixed on him, as if to engrave him into her mind.
"Consider it a farewell."
The words were as light as a sigh, yet they struck Toho Hiroshi's heart heavily. A certain string that had been taut within him suddenly snapped.
He abruptly turned, grabbed her cool wrist, and with his other hand brushed aside her damp fringe, his palm resting beside her slightly warm cheek, the purple of his Rinnegan subtly swirling in his eyes.
"Okay."
One word, deep and hoarse, yet resolute.
He lowered his head and kissed her lips. Shoko trembled slightly, closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and responded awkwardly but firmly.
Outside, the night was heavy. In this lit infirmary, two souls burdened by heavy fates, on the eve of parting, eagerly drew warmth and affirmation from instinct and unspoken emotions.
Clothes rustled, breaths mingled.
Tonight, there were no Jujutsu Sorcerers and defectors, only two people leaning on each other in a cold world.
Morning light filtered through the window, falling on the empty bed.
Shoko woke up; the spot beside her was already cold.
Only the smell of disinfectant remained in the air.
She sat up and saw that the bottle of eye drops was still on the bedside table, next to it was a pitch-black Three-Pronged Kunai (Sword of Love and Hate), which was Toho Hiroshi's spatial coordinate.
She silently picked up the eye drops, put in two drops, and felt the familiar coolness.
Then she put it and the kunai into the drawer.
Walking barefoot to the window, she lit a cigarette and looked at the quiet campus.
Amidst the swirling smoke, she softly uttered two words: "Idiot."
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