His right hand still throbbed from punching the wall last night. Hasaba Nale peeled off the bandage in the morning light and examined his knuckles. The raw skin had hardened into a dark red. He applied a fresh bandage, pressing the tape edges down with his fingers. Why had he done something so stupid? The thought came too late. He pulled down his uniform sleeve and left the room. The hallway was quiet. In the dormitory at this hour, there was only the sound of someone brushing their teeth and a distant door closing. Hasaba walked without fully understanding why he was looking for Itadori, his feet carrying him toward the training building—nicknamed "the Box." (It's not like anything happened.) That's what he told himself. Maybe he just wanted to see his face. After last night's pathetic display, if he could stand beside Itadori with an ordinary expression, he thought it might calm him down a little. That was all it was. He turned the corner of the training building. A voice reached him. "—I like Itadori-kun." His feet stopped. Behind the building. A narrow space between concrete and fence, where morning sunlight slanted in at an angle. Two figures stood there. Teal-colored hair swayed in the breeze. Hinata Rina stood directly in front of Itadori. Her spine perfectly straight, her mismatched eyes fixed forward. There was no tension in her posture. If anything, she was almost refreshingly direct. "[serious]Please go out with me." Itadori froze. "[surprised]Huh... wait a second." Hasaba couldn't move. He couldn't call out. He couldn't leave. Both were impossible. His feet felt sewn to the concrete, unable to shift even an inch. Itadori said "wait" and—for some reason—turned back toward Hasaba. Their eyes met. Itadori's eyes were asking something. Hasaba didn't know what. He was pinned by that gaze. One second? Two? It felt like an eternity. His mind went white. Hasaba was running. He realized he was running. Without saying anything to either of them, he bolted from in front of the fence, down the hallway, up the stairs. He took them two at a time, not stopping even as his breath came ragged. He shoved open the door to the rooftop with his whole body. Cold air hit his face. He gripped the fence with both hands. His breathing was ragged. The metal's chill seeped into his palms. The wound beneath the bandage on his right hand throbbed again, faintly. (Calm down.) He told himself that. But his body was shaking. Fine tremors ran from his shoulders down his arms. Every time he tried to steady his breathing, his chest only tightened more. He looked up at the sky. The morning sky was pale blue, almost cloudless. The Tama mountains hazed in the distance. In that moment, tears fell. One streak down his cheek. The moment he noticed it, he couldn't stop. They came one after another, and when he wiped them with the back of his hand, he couldn't keep up. It was strange. There was something strange about crying like this. That night he lost his family—the night the curse incident took them all, his parents and his younger brother, all in one night—Hasaba hadn't shed a single tear. Not because he couldn't. He chose not to. He decided that night to stop letting his emotions show. He was terrified of being hated by someone. If he let his feelings out, he felt like someone else would disappear. There was no logic to it. But to the child he'd been, it seemed like the only way to survive. And yet here he was, crying in a place like this. Just from hearing Rina's confession. Just from being looked at by Itadori's eyes. Without even understanding what it meant, he'd run away and now he was crying on the rooftop. He knew why he was crying. He was afraid that Itadori might choose Rina. That was all. Just that, and he was falling apart. He let go of the fence and sank to the floor. He wrapped his arms around his knees. The concrete was cold. (Do I have the right to say anything to him?) No. He didn't. Hasaba had never told Itadori anything. Never said he liked him, never said he wanted to be beside him. He'd only sat next to him, drunk canned juice, and nodded along with a smile. To think "Itadori is mine" based on that—it was absurd. Rina had confessed directly. He didn't even have the courage for that. Kugisaki's voice from last night echoed in his head. *"If you don't say anything, he'll be taken away."* It looped. Taken away. But he couldn't say it. If he did—everything would change. Training together in the building. Sitting beside each other in the cafeteria. Drinking canned juice on the rooftop. All of it would change. Worst case, it would break. The circular, inescapable thoughts continued. Even when afternoon training began, Hasaba couldn't leave the rooftop. When lecture time came, he still couldn't move. Rina wasn't a bad person. He'd known that from day one. She had no duplicity. She treated everyone with the same brightness. The smile she gave Itadori, the tone of voice when she spoke to Hasaba—they were probably the same temperature. That's why he couldn't hate her. If he could have hated her, it would have been easier. (I have nothing.) The words pressed down on him, heavy. His cursed technique output was 68. He had no exceptional talent. He was bad at showing his emotions, and keeping distance from people had become a habit. He came from a non-elite background, trying to break into a world where people were judged by their names through sheer ability. What about Rina? That brightness, that straightforwardness. Who was more suited to stand beside Itadori—there was no need to even think about it. Such thoughts filled his mind completely. The rooftop vending machine hummed low. Every time the wind blew, Hasaba's bangs swayed. The concrete's chill slowly seeped into his body. --- Only after the sky turned the color of sunset did Hasaba finally stand up. His legs were numb. He had no sense of how much time had passed. He'd skipped training and lectures entirely. He didn't even have the energy to think about what excuse he'd make tomorrow. He returned to the dormitory and turned the key to room 105. Without turning on the lights, he lay face-down on his bed. The blanket was cold. He hadn't slept since last night, and his joints felt heavy. When he closed his eyes, Itadori's face floated in the darkness. Those eyes. The eyes that had turned back toward him behind the training building. What had that been? He couldn't figure it out. And because he couldn't, he was afraid. Footsteps sounded in the hallway. They approached. They stopped in front of his room. Knock, knock. Someone tapped on the door. "[gentle]Nale? You in there?" Hasaba held his breath. The voice was right there. Just beyond the door, Itadori was standing. If he answered, they could talk. If he answered, he could see his face. He couldn't answer. What could he say? How could he explain running away today? Should he say he'd heard Rina's confession? Ask what that look in his eyes meant? Tell him here, now, that he liked him? Silence stretched in the hallway. Itadori knocked again. "[gentle]You feeling okay? Want me to bring you some food?" He couldn't respond. If he opened his mouth, he felt like he'd cry. He didn't want Itadori to hear him crying. Even after all those tears on the rooftop, there was still more coming. After a while, Hasaba sensed Itadori walking back down the hallway. His footsteps receded. One step, two steps, three steps. He turned the corner and disappeared. In that moment, something clenched inside his chest. It was as if something had grabbed him from inside his ribs, and it hurt. He'd wanted to escape. He hadn't wanted to see Itadori. —And yet, the sound of those footsteps fading away was the most painful thing all day. Hasaba lay in the dark room, staring at the ceiling. He didn't have the energy to turn on the lights. Outside grew completely dark. The light from the window grew thinner and thinner. He didn't think he could leave this room tomorrow. But—if Itadori's footsteps came back, what would he do? That answer alone remained, vague and lingering in his mind.