The battlefield was silent.
Ash rained down from a sky still bruised with cursed energy. Where once stood the King of Curses, there remained only dust, wind, and scorched stone.
And then—Mo began to glow.
His body shimmered, breaking into radiant flecks of gold and silver, the shape of him slowly dissolving into the air like fireflies fading in the dawn.
“No…” I muttered, stumbling forward.
I looked down at my own hands—they too were vanishing, fingertips like paper burning backward, flaking into nothing.
I turned toward the others one last time—Megumi, Nobara, Gojo, Yuta, all of them staring, frozen in disbelief, their faces lit by the last light of our existence.
I forced a smile.
“It was fun while it lasted... goodbye, guys. See you on the other side.”
Then darkness.
---
Hospital Room
The silence broke with a slow beep. Then another. A heartbeat monitor. My heartbeat.
My eyes opened, bleary and grainy with crust. The ceiling was plain white—industrial fluorescent lights softly humming above me. I blinked, and turned my head.
I was in a hospital room.
The walls were painted a calming pastel green. A potted plant sat on the windowsill, half-dead. One curtain was pulled back to reveal a wide window letting in pale sunlight. The air smelled of rubbing alcohol, gauze, and something metallic.
A clipboard sat at the foot of the bed. My name was on it.
I groaned, trying to sit up—pain shot through my ribs like lightning. My legs were numb and heavy, like lead weights. But I pushed forward, one breath at a time, gritting through it, until I could limp to the door.
I stepped out into the hallway. Nurses passed by, a doctor scolded an intern, and IV wheels squeaked on waxed floors.
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Then I saw another room. The door was ajar. A silhouette sat upright in the bed.
I limped closer.
He turned.
Mo.
Still pale, but awake. Alive.
He stared at me for a second, then nodded slowly, as if confirming the same truth I now knew:
It wasn’t a dream. Everything happened. Every fight, every sacrifice—it was all real.
---
Chaos at the Reception Desk
We checked out of our rooms, bruised and sore but mobile. Mo had conjured a cane from sand. I had stolen a pair of hospital slippers too big for me.
We made our way to the exit—only for the receptionist, a snarky woman in her mid-40s with a clipboard of doom, to block our path.
“Oh, you think you can leave this easy?” she said. “You two were in a coma for three months. You think that bed was free?”
Mo and I looked at each other.
Then, in unison, we bolted.
Pain forgotten. Limbs miraculously healed. We ran faster than ever, laughter echoing through the hospital halls.
---
One Month Later – Redemption
After a crash course in everything we missed during our three-month slumber, we aced our finals. Barely slept. Ate vending machine sushi. Memorized entire textbooks over cursed tea.
Now, we were doctors.
Actual, licensed, underpaid doctors.
We returned to the very same hospital that nursed us—not as patients, but as staff. Me in a white coat, Mo in scrubs that always looked slightly too regal for some reason.
We didn’t get paid much. Not yet. Our medical debt from the coma was absurd. But we smiled through it.
Because something strange was happening.
---
Miracles in the Ward
A man came in with a shattered pelvis.
Two days later—he walked again.
A girl with an inoperable tumor came back for a follow-up. It was gone.
A war veteran missing half his arm came to thank us—his hand had begun to regenerate.
Me and Mo kept it quiet, but we both knew.
This wasn’t normal.
Our healing wasn’t just skill. It was something more.
Residual cursed energy? A trace of reversed technique? Maybe a side effect of fusing with the soul of Sukuna and surviving?
Whatever it was...
We had been given a gift.
A blessing.
Maybe not flashy.
Maybe not infinite voids or black flashes.
But something that let us heal others, rebuild what was broken, and carry the light forward.
---
Epilogue
Sometimes, late at night, we sit on the hospital rooftop.
Mo still fiddles with grains of sand.
I watch the stars and feel my heart stir with the echo of something ancient.
We don’t talk about the battles much.
We don’t need to.
Because we were given a second chance.
And this time, we chose to heal.
Not to fight.
But to bless.
---
