Rain poured relentlessly from a bruised sky, turning the streets into gleaming rivers of neon and grime. Kai adjusted his hoodie as he stepped out of his favorite comic and anime store, one hand shielding a wrapped Batman: Hush deluxe edition under his jacket, the other in his pocket. The shop owner had kept him later than usual, arguing about power scaling between Superman Prime and Goku, which led to the usual anime vs comics spiral. Kai didn't mind. These debates were the highlight of his day.
He had spent nearly every weekend there since he was thirteen — tucked away in the corner with stacks of manga, surrounded by conversations he loved. The shop was dim, cluttered, and filled with the scent of old pages and fried food from the stall next door, but to him, it was paradise. He even helped the owner clean or restock sometimes, just to stay longer. They called him "Kai the Analyst" because of how he broke down plot arcs and character power scaling. He wore it like a badge of honor.
Tonight, the shop owner — Mr. Tanaka — had pulled him into an hour-long conversation about cursed techniques versus Kryptonian biology.
"Listen, Kai," Tanaka had said, pushing up his foggy glasses, "Gojo might be flashy, but Supes could hear a heartbeat across the planet. You telling me Infinity can stop that?"
Kai had grinned. "It doesn't need to. Gojo doesn't fight fair. Hollow Purple wouldn't even leave anything behind. Besides, Limitless is about manipulation of space, not just shielding."
Tanaka chuckled, handing over his change and the wrapped comic. "Someday, you'll write the story where they actually meet. And I'll be the first in line to buy it."
"Deal," Kai had said.
That conversation stayed with him as he walked. The city's noise faded into background static, overridden by the rhythm of raindrops and his thoughts.
His passion wasn't limited to just reading or analyzing, either. He once spent a whole summer redrawing panels from Jujutsu Kaisen by hand, memorizing every detail of Gojo's battles. He knew the rhythm of Domain Expansion, the science behind Limitless, and the quiet sorrow hidden behind Gojo's smirk. Kai saw himself in that — the mask, the control, the desire to keep people safe even if it meant acting untouchable.
Home wasn't much, just a small apartment a few blocks away that always felt a bit too quiet. His parents were good people, but always tired. Work drained them. Kai learned to take care of himself early — microwave meals, late-night study sessions, and hours of anime keeping him company.
When it wasn't anime, it was food. Kai was a hardcore foodie. His browser history was a war zone of ramen reviews, curry recipes, and food tour vlogs. If there was one fantasy he had besides being a Jujutsu sorcerer, it was owning a food stall that served takoyaki in the shape of chibi anime characters. He even carried a small sketchbook filled with food-based cursed techniques — like Fried Rice Flame or Curry Burst Barrage. Dumb, but fun.
There was something magical about food to him. It wasn't just about taste. It was comfort. It was a power-up screen between school stress and internet rabbit holes. Nothing made him feel more alive than a warm bowl of pork miso ramen after a long day.
And of course, every meal came with an anime in the background.
He had dreams once — becoming an animator, working in Japan, maybe even rebooting one of the greats. But life had other plans. Financial setbacks, rejection letters, the grind of a system that didn't care. So instead, he lived in the spaces between: in panels, in episodes, in battles between cursed spirits and superheroes.
As he neared the corner food truck, he waved through the fogged-up window. The uncle behind the grill — a stout man in a Dragon Ball apron — rolled open the service panel.
"Kai! You're out late again. Want the usual?"
"Only if you promise extra beef this time. I just beat Tanaka in a debate about dimensional physics."
"Hah! That deserves bonus meat. What's the magic phrase?"
Kai smirked. "Dattebayo."
The uncle laughed, waving him off. "That's the spirit. Come back tomorrow, kid. I'll have it fresh for you."
Kai adjusted his backpack as he walked. The streets shimmered under the rain, reflections of blinking traffic lights stretching like ribbons on the pavement. His fingers traced the edge of the comic in his bag.
"Maybe one day," he whispered, smiling. "I'll write a crossover so wild even the editors cry. Gojo in Gotham... now that would break the internet."
He passed his favorite bento shop — closed for the night — and sighed. He had been saving up for their karaage rice box all week. Guess it'd have to wait until morning.
As he stepped off the curb, the familiar scent of rain on pavement mixed with exhaust fumes filled his lungs. Gotham's distant cousin, his city wasn't as criminally cursed, but it was still dark, chaotic, and oddly comforting. He liked the edge. It reminded him of the stories he loved most — the ones where heroes rose in the worst of places. He imagined being there, in those stories. Not the strongest, but the one who stood when others couldn't. The one who changed things.
He thought of Gojo Satoru — calm, confident, boundless. His favorite character. The embodiment of overwhelming power but with a rebellious heart. Kai never said it out loud, but he didn't just admire Gojo — he wanted to be him. Cool, powerful, untouchable, and yet, completely human under it all.
A shout broke through his thoughts.
A child's scream.
Kai's eyes snapped to the side street ahead. A small boy, no older than six, had broken free from his mother's grip. A red balloon bobbed in his hand as he sprinted across the street.
The screech of tires. A truck skidding around the corner, its horn blaring.
Time slowed.
Kai dropped his bag.
He ran.
No hesitation. No calculation. Just instinct.
He tackled the boy, wrapping his arms around the child and hurling both of them toward the sidewalk. The balloon snapped free and spiraled upward.
The boy hit the ground rolling.
Kai didn't.
The truck's grill filled his vision.
Everything went white.