Jujutsu Kaisen: False Dawn

The sharp hiss of oil meeting pan filled the cluttered silence of Ren's apartment. The early morning sun hadn't even peeked through the thin, dusty curtains yet, but Ren stood in front of the stove anyway, focused on something as simple as breakfast.

Fried rice. A humble thing. Comforting.

He cracked the eggs with muscle memory, letting them sizzle and bubble in the old pan. The scent of oil and soy sauce would linger on his fingers for hours, but he didn't care. It reminded him of something—or someone. He couldn't quite say who.

Kai2 remained curled up in his shadow, sleeping as if it were a luxury to exist unnoticed. The little bastard had grown too comfortable. It used to hover or skitter about, but now? Now it had fully adopted the role of an annoying, freeloading pet. Not that Ren minded much. It was quiet company.

The apartment was trashed. Books scattered. Dishes in the sink. Old clothes tossed into a pile near the door. Rika's partial manifestations had knocked more than a few things over in past training days. He should clean.

But not now. Now, he cooked.

As he stirred the rice, letting it soak up the heat, Ren's thoughts began to unravel again.

The Boom.

It lingered in his mind like the ringing of a bell after it's been struck. The "big boom." The attention-getting event. The act that would pull the gaze of Jujutsu High and maybe even Gojo himself. The act that would catapult Ren from a ghost in the shadows to a name in the light.

But did he even want that?

He had been grinding nonstop since the day he woke up in this world. Nonstop. All out. Everything. No breaks. No rest. Not even time to reflect. But now that he had Rika, now that he had something people would kill for, his growth had slowed.

It was almost a sick joke.

He had dreamed that getting Rika would send his training to new heights. A rocket to the stars. But it hadn't been like that. If anything, things had become more difficult. Progress had become molasses-slow, a crawl compared to the sprint of his early days.

Was this the limit of what talentless growth looked like?

He sighed and added the rice to the eggs. Let them steam and mix. The hot air rose in ghostly tendrils, and the smell hit him like a memory. A kitchen. A woman humming. The sound of someone chopping onions. A laugh.

Ren blinked.

No—not Ren.

Alexander.

It slipped out of nowhere. But it hit like a freight train. That was his name. Alexander. Alex. Not Ren Sato. That wasn't the name his mother gave him. That wasn't who he'd been before this world, before this twisted tale of curses and violence.

But it didn't matter now.

He stirred faster.

"Don't think about it," he muttered to himself. The rice hissed louder.

Still, the thoughts came. His family. His mom. The people who probably cried when he vanished. Did they think he was dead? Did they hold a funeral? Did they still check his room? Leave the light on? He would never know.

Because now he was here. Now, he was Ren.

He took a deep breath. Not to cry. Just to anchor himself. He didn't let tears come. He refused. Crying would make him soft. Weak. In this world, weakness was death.

Instead, he let the smell of cooking rice pull him back.

The pan hissed, popping with little bursts as the sauce soaked in. He tossed in chopped green onions and stirred with a metal spoon. Simple. Effective. Something he remembered from home. From that home.

It was the first time in a while he'd let himself be still.

Ren spooned the rice onto a plate. He walked to the small mat on the living room floor. The only place not covered in papers, scribbled binding vows, or torn clothes. He sat.

And ate.

The warmth filled his chest. The flavor filled his mouth. It wasn't anything fancy. It wasn't gourmet.

But it was good.

And then he muttered, barely above a whisper.

"For now, I'm only Ren."

That was the truth. He couldn't afford to be anyone else. Not here. Not yet.

He shoveled another bite into his mouth. Thought about what would happen after this. What the boom would be. What stunt would he have to pull to get the eyes of Jujutsu High on him?

Could he fight a grade 1? Maybe. Rika could do most of the heavy lifting. But was it enough?

He didn't want to become a villain. He didn't want to hurt people.

But he wanted to live.

And to live in this world, you needed protection.

And power.

And so he would make his move. Somehow. He would pull the string on fate and let it unravel however it would.

But tonight?

Tonight, he would eat. He would sit. He would just be.

No bindings. No training. No, Rika. No cursed circuits.

Just one boy in a broken apartment, eating fried rice.

Just one step at a time.

And that's how Ren kept himself in check for a day before the boom; he only rested…