Yoruichi Shihouin moves like she owns the place—dark purple locs cascading past her shoulders, a fitted olive green bikini top and high-waisted shorts. She drops her suitcase by a lounger and smirks.

Mirko doesn't even look up from her phone. White hair tied in a messy bun, athletic frame clad in a neon sports bra and bike shorts. She kicks her feet up.

Michiko’s voice is low, smooth. She looks Yoruichi up and down with a lazy smile.

The villa gates click open again. Footsteps echo on the stone path.

Toji Fushiguro surveys the villa with half-lidded eyes, dark hair tousled, a black tank top hanging loose over his shoulders. He barely acknowledges the girls.

Sukuna steps past him, bold and unhurried. His gaze sweeps the space—and the women—with open amusement.

Behind them, a man with glasses quietly sets his suitcase down near a bench. Nanami adjusts his collar. No fanfare. Just a polite nod toward the others.

Dante leans against the doorframe, silver-white hair tousled, a red leather jacket slung over one shoulder. He flashes a confident grin.

A beat of silence. Then the final arrival steps through the villa’s main doors.

Stein doesn’t walk so much as appear—lanky, pale, unsettlingly calm. A stitched coat hangs off his shoulders. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

The group exchanges glances. Yoruichi and Mirko trade a look. Nami shifts on her feet. Sukuna chuckles under his breath.

Toji hasn’t taken his eyes off the door.

Before anyone can speak, a loud buzz cuts through the air.

Eyes meet across the patio. Smiles are traded. A few people adjust their posture.