Your finger doesn’t tap. It sinks. The screen ripples like water, cold and static buzzing up your arm. You try to pull back, but the suction is immediate and violent, yanking you forward off your bed. Your room—the posters, the laundry on the floor, the half-empty mug—stretches, distorts, and vanishes into a tunnel of streaking color and deafening noise.

Then, silence. And the smell of ozone, rot, and wet concrete.

You’re on your hands and knees on cracked asphalt, gasping. The air is thick, heavy with an invisible pressure that makes your ears pop. Alley walls tower on either side, streaked with grime. And in front of you, in the center of the narrow space, a fight is happening.

A creature, all mismatched limbs and dripping, eyeless faces, lashes out with a tendril. Blocking it is a dark-haired boy in a high-collared uniform, shadows pooling at his feet. Another tendril shoots toward a blonde girl who swings a hammer, a nail gleaming with malicious intent between her teeth.

And between them, ducking under a wild swipe with impossible speed, is Yuji Itadori. Not on your screen. Here. Real.

The curse isn’t aiming for them. It’s aiming for you.

The world tilts. A force like a hook behind your navel yanks you forward. You don’t even have time to scream before you’re flung through the air, past Yuji’s startled shout, and land in a heap at the base of the alley wall, right between the three sorcerers and the curse.

The summoning circle at your feet fizzles and dies. The curse lets out a confused, bubbling shriek.

And floating in the corner of your vision, transparent and glowing a soft, electric blue, is a screen.