Are You Concerned?
Gojo Satoru had never expected Toyama Akira to actually care about him.
After all, whenever someone asked, the boy would always say, [I’d die without Gojo-sensei], yet back at Kiyotani, he had put all of Gojo’s posters away in the warehouse and put up a realistic VR projection of Antarctica on the wall instead.
So Gojo Satoru really had not expected that…
When he said, “All right, Akira. Let’s start our match,” Toyama Akira would sincerely lower his head and ponder the matter with complete seriousness before asking,
“What if I accidentally kill Gojo-sensei?”
Gojo Satoru: ……
How could such a short sentence make someone feel as though the sky had fallen and they had been struck by five thunderbolts at once?
Gojo Satoru found it absurd.
Of course it was absurd. He was Gojo Satoru. How could he possibly be killed?
But that was not what Gojo Satoru found most absurd. What he found most absurd was this:
His first reaction upon hearing those words had been, [Does this guy actually care about him?]
Gojo Satoru: ……
What was wrong with him?
……
And why did the question mark have to be inside the [] too?!
Instead of thinking about what he should have been thinking about, namely who would win if he and Toyama Akira fought, Gojo Satoru’s brain could not stop dwelling on something else.
Did the boy actually care about him???
It was not Gojo’s fault for being suspicious.
The boy’s mind was simply too chaotic.
Sometimes he seemed completely unhinged. Sometimes he seemed oddly reliable. Sometimes, when he looked at Gojo with those clear, pure eyes, he seemed so utterly sincere that Gojo would then discover the boy had no guilt whatsoever about setting people up, and was not even afraid of it.
[It wasn’t me who got tricked, so why would I be afraid?] Whenever asked, the boy would only look puzzled and say that, before sheepishly scratching his cheek. [It’s not like I’m so afraid that I can’t even hurt people.]
Gojo Satoru: ……
Do you want to listen to yourself for a moment?
What on earth was his timid, trouble-avoiding, mouse-like student saying with such an innocent look on his face…?!
If the boy’s outward image of cowardice had not been so deeply ingrained in everyone’s minds, those dark, damp remarks of his might have immediately revealed the coldness at his core.
Though, in fairness, Gojo had vaguely noticed the boy’s [rotten] side a long time ago.
He was different from many of the students at Jujutsu High.
He advocated justice, but only because he hoped to meet righteous companions who would protect him.
He leaned toward kindness, but only because he hoped to meet kind people who would protect him.
He wanted his companions to stay alive, but only because he wanted them alive in front of him, protecting him.
At his core, he possessed nothing but a survival instinct steeped in fear. Everything else, justice, kindness, bonds, was merely expendable material he could use to build a door between himself and danger.
He seemed to genuinely believe that he was living in some monstrously terrifying world. So he did not speak of justice, care about good or evil, or value bonds.
He only cared about how to stay alive, and how to stay alive without being frightened.
That was why Gojo Satoru had never thought he would be particularly special to the boy.
Even if he was special, at most he would merely be regarded as a slightly more [sturdy] door panel.
When the disaster capable of destroying every door finally arrived, Gojo was certain he would stop such a disaster before it reached the boy. But if such an extreme situation really did occur, the boy would certainly run away again.
Because he treated everyone equally…
Sometimes, Gojo Satoru recalled the look in the boy’s eyes. He always felt that the boy regarded everyone equally as either already dead or soon to be dead. That was why he could use people without the slightest hesitation or discomfort.
It was just that…
Gojo Satoru remembered what he had heard that day when he went to jujutsu headquarters to submit his report. The old orange had been sitting across from him, raving for some reason and repeatedly pointing at him, accusing him of treason and murdering members of the three great families.
Gojo had idly picked at his ear and listened impatiently for a long while. It was only after he finally lost patience and stood up, causing the old orange on the sofa opposite him to shrink back under the pressure of his height, that Gojo finally understood what had happened from the old orange’s ramblings.
The insect who had tried to snipe him the day before was dead.
And not only that. Every old orange who had planned the whole thing from behind the scenes was dead too.
Stranger still, it was practically something out of a horror story. The sniper had died beneath his own bullet, while the old oranges, those jujutsu sorcerers, had all inexplicably died from bullets containing no cursed energy.
One shot through the brain. Nothing in their heads but a bullet, with no trace of cursed energy whatsoever.
It was simply…
“Ordinary people’s bullets couldn’t possibly kill them…”
At the very end, the old orange’s eyes had been completely consumed by terror. Trembling, he had rolled off the sofa, grabbed Gojo by the collar, and shouted at him with his wrinkled face slick with cold sweat.
That was when Gojo learned that the old orange had been so terrified because a bullet had also been placed beside his bed.
No one knew when or how it had gotten there. There was not even a trace of cursed energy. Yet somehow, the bullet had been positioned so precisely that it was aimed straight at his temple.
He was supposed to be the jujutsu sorcerer. He was supposed to be the one who dealt with all things terrifying.
And yet, faced with something so utterly ordinary, something without even the slightest trace of cursed energy, he had felt…
“How terrifying…”
Gojo’s face went cold, his lips pressed into a thin line. He finally could not take it anymore and yanked his hand from his pocket, swatting away the old orange as he reached for his collar.
He wondered why it was that Toyama Akira looked so much more pleasing to the eye when he was on his knees begging for mercy than this old orange did.
“It must have been you… You must have killed them. Only you, Gojo Satoru. Only someone of special grade like you…”
Gojo Satoru impatiently kicked away the old orange, who had already been consumed by terror. At that speed, he still wanted to grab Gojo’s pant leg?
Gojo disdainfully tugged at the corner of his mouth. Only after kicking the man into the wall did he say, “Do people who’ve done harm really become this terrified when their guilt catches up with them?”
“Why are you so scared? It’s super disgusting.”
After that, the people at jujutsu headquarters ordered him to investigate the matter and uncover the cause of those old oranges’ deaths. Gojo flipped the table and refused.
“They sent someone to kill me, and now I’m supposed to investigate their deaths? Since when did I become such a good-natured person?”
That shut them up. The matter consequently became an unsolved case.
Gojo Satoru could vaguely guess that Toyama Akira had to be involved somehow.
Ordinary bullets capable of passing through a jujutsu sorcerer’s defenses… He had probably wrapped them in space.
Bullets that had inexplicably appeared beside their victims’ beds… Long-range teleportation.
There was just one thing Gojo still did not understand. How had Toyama Akira managed to use his cursed technique without leaving behind the slightest trace of cursed energy residue?
Was his control over cursed energy really that precise? But that was impossible. There should still have been some trace.
Did he possess a special cursed tool that could erase the traces of cursed energy residue? But there should have been records of any cursed tools borrowed from the storeroom.
Could it be…
“Could it be that I really am a genius?!”
Gojo Satoru: ……
Gojo Satoru looked up and saw the boy who had once spotted a cockroach on the balcony and, too afraid to go out there to hang laundry, had used space beneath his left foot and right foot to climb up the wall and hang his clothes from the air-conditioner’s power cable. The boy was now staring at the [clean] clothes he had hung up, which were covered in dust from the wall, and shouting in amazement.
Then, the next second, his amazement got the better of him. His left foot tripped over his right, and his right foot went tumbling after his left.
“Bang.”
Gojo Satoru: ……
Gojo Satoru felt that believing this world was a horror world where everyone was destined to die was more reliable than believing the boy was a genius.
Gojo Satoru had tried sounding out the boy about the old oranges’ deaths.
He had not expected the boy to answer so frankly the moment he asked.
“The sniper [betrayed them because they couldn’t agree on his fee, and somehow actually managed to kill the high-ranking jujutsu sorcerers with bullets].”
Gojo Satoru: ……
Are you an AI?
“That can’t be right…”
“What’s wrong with it?” The boy looked up. “That’s exactly what I wrote in my investigation report.”
“That’s not the problem. What kind of investigation report??”
Gojo Satoru stared at him in disbelief. The boy remained perfectly composed. “I accepted the investigation assignment. Principal Yaga was delighted that I volunteered for it, so he rewarded me with my favorite food…”
Gojo immediately clapped a hand over the boy’s mouth, silencing his calm muttering. “Stop making memes, AI-kun.”
Gojo ran through the boy’s words in his head, then could not help covering his own mouth as well.
So the jujutsu world was doomed?
They had the mastermind investigate the crime he had committed himself.
Of course the boy was not afraid. After all…
“Thanks to my genius detective work, the case was successfully closed. The adults followed my suggestion and donated money to a poor orphan named Kondo Kure. Sure enough, they stopped finding bullets beside their beds. The adults were very happy and rewarded me with my favorite food…”
Gojo’s hand instantly moved from his own tightly pressed lips to the boy’s mouth.
Gojo Satoru felt that this matter could not withstand careful scrutiny.
For example, what connection was there between the poor orphan named Kondo Kure and the brash orphan named Toyama Akira standing in front of him?
For example, who had the higher-ups issued the assignment to, who had they turned to for help, and whose actions had ultimately brought the case to a close?
For example, why did Gojo Satoru, despite clearly knowing everything, still have to pretend he knew nothing while covering the boy’s mouth?
He was already…
He was already in so much pain that he was practically drowning in retorts.
Toyama Akira would say no more than that. If he continued, it would turn into, “……They were so happy that I completed the assignment, so they rewarded me…”
Gojo instantly covered the boy’s mouth again, manually cutting off his broadcast.
Gojo had also tried to find out how the boy had managed not to leave behind any cursed energy residue.
When he heard Gojo’s question, the boy paused for two seconds, then suddenly lifted his lashes and looked over calmly. His pale lips opened and closed.
“Is Gojo-sensei going to reward me too?”
Gojo Satoru: ……
The atmosphere seemed to freeze for a moment because of that bizarre sentence. Sunlight illuminated the drifting dust, which floated restlessly through the air. Then…
“Gojo-sensei was so happy when he found out I could use my cursed technique without leaving a trace that he rewarded me by letting me stay at Jujutsu High forever, loaf around without exorcising cursed spirits, and never fight Gojo-sensei until everyone in my year became special grade and came to protect me…”
Gojo Satoru: ……
Wait. That was absurd, but your logic was actually pretty sound, wasn’t it?
He really was determined to take everything, including the cooking pot.
“Impossible.”
“Gojo-sensei was so happy when he found out I would tell him how I used my cursed technique without leaving a trace that he rewarded me by…”
“Even if you tell me, it’s impossible. You’re going to the training grounds for a match in a moment.”
“Gojo-sensei found out that I…”
“Impossible.”
“Gojo-sensei found out…”
“Impossible.”
“Gojo-sensei…”
“Impossible.”
The boy finally raised his head.
“That’s not what I was going to say…”
“Hm?”
The boy sprawled across the desk and sincerely sighed.
“Gojo-sensei… you’re really difficult to deal with…”
“I’ll reward myself with a one-day trip to Antarctica first…”
Gojo reached out on instinct, but caught nothing.
In the end, he merely fell silent and calmly, skillfully, as though nothing had happened, drew his hand back.
So it had definitely been his imagination that the boy cared about him.
……
Of course, it was also possible that the boy cared about him just a tiny bit.
But…
Gojo Satoru slowly lowered his head onto the arm propping up the desk. His palm slid from in front of his lips to the top of his head, and his voice came out muffled.
“Shouldn’t the strongest come first?”
“So it’s not really caring…”
It was just that he had always walked too far ahead of too many people, and had taken being their wall of protection for granted.
Now someone else was taking it for granted that they should [protect] him.
Did he care?
……
A little bit, maybe.