How to Become a Good Teacher…
No.
Absolutely not.
You can’t come over here.
The boy woke from his nightmare in a cold sweat, his eyes flying open.
And there, beside the bed, was the familiar white-haired man.
Gojo Satoru saw that the boy had finally opened his eyes after sleeping for an entire day and couldn’t help letting out a relieved breath. He was just about to uncross his legs, remove the snacks Inumaki had brought as a get-well gift from his knees, dispose of the fruit peels hidden behind the fruit basket Okkotsu had sent, and swallow the potato chip in his mouth before speaking to the newly awakened boy in the calm, handsome, flawless manner of a teacher offering words of concern, when…
The boy suddenly shot upright and grabbed the hand Gojo had been secretly trying to hide behind his back, along with the bag of chips.
“Gojo-sensei, I want to drop out!”
“…”
Gojo Satoru bit straight through the chip, and his tongue along with it.
There had been jujutsu sorcerers in the past who were genuinely terrified of cursed spirits.
But for some reason, they were always in the minority. Perhaps after spending long enough in the jujutsu world, seeing and dealing with so many disgusting cursed spirits every day, witnessing so many deaths and injuries, and encountering so many things even more disgusting than cursed spirits, novice sorcerers who were initially afraid of them gradually became desensitized and got used to it, all for the sake of staying alive.
That logic simply didn’t apply to Toyama Akira. Because he…
“If there are cursed spirits everywhere outside, and I can get one right in my face even at Jujutsu High, then I’m going to die right now.”
He was so afraid that he had maxed out Avoidance, to the point that he wanted to skip even [being alive].
Gojo Satoru: …
How was he supposed to argue with that logic? It really did seem completely flawless. If being alive was terrifying, then dying was the obvious solution. Was there anything wrong with that? There was, obviously!
It would be a tremendous waste to let a rare, promising talent like Toyama Akira die, especially if he died for such an absurd reason.
Besides, although Gojo Satoru always said that he would only save people capable of reaching out a hand to him, there was this:
The first time he had casually reached out a hand of salvation, the boy had dodged it with a sincere, “Thank you for saving me. I’m going to die for a bit now.”
The second time he had reached out to pull him up, the boy had slapped his hand away with, “Huh? Jujutsu High? I’m not going to a vocational school, sensei.”
The third time he reached out and grabbed him…
The boy had dodged him with the utmost sincerity countless times, and every single time it had stabbed him right in the heart.
“Sensei, you’re a really good person. You don’t have a teaching license, but you’re still really good.”
His fists clenched tightly.
“Sensei, Jujutsu High is great. It may be a vocational school, but it really is…”
His fist came down.
From every possible angle, the boy had truly maxed out Avoidance.
Gojo Satoru: …
It wasn’t as though he was angry. It wasn’t as though Gojo Satoru had ever invited someone to join him this many times, only to be rejected over and over for such an absurd reason, namely that being alive was too terrifying.
Gojo Satoru, twenty-seven years old: …
What had being alive ever done to him…!
Anger level: max.
“Gojo-sensei, you’re being a little extreme.”
After dragging back the boy who had attempted to jump out the window, slit his wrists, and swallow gold, Gojo Satoru had calmly tied him to the hospital bed. The boy then calmly spoke up.
So that was why the kid had asked for his solid-gold, life-size figurine? Gojo had thought he wanted to get his hands on some merchandise, or at worst, cash in on the price of gold…
Gojo Satoru heard the boy’s voice.
He first looked at the broken window the boy had just been preparing to climb through. Then he looked at the fruit knife lying on the floor. Finally, he looked at his solid-gold figurine.
Then that deafening sentence echoed in his ears again.
[Gojo-sensei, you’re being a little extreme.]
Gojo Satoru: …
Gojo Satoru had probably been told things like [Six Eyes, you’re being too extreme] or [Satoru, you’re being too extreme] before. But it definitely hadn’t happened in circumstances like these.
He couldn’t help covering his mouth, lowering his brows, thinking, covering his mouth again, lowering his brows, and thinking some more.
Although he had stopped someone from jumping off a building, slitting his wrists, and swallowing gold, someone who had genuinely decided to die simply because he had been frightened, he was the one being too extreme? No, wait, which one of them was actually being extreme here?!
Gojo Satoru sat backward on the chair, gripping the backrest, with his back turned to the boy tied spread-eagle to the bed behind him.
He was still barbecuing…
No.
Thinking.
Toyama Akira’s arms and legs had been tightly bound to the bed with bedsheets. Since he could still teleport away using his cursed technique, Gojo Satoru had taken the white gauze tied around his own eyes, because the boy had taken his sunglasses the last time he had knelt before Okkotsu, and tied it over Akira’s eyes to block his vision. This made it harder for Akira, who needed to imagine and pre-set a teleportation route before teleporting, to maintain a sense of space and visualize a teleportation destination, greatly limiting his ability to use his technique.
At that moment, Gojo Satoru sat with his back to his student, who was bound hand and foot behind him, using the Six Eyes to make his brain work at lightning speed as he contemplated the greatest problem of his career, the nightmare of every university counselor:
What should you do if your student wants to kill himself?
What should you do if your student wants to die every time he sees a cursed spirit?
What should you do if your student is so timid that he’s constantly being frightened to death, or frightened by the prospect of being frightened to death?
Gojo Satoru fell silent.
Gojo Satoru thought.
Gojo Satoru took a reference book from his pocket and flipped through it at lightning speed. Then…
“Oh, is Gojo-sensei planning to cram for his teaching license and make up for not having the proper qualifications?”
Gojo Satoru: …
“You little brat…”
Gojo Satoru stiffened, then turned around and glared viciously at him, brow furrowed.
The boy, who had cut through the bedsheet binding his wrist, immediately shuddered in genuine fear beneath the deliberately vicious look. He quickly pulled the white gauze back down over his eyes, then groped around blindly and used one hand to tie himself up again.
Gojo Satoru: …
Gojo Satoru turned back and glanced at the book on his lap: 108 Ways to Teach Students, Essential Skills for a Successful Teacher.
It had opened to page 108.
A large, bolded heading immediately caught his eye.
[Appropriate Intimidation]
Gojo Satoru: …
For this boy, there was probably no such thing as [appropriate intimidation].
There was only [excessive fear].
Although the boy had discovered his hidden reading material, Gojo Satoru still secretly pinched the pages and hid the book behind his back, quietly turning to the next page.
What did the kid know?! He hadn’t taken this book out in hundreds of years!
Shoko had originally given it to him as a joke when he became a teacher. At the time, he had stuck out his tongue in disdain and said, “Who needs something like this?” before preparing to throw it away. Then he had taken it back to his dorm that night and read it through 108 times.
After he had actually become a teacher and discovered that the 108 Ways of Using Force on Students could really come in handy, Gojo Satoru hadn’t taken the book out in a long time.
Was there anything his cursed technique couldn’t solve?
[Gojo-sensei, I think I can break through your Limitless…]
And then the boy had hugged his thigh.
Was there anything a good fight couldn’t solve?
[Huh, I’m going to hit Gojo-sensei? Seriously?]
[Is Gojo-sensei finally going to send me back to another world?]
…
Was there anything…
What on earth could solve this guy, aaahhh?!
Gojo Satoru secretly finished reading the entire book. The Six Eyes let him absorb information far faster than an ordinary person, and even after speed-reading the book at quantum speed, he still hadn’t found a solution.
But look what he had found.
Way 109…
What kind of book put more actual content after the afterword?! You’re a teaching guide, not the Sunflower Manual!
Gojo Satoru had read the book a hundred times and never noticed Way 109. Now, while thinking, [Huh? How could this possibly be useful?], he read every word of it with complete seriousness.
Then he quickly closed the book.
Having obtained the sacred teachings, his expression turned grave. He once again assumed the calm, profound, handsome, and powerful image of a teacher, then slowly began to turn around by dragging the chair.
The chair legs scraped across the floor with an ear-piercing sound. The boy, obediently tied to the bed, gave a violent shudder.
“Akira, did you know?”
The man’s voice was low and solemn.
There was no denying that Gojo Satoru’s tone, combined with the bonus of [This is Gojo Satoru we’re talking about], gave him a full 100 points of credibility.
It felt like encountering some incredibly powerful hermit who had appeared out of nowhere in the protagonist’s party and was about to deliver a prophecy that would change the world. It was deeply convincing.
Toyama Akira felt that he would believe Gojo Satoru even if the next thing he said was that Akira had actually been dead all along.
If he said Akira was still alive…
Well, all right, he wouldn’t be especially inclined to believe that either.
Fortunately, Gojo Satoru had no idea what was going on in the boy’s head and was still able to maintain his solemn exterior.
“This world has cursed techniques that can affect the soul even after death, you know?”
…
Gojo Satoru watched as the boy’s back, which had been slightly relaxed, suddenly went rigid. Even the exposed section of his pale wrist, pulled taut by the restraints, showed fine, raised veins.
Seeing that his words had had an effect, Gojo Satoru smiled faintly and continued in an even lower voice.
His naturally somewhat husky adult voice became all the more seductive when lowered, but it made the boy on the bed break into a cold sweat.
“So, are you really looking forward to the world after death? Is it truly as promising as you imagined…?”
After death…
A cursed technique related to souls…
So even after dying here, it was possible that he could become a soul…?
And then…
“You might run into a curse user who takes a fancy to Akira’s cursed technique, summons your soul, and refines it into a corpse demon~”
Toyama Akira: …
[Fear level 9%]
“Hmm, let me think. What are the steps for refining a corpse demon again…?”
The young man’s voice gradually dropped lower as the boy’s body grew more and more rigid.
“Oh! I remember!”
His voice suddenly rose.
Gojo Satoru then watched as the boy’s back, taut as a bowstring, gave a violent jerk.
“I think it involves [the Bath]. You gather up all the ugliest, most vicious cursed spirits, crush them into a slurry, strain out the essence, and then soak Akira’s soul in it for forty-nine days.”
Toyama Akira: …
[Fear level 11%]
Gojo Satoru: …
Gojo Satoru watched the obvious changes in the boy’s expression. At first, there had been hesitant concern, as though he were thinking, [Wait, does he really believe this?] Then it became the sheer delight of, [Hahaha, he really believes it!]
“Ahem… Besides, souls actually run into cursed spirits more easily, you know? And once you become a ghost, you can’t use jujutsu anymore. You won’t even be able to exorcise cursed spirits…”
“You’ll only be able to watch as the cursed spirits slowly gather…”
“Surround you, and then…”
Gojo Satoru’s voice had already taken on a sinister, ghostly quality when…
“…Please stop, Gojo-sensei.”
“Hmm?”
Seeing that his reverse psychology was working, Gojo Satoru lifted the corners of his mouth in satisfaction and waited for the boy to walk right into his trap.
“I already understand…”
“Yes, you understand now. So what are you going to do, Akira?”
His voice was coaxing, not, well, more like that of a good teacher patiently guiding his student toward the correct answer.
The boy pondered for a while, biting his lower lip until it bore deep marks, cold sweat pouring down his face.
At last, as though he had finally made a decision that violated the wishes of his ancestors, he vigorously tried to sit up.
“Gojo-sensei…!”
“Yes!”
“Please let my soul and body be destroyed completely!”
“…”
“No, you…”
“Bang.”
The infirmary door was suddenly shoved open. The spiky-haired boy standing dumbfounded in the doorway wore the exact same expression of [No, you…], frozen in the act of pushing the door open.
Gojo Satoru turned his head and saw Megumi behind him. He was just about to say something when the boy on the hospital bed, who had already sat up, lay back down again and declared resolutely:
“Gojo-sensei, I’m ready…!”
“If it’s you… I’ll accept anything (any method of dying)…!”
Fushiguro Megumi finally returned to his senses. His gaze swept over the cloth ropes binding the boy’s hands and feet and the obvious Gojo Satoru bandage covering his eyes. …
“…What a scumbag.”