“No home address, no academic history, no family names or contact information…”
Yaga Masamichi stared at the enrollment information sheet in his hands.
The only details filled in were: Name—Fujimaru Ritsuka; Sex—Female; Cursed Technique—Heroic Spirit Summoning; along with a standard ID photo.
Every other information field was completely blank.
“Aside from name, sex, and technique, the rest is all empty.
Past records are completely untraceable.
Gojo Satoru, what kind of game are you playing this time?”
His sunglasses obscured Yaga’s eyes, making it impossible to read the emotions brewing within them.
But the veins bulging at his temples, and the undisguised fury simmering in his low voice, made his current mood abundantly clear.
Seated across from him, Gojo remained his usual irreverent self, legs propped up on the desk in a lazy cross, spreading his hands innocently.
“Because I don’t know either.”
“I was going to have her just fill in some random stuff, but then I suddenly realized—making things up convincingly is actually a skill.”
“It was way too much of a hassle, so in the end I just gave up.
Ahaha.”
“That…
is not at all what I’m talking about.”
This time, Yaga’s tone carried a distinct note of grinding teeth.
If not for the limits of his own strength, he would dearly love to plant his fist—roughly the size of a sandbag—squarely into Gojo’s infuriatingly punchable face.
“Alright, alright.
Jokes aside.”
Gojo understood perfectly well what Yaga meant.
He just habitually liked to needle the man.
But taking a joke too far was no good.
“If you’re worried Ritsuka is a plant sent by ‘them,’ you can rest easy.
I’m pretty sure they’re not stupid enough to send someone whose very identity can’t be traced—someone who reeks of suspicion at first glance—to do undercover work.”
In truth, they didn’t actually know who “they” were.
All they knew, from the targeted attack on Gojo himself by a certain special-grade cursed spirit some time ago, and from a series of subtle maneuvers they’d uncovered since, was that an unknown faction was currently plotting something in the shadows.
The target could be him.
It could be the entire jujutsu world.
“Besides, Ritsuka is absolutely clean.
I can vouch for that.
So, relax~”
Gojo’s tone remained flippant as ever, but this time, beneath that flippancy lay an absolute, unshakable confidence.
No matter how many people despised him, the fact that he was the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the modern world was something no one could dispute.
Even as he spoke, his thoughts couldn’t help but drift back to the night before, when he had first encountered Ritsuka.
Magecraft.
Magic.
World-hopping.
Chaldea…
An entire power system utterly different from their own world, and an unbelievable personal history, had suddenly unfolded before him.
Had he not personally verified the plausibility of it all, he would have thought she was better suited to writing fiction.
As for how he had personally verified it—
Through combat, of course.
At this thought, he unconsciously reached up and touched the left side of his abdomen.
The muscles there were firm and defined, smooth and unblemished—as flawless as ever.
But last night, for the first time since he had fully mastered the Limitless and Reverse Cursed Technique, he had experienced the sensation of being wounded, even on the brink of death.
It had felt strangely familiar.
Nostalgic, even.
That Servant—Ryougi Shiki, was it?
In the instant that utterly ordinary, couldn’t-be-more-mundane dagger had pierced through his Limitless and impaled his left abdomen, he had genuinely thought he was about to die.
An ability that could kill anything…
how utterly unfair.
It could kill his technique.
It could even kill the very wound it inflicted on his body.
That was just absurd.
In that moment, he finally felt a bit of empathy.
He understood what usually went through other people’s minds when they faced him—
What a cheater!
Back to the matter at hand.
Yaga knew Gojo.
If the man was willing to vouch for her to this extent, then he would pursue the matter no further.
He asked instead, “What should we tell the higher-ups?”
“What’s there to tell?”
Gojo nimbly swung his legs off the desk and turned, plopping his rear onto the office surface instead.
His Six Eyes, even through the black blindfold, regarded Yaga with a deeply meaningful smile.
“She’s not a genius like Okkotsu Yuta, nor a special case like Itadori Yuji.
She’s just a slightly talented, utterly unremarkable Grade 3 jujutsu sorcerer.”
“For such a commonplace, insignificant little figure—is there really any need to trouble those fossilized, rotten old bastards upstairs?”
“…Indeed.” Find the original chapter at g.com.
Yaga gave Gojo a long, penetrating look.
Then his gaze dropped once more to Ritsuka’s information sheet.
Silently, he changed the evaluation Gojo had given her—Special Grade—to Grade 3, and tucked it away in a drawer, as if nothing had ever happened.
So that was how it was.
Ritsuka was indeed a hidden chess piece planted within the technical college.
But the one planting this piece was not “them.” It was Gojo.
In that case, he would simply pretend to know nothing.
No matter what, she was still a student who had earned Gojo’s recognition.
He only needed to fulfill his duties as the principal.
Meanwhile, in her dorm room, Ritsuka was contemplating a certain matter.
Was it time to bolster her combat power?
Though the Shadow Servants she could summon through Spirit Origin Shadows—shades of top-tier Heroic Spirits—were sufficient in terms of raw battle strength, she knew that the adversaries in this world were not merely powerful, but also deeply cunning.
That is to say, they were very skilled at fighting dirty.
In a straightforward battle, the Shadow Servants were more than enough.
But she lacked the stamina to constantly guard against hidden killing blows.
In such a situation, summoning a true Servant became a necessity.
Servants didn’t need sleep.
So long as they were provided with sufficient magical energy, they could fight for extended periods.
After all, she was just an ordinary person.
Better to err on the side of caution.
Additionally, since she currently couldn’t return to Chaldea, once she summoned a Servant, she could have that Servant relay her current circumstances back to Chaldea.
It would be a way to barely restore a thread of contact.
In fact, back in the Conan world, she had already decided that if she still couldn’t return to Chaldea after a few more days, she would summon a Servant to let her friends know she was safe.
But before she could put that plan into action, she had been passively transferred yet again, ending up in this world.
Of course, summoning a Servant wasn’t as simple as it sounded.
Generally speaking, aside from the basic summoning ritual, one needed to prepare a Saint Graph and a Class Container for the Servant in advance, as well as an enormous amount of magical energy sufficient to reach the Throne of Heroes.
Since she was summoning a Servant through Chaldea’s system, she only needed to prepare the summoning ritual and the magical energy.
As for the method of summoning, the most convenient for her was to use Mash’s shield to perform it.
That was because Mash’s shield was, in truth, the Round Table around which the Knights of the Round Table had once gathered.
It inherently carried the concept of “a place where heroes assemble”—there was no better summoning catalyst than that.
But Mash wasn’t by her side right now, so she would have to draw the summoning circle herself.
Sigh.
Another day of missing Mash.
Furthermore, for her current self, performing a Servant summoning required one more condition.
“I should talk to Gojo-sensei first.”