Since the guy didn’t want to explain himself, Gojo Satoru wasn’t about to push him on it either.
Confident as he was in his own strength, he still couldn’t be sure just how much trouble this body — one that had tanked a punch from Sukuna without a scratch — could cause if it decided to act up.
Who’s to say it wasn’t some souped-up version of Megumi?
Sure, the guy barely registered as a blip to him now, but the wound still itched a little whenever he thought back on it.
A brush with death, after all.
Still, a man’s got to protect his snacks.
On Leon’s third reach for the bag, Gojo pulled it back:
“Save me some, would you?
I waited in line forever for this.
And you are—”
“Leon.”
“Right on, Leon my man.
I know a great beef tongue place in Sendai.
Let’s take the conversation there.”
“Let’s go!”
An adult, positively giddy, who apparently didn’t feel the need to introduce himself.
Fair enough, really — if you’re going to just assume you’re a household name in the sorcerer world, there’s no chance anyone hasn’t heard of you.
Leon hoisted Yuji up and asked, offhand:
“Repairing the school’s gotta cost a fortune, huh.”
“The government has a dedicated fund for it.
Thanks to you, we’re saving quite a bit this time.”
“The official story’s a gas explosion?”
Gojo shrugged, then picked Megumi up.
“More or less.
This is only the second time we’ve had destruction on this scale since I started out, but yeah, that’s what they’ve always gone with.”
At the beef tongue restaurant, watching the sizzling slices smoke on the grill, Leon shoveled a piece into his mouth before anyone else could react.
A Viltrumite’s heat tolerance came in handy right about now.
Rich texture, a secret house seasoning, and a squeeze of lemon to cut the grease.
Even someone as composed as him couldn’t help but let a flicker of feeling show on his face.
God, this was what a powerful being deserved to enjoy.
That crusty old conqueror back home really ought to come see Earth for himself.
This thing beat the taste of some alien species’ fresh-cut heart by a mile!
After the meal, Leon let Yuji off the leash to go blow off steam, and the kid dragged Megumi off to play pachinko.
Fair enough — after a brush with death, a little relaxation was only natural.
“You sure that’s alright~”
Gojo watched them head out, quietly using Blue to snag the last slice of beef tongue for himself.
“Technically speaking, Yuji’s basically a death-row inmate right now, you know.”
The nerve of this guy — does he even buy his own line?
Leon grumbled internally but played along, feigning surprise:
“For real?
The big shots handling the sentencing.”
“Oh, you gonna go plead for mercy?
Because that would be—”
“What are you talking about, obviously I’d take them out.
Freeing up that many job openings in one go — I figure the sorcerer world would thank me for it.”
Confirmed — at least for now, this guy was on his side.
Gojo broke into a grin and shot the idea down flat:
“No can do.
If that day ever comes, it’s gotta be me who does it.
You try to steal that from me, we’re gonna have words.”
Maybe it was that particular ease strong people carried, or maybe it was the reckless confidence the two of them just happened to share.
Leon and Gojo hit it off like old friends.
Of course, at the core of it, it really came down to how wary each was of the other.
Gojo went without saying — a mysteriously-sourced powerhouse with no record anywhere in sorcerer history was obviously someone to keep an eye on.
And as for Leon, hazy as most of his memories were, he still remembered being one of the people who’d bet on Gojo winning, that summer.
He wasn’t sure his own stats would even hold up against some of those techniques that bordered on pure concept.
Maybe nobody had ever actually pushed them to their limit — or maybe they genuinely broke the laws of physics.
Either way, caution was the way to go.
Same as how, in D&D, most dragons die to their own arrogance — plenty of Viltrumites had died from assuming they were untouchable and tanking something they shouldn’t have.
“Gotta say, there’s one thing about you that really impresses me, Leon.”
Halfway through some small talk about a sorcerer’s daily life, Gojo changed the subject.
“What’s that?”
“Your teaching method.
The fact that you thought to have Sukuna take over and demonstrate for him — as a teacher myself, I really respect that.”
Gojo, dead set on raising the next generation, had recently discovered something about himself:
genius that he was, he turned out to be surprisingly bad at teaching.
Megumi had just lost to a Grade 2 curse, of all things — a kid Gojo had raised from childhood.
He didn’t even want to imagine what it’d mean if he lost anything else.
That sneaky curse, trying to take a shot at my reputation through my student like that.
And the man standing in front of him right now — that was his opening.
Technique-wise, Gojo was leagues ahead.
But this approach to teaching?
Maybe this was the master he needed to learn from.
“So, tell me — any interest in coming to Jujutsu High as a guest instructor?”
That was actually a solid plan — it’d give him a legitimate, above-board way to keep involved in whatever came next.
The only issue was, Leon had no idea when this chat group would let him cross over on his own terms.
“I could, sure, but I can’t promise when I’ll have the free time.”
“So that’s a yes, then.”
He’d already mentally reserved a spot for Megumi.
Keep at it, Megumi!
For the reputation of us as teacher and student!
Meanwhile, over by the pachinko machines, where Yuji was watching the little steel balls bounce with total focus,
Megumi was running the earlier fight back through his head.
He figured the problem wasn’t really him — the curse had been juiced up by the cursed energy radiating off that finger, plus the element of surprise.
Get some distance, and his Divine Dogs would one-shot it, no question.
Megumi rubbed at his messy black hair and glanced over at Yuji, having the time of his life.
But at the end of the day, a body that goes down in one hit, and can’t even hold onto its grip on a shikigami’s cursed energy the second it takes damage — that needed work.
Otherwise, anyone could solo him in close combat.
[The Tiger of West Junior High]: In summary: I’m gonna start learning jujutsu.
After the meal, Leon quickly made his way back to his own world.
Yuji had already laid the whole thing out simply for the group — with the goal of swallowing all twenty of Sukuna’s fingers, he was about to enroll at Jujutsu High.
[Not-a-God Yellow Weasel]: An indestructible Special Grade cursed object?
I don’t buy it.
Send it over.
[Kansas Farm Boy]: Yeah, maybe you’re just not strong enough.
[Orange-Haired, Gold-Eyed Menace to Humanity]: Guess Yuji’s an exorcism jock now.
[Mala Donkey Head]: So cool, I wish I could learn something like that too.
Interestingly enough, this was right around when the group store finally updated its inventory.
Various flavors of Kikufuku for 50 points each, and grilled beef tongue for 100.
A welcome change, though the other members found it a bit of a letdown, honestly.
Nyos, though, was a different story.
In a few hundred years, even Terra’s last remaining ocean would get drained dry, and good luck finding an authentic relic from the 2000s like this where he was from.
Even though his daily quests were mostly borderline unreasonable, he’d still managed to stack up a considerable number of points over the years.
“Fine food has always been one of the great catalysts of diplomacy.
I look forward to seeing what you all bring to the table.”
He deducted the points and conjured up a plate of beef tongue out of thin air, tucking in with a look of nostalgic satisfaction.
“Someday, humanity will get to taste this again.”
At the same time, in a different world entirely, Ritsuka Fujimaru redeemed a bag of Kikufuku in her classroom.
She’d forgotten to bring lunch today.
But right as the item materialized, she suddenly felt the classroom temperature drop off a cliff.
Out of the corner of her eye, her teacher’s head had somehow turned into a horned skull.
Blue flames burned in its eye sockets, staring fixedly her way.
But when she raised her head to look, the classroom was perfectly peaceful.
“Was that just my imagination?”
To be continued…