Before any of them left, Ari sent one last message through Ai, relayed to the group at large just as they were gathering near the gate.
[Message from City Lord, via Ai: One more thing before you go — the Exchange Center isn’t only for personal abilities.
If your world has creatures worth trading, we’ll buy those too.
Curses, demons, anything dangerous enough to be worth something.
Consider it an open invitation.] Gojo went very still for a moment, then grinned slowly, like a man who had just been handed the best idea he’d heard all week.
• • Anya arrived home partway through dinner, which was, by Forger household standards, a remarkably normal way for her to reappear.
“Anya went to a city,” she announced, setting a folded bundle of clothing on the table between the soup and the bread with the pride of a diplomat delivering a treaty.
“A city with everything.
Anya got presents.” Yor unfolded the dress first, running her fingers over the fabric with visible curiosity.
“This is lovely.
What’s it made of?” “Fireproof.
Dustproof.
Waterproof,” Anya recited, clearly having memorized the description word for word without fully understanding what half of it meant.
Yor’s expression shifted, quiet and thoughtful, somewhere between a mother’s relief and an assassin’s professional appreciation.
“Waterproof,” she repeated softly, mostly to herself.
She was thinking, though she didn’t say it aloud, of how many nights she’d come home and quietly scrubbed blood out of a hem before Loid or Anya could see it.
A dress that simply didn’t stain at all was, in her particular line of work, worth more than Anya could possibly know.
Loid, meanwhile, had gone very quiet in the way he only went quiet when his mind had already raced several moves ahead of the conversation.
“Fireproof, dustproof, waterproof,” he repeated slowly, turning the fabric over between two fingers with the clinical interest of a man assessing field equipment rather than a father assessing a gift.
Military-grade protective textiles, freely available from a source with no traceable origin — the strategic implications alone were staggering, and for one brief moment, Twilight very nearly outweighed Father entirely.
He caught himself before it did.
“This city,” he said carefully, setting the fabric down.
“Anya.
Is it safe?
Truly safe?” “Very safe,” Anya said, with total six-year-old confidence.
“Nobody’s mean there.
Well — except one guy who complains a lot.
But he’s not mean, just loud.” Loid studied his daughter’s face for a long moment, weighing a dozen possibilities he had no intention of voicing out loud — foreign intelligence operations, extraction risk, the particular danger of a resource this valuable falling under WISE’s notice, and the much larger danger of Anya being taken into custody by anyone at all who wanted to study wherever she’d actually been.
Every strategic instinct in him wanted to pull the thread further.
Every instinct that mattered more won out instead.
“Just be careful,” he said simply, and let it go, because whatever intelligence value the fabric held, it wasn’t worth risking the small, chattering girl currently explaining to Yor, at considerable length, about a boy named Naruto who apparently ate an alarming amount of noodles.
• • Gojo returned to Jujutsu High with his arms full and his grin wider than usual, which, given his baseline, was genuinely impressive.
“Gather round, gather round,” he announced to his students, still scattered across the training yard exactly where he’d left them.
He started tossing small bottles of pills into waiting hands with the careless generosity of a man distributing candy at a parade.
“Health Pills.
Cure basically anything short of a curse mark.
Keep a few on you, seriously, I don’t want to hear about anyone skipping the infirmary because you’re too stubborn.” “Sensei, where did you even—” Yuji started.
“Extradimensional city, long story, incredible food, terrible pricing on my intellect apparently,” Gojo said, already moving on.
He pulled a folded bundle of fabric from his coat and held it up with visible pride.
“Also, custom uniforms.
Fireproof, dustproof, waterproof, and I made sure they came out looking good, because you’re representing me now and I have standards.” Megumi turned his over in his hands, already suspicious of the generosity.
“This feels like it’s going to come with a catch.” “Everything comes with a catch, Megumi; that’s just wisdom,” Gojo said cheerfully.
“Speaking of which — new mission parameters, effective immediately.
Curses.
Don’t exorcise them anymore.
Capture them.” Nobara’s eyebrows shot up.
“Capture them?
Why would we—” “Because there’s a market for them,” Gojo said, grinning like a man who’d just discovered the best loophole of his career.
“Turns out curses are worth actual money in the right marketplace.
We bring them in alive, somebody pays us for them, everybody wins.
Congratulations, you’re all about to become significantly better funded exorcists.” “You want us to treat curse spirits like walking ATMs,” Maki said flatly.
“I want you,” Gojo said, entirely unbothered, “to treat curse spirits like walking ATMs, yes.
I’m glad we’re on the same page.” Nobody in the yard looked entirely convinced this was a good idea.
All of them, notably, kept the pills anyway.
• • Tanjiro returned to Corps headquarters at a dead run, the familiar weight of the wooden box strapped to his back shifting with every stride, and barely paused to catch his breath before he found someone senior enough to hear him out.
“Demons,” he said, still winded, “can be sold.
There’s a place — a city, outside every world — where you can trade them for currency.
Like—” he searched for a comparison that made sense and found only the one his family had actually used, “—like selling cabbages.
Per pound.” The senior slayer he’d cornered stared at him for a long moment, clearly unsure whether Tanjiro had suffered some kind of head injury.
“You’re telling me,” the man said slowly, “that there’s a marketplace, somewhere, that pays for demons.” “Yes.” “Alive demons.” “I believe so, yes.” The man’s eyes flicked, warily, toward the box on Tanjiro’s back — toward the faint, muffled sound of Nezuko shifting inside it, awake now and clearly listening.
“And I don’t suppose that includes—” “No,” Tanjiro said, immediately, firmly, some of his usual gentleness dropping away entirely.
“She’s not for sale.
Not ever.
That’s not what I meant.” The man rubbed a hand down his face instead.
“The Corps runs on donations and goodwill, Kamado.
If that’s true, if there’s actually coin to be made hauling in demons instead of just cutting them down—” He stopped himself, visibly working through the implications.
“This needs to go to Oyakata-sama.
Today.
Not tomorrow.” Tanjiro nodded, already turning to go deliver the news a second time, privately more excited about the pill shelf than the money — because somewhere in the back of his mind, not yet still sounded a great deal better than never.
He reached back without looking and rested a hand briefly against the box, a small, habitual reassurance, and felt the faintest answering shift from inside it.
• • Robin returned to the Thousand Sunny mid-afternoon, and by the time she’d finished telling the story properly, half the crew had abandoned whatever they’d been doing to listen.
“A city between every world,” she said, settling onto the deck with her usual unhurried grace.
“Ruled by a City Lord I still haven’t met in person.
I sold a fraction of what I know for a small fortune, and spent it rather well, I think.” She produced Nami’s gift first — a set of dresses in fabric that shimmered faintly even in ordinary sunlight, cut with a craftsmanship Nami recognized on sight as genuinely expensive.
“Robin,” Nami breathed, already calculating resale value out of pure habit before catching herself and simply admiring it instead.
“These are gorgeous.
I take back everything I said about you disappearing without warning.” Luffy’s gift arrived next — a wrapped bundle of food from a dozen worlds Robin couldn’t fully explain, which Luffy accepted with the single-minded joy of a man who required no further context whatsoever.
“FOOD FROM ANOTHER DIMENSION,” Luffy said, already tearing into it.
“ROBIN YOU’RE THE BEST.” Zoro received his gift with considerably more suspicion, turning the sleek metal hilt over in his hands.
“What is this.” “Press the switch,” Robin said, smiling.
He did.
The blade of blue light hissed to life with a low, humming snap, and Zoro went very still, staring at it with the focused intensity of a man recalculating his entire relationship to swordsmanship.
“…This doesn’t need sharpening?” he asked slowly.
“Not that I was told, no.” “I’m keeping this.” “I assumed as much,” Robin said.
Chopper’s gift was smaller and considerably more practical — a modest supply of Health and Vitality Pills, which he inspected immediately with the trembling excitement of a doctor handed research material from an entirely new branch of medicine.
“The compound structure alone,” Chopper said, already halfway into a full medical analysis nobody else on deck could follow, “if I could just understand how this interacts with—” “You can study them all you like,” Robin said.
“I imagine the City Lord wouldn’t mind a doctor’s curiosity.” Sanji arrived last, having abandoned the galley the moment he’d heard Robin’s voice on deck, and very nearly dropped the tray he was carrying when she produced his gift — a small, carefully wrapped case of ingredients.
“Robin-chwan,” Sanji breathed, cradling the case like it might vanish if he blinked, eyes practically shimmering.
“You truly thought of me.
Of all of us, you understood that this — ” he gestured reverently at the ingredients, ” — is a gift worthy of the soul.” “I thought you’d put it to better use than the rest of us would,” Robin said, amused.
“I will cook you a meal that brings tears to your eyes,” Sanji vowed, already retreating toward the galley at considerable speed.
Usopp, notably, had received nothing, and spent the next several minutes loudly cataloguing this injustice to anyone who’d listen.
“I can’t find anything suitable for you, I promise to buy you ones next time”.
Robin said, laughing.
• • Levi returned to Corps headquarters with a crate of pills tucked under one arm and a stack of neatly folded, custom-tailored uniforms under the other, and set both down on the nearest table with his usual economy of motion.
“Where the hell have you been?” Hange demanded, already reaching for the crate with unrestrained curiosity.
“You vanished for hours.” “Somewhere better than here,” Levi said, which was, for Levi, practically effusive praise.
He nudged the pills toward her.
“Those cure most ordinary illnesses.
Not whatever’s wrong with you specifically.” Hange ignored the jab entirely, already popping one open to examine the contents with unrestrained scientific glee.
“This is fascinating.
Where did you even—” “Long story.
Don’t have the patience for it twice.” Levi held up one of the uniforms instead, cut in the Survey Corps’ familiar lines but in fabric that looked, and felt, distinctly wrong for something this world could produce.
“Fireproof.
Waterproof.
Doesn’t tear like the current gear does.
I had them made for the squad.” Erwin, arriving partway through the explanation, picked up one of the uniforms and studied the stitching with quiet, calculating interest — the same look he gave any advantage that might shift the balance of a losing war, however slightly.
“And where, exactly, does one commission uniforms like this.” “Somewhere you’re not invited,” Levi said flatly, which was as close as he intended to come to admitting the place existed at all.
“Just use them.
They’ll survive more than the current garbage does.” Hange was still turning a pill over between two fingers, delighted and entirely undeterred by his tone.
“You’re hiding something wonderful, Levi Ackerman, and I am absolutely going to find out what it is.” “Tch,” Levi said, and walked away before she could start asking properly.