After cutting through the elevator doors and stepping into the hidden basement, Sherlock was greeted by two long rows of shelves.
Heads rested on them.
Men.
Women.
Children.
The elderly.
They lined both sides of the passage, surrounding Sherlock as soon as he entered.
Every face was twisted into a different expression of fear or agony.
But they all shared one disturbing feature.
Everything above the eyebrows was missing.
So were their brains.
Sherlock’s gaze slowly moved toward the far end of the corridor.
Something pink was writhing there.
It was roughly the size of a buffalo.
At first, Sherlock had been too distracted by the severed heads to understand what he was looking at.
Then he focused on it properly.
He immediately regretted doing so.
It was a brain.
A gigantic brain.
Unlike a normal one, however, its surface wasn’t formed from smooth folds and grooves.
Faces made up those folds.
Human faces.
Dozens upon dozens of them were embedded across its surface, constantly twisting, grimacing, and shifting as though trapped beneath a thin layer of flesh.
Sherlock’s stomach lurched.
For several seconds, he seriously considered abandoning the mission and calling for backup.
Right now, he desperately wished Flying Thunder God came with something like Gojo’s Blue or Red.
A nice long-range attack would’ve been perfect.
Because getting anywhere near that thing felt like a direct challenge to both human instinct and basic standards of decency.
Sherlock was still trying to decide how to deal with the grotesque curse when something slammed into his mind.
It felt as though someone had struck him in the skull with a hammer.
Sherlock had already been fighting through poison.
His brain was still suffering from the strain of pushing Flying Thunder God beyond its normal limits.
The only reason he remained conscious at all was sheer stubbornness.
So when the mental attack struck without warning, Sherlock collapsed immediately.
The giant brain began to move.
Thin strands of flesh pushed out from between its folds.
Then more appeared.
And more.
They crawled across the floor like pale worms, twitching and writhing as they slowly advanced toward Sherlock.
He could only watch.
He couldn’t activate Flying Thunder God.
He couldn’t lift Sayafushi.
He couldn’t even move a finger.
Despair began creeping into his chest.
If he died here…
Would his body end up like those puppets upstairs?
Would that thing hollow out his skull too?
Would his consciousness somehow be trapped inside the giant brain, his face becoming just another distorted shape on its surface?
The thought alone made Sherlock nauseous.
The crawling strands were almost touching him when the ceiling suddenly trembled.
Once.
Twice.
Then harder.
The vibrations grew strong enough that even the brain-shaped curse stopped moving.
Sherlock’s eyes drifted toward the ceiling.
The next second…
BOOM!
The concrete overhead exploded.
Sunlight poured through the opening.
Sherlock saw a massive sphere of blue light suspended in the air above the building.
And beneath it floated a familiar white-haired figure.
Silver hair stirred in the wind as Gojo Satoru descended through the shattered ceiling, illuminated by the sunlight behind him.
At Sherlock’s lowest point, the man looked almost absurdly divine.
“Yo!” Gojo waved cheerfully.
“My adorable Sherlock-kun!” His smile widened.
“You look terrible!” The casual, irritating voice somehow made every muscle in Sherlock’s body relax.
He was safe.
The giant curse shrieked as sunlight struck it.
Its concentration faltered.
Sherlock seized the opening.
With everything he had left, he forced himself free from the mental restraint.
Then he raised one trembling hand toward Gojo.
And gave him the middle finger.
Immediately afterward, Sherlock’s eyes rolled back.
He passed out.
…
He had no idea what happened after that.
When Sherlock opened his eyes again, he was lying in the Jujutsu High infirmary.
Shoko sat nearby, calmly flipping through a medical report.
The moment she noticed Sherlock waking, she spoke without looking particularly pleased.
“Grade 1 curse with a mental interference ability.” Sherlock blinked weakly.
“You came back with a high fever.” Shoko turned another page.
“You also tested positive for exposure consistent with rabies and tetanus contamination.” She finally looked at him.
“You’ve been unconscious for three days.” Sherlock stared at the ceiling.
Three days?
Shoko tossed the chart onto the nearby table.
Her expression became noticeably more irritated.
“Every single one of you has the same problem.” Sherlock immediately sensed danger.
“You keep pushing yourselves until you nearly die, then come here and make it my problem.” Her eyes narrowed.
“You accepted a Grade 2 assignment and encountered a Grade 1 curse.
Why didn’t you retreat?” Sherlock opened his mouth.
Shoko kept going.
“And don’t even get me started on the idiots handling reconnaissance.” Her voice remained calm.
That somehow made it worse.
“How does the Window investigate an abandoned hospital and completely miss a hidden basement containing a Grade 1 curse?” Sherlock quietly pulled the blanket higher.
“Useless.” Shoko’s expression darkened further.
Sherlock decided that disappearing into the bedding was currently his safest option.
There were certain universal truths that transcended worlds.
One of them was simple.
You could annoy almost anyone.
But never annoy the healer.
Especially while said healer was currently responsible for keeping you alive.
Unfortunately, Shoko had no intention of letting Sherlock escape by pretending to be part of the mattress.
Seeing him slowly retreat beneath the covers, she clicked her tongue.
“For the next seven days, you’re coming here every day.” Sherlock froze.
“Two injections each day, along with treatment using Reverse Cursed Technique.” She crossed her arms.
“And you’re forbidden from doing any strenuous exercise until I clear you.” Sherlock immediately threw the blanket aside.
“Wait.” Shoko’s eyebrow rose.
“If I remember correctly, rabies vaccination isn’t supposed to work like that.” Shoko stared at him.
Sherlock immediately regretted speaking.
“You’re a jujutsu sorcerer whose body gets reinforced with cursed energy and repaired using Reverse Cursed Technique.” Her voice became dangerously soft.
“You think I’m following a normal outpatient schedule?” Sherlock swallowed.
“Any objections?” There was genuine menace in her expression now.
Sherlock slowly pulled the blanket back over his head.
“No, Doctor.” Excellent choice.
Shoko ignored him and prepared to leave.
The matter should have ended there.
Then the infirmary door was kicked open.
“Ta-da!” Gojo Satoru slid dramatically into the room in something resembling a badly improvised ballet pose.
“The greatest teacher, Gojo-sensei, has arrived!” He spread his arms.
“And I’ve brought Sherlock-kun a surprise~!” Shoko’s already questionable mood instantly became much worse.
Her face went completely blank.
“Satoru.” Gojo looked delighted.
“Yes, Shoko?” “Turn off Infinity.” Gojo didn’t detect the danger at all.
Instead, he smiled and opened his arms.
“Aww, Shoko.” He stepped toward her.
“Did you finally remember the precious bond between old classmates?” He leaned forward dramatically.
“Come on.
Gojo’s warm embrace is always open for…” Shoko punched him in the stomach.
“GUH!” Gojo folded instantly.
The blow was clean, compact, and perfectly placed.
More importantly, Shoko had threaded Reverse Cursed Technique through it in a way only she could manage, letting her hit him hard without worrying about leaving any lasting damage.
Gojo flew sideways.
He landed directly on the empty hospital bed beside Sherlock.
Sherlock could’ve sworn he saw Gojo’s soul briefly leave his body.
He said absolutely nothing.
Shoko’s face still looked like a storm cloud.
Sherlock valued his life too much to draw her attention.
After delivering that one deeply satisfying punch, Shoko dusted off her hands and walked out of the infirmary looking considerably more relaxed.
The door closed.
Silence.
Sherlock waited several seconds.
Only then did his head slowly emerge from beneath the blanket.
He looked toward Gojo.
His teacher was lying flat on the neighboring bed, staring lifelessly at the ceiling.
“Sensei?” No response.
Sherlock tried again.
“What surprise did you bring me?” Gojo silently reached into his coat.
After fumbling around for a moment, he pulled something out.
Sherlock stared.
It was a student ID card.
Or rather…
What remained of one.
The card had been shattered into several pieces.
Sherlock fell silent.
Gojo turned toward him with the most pitiful expression imaginable, looking as though he desperately wanted sympathy.
Sherlock ignored him.
Without saying a word, he slowly pulled the blanket over his head again.
One lesson had now been permanently carved into his soul.
Never mess with the healer.