Did Sherlock actually get to meet the celebrity he’d been obsessing over?
If you asked him, his answer would be simple.
Technically, yes.
Gojo Satoru really had arranged a private meeting, exactly as promised.
The problem was that the meeting took place inside a photography studio.
There was none of the fan-event experience Sherlock had been imagining.
No stage program.
No extended interaction.
No special fan activities.
All he got was a short meeting in the dressing room, a handshake, a photo together, an autograph, and a professional contact card.
Then Sherlock stood there helplessly as his favorite model turned around, walked gracefully onto the set, and disappeared into the studio.
This wasn’t what he’d imagined at all!
It felt less like a fan event and more like being allowed backstage for five minutes before getting kicked out.
Sherlock nearly ground his teeth to dust.
When he finally walked out of the studio with a face like thunder, the first thing he saw was Gojo Satoru waiting outside with an unbearably smug grin.
If that damned white-haired cat hadn’t planned this from the beginning, Sherlock would eat his own shoes.
Then Gojo saw his expression.
His grin widened.
He immediately pulled out his phone and started taking pictures.
Front angle.
Side angle.
Close-up.
Another close-up.
Sherlock could practically hear the last thread of his patience snap.
For the first time in his life, he unleashed his cursed technique at full speed.
Not to escape.
To attack.
Gojo was still happily documenting the expression on his very first student when Sherlock suddenly vanished.
The next instant, something slammed into his calf.
For someone like Gojo, the pain itself was negligible.
It barely registered.
But the moment he realized he’d actually been hit, his expression changed completely.
Gojo instantly created distance between them and stared at Sherlock with genuine seriousness.
There was only one reason.
That kick had cleanly bypassed Infinity.
Sherlock had struck him directly.
Seeing the surprise on Gojo’s face, Sherlock’s expression twisted into the exact same irritating grin Gojo usually wore.
“My dear Gojo-sensei…” Sherlock tilted his head.
“You’ve watched Naruto, right?” Gojo raised an eyebrow.
Before he could answer, Sherlock continued.
“My cursed technique is called Flying Thunder God.” “Yes, exactly like the one in Naruto.” “As long as I’ve touched a place, an object, or left cursed energy there, I can teleport to it instantly.” Sherlock raised one finger.
“And here’s the important part.” “I can freely control the distance between myself and the marked point when I appear.” Gojo understood immediately.
Back at the police station, Yaga had forced him to deactivate Infinity while everything was being sorted out.
And during that time…
Sherlock had grabbed his leg.
At the time, Gojo had assumed it was just more of the boy’s ridiculous behavior.
He hadn’t expected Sherlock’s cursed technique to be this troublesome.
Troublesome enough to bypass Infinity.
The principle itself was simple.
It was a question of mechanics.
Infinity worked by dividing the space between Gojo and anything approaching him into endlessly smaller intervals.
In practical terms, it recreated Zeno’s paradox.
Anything trying to reach Gojo had to cross an infinite series of shrinking distances.
Sherlock’s Flying Thunder God, however, didn’t need to cross that distance at all.
He could simply choose where he appeared relative to his marker.
Which meant that when Sherlock attacked just now, he had set the distance between himself and the mark on Gojo to zero.
There was nothing for Infinity to slow down.
He hadn’t crossed the space.
He had skipped it.
It was a clean win by mechanics.
Of course, Gojo wasn’t helpless against it.
The simplest solution would be to change clothes, since Sherlock’s mark was currently attached to what he’d touched.
Or Gojo could adjust Infinity so that its effective boundary extended closer beneath his clothing, preventing Sherlock from materializing within striking range.
There were plenty of ways to deal with it.
But thinking about defensive workarounds first?
That sounded boring.
Gojo lowered his sunglasses.
Those brilliant Six Eyes locked onto Sherlock.
A grin slowly spread across his face.
“Interesting.” Sherlock couldn’t have cared less what Gojo was thinking.
At that moment, his mind was still filled with righteous fury over the completely disappointing fan meeting.
He pointed dramatically at Gojo.
“Regret what you’ve done today!” “And prepare yourself!” “Secret Art: Flying Thunder God, Kick the Good Leg!” Gojo instinctively pointed back at him.
“You’re the one challenging me!” “Then take this!
Domain Expan…” He stopped.
The excitement drained from his face.
“Wait.” Gojo stared at Sherlock.
“Did you seriously just call it ‘Kick the Good Leg’?” Sherlock answered by charging.
Halfway across the distance, he vanished.
And then…
There was no glorious continuation.
Sherlock had an incredible cursed technique.
What he did not have was any real hand-to-hand combat training.
Gojo put him on the ground almost immediately.
Worse, Sherlock refused to surrender.
He kept struggling, kept trying to teleport away, and generally made himself enough of a nuisance that Gojo eventually decided normal restraints weren’t going to work.
So, being Gojo Satoru, he chose the most excessive option available.
He walked back into the photography studio and paid an absurd amount of money for a set of professional rigging straps used for securing equipment and props.
A few minutes later, Sherlock had been wrapped so thoroughly that he could barely move.
The final insult was that his favorite model happened to walk past during the process.
She took one look at the situation and burst out laughing.
Sherlock felt something inside him die.
By the time Gojo finished securing him in a posture that made escape almost impossible, Sherlock had tears of humiliation in his eyes.
This was not how meeting your favorite celebrity was supposed to end.
Gojo happily carried the immobilized Sherlock outside and stuffed him into the back of the assistant supervisor’s car.
Then he smiled brightly at the driver.
“Tokyo Jujutsu High, please.” Even after they arrived, Sherlock didn’t regain his dignity.
Gojo personally carried him through the school grounds like an inconvenient piece of luggage.
By the time Sherlock was finally deposited in Masamichi Yaga’s office, he had completely given up on life.
He lay on the floor without moving.
His expression was empty.
His eyes had lost their light.
He couldn’t even be bothered to roll over.
Yaga had originally planned to go through the standard admission process and ask Sherlock why he wanted to attend Tokyo Jujutsu High.
But after looking at the motionless boy on the floor for several seconds…
He decided not to bother.
Instead, Yaga turned toward Gojo.
Gojo was standing nearby with an infuriatingly pleased smile.
Yaga sighed.
Again.
“I approve his enrollment.” He waved one hand tiredly.
“Satoru, take him to the dorms.” “Okay!” Gojo cheerfully made an exaggerated OK sign.
Without wasting another second, he used Blue to pull Sherlock off the floor and into his hand.
Then he casually carried him toward the door.
Yaga watched the two disappear down the hallway.
Another long sigh escaped him.
Somehow, he had the feeling that approving Sherlock’s enrollment was going to become one of the most exhausting decisions of his career.