Gojo Satoru genuinely had no idea what expression he was supposed to make after hearing Sherlock’s reasoning.
For several seconds, he simply stared at the boy with blank, almost cartoonishly empty eyes.
Sherlock, meanwhile, completely ignored Gojo’s expression and continued his passionate argument.
“Think about it.
If I enroll in Jujutsu High, which literally calls itself a technical school, what exactly happens to my education?” He started counting on his fingers.
“If this place is treated like some kind of vocational college, then I’d still need to transfer somewhere else afterward if I wanted a proper university degree.” “But if I attend a normal high school, I can take the entrance exams, go straight to university, and earn a bachelor’s degree like a normal person!” Sherlock’s expression became deadly serious.
“Society is cruel, Gojo-sensei.” “You can’t underestimate the value of a degree!” “And even if I do enroll here, nobody has explained what comes afterward.” He spread his hands.
“Is there a Jujutsu University?” “A bachelor’s program in curses?” “A master’s degree in exorcism?” “A doctorate in cursed energy?” “As a responsible student, I refuse to let my entire academic record end with ‘graduated from a mysterious technical school hidden in the mountains.'” By the time Sherlock finished, Gojo looked as though smoke should have been coming out of his head.
Forget teaching credentials.
He had never once considered questions like whether jujutsu society should have undergraduate programs, graduate degrees, or doctoral courses.
For a brief moment, Gojo experienced something close to enlightenment.
So this was what happened when someone actually thought about the future.
Unfortunately, he immediately chose to ignore every sensible point Sherlock had made.
A brilliant smile appeared on his face.
“I have no idea what Sherlock-kun is talking about~” Sherlock’s eyebrow twitched.
“But if Sherlock-kun refuses to enroll…” Gojo raised his phone.
“Those photos from yesterday, along with a detailed list of your interests, might mysteriously start appearing on advertising screens all across Tokyo~” Sherlock’s face stiffened.
This damned white-haired cat!
He had just given an entire speech about his future education, and this bastard’s only response was blackmail?!
What else could Sherlock do?
With tears in his heart, he accepted reality and officially became Gojo Satoru’s very first student.
Sherlock was, after all, still a relatively normal person.
He could not say the same about Gojo.
If Gojo threatened to put those pictures everywhere, Sherlock fully believed he would actually do it.
Worse, the man had both the money and influence to make it happen.
Whether Sherlock could survive the public humiliation was one question.
Whether he’d ever be able to date normally afterward was another.
He couldn’t exactly spend the rest of his life attending fan events as his only source of human interaction.
Just thinking about it made him want to disappear.
Still, enrolling at Jujutsu High wasn’t completely without benefits.
At the very least, sorcerer missions paid surprisingly well.
That was the only consolation Sherlock could find.
As for the uniform…
Sherlock fought for his life to keep Gojo away from the design process.
Eventually, he managed to reclaim full control over it.
Considering that his future apparently involved facing creatures unpleasant enough to ruin his appetite, Sherlock chose practicality above everything else.
His uniform looked more like athletic wear than traditional school clothing.
The top was essentially a heavy hoodie.
The pants were loose-fitting joggers with tapered ankles.
For footwear, he ordered a pair of sturdy combat boots online with decent ankle support and protection.
Nothing flashy.
Nothing dramatic.
Most importantly, nothing designed by Gojo Satoru.
To Sherlock’s surprise, Jujutsu High worked extremely fast.
His finished uniform arrived the very next morning.
Along with it came Gojo’s expression of overwhelming disappointment.
Sherlock soon discovered why the school had been able to process everything so quickly.
He was the only student.
The entire Tokyo campus currently had exactly one student!
Of course their administrative staff worked quickly.
Who else were they processing paperwork for?
Then Sherlock learned something even worse.
The white-haired lunatic standing in front of the classroom had graduated in 2008.
It was now 2010.
Meaning the man who had bullied, blackmailed, and practically kidnapped Sherlock into enrolling was only a few graduating classes ahead of him!
Sherlock stared from his desk with the expression of someone who had just discovered his teacher was barely qualified to rent a car.
Seriously?
At the front of the room, Gojo looked at his miserable expression and struggled not to laugh.
To be fair, the current situation was partly Gojo’s fault.
After graduating, he had returned to the Gojo clan and spent roughly a year reorganizing the family before formally taking over as clan head.
Afterward, he had used his position to demand a teaching role at Tokyo Jujutsu High.
The higher-ups knew exactly what kind of person Gojo was.
They also knew refusing him outright wasn’t particularly realistic.
So they reluctantly approved his request.
Then they retaliated in the most bureaucratic way possible.
They made recruitment as difficult as they could.
The result was obvious.
Kyoto Jujutsu High had a healthy number of students.
Tokyo Jujutsu High had Gojo Satoru standing in front of an empty classroom.
If Gojo hadn’t happened to notice Sherlock’s carefully suppressed cursed energy with the Six Eyes while out on a mission, he might not have gotten a single first-year student this year.
Naturally, Gojo had no intention of explaining any of that.
Instead, he dumped a large stack of Jujutsu High textbooks onto Sherlock’s desk.
Then he cheerfully walked out.
Sherlock sat alone in a classroom built for considerably more than one person.
His eyes slowly drifted toward the calligraphy plaque hanging above the blackboard.
Throughout Heaven and Earth, I Alone Am the Honored One.
Sherlock stared at it.
For approximately the five hundred and twenty-first time, he regretted agreeing to enroll.
And do you know what made everything worse?
That damned white-haired cat had dropped all the introductory material in front of him…
And told him to study it himself.
Yes.
Self-study.
And there would be an exam afterward.
Sherlock had attended school across two lifetimes, and he had never experienced educational injustice like this.
This guy called himself a teacher?
The good news was that Gojo wasn’t around, so the classroom was considerably quieter.
And to be fair, Gojo hadn’t completely abandoned Sherlock to figure everything out alone.
He had asked Shoko to help with the theoretical material whenever she had time.
The bad news was that Shoko barely had any time.
She was currently preparing for her medical licensing exams and spent most of her days buried under textbooks herself.
That meant the time she could spare to tutor Sherlock was limited.
It also meant Sherlock occasionally got dragged into helping around the infirmary.
The first time Sherlock saw a corpse, especially one that had died particularly badly, he threw up until he felt like his stomach was trying to escape through his throat.
Fortunately, people could apparently get used to almost anything.
Over time, Sherlock gradually stopped reacting so badly.
Sometimes Shoko even used autopsies as opportunities to teach him basic anatomy and medical knowledge.
Strangely enough, those lessons were far more useful than anything Gojo had taught him so far.
After learning how Sherlock’s cursed technique worked, Shoko also began occasionally sending him on errands.
Flying Thunder God made deliveries ridiculously convenient.
And whenever she happened to be in a good mood, she rewarded Sherlock with something far more valuable than money.
Stories.
Specifically, embarrassing stories about Gojo Satoru from his student days.
Sometimes she even had photographic evidence.
Sherlock treasured every single one.
Before long, his phone contained a small but steadily growing collection of his teacher’s darkest moments.
Shoko never tried to stop him.
If anything, she seemed quietly supportive.
After spending three years as Gojo and Geto’s classmate, she had developed excellent instincts for recognizing troublesome people.
And Sherlock, Gojo Satoru’s newly recruited first disciple, clearly had exactly the sort of personality required to get along with those two.
In simpler terms…
Sherlock was apparently another menace in the making.