” The first-year quartet sat in their classroom, bored out of their minds, waiting for their Cursed Spirit Identification class to begin.
Taira no Minamoto glanced at Zen’in Maki, who looked completely fine, and marveled silently.
Reverse Cursed Technique really is a miracle.
As long as you don’t die on the spot, it can pull you back from the brink.
Shoko Ieiri was truly a force of nature.
In the jujutsu world, someone capable of using RCT to heal others was rarer than a phoenix feather.
The sliding door rattled open.
Minamoto had been hoping for a “sophisticated older sister” type, but when the person stepping inside turned out to be Kiyotaka Ijichi, his disappointment was immeasurable.
“Ijichi-san, are you actually going to drop dead one of these days?” Panda asked, staring at the dark circles under Ijichi’s eyes that were beginning to rival his own.
Inumaki Toge whispered, “Mustard leaf?” (Are you okay?) Minamoto looked genuinely concerned.
“You must have rushed back through the night, Ijichi-san.” Maki asked with a frown, “Is Ijichi-san the only one left to teach this course?
What about Gojo-sensei?
He looks like a real ‘genius’ on the outside.” Ijichi leaned weakly against the doorframe, delivering the harsh reality in a thready, exhausted voice.
“There are fewer than a thousand sorcerers in total.
The situation for Assistant Directors isn’t much better.
The only reason I’m here teaching is because I just got back.” He took a moment to catch his breath before continuing.
“As for Mr.
Gojo, he’s out on a mission.
A Grade 2 sorcerer has gone missing.
Besides, Mr.
Gojo doesn’t actually have a teaching license, so he isn’t allowed to teach general subjects.” Ijichi looked around nervously to ensure Gojo Satoru wasn’t about to phase through a wall, then cupped a hand over his mouth and whispered.
“If you ask me, he just wants to slack off.
Because he’s brilliant at everything he does, he ends up doing absolutely nothing.
If he were here, he’d definitely give some excuse about ‘fostering the growth of the next generation.'” “Ahem.
Anyway, you already know the grades of Cursed Spirits.
This lesson, we will cover their classifications.” Ijichi cleared his throat and began the lecture.
Cursed Spirits are divided into three main categories: Grade 3 to Grade 4 are Low-level Curses, Semi-Grade 2 to Grade 1 are Upper-level Curses, and finally, there are the Special Grades.
Low-level Curses: They have low cursed energy and aren’t very dangerous, though some possess the ability to phase through walls.
Upper-level Curses: Compared to lower levels, they possess significantly more cursed energy.
Some display high intelligence, so they must be handled by experienced Grade 2 sorcerers or higher to avoid unnecessary risk.
A portion of these can unleash attacks at a Semi-Grade 1 level or even utilize Innate Techniques, which greatly increases the difficulty of the exorcism.
Special Grade Curses: The most dangerous existence among Curses.
Most possess intelligence equal to or higher than humans and can use Innate Techniques fluently.
In the jujutsu world, any Curse exceeding Grade 1 is classified as “Special Grade.” Exorcising one usually requires a Special Grade sorcerer, or at the very least, a seasoned Grade 1.
Ijichi adjusted his glasses and said solemnly, “Special Grades are far beyond your reach for now.
What I want you to remember is this: if you encounter one, run.
If you’re dead, it’s over.” Seeing his gravity, the four students shouted in unison, “Got it, Ijichi-san!” What Ijichi didn’t realize was that everyone who knew him respected him immensely.
He was the only person capable of handling Gojo Satoru’s whims.
When other Assistant Directors were overwhelmed by Gojo’s antics, they always went to Ijichi to vent.
He was a reliable senior, and the students felt the same way.
Suddenly, the window flew open, and Gojo Satoru sat himself on the sill.
“Attention!
Class is officially over.
Everyone is dismissed.” He hopped down and clapped Ijichi on the shoulder.
“Good work, Ijichi.
I’m taking over your time, so you can head home.
I found the guy I was looking for, but I’ve left you a bit of a mess.
I accidentally blew up a building.” Ijichi’s face went instantly pale.
He couldn’t do a thing to Gojo, so he just stood there stammering incoherently before bolting out of the room.
“Ah, poor Ijichi-san,” Minamoto sighed, slumping onto his desk.
“I guess another ‘gas explosion’ is about to hit Tokyo.” Panda turned to Toge.
“We should help Ijichi-san brainstorm some new excuses.
Tokyo can’t keep having gas explosions every other week.” “Salmon,” Toge nodded.
Maki shouted toward Gojo, “Gojo-sensei, let’s go do some special training!
I’m feeling fired up right now!” “Maa, maa, don’t be in such a rush.
Everyone, assemble at the training grounds.
I need to go grab something first.
I’ll be there in a bit.” Gojo vanished with a mysterious smirk.
April and May are the months of the cherry blossoms.
The flowers only stay in bloom for a week—a phenomenon known as Sakura Nanoka (Seven Days of Cherry Blossoms).
This fleeting, tragic beauty aligns perfectly with Japanese aesthetics.
When “Red Rain” falls—pink petals descending with the drizzle—it creates a scene that demands pity and admiration.
Flowers blooming under the snow; brief yet brilliant.
Of course, this meant absolutely nothing to Taira no Minamoto.
Currently, the quartet was in no mood for flower viewing.
They left the classroom, bypassed the courtyard, and wound through the rows of traditional pavilions before sitting on a set of stone steps covered in maple leaves.
The cold mountain wind bit at them.
The view of the surging clouds was beautiful, but it was freezing.
The four of them felt like idiots for actually listening to Gojo.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
Yeah, right.
An hour passed.
Minamoto was the first to hit his limit.
The cold he could handle; the boredom was unbearable.
Suddenly, a massive sound erupted behind them, making all four jump out of their skins.
It was the familiar clang of a gong.
They turned to see Gojo Satoru dressed in a full Chinese Tang suit.
It actually suited him quite well.
He looked rather pleased with his outfit.
“Sorry, sorry!
Changing took a bit longer than I thought.
Well then, let’s get started!” Minamoto’s face remained stoic, but he was screaming internally: Your apology has zero sincerity, you jerk!
Gojo leaned in, sensing something.
“Minamoto-kun, do you have a complaint?” Minamoto replied with thick sarcasm, “How could I, Gojo-sensei?
You’re a ‘Big Shot.’ How could a ‘Little Guy’ like me have any complaints?” Gojo moved in a blur of speed, locking Minamoto in a playful headlock.
“If you want to say I’m late, just say it!
What’s with the attitude?” Minamoto, struggling for breath, patted Gojo’s arm.
“I surrender!
I surrender!” Gojo let go, ignoring Minamoto as he grumbled about his teacher’s monstrous strength nearly strangling him.
Gojo struck the gong once more.
The other three snapped out of their “spectator mode” and got serious.
Gojo smiled, struck the gong a third time, and adopted a mock-solemn tone.
“Today, I, Gojo Satoru, hereby convene the First Annual Jujutsu High Tenkaichi Budokai!
To determine who is truly number one among the first-years, we shall hold this tournament!
Nothing is forbidden!
You just can’t use weapons, and you can’t kill each other.
Aside from that, anything goes!
Any questions?” Minamoto raised his hand high.
Gojo ignored him.
“Contestant Panda, please state your question.” Panda asked with total sincerity, “Gojo-sensei, how is this different from our usual sparring?” Gojo replied with manic energy, “The difference is the prizes!
The top four will all get one-on-one training sessions with yours truly.
And the winner…
the winner gets an exclusive set of Gojo Satoru’s signed pin-up photos!” Minamoto’s hand reached even higher.
Gojo finally pointed to him, and as expected, Minamoto asked the question they were all thinking.