April rain in Tokyo arrives without warning.
Black clouds rolled across the sky, and the overcast day surrendered to twilight earlier than usual.
Finally, the storm broke.
Rainwater surged over the pavement—the drainage in these old buildings was simply subpar—and the wind whipped through the trees with a heavy rustle.
The sterile hospital lights felt unsettling, but inside the room, the vibrant energy of youth was enough to illuminate the world.
Maki delivered a sharp kick to the side of the hospital bed.
“Hey!
Taira no Minamoto, you’re already healed.
You’re even cleared for missions!
Why the hell are you still lying around?” Minamoto remained motionless, having no intention of entertaining her.
Isn’t it obvious?
he thought.
He had spent the entire day in a state of constant terror while they got to lounge in bed.
No matter how one looked at it, he was owed some horizontal time.
Panda leaned in, whispering conspiratorially to Inumaki and Maki, “This guy snuck off on a mission with Gojo-sensei behind our backs.
A Special Grade mission, no less.
He’s definitely just staying in bed to bait us into asking about it so he can brag.” Hearing this, Maki’s temper flared.
She shot a look at Toge, who immediately moved to pin Minamoto’s arms while she locked down his legs, leaving him unable to budge.
“You actually dared to betray the group?” Maki said, tightening her grip to ensure he couldn’t wriggle away.
“Spill it.
Let’s hear what happened.” “Salmon,” Toge Inumaki added in agreement.
Despite Toge looking like a frail, silver-haired bishonen, he was actually a menace who lived for pranks.
Wherever Gojo Satoru was causing mischief, Inumaki’s shadow was never far behind.
Having been “The Hardworking Taira” for a full day, Minamoto decided to surrender gracefully.
He didn’t want his life to end here.
Besides, the moment he remembered the Non-Disclosure Agreement Ijichi had forced him to sign, he felt utterly emo.
Minamoto tentatively raised a hand.
“Can I…
can I trade a different piece of info instead?” Panda, who had somehow produced a single tuft of fur, began tickling Minamoto’s nose with it.
“That works.
Talk.” Realizing they wouldn’t get the mission details out of him, they settled for the next best thing.
“Maki, let go a little, I can’t breathe…
Tomorrow, a transfer student is coming,” Minamoto gasped, straining to lift his head.
“You guys should do some digging.
This person is…
intense.
Seriously.” Outside, Gojo Satoru stood perched on a tree branch, eavesdropping—or rather, “basking in the glow of youth.” Gojo himself hadn’t really had much of a normal campus life; his own youth had ended abruptly, which was likely why he was so prone to spouting “sentimental pain” literature.
Listening to the raucous bickering in the hospital room, a faint smile played on Gojo’s lips.
He turned and vanished into the rain, feeling as though his own youth had been granted a brief extension.
Gojo soon arrived at the one place that always gave him a headache—the kind of place where he felt his hair turning gray just by walking through the door.
The massive wooden doors creaked open, and Gojo stepped inside soundlessly.
He was dressed in a sharp business suit, polished leather shoes, and his signature dark glasses.
The outfit complemented his tall, lean frame perfectly.
The fools lurking in the shadows watched his arrival with collective apprehension.
His stride was light, carrying a rhythmic confidence as he passed through the center of the sliding shoji doors and stood under the single, solitary light source.
Gojo’s presence—young, fit, and powerful—was a stark contrast to the elders.
To them, his vitality only highlighted their own rot.
They could still suppress Gojo Satoru for now, but what would they do once their successors took over?
The younger generation had grown up on nothing but legends of this man.
A bald elder looked up, his eyes narrowing.
“What do you want now, Gojo Satoru?
The notification for your students’ promotions will be issued shortly.” The Higher-ups knew that whenever Gojo showed up in formal wear instead of his Jujutsu High uniform, he was about to demand something outrageous.
Even though they could technically force him to take missions, they had zero actual control over the “Strongest.” Gojo caught the elder staring at his clothes and shrugged.
“What?
Custom Armani shirt and trousers, Hermes shoes…
I just wanted to show how much I value our little face-to-face.” “Enough, Gojo.
This is a formal notification from the Council.” The Jujutsu Headquarters’ announcement was as follows: 1.
Yuta Okkotsu is found to be in violation of Jujutsu regulations for using cursed power to harm civilians.
The Council has decreed a secret execution.
2.
Special Grade Sorcerer Gojo Satoru is appointed as the executioner.
Gojo tilted his head.
“Huh?” He hadn’t expected these people to be so short-sighted.
Upon seeing Yuta’s power, their first instinct wasn’t to harness it, but to snuff it out.
The transparent greed of it all disgusted him.
They likely all wanted the power for themselves, and since they couldn’t agree on how to split the spoils, they decided to kill the boy to maintain the status quo—under the guise of “stability,” of course.
Cursed energy began to fluctuate around Gojo’s body.
“Gojo Satoru!
What are you doing?
This is for the stability of the Jujutsu world!” a shriveled, rat-faced old woman shrieked, her voice thin with cowardice.
Gojo’s face turned ice-cold.
“Cancel the execution.
Enroll the boy at Jujutsu High.
I’ll personally oversee him.” “Don’t be absurd!
If Rika Orimoto goes on a rampage, the school will be leveled!” “Impossible!
We will not allow such an unstable element into the academy.” From the shadows, Masamichi Yaga entered, adjusted his sunglasses, and nodded to the assembly.
“Satoru, show some respect to your elders.
You’re going to scare them to death.” One of the old men holding the reins of power exploded in rage.
“Yaga!
Don’t you play the ‘good cop’ here!” Yaga remained unperturbed.
“Let’s reach a compromise.
Commute the death sentence to a suspended execution.
Jujutsu High will act as the guarantor, and Gojo Satoru will be the supervisor.” “You can do as you please once we’re dead, but we will not set such a precedent now,” a grim-faced elder hissed.
He was hunched over, his spine curved into a near-circle by age, coughing violently between words.
It looked as though he might suffocate without any help from Gojo.
Gojo lowered his glasses, revealing the Six Eyes.
“Are you usually this brave, or are you just tired of living?” Seeing the situation spiraling out of control, Principal Yaga shoved his own sunglasses onto Gojo’s face and pushed him toward the exit.
“Satoru, you’re too heated.
Leave the rest to me.
Wait outside.” “Yuta Okkotsu is enrolling at Jujutsu High.
That’s the end of it.
Spiring your lives is the only mercy the ‘Strongest’ has to offer.
See ya, Yaga-sensei.” With that, Gojo turned and left.
“A secret execution?
No way…” “And he actually agreed to it himself.” “He’s only sixteen!” “But who knows how many people he might accidentally curse to death?” “I guess that’s true.” Yuta Okkotsu sat alone in his cell.
The walls were plastered with talismans, but he wasn’t physically restrained.
He didn’t want to run.
A single chair sat in the center of the room.
Yuta sat on the floor, hugging his knees, staring into the darkness.
He didn’t fully understand jujutsu, but looking at the dense layers of paper charms—like a twisted collage—he vaguely understood that they possessed some spiritual power meant to seal him…
no, to seal Rika inside.
Yuta had never killed anyone, but he felt the guards were right.
As long as he stayed alive, there would come a day when Rika killed an innocent person.
So, when a man in a black suit had come to the cell to announce his death sentence, Yuta had accepted it without a word.
Finally, he thought.
I can be free.
Because of Rika, his family and friends had all drifted away.
Terrible things happened to anyone who got close to him.
He had been forced to isolate himself, staying far away from everyone he loved.
But…
it was still lonely.
It would have been nice to have a friend.
Wrapped in a blanket of depression and self-loathing, Yuta hugged his knees and stared into the deep shadows cast by the talismans.
He sat there for a long time, until his consciousness began to blur—waiting for death to arrive.
It was then that an unexpected visitor appeared before him.