That meeting involved no grandiose display.
It took place inside an ordinary conference room at Jujutsu High.
Juson Hatoyama sat across the table, while Yasui leaned back against his chair with his legs crossed, his posture as relaxed as if he were here for afternoon tea—he was even holding a bag of snacks in his hand.
Hatoyama asked him a few questions.
Yasui’s responses were as lazy as ever, yet everything that needed to be conveyed was expressed clearly.
He was a kind, gentle, positive, helpful, pretty, friendly, confident…
outstanding student.
He was willing to enroll not so much to find a backer, but rather because he found it interesting.
As for Kyoto’s reluctance to accept him, he chuckled, remarking that it was just as well—he didn’t want to go there anyway.
“I think they lack vision,” was the reason he offered.
Hatoyama, a seventy-year-old man with one foot in the grave, stared at him in rare speechlessness for a moment before nodding.
With Yasui’s personal consent, Hatoyama reached a decision: Yasui would become a new first-year student at Tokyo Jujutsu High, officially enrolling in April.
This way, he would fall under Tokyo’s jurisdiction rather than Kyoto’s domain, allowing the Three Great Families over there to breathe a sigh of relief.
Tokyo gained another provider of external Reverse Cursed Technique while casually picking up a combat asset with a unique physique—a guaranteed win-win.
As for that monster-attracting physique…
well, Tokyo was already teeming with Cursed Spirits anyway.
A few more or less wouldn’t make much of a difference.
And so, Yasui’s enrollment matter was finally settled.
Neither of them had officially enrolled yet, but Jujutsu High had already arranged their dorms—the student dormitories of Tokyo Jujutsu High.
The entire student dormitory building was currently occupied by only one person: their third-year senior, Mei Mei.
Now, with Yasui and Suguru Geto added, there were three students in one building.
Because the headcount was ridiculously low—so low that gender-segregated floors served zero purpose—the dorms were co-ed, one room per person, and the rooms were quite spacious.
Yasui picked the innermost room, citing “quietness” as his reason.
Geto picked a room in the middle; he didn’t state his reason, just personal preference.
Senior Mei Mei appeared entirely unbothered by the sudden arrival of two underclassmen in the dorms.
When she bumped into Yasui in the hallway, she sized him up from top to bottom, remarked “Not bad looking,” and gracefully drifted away.
Yasui looked at this senior with long white hair tied in a high ponytail, nodded in satisfaction, and replied, “Good eye.”
Over the next few days, the frequency with which Yasui ran into Geto in the dorm hallway was abnormally high.
Every time Yasui opened his door to go out, there would be movement next door within minutes.
At first, he thought it was a coincidence, but later he realized it wasn’t—though he couldn’t quite fathom why.
Geto was a user of Cursed Spirit Manipulation.
Inside his special “womb”-like space resided Cursed Spirits; those spirits were drawn to Yasui and wanted to attack him.
Geto could suppress them, yet the feeling was quite peculiar.
He tried to figure out the reason—what exactly was different about Yasui that made him so prone to “attracting monsters.”
The final stop of the enrollment procedures was Masamichi Yaga’s office.
The office wasn’t large.
Yaga sat behind the desk, the expression on his square face as stern as ever.
He was thumbing through a set of documents, his thick-knuckled fingers flipping the pages with surprisingly light movements.
The moment Yasui laid eyes on him, a thought popped into his head: *Threading a needle with giant hands—rough on the outside, meticulous on the inside.*
Yasui and Geto stood before the desk, each holding their own enrollment file.
They had just located the profile of their future homeroom teacher.
Yaga served concurrently as their first-year homeroom teacher and was responsible for their enrollment registration.
“Congratulations, Classmate Yasui.”
Geto spoke first, turning his head to look at Yasui, his tone gentle yet sincere.
After all this commotion—from surviving an assassination attempt in a hotel to being recruited by the higher-ups, and finally securing his enrollment—this congratulations truly didn’t come early.
Yasui nodded, cast a glance at the enrollment file in Geto’s hand, and raised a hand to stroke his chin: “Not bad grades, Classmate Geto.”
He spoke with great casualness, yet for once, he added no redundant nonsense, picked no topics to bicker over, and refrained from deliberately infuriating anyone—it was just a plain, clean compliment.
Geto was slightly taken aback before nodding, accepting the praise.
A rarity indeed.
Hearing a good word come out of Yasui’s mouth was practically something worthy of being written into the history books.
He silently noted the date in his mind: March 15th, Yasui spoke normally—a day worth commemorating.
While Yaga was reviewing and recording Yasui’s information, Geto stood beside him, smiling as he subtly shifted his gaze at an angle.
He didn’t mean to pry, but Yasui’s document was laid flat right on the desk.
The form layout was no different from a standard enrollment file; at 178 centimeters tall, Geto only needed to tilt his eyes slightly to catch sight of it.
And then, he discovered something.
Yasui really hadn’t been pulling his leg.
The document clearly stated: *Skipped grades, skipped three grades consecutively.
Completed high school education and admitted to university.* The name of the school was filled in under the admitted institution column.
Geto recognized it.
Even if he didn’t know much about universities, he knew that was a top-tier institution.
That time on the rooftop, when Yasui ate bread while tilting his chin and claiming he was “admitted to a top-tier university,” Geto had assumed the guy was engaging in his daily routine of bragging and talking nonsense.
As it turned out, it was the dead honest truth.
This guy used the exact same tone whether he was telling the truth or lying, making it completely impossible to tell them apart.
But thinking back carefully, Yasui didn’t seem to have ever told a lie.
He simply spoke the truth in a manner that made it impossible to believe, and then amused himself in secret while watching the other person’s doubtful expression.
Crazy bastard.
Geto’s eyes continued to scan downward.
*Date of Birth: April 4, 1990.*
April 4th.
Two fours side by side.
Placing two *shi* together yields *shiawase*—the exact same pronunciation as “happiness.”
Geto recited the date in his head, thinking the coincidence was rather amusing.
Born in 1990, that meant this year he would be…
*Huh?*
*Wait.*
Geto snapped his head up, looking toward Yasui, who was standing there leisurely with his head tilted slightly to one side, lost in thought.
Long hair draping over his shoulders, that red mark between his brows, and purple eyes that shifted over to look back at him upon sensing his gaze.
Geto’s voice carried a sense of certainty born from being utterly bewildered.
“You’re only fourteen?”
Yasui blinked, then shrugged his shoulders with complete nonchalance, his posture practically saying, “So what?”
“Rounded up, it’s fifteen.
Just a few days short, doesn’t change anything.”
His tone was understated to the extreme.
“We’re talking about a difference of a few days anyway.
Is there any fundamental difference between fourteen and fifteen?”
Geto looked at him, finally connecting all the pieces of information.
Skipping grades, jumping three years consecutively, admitted to university, actually fourteen years old.
Several months younger than himself.
This chatterbox who spouted pure nonsense, who attacked without defending, who chopped up Cursed Spirits with a knife like slicing vegetables, and who ate bread with supreme dissatisfaction—was only fourteen right now.
Geto remained silent for two seconds, shifting all his previous assessments of Yasui up a notch.
This guy didn’t just speak infuriatingly.
He was a genius.
And the most troublesome kind of genius at that.
He didn’t even take the matter seriously himself.
Noticing Geto still staring at him, Yasui tilted his head: “What, a fourteen-year-old can’t enroll?
Does your school have an age limit?”
“…No.”
“Then there you go.” Yasui shifted his gaze back ahead, his tone carrying a matter-of-fact ease.
“Fourteen is great.
It’s a lucky number.”
*Yasui Shigeru (言祀).* Fourteen.
April 4th (4/4).
*Si (祀)—Shi (死)*, death.
Masamichi Yaga raised his head from behind the documents, glancing at the two youths who were about to become his students—one beaming with a smile, the other wearing a complex expression—before lowering his head again to stamp the seal onto the form.
The enrollment procedures were complete.