Suguru Geto finally couldn’t hold back anymore.
He had been silent for a long time, watching with his own eyes as these two evolved from giving each other nicknames to business negotiations, then to inexplicably going full lunatic.
In under two minutes, the progress bar had been yanked forward several times faster than he had anticipated.
Geto: “Gojo-san, you two have known each other for less than three minutes.”
Satoru Gojo turned his head to look at him, the eyes behind his sunglasses finally directing his attention toward him—the “strongest” in this classroom besides himself.
Gojo blinked those blue eyes, then cracked a wide grin: “You must be Suguru Geto, right?
Cursed Spirit Manipulation?
Sounds pretty convenient.”
As the Six Eyes of the Gojo family, Gojo had received profiles on his classmates in advance.
He sized Geto up from top to bottom, taking in everything from the strange bang to the posture as straight as a board, all the way to the copy of Basic Jujutsu Theory resting beside his hand.
Finally, his gaze landed on Geto’s fingers resting on the desktop.
Geto’s fingers were slender with distinct knuckles, his nails neatly trimmed.
Gojo’s grin widened even further as he popped the question he had been holding back for at least thirty seconds: “Do you really have to roll Cursed Spirits into a ball and eat them usually?”
Geto: “…”
The question was way too direct—so direct it almost seemed sincere.
Not sarcasm, not malice, just pure curiosity.
Yet it was precisely this pure, unvarnished curiosity that packed the greatest lethality.
Before he could pull together a proper response, the person beside him had already answered for him.
Yasui’s grin grew increasingly radiant as he eagerly chimed in from the side.
Leaning forward with elbows propped on the desk, his hands gestured wildly: “Yup, he’s eaten them.
I saw it with my own eyes.
His expression was legendary~”
He paused, then tacked on another line, “That face of his after eating…
looked like he had just downed milk three days past its expiration date.
So, as for the taste…
haha, take a guess how great it is~”
Geto slowly turned his head toward Yasui, his eyes carrying the serene calm of a man betrayed by his comrade: “You really didn’t need to help me explain.”
“I’m helping you advertise your special talent—like your astounding tolerance for foul-tasting stuff~” Yasui winked at him, his purple eyes brimming with an earnest ‘no need to thank me’.
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
Gojo acted like he had heard something mind-blowing, leaning in even closer.
He dragged a chair right over to Geto’s desk and sat down, resting both hands on the chair back: “What’s it taste like?”
Yasui answered without a moment’s hesitation: “A stinking rag used to wipe up vomit.
Absolutely disgusting~”
Gojo: “Whoa, Suguru, you’re amazing!”
There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in Gojo’s voice—only heartfelt awe.
Shoko: “…”
Masamichi Yaga: “…”
Geto closed his eyes.
He regretted it now.
Regretted it deeply.
Why did he pick up Yasui’s phone call back then?
Why did he go to that abandoned parking lot?
Why did he absorb that Cursed Spirit right in front of Yasui?
Why did he honestly answer the question “what does it taste like” after absorbing it?
He knew Yasui was the kind of person who never kept secrets for others.
To this guy, a “secret” was defined as “something to talk about.”
What a vile piece of scum!
Yet he never expected Yasui to make this part of his introductory pitch, let alone share it with someone he’d known for three minutes.
Truly a vile piece of scum!
Now it was just great.
The first impression of his Cursed Spirit Manipulation—that composed, reliable, trustworthy image he had originally envisioned—hadn’t even been built before the label of “the guy who eats rags” was nailed onto the first day of their freshman year at Tokyo Jujutsu High by the combined efforts of Yasui and Gojo.
Gojo rubbed his chin, offering a serious evaluation: “Sounds like a rough ride, though?”
He certainly couldn’t stand eating stuff like that~
Yasui nodded: “That’s why I suggested he dip it in strawberry corpses next time.”
“Strawberry corpses…” Gojo repeated.
“You mean strawberry jam, right?!”
Yasui nodded.
“That’s right~”
Shoko finally raised her eyes to look at Yasui.
This was the first time she had actively looked at Yasui since entering the classroom—not out of curiosity, but because she genuinely couldn’t hold back anymore: “Are you serious?”
“Of course.” Yasui was utterly justified, his expression dead serious: “Strawberry jam can save the world, and it can save Geto-san too.”
Gojo chimed in instantly, high-fiving Yasui: “I back that up.
Sweets are the absolute pinnacle of human civilization.”
Shoko: “Both of you shut up.”
Geto: “…Thank you.”
Geto wasn’t sure if he ought to say thanks, but he said it anyway.
Masamichi Yaga stood before the podium, holding the freshman profiles, a vein pulsing faintly at his temple.
He hadn’t even started roll call yet.
He hadn’t even had time to say, “Starting today, you are the first-year students of Tokyo Jujutsu High.”
And this classroom had already devolved into this state of chaos.
One Satoru Gojo was already enough to give anyone a massive headache.
Six Eyes, Limitless, heir of the Gojo family—raised under the spotlight from childhood, with an attitude that claimed Throughout Heaven and Earth, I Alone Am The Honored One.
Before coming here, the old fogeys over in Kyoto had already tipped him off, saying this kid was “a bit difficult to manage.”
“A bit difficult to manage” was the official phrasing.
Translated into plain speech, it meant “nobody can keep him in check.”
And one Yasui, who had previously sent the entire high-ups into a tailspin.
Capable of projecting the Reverse Cursed Technique outward, possessed a constitution that lured Cursed Spirits, and had a personality that treated assassination attempts like a joke while laughing and shooting the breeze with you.
He had originally assumed Yasui would be the most troublesome one in this batch.
Now, meeting for the very first time, these two hadn’t taken a dislike to each other, hadn’t fallen into awkward silence, hadn’t engaged in probing—there wasn’t even a trace of that subtle rivalry common among geniuses.
Instead, these two godlike lunatics were like two sources of mental pollution from different origins but sharing highly identical compositions.
The moment they met, a bizarre chemical reaction sparked between them—catalyzing each other, amplifying each other, their laughter growing louder by the second, their endless banter multiplying exponentially.
Masamichi Yaga suddenly felt that his teaching career over the next three years might not be very peaceful.
No.
Not just ‘might not’.
It was guaranteed not to be peaceful at all.
He took a deep breath, pulling air in through his nostrils, letting it circulate through his lungs before exhaling heavily.
He set the profiles down on the podium.
The sound of paper hitting the wooden surface wasn’t loud, but he intentionally made it a bit heavier.
Then he raised a hand and knocked on the podium—knuckles tapping against wood with a low, solid thump, thump, thump, carrying an imposing weight that couldn’t be ignored.
“Quiet.”
Just two words.
Not overly loud, but the classroom finally grew a little quieter.
Gojo slouched against the chair back without a shred of proper posture, his long legs stretched out so far they almost tripped up the aisle.
Yasui slouched over his desk, chin resting on his arms, gazing at the podium with a beaming smile as he waited for a good show to start.
Geto sat upright, his spine still straight, but the smile on his face had taken on a tinge of fatigue.
Not physical exhaustion, but mental fatigue—the kind of weariness that came from anticipating that the future was going to be thoroughly unpleasant.
Two godlike lunatic classmates…
Shoko leaned against her chair, unwrapping a new lollipop.
It was her fourth one—green apple flavor.
She folded the wrapper into a neat little square and set it on the corner of her desk.
Her expression was cold, as though she had accepted her fate in advance.
Heart dead as ashes.
Let whatever happens happen.
Masamichi Yaga looked at them.
Four freshmen.
The Six Eyes of the Gojo family.
He swept his gaze over the white-haired teenager.
Sky-blue eyes looked back through the dark sunglasses with an unbothered posture that said, “I know you’ve got a headache, but you can’t do anything about me.”
Shoko Ieiri, who could project the Reverse Cursed Technique.
He looked toward Shoko, who returned a serene look that communicated, “I tried my best, but this is just how things are.”
Suguru Geto, with Cursed Spirit Manipulation.
He looked toward Geto, who sat up straight, offering a slight nod with a sense of responsibility that said, “Teacher, I will do my best to maintain discipline,” along with a sliver of honesty that admitted, “though I might not be able to handle it.”
And then there was Yasui—who lured Cursed Spirits, could output the Reverse Cursed Technique outward, possessed an apparently vile personality, and looked ready to rip the roof off Jujutsu High at any given moment.
He looked toward Yasui, who offered him a bright, harmless smile.
Dazzlingly pretty.
Yet for some reason, Masamichi Yaga felt that tucked beneath that smile was a line: “Don’t worry, Teacher, I’ll definitely cause trouble.”
The talent of this class was rare across the entire jujutsu world.
Pulling any single one of them out would give a clan something to brag about for ten years.
Yet Masamichi Yaga couldn’t bring himself to feel a shred of joy right now.
He only felt a headache.
A massive headache.
Worse than taking a direct hit from a Cursed Spirit.
Beneath the podium, Gojo suddenly lowered his voice to ask Yasui.
His voice wasn’t kept low enough, ringing clearly in the quiet classroom: “Hey, Meat Bun, wanna fight after class?”
Yasui’s eyes lit up instantly.
Those purple eyes shifted from a half-lidded, lazy haze into full-blown excitement.
He sat up straight, his tone carrying a giddy thrill of having a long-awaited wish finally come true: “Are you afraid of pain?”
Gojo: “Huh?”
He was talking about a spar.
When this guy heard the word “fight,” his first reaction wasn’t “who strikes first,” but “are you afraid of pain”?
For once, Gojo hit a brief snag, his eyes blinking behind his sunglasses as he felt something wasn’t quite right with that response.
Yasui’s grin grew even more brilliant, his purple eyes curving as the red dot between his brows shifted slightly upward.
Before leaving the dorms this morning, he had been wondering if Satoru Gojo-sensei would feel like beating him up.
And look at that—it came so soon.
He hadn’t even gotten to test his Pain Sharing skill yet.
“Bring it on,” Gojo cocked his head, winking with supreme arrogance.
Geto: “…”
He swiftly ran a mental simulation: Yasui and Gojo heading to the training grounds or somewhere worse after class to beat each other up.
Neither possessed a personality that knew when to stop, so the commotion would likely be big enough to alarm the entire Jujutsu High.
Shoko would look at them like they were idiots, while Masamichi Yaga would glare at everyone with murderous eyes.
Shoko: “…”
She didn’t even bother looking anymore, focusing entirely on her lollipop.
The green apple flavor was a bit sweeter than the green tea one, leaving her somewhat unsatisfied—she didn’t like things that were too sweet.
Masamichi Yaga: “…”
He hadn’t even started class yet.
The roster hadn’t even been flipped open.
Yet the two live wires in the classroom were already gearing up to beat each other senseless after class.
Masamichi Yaga closed his eyes.
Despair.
On the very first day of school.
He had already begun to feel despair.