Snap.
The chalk broke softly.
Half of it fell onto the podium, bounced once, rolled twice, and only stopped when it bumped into the open list of incoming freshmen.
White chalk dust clung to the edge of the paper, but Masamichi Yaga didn’t bother to wipe it off.
The classroom fell silent for a second.
It wasn’t the kind of silence born from fear, but rather a subtle, heavy quiet—the low atmospheric pressure before a thunderstorm.
Everyone knew lightning was about to strike, but no one knew whose head it would land on yet.
Satoru Gojo glanced down at the broken chalk on the desk, then looked up at Yaga’s face, seemingly oblivious to the dangerous signals condensing in the air.
He pushed his sunglasses slightly higher up the bridge of his nose, his tone carrying pure, unadulterated enthusiasm.
“Teacher, you’ve got great grip strength~”
Suguru Geto closed his eyes.
The moment those words left Gojo’s mouth, he knew it was over.
It wasn’t a gradual downward slide; it was a straight drop to rock bottom.
Gojo’s mouth was just like the rest of him—it never knew when to hit the brakes.
Beside him, Yasui propped up his chin, his eyes curved into crescents as he watched, waiting for Yaga’s reaction.
As if a teacher getting angry was something incredibly entertaining.
In the manga and anime Yasui had read in his past life, there had never been a scene showing how an untamed Gojo interacted with Masamichi Yaga.
Now that he had transmigrated here, he naturally had to take a good, front-row look.
Geto looked at the two of them and pressed a hand to his forehead.
Whenever these two got together, they automatically entered a tacit harmony of feeding off each other’s antics.
In his mind, Geto was already silently counting how many times the vein on Yaga’s temple had throbbed.
Sure enough, a second later, Yaga looked up.
There wasn’t much expression on his square, solemn face; it could even be called calm.
No warning signs of shouting, no bulging veins at his temples.
Yet it was precisely this calm—like the spine-chilling clear sky within the eye of a typhoon—that made one instinctively realize things had slid down an irreversible slope.
“You two,” Yaga spoke, his voice low but booming clearly.
“On your very first day of school, you’re already discussing beating each other up after class?”
Gojo raised his hand in a picture-perfect posture, cosplaying a good student waiting to speak, though the curl at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
“Teacher, he invited me first.”
*Wow, what a damn dead cat,* Yasui thought.
*Clearly, you were the one who invited me first, so how did you dump the blame onto my head in a flash?*
Whatever, it didn’t matter.
He blinked, his purple eyes looking exceptionally innocent beneath the shadow of his eyelashes, his tone so sincere one would want to check security footage to verify it.
“I was just being enthusiastic toward my classmate.
Teacher, you should be praising me~”
Gojo nodded with exaggerated agreement.
“Yeah, we’re just displaying fellow-student camaraderie.”
“Promoting bonding,” Yasui chimed in, seamlessly picking up the beat.
“Getting to know each other.” Gojo leaned sideways, giving Yasui a thumbs-up.
“Working out our bodies.” Yasui returned a look that said *if you know, you know*.
How could beating each other up not count as working out?
Just like tenderizing meat—only through a proper beating could it become supple and fine!
People were the same way; only through a beating could they become—wait, what was he even thinking?
Yaga remained expressionless, watching the two of them play off each other with a flawless rhythm—one tossing out a joke, the other catching it; one setting up a line, the other delivering the punchline, even taking breaths on the exact same beat.
If you didn’t pay attention to the content and only listened to the tone, you would think two top-tier honor students were giving a classroom presentation.
Geto’s eyes bounced back and forth between the two before finally settling on the desktop, where he began earnestly studying the pattern of the wood grain.
*Rest in peace.*
Shoko pulled a fifth lollipop out of her pocket—green apple flavor again.
The crisp sound of tearing the wrapper was sharp in the quiet classroom.
Her expression had degraded from annoyed to pure indifference.
Right now, at fifteen years old, she had already learned how to smoke, but since she didn’t smoke in public places, she often ate these unsweet lollipops instead.
Looking at them, Yaga suddenly felt that he shouldn’t have knocked on the desk.
That was too gentle—it lacked any real punch.
He should have smashed the desk straight over both their heads instead.
Not out of a desire to hurt them, but simply to see if these two live wires had any natural reflexes.
Of course, as an exceptionally outstanding teacher, he couldn’t do that.
At least not on the very first day of school.
He had to give the students a grace period to adjust—leave a little tenderness, a bit more patience, a bit more love.
He also had to save a bit of patience for himself, though he already had a premonition that his buffer would soon be completely exhausted.
Yaga slowly exhaled the breath trapped in his chest, tossed the broken chalk into the tray, and picked up the freshman profiles once more.
The paper rustled softly in his hands as he turned a page, forcing himself to pull the lesson back on track.
“Starting today, you are first-year students at Tokyo Jujutsu High.” His voice regained its steady, low rumble.
“This is not a regular school.
What you will face in the future are not exams and higher education, but curses, missions, death, and dangers that ordinary people will never know about.
Being a Jujutsu Sorcerer is one of the professions with the highest mortality rates. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
That is no exaggeration; it is a statistical fact.
Among every class of students, those who manage to live until graduation…”
He paused for a moment.
“…are not all of them.”
The classroom finally fell silent.
Not the eye-of-the-typhoon silence from earlier, but a true, absolute quiet.
Even the rustling of the wind blowing through the leaves outside the window became crystal clear.
Gojo leaned against his chair back, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, looking as unkempt as ever with his long legs stretched into the aisle.
Yet his head tilted slightly, his body no longer fidgeting.
From the moment he had gotten into the car until now, this was the longest he had stayed still.
Through his dark lenses, those Six Eyes stared at Yaga, leaving everyone guessing what was passing through his mind.
Geto sat upright with an earnest expression.
His spine hadn’t touched his chair back once, his hands resting clasped on the desktop like a model student.
Yet a new layer of emotion settled into those gentle eyes.
Not fear, but gravity.
He took in every single word Yaga said, weighing its significance.
He was strong, he was a jujutsu sorcerer, and he would eradicate Cursed Spirits—even if death lay ahead.
For the strong to protect the weak was simply what ought to be done.
Shoko bit down on her lollipop, her eyelids half-drooping as though she were sleepy.
The plastic stick tilted slightly at the corner of her mouth, and she reached up to switch it to the other side, her gaze resting on Yaga without straying.
Those deep brown eyes didn’t show much emotion, but her focus was absolute.
It wasn’t that she didn’t care; she simply cared in her own way.
Born with the Reverse Cursed Technique, able to heal others…
she had been dealing with patients, the wounded, and the dead since she was thirteen.
She knew all too well how dangerous this damned jujutsu world really was.
Yasui remained slouched over his desk, half his face buried in his arms, his purple eyes peeking out from behind his messy black hair with a faint trace of a smile.
Upon hearing “one of the professions with the highest mortality rates,” he blinked, his eyelashes lightly brushing against his arm.
Aside from that, he had no physical reaction whatsoever.
In his heart, however, he found it somewhat ironic.
Within Tokyo Jujutsu High, this specific class originally had three people in total, not counting himself.
Geto would be killed by Gojo, and Gojo would be killed by Sukuna.
In the next year’s class, Kento Nanami and Haibara Yu—one would be killed by Mahito, while the other would be wiped out by a Grade 1 Cursed Spirit because of a mission error.
A total wipeout.
It wouldn’t be until a dozen or so years later that the survival rate of the students would finally become much higher.