~ 💎 WEEKLY POWER GOALS 💎🔥 60→1ch | 100→2ch | 200→5ch ⏰ Resets Monday!
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A night of weighted running had successfully claimed a permanent portion of Kento Nanami’s soul.
When the sun rose the next day, Yu Haibara was out on the beach doing handstand sprints with boundless energy.
Kento Nanami lay on the sand like a sun-dried salted fish.
Expressionless.
Muttering on autopilot, “shit,” “overtime,” “just kill me already.”
The Okinawa Youth Graduation Trip closed its curtains in an atmosphere of profound wrongness.
…
On the return flight, the silence was suffocating.
The laughter and noise of the past two days felt like a hallucination from another century.
Riko leaned against the window, staring at the cloud layer, not saying a word.
She wasn’t crying anymore.
She wasn’t smiling.
She simply sat there, still and quiet, like a beautiful doll waiting to be sacrificed.
Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto were uncharacteristically silent as well.
They could both feel it pressing closer, the final moment was coming.
Toji sat across from them.
The loud floral shorts were gone, replaced by his black trench coat, with that eye-searing green battle suit still underneath.
He looked at Riko’s reflection in the window.
He looked at his two silent colleagues.
An inexplicable irritation stirred in his chest.
Then he saw the line of Riko’s thin back, and swallowed every word.
Forget it.
This girl needs quiet right now.
That’s all.
The plane touched down, and the group headed straight into the depths of Tokyo Jujutsu High.
There lay the entrance to the Tomb of the Star.
The cornerstone of Tengen’s barrier.
The endpoint of Riko Amanai’s life.
The path through the school grounds was long and hushed, trees on both sides casting dappled shadows across the road.
The grief of what was coming hung over all of them like a heavy fog.
Then they reached the main gate, and everyone stopped.
A dense mass of people stood blocking the way.
Over a hundred of them, packed shoulder to shoulder.
They wore identical white robes.
Their faces were twisted with something fervent and wrong, like a crowd that had been thoroughly brainwashed.
Hand in hand, they formed a wall with no gaps, completely sealing off the path forward.
“Purge the filth!”
“Stop them!
Don’t let these filthy humans defile the sacred Master Tengen!”
The frenzied screaming surged forward like a foul wave.
“Tsk.” Satoru Gojo’s brow creased.
“What a pain in the ass.”
Every single one of them, ordinary people.
Not a trace of Cursed Energy among the lot.
Suguru Geto’s expression went dark.
He studied those ignorant, feverish faces, and something cold flickered through his eyes.
Disgust.
Killing intent.
The thought coiled around his heart like poisonous ivy.
He crushed it back down.
No.
The strong exist to protect the weak.
That was his unshakable conviction.
His righteous doctrine.
But it didn’t change the bind they were in.
They could scatter this crowd without effort.
They couldn’t touch them.
Iron law of Jujutsu Sorcerers: never raise a hand against non-sorcerers.
Then a booming voice split the stalemate open.
“Protecting the weak is the duty of the strong — but educating fools is a trial of youth!”
Toji stepped forward.
His frame filled the space like a mountain.
He tore off the trench coat.
That signature green spandex suit blazed underneath, offensively bright against the grey sky.
“Watch me give them a session of loving corporal punishment!”
Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto hadn’t even processed what he was about to do.
Toji drew a deep breath.
Power began to surge through him.
Not Cursed Energy.
Something else entirely, energy forged in another world, burned into his soul through countless hours of sweat and grinding effort.
First Gate: Gate of Opening, Release!
BOOM!
The ground under his feet lurched.
His entire body became a green bolt of lightning, and he was already inside the crowd.
No killing intent.
No Cursed Energy.
Only speed and strength, pure and absolute.
Beneath Satoru Gojo’s stunned Six Eyes and Suguru Geto’s wide gaze, Toji’s hands dissolved into a blur of afterimages.
No punches.
No kicks.
Just his fingers, moving with impossible precision, striking joints, necks, and nerve clusters across one body after another.
PAK.
PAK.
PAK.
Crisp.
Rhythmic.
Like someone performing a very strange percussion piece.
Each fanatic he touched went through the same sequence: the mania on their face snapped frozen, and then their body went slack.
They dropped without a sound, like dolls with the power yanked out of them.
No blood.
No broken bones.
Not a single scream.
Just, nothing.
Motor function, gone.
Minutes.
That was all it took.
A few minutes, and the wave of over a hundred fanatics was completely still.
They lay scattered across the ground in every direction, like a field after harvest.
The scene was equal parts spectacular and surreal.
Satoru Gojo’s mouth had drifted open.
His Six Eyes had clocked every exchange.
Every strike calibrated to the precise threshold, enough force to drop them unconscious, not enough to cause serious injury.
What kind of physical control does that even require?
This monkey.
What the hell is he?
Suguru Geto felt the blow in a different place entirely.
He had still been wrestling with the question, whether people like this were even worth protecting, when this man had already solved the problem perfectly, in a way that had never once occurred to him.
Then everything changed.
3 shadows, black as ink, rose without warning from the fallen bodies on the ground.
They moved like poison-tipped daggers, streaking toward Toji, Satoru Gojo, and Suguru Geto with the force of a thunderclap.
The Shadow Mage Clan.
“Finally crawled out, you sewer rats.” Satoru Gojo’s smile had nothing warm in it.
He flashed forward to meet the first shadow.
Suguru Geto’s eyes went cold.
A Cursed Spirit erupted from behind him and wrapped around the second assassin in an instant.
The third — the strongest — was the scar-faced leader.
He appeared before Toji without a sound, his short blade already a streak of cold light, driving straight for Toji’s heart.
The battle’s shockwaves split the ground.
The thundering didn’t stop.
In the chaos, all eyes were on the three assassins.
No one noticed the old woman at the edge of the battlefield.
She was one of the fanatics Toji had just put down.
Now she was trembling, pressing herself halfway off the ground.
The fanaticism in her eyes hadn’t gone out.
Fear had only made it worse.
From the folds of her robe, she drew a small blade.
The edge was coated in something dark, black as oil.
Her target was not any of the fighters.
It was the girl standing behind them.
The one everyone was supposed to be protecting.
Standing there, alone.
Riko was watching the fight with wide, terrified eyes.
She could see that green figure trading blows with the scar-faced man, fist and flesh, each collision wringing a cry out of the air itself.
Then she felt it.
A sudden cold at the center of her back.
A sharp, piercing agony tore through her entire body at once.
Riko looked down.
Slowly.
As if she didn’t believe what her body was telling her.
A blade tip was protruding from her chest.
It was stained with her blood.
Time stopped.
With everything she had left, she turned around.
The old woman stood behind her, face fanatical and terrified all at once.
“For…
Master Tengen…”
Riko’s body swayed.
The light in her eyes went out.
She fell.
➤ Next: Refuse Assimilation, Choose Your Own Life!
Jujutsu Kaisen