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Tokyo Jujutsu High, Infirmary.
Disinfectant.
Blood.
Sweat.
The smell hit you the moment you stepped inside.
“Hiss…”
Satoru Gojo lay on the pristine white bed, every bone feeling like it had come apart, every inch of muscle screaming.
On the bed next to him, Suguru Geto wasn’t faring any better, face pale, neat school uniform caked in mud and grass, dried blood at the corner of his mouth.
Shoko Ieiri strolled up to their bedsides with a lollipop tucked in her cheek and both hands shoved in her coat pockets, looking down at them like a doctor inspecting roadkill.
“Well, well.
If it isn’t the school’s pride and joy, the ‘strongest’ duo.”
Her voice was lazy.
The mockery was not.
“What happened?
Which Special Grade Cursed Spirit put you in this state?
Need me to write your mission failure report for you?”
She waved her phone.
The screen showed a crisp, high-definition close-up of Satoru Gojo being carted home on Toji Fushiguro’s shoulder like a sack of wet laundry.
“If I sold this to Shukan Bunshun, I’ve already got the headline.”
Shoko smiled.
“‘Shocking!
The Jujutsu World’s Strongest Rising Star Savagely Assaulted in Public by an Unknown Green-Spandex Pervert!'”
“Shut up!”
Satoru Gojo forced the words out through his teeth.
He tried to sit up.
Every wound in his body screamed at once, and he dropped back against the pillow with a grimace.
Damn it.
This was humiliating.
He, Satoru Gojo, driven to Cursed Energy exhaustion by a man with zero Cursed Energy.
Pure brute force.
And then hauled back here like a sack of garbage.
The most disgraceful day of his sixteen years on this earth.
“I was just careless!”
His gaze drifted to the wall.
“That bastard’s fighting style is completely cheap.
It makes no sense.
Next time — next time I’ll definitely—”
“Next time you’ll definitely get beaten worse.”
Shoko cut him off without mercy, jabbing the stick of her lollipop into a bruise on his arm.
“Both of your injuries are blunt force trauma and forced muscle tears.
Not a single trace of Cursed Energy residue.”
She pocketed her phone and extended both hands.
A soft, warm glow bloomed from her palms.
“Lie still.
Don’t move.”
Reverse Cursed Technique.
Warm Cursed Energy moved through their bodies like a current, ruptured organs knitting closed, torn muscles weaving back together, aching bones sighing with relief, all of it at a speed you could actually watch.
Both of them exhaled at the same moment, involuntary and long.
“Shoko.” Suguru Geto’s voice was weak.
“You are genuinely our angel.”
“Don’t.”
Shoko rolled her eyes.
“I’m a healing machine with no emotions.
That’s it.” She pulled the lollipop out of her mouth.
“Anyway.
To beat you two into this kind of state, what exactly is that new taijutsu teacher?”
Suguru Geto went quiet.
Monster?
That word wasn’t enough anymore.
He thought of the blood-red afterimage on the mountain path.
That terrifying explosive force, like a man burning through his own life.
The pure, suffocating weight of those hands closing around him like iron clamps.
That wasn’t the strength of a Jujutsu Sorcerer.
It was something older.
Something rawer.
A philosophy of violence that took the human body and pushed it past every limit anyone had ever imagined. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
The infirmary door exploded open.
A tall green figure blew through it like a gust of wind.
“Shoko-san!”
Toji Fushiguro locked onto Shoko Ieiri’s glowing hands.
His eyes went wide.
Something terrifying lit up behind them, and tears, actual tears, welled up and spilled down his face before he’d even crossed the room.
“Th-this is incredible!”
He lunged to the bedside in a single stride, his massive head hovering inches from her palm, studying the flowing Cursed Energy with an expression somewhere between reverence and obsession.
“This, is this the legendary holy light that keeps the flames of youth burning forever?!”
He snapped his head up, two streams of tears rolling down those carved cheeks.
Both hands seized the hem of her white coat.
“With you here!
With your perfect logistical support!
We can double the training intensity!”
The look of relief on Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto’s faces turned to stone.
Dou…
ble?
“No, triple it!
Quadruple it!”
Toji was accelerating now, stomping in place with mounting excitement, the floor buzzing under his feet.
“300 laps of morning runs every day!
10,000 squats!
Even if we train until our limbs snap and our organs rupture, it doesn’t matter!
As long as Shoko-san is here, we can revive the instant we go down and throw ourselves straight back into the sweat and the bonds of youth!”
He turned and fixed Shoko Ieiri with a gaze of total, burning sincerity.
“Shoko-san!
You are the mobile fountain of our Youth Special Training Class!”
“To thank you for everything you give — and to let you feel the pulse of youth for yourself, starting tomorrow, you’re joining our morning run!
Five o’clock!
Don’t be late!”
Dead silence.
Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto watched Toji Fushiguro with the eyes of men watching someone take their last steps.
They could already see exactly what was coming.
“Mobile fountain.”
The lazy smile dropped off Shoko Ieiri’s face.
What replaced it was nothing.
Cold and flat and very, very still.
She lowered her hands slowly.
Reached into her coat pocket.
Withdrew a scalpel.
She held it between her thumb and forefinger, letting the blade catch the light, a clean sharp gleam, and leveled the tip at Toji Fushiguro’s still-enthusiastically-firing head.
“Fushiguro-sensei.”
Soft.
Calm.
The room dropped ten degrees.
“I’ve been researching frontal lobotomies lately.
Would you like to…
experience one?”
“…Huh?”
The fanatical grin on Toji’s face went rigid.
“Or,” Shoko tilted her head, mouth curling into a pleasant smile, “would you like to personally test whether that steel muscle you’re so proud of is harder, or my scalpel is sharper?”
The green seemed to drain out of Toji Fushiguro at a visible rate.
He looked at the blade.
Ten centimeters from the center of his forehead.
Then he looked at Shoko’s eyes, utterly empty, the way you look at a specimen, not a person.
His throat moved.
He recognized those eyes.
They were the same eyes he wore right before he killed a target.
“Ha ha.
Ha ha ha ha!”
Two dry laughs.
One careful step back.
The radiant smile snapped back into place like nothing had happened.
“Joking!
Obviously joking!
How could I ever interrupt your sacred healing work?
An intellectual logistics specialist like Shoko-san belongs in the rear, elegantly sipping tea, leave the physical labor to simple-minded muscle idiots like us!”
He gave her a thumbs-up.
Turned on his heel and strode out of the infirmary at full stride.
“Everyone rest up!
Tomorrow is another day full of energy!”
The door shut.
Suguru Geto exhaled for a long time.
He could already feel his freshly-healed stomach starting to cramp.
Satoru Gojo said nothing.
He stared at Shoko’s hand, the one that had just been holding the scalpel, then looked down at his own.
Double the training.
Triple the training.
Being chased down and beaten like a dog by that muscle gorilla.
Half-dead, dragged back here, subjected to Shoko’s commentary.
Then healed.
Then tomorrow, beaten down again.
This humiliating, endless loop of hell.
He was done with it.
He didn’t want one more day of it.
Why?
Why should he, Satoru Gojo, have to endure this?
Why was he the one lying here, passively waiting to be put back together?
If I could heal myself, I’d have unlimited endurance.
I could run Limitless with no ceiling.
Use Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue without holding back.
Fight that monkey until the end of time.
As long as I can heal myself, I will never go down.
Cursed Energy drain?
Reverse Cursed Technique.
Mental exhaustion?
Reverse Cursed Technique.
It fixes everything.
It refreshes everything.
If I could just learn Reverse Cursed Technique,
Something obsessive ignited behind Satoru Gojo’s eyes.
He was going to win.
He was going to take it back.
On that man’s own terms.
In taijutsu.
No tricks.
No Infinity.
He was going to grind Toji Fushiguro into the dirt, clean and total and undeniable.
“Hey.
Shoko.”
His voice came out rough.
Quiet.
The kind of quiet that doesn’t ask, it decides.
Shoko Ieiri raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Reverse Cursed Technique.”
Satoru Gojo held her gaze.
“How do you learn it?”
Suguru Geto looked at his best friend.
He had never seen that expression on Satoru’s face before.
That focus.
That hunger.
Raw and unguarded and completely without performance.
This wasn’t about getting stronger.
This was about revenge.
About scrubbing today’s shame down to nothing.
Just you wait, Satoru Gojo raged inside his own skull.
You muscle-brained gorilla.
I, Satoru Gojo, will master Reverse Cursed Technique.
And when I do, I am going to destroy that ridiculous green spandex of yours, your bullshit gospel of youth, and every last thing you are so proud of.
I will break all of it.
Into pieces.
➤ Next: Youth’s Dream and the Long-Overdue Call
Jujutsu Kaisen