Toji strode toward the main gate of Tokyo Jujutsu High with the swagger of a man who owned the place, Megumi and Tsumiki tucked under each arm.
One on each side.
His form was perfect, like a man carrying two dumbbells loaded up for weighted squats.
The “black-haired dumbbell” on the left looked like she’d seen a ghost.
The “brown-haired dumbbell” on the right had lost all light in her eyes.
“Put me down,” Fushiguro Megumi said, expression flat.
“No way!
If I leave you two alone at home and more garbage shows up, then what!” Toji declared, righteous and loud.
“Daddy’s going to keep you bathed in the shelter of youth at all times!”
Tsumiki had already stopped fighting it.
She lay draped over his arm, staring blankly at the sky, muttering, “What kind of bootleg garbage did he drink…
it’s hitting this hard.”
The barrier went haywire the instant Toji stepped through the gate.
It sensed the strange energy inside him, energy that did not belong to this world.
The detection system threw errors in a frenzy, and then, as if simply giving up, it let out a mournful screech like a large man being force-stuffed into a child-sized compression shirt.
Two convulsions.
Then it crashed completely.
Toji didn’t notice at all.
He assumed it was some kind of fancy welcoming salute unique to the school.
He stopped walking and breathed deep.
Hmm.
The clean smell of trees.
Damp earth.
A faint trace of sweat.
Great place.
There’s a field.
You can run here.
Ten thousand times better than that miserable rental.
He hadn’t even finished appreciating it before three figures stepped into his path.
The white-haired kid in front pushed his sunglasses up, hands shoved in his pockets, stance more arrogant than the tuft of white hair on his head.
Gojo Satoru.
The one who’d put a hole through his heart in the last life.
Toji remembered that face well.
Most people tend to remember the last thing they see before they die.
Beside him stood Geto Suguru, hair pulled into a bun, manner mild on the surface, but the look in his eyes was sharper than a blade.
The built man standing in the back needed no introduction.
Yaga Masamichi, principal of Tokyo Jujutsu High.
The thick muscle of his face was twitching, slowly, at an extremely measured pace.
Because the scene in front of him was genuinely difficult to process.
Toji Fushiguro, the “Sorcerer Killer” whose name made the dark side of the jujutsu world flinch, was wearing a green tank top so aggressively green it was offensive, dug up from god knows what trash heap, the muscles of his arms mounded high beneath the fabric.
Through Gojo Satoru’s Six Eyes, the tank top held not a single trace of Cursed Energy.
What it did radiate was a dense, suffocating aura of grass-roots intensity strong enough to count as psychological contamination.
The sheer hormone-and-hot-blood energy practically leaking off the man made him look like a human lightbulb someone had left on full blast.
And then there were the children.
A blank-faced black-haired boy pinned under his left arm.
A brown-haired girl whose soul had clearly already vacated the premises pinned under his right.
The three of them swaggering into the most heavily defended jujutsu institution in Japan.
Like they were on a field trip.
“Weird.
Is there a bug in the barrier?
This guy has zero Cursed Energy…”
Yaga shook his head and let it go.
“‘Sorcerer Killer’ Fushiguro Toji.”
“You’ve trespassed into the school’s barrier.
Under jujutsu world regulations—”
“Principal!”
Toji clamped the two kids tighter under his arms, freed his right hand, and snapped it up to his brow in a sharp salute.
He followed it with a blinding flash of white teeth and a thumbs-up.
Yaga Masamichi squinted involuntarily against the sudden gleam.
The felting needle in his hand nearly went straight into his own thumb.
“I’ve come to your esteemed institution, heart ablaze with burning hot-blooded youth, with my entire family in tow, to seek a partnership!”
“I humbly request 10 minutes to present my passionate proposal!”
Three seconds of silence.
A leaf drifted down and spun once before settling.
Gojo Satoru pushed his sunglasses down a notch.
His blue eyes blinked twice.
He turned to Geto Suguru.
“Hey, Suguru.”
“Hm?”
“What are those two things under his arms?”
“…His children, I’d assume.”
“Though given the way he’s holding them, they might also be a new type of biological weight-training equipment.
I’ve heard it also provides continuous mental endurance conditioning.”
“He brought weights to crash the school?”
“First time I’ve seen anyone do it this way.”
Toji heard none of this.
He was busy educating Fushiguro Megumi.
“Megumi!
You see this!
This is a school!
A place overflowing with vitality!”
“When you grow up, Daddy’s going to send you somewhere like this to train—”
“Could you put me down first?
I can already see Grandma waving at me from the Sanzu River.”
“Oh.
Sorry.”
…
10 minutes later.
The principal’s office.
Toji thrust a thumb into the air, bared a mouthful of blindingly white teeth, and announced himself at a volume that made the window glass hum.
“The Azure Beast of Tokyo, Toji Fushiguro, carrying burning youth, here to apply for a position!”
No one spoke.
The wall clock ticked.
They’re so moved by my passion they can’t find words.
Toji was very satisfied with his entrance.
Guy-sensei had always said: the aura of a first meeting determines the bonds a man carries for life.
As long as you bring enough passion, even solid rock will move.
“Pfft — hahaha!”
Gojo Satoru doubled over, clutching his stomach, laughing until tears ran down his face.
“Suguru, did you hear that?
The Azure Beast?”
“Did this guy get his brain knocked loose somewhere?”
“He brought two dead weights to pull a scam on the school?”
Geto Suguru did not laugh.
His hand moved to his waist, quiet and watchful.
“Fushiguro Toji.
What are you actually here for?”
Toji’s brow furrowed.
These brats had no manners at all.
Not a shred of respect for their elders.
He crossed the room in three strides and stopped directly in front of Gojo Satoru.
Too close.
Gojo Satoru’s instinct screamed to activate Limitless.
But Toji only extended one thick finger and jabbed it hard into his shoulder.
“White-haired brat.
You’re the one who calls himself the strongest?
Gojo Satoru?”
Toji’s face was a portrait of deep, heartfelt grief.
“Look at this pale skin of yours!”
“Look at these twig arms!”
“Have you never done 10,000 squats under a blazing sun?”
Gojo Satoru’s laughter died in his throat.
“Hah?
A monkey with no Cursed Energy is lecturing me?”
Toji ripped his tight T-shirt open in one motion.
Chiseled pectorals.
Eight-pack abs.
Muscle carved like something out of stone.
“A greenhouse flower hiding inside Limitless has no idea what real strength looks like!”
“Is that little shield of yours some kind of premium sunscreen?!”
“What you need is a complete re-education in youth!”
This kid was out of his mind.
Not a trace of muscle on him, and he dared call himself the strongest.
Toji made up his mind right then: the first thing after landing this job would be forcing this white-haired brat to run 50 laps around Tokyo every single day.
No sweets until he finishes every last one.
Geto Suguru stared.
This was the legendary Sorcerer Killer?
The insidious, cunning, merciless assassin murmured about in the dark corners of the jujutsu world?
This was clearly a hot-blooded idiot missing his brain stem.
What was the intelligence department even doing, if they couldn’t gauge a target’s mental state?
“Enough.”
Yaga Masamichi pulled the needle free from his thumb, grabbed a tissue and pressed it down, his face as dark as a cast-iron skillet.
“Fushiguro Toji.
This school is not the place for whatever this is.”
“State your business.
Or don’t blame us for what comes next.”
Toji dropped the act.
The grin, the theatrics, all of it, gone in an instant.
His eyes went sharp.
The switch was seamless.
Absolute.
The Cursed Spirit lurking behind Geto Suguru felt it immediately and began to writhe.
“The Star Religious Group.
Thirty million.
They want the life of the Star Plasma Vessel, Amanai Riko.”
➤ Next: Joining the Mission — The Time Vessel Association’s New Candidate