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nanamineedstherapy · 1 month ago

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To Love & To Ruin

Teacher!Suguru Geto Vs Nanago

Previous Chapter 9: Saltwater Remains (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 10: Specter of the Living (Ao3)

A/N: Welcome Batman Nanami!!!!

The air hummed with restraint as Satoru’s arms tightened around Suguru. Sparks of cursed energy crackled in the atmosphere, betraying Satoru’s intent. Suguru’s eyes narrowed. He tried to push Satoru off, but before he could act, the world around them shifted.

“No, Satoru!” Suguru yelled, his voice cracking.

Suguru staggered and fell backwards as Satoru pushed him off, eyes darting to the intricate seals covering the walls. The realization of where they were struck him.

The secluded Gojo clan retreat vanished, replaced by a chamber lined with ancient sigils and wards. The air smelled of burnt paper and incense. The room bore a resemblance to the one where Yuta was first confined, though slightly more accommodating.

“What have you done?” he hissed, voice taut with fury.

Satoru stepped back, expression unreadable, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that Suguru couldn’t mistake.

“I’m grateful, Suguru,” Satoru said softly, his voice edged with something dangerous. “For keeping me alive when it all fell apart. But none of it would’ve happened if you hadn’t interfered. You let someone else come in and destroy everything.”

Suguru froze.

Satoru’s tone hardened. “You destroyed the only life I had left. And you killed him to do it. I was attacked because you held onto a past you yourself shattered years ago. Then, when I needed to be there, when they called me, I didn’t pick up. Because you cut contact on my behalf.” His voice broke, the calm barely masking the grief underneath. “They cremated him, Suguru. His body’s gone. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” Suguru wasn’t supposed to know about Sukuna’s resurrection technique, and Satoru intended to keep it that way.

Suguru’s throat tightened, and his voice nearly gave out under the weight of Satoru’s words. “I didn’t know,” he whispered, almost inaudible. “How could I have known?”

"Oh, but you knew,” Satoru snapped, his voice razor-sharp. “You knew. The botched last dinner I could have ever had with him, the eyes I kept feeling on me—you even intercepted the fucking letter, didn’t you?”

Suguru’s mouth opened, but no words came. Satoru’s cold, distant glare was a blade to his chest.

“You were right about one thing,” Satoru said, a hollow smile curling his lips. “ You’d burn the world for me .”

Then he stepped closer, infinity pulsing with barely suppressed violence. “ While I’d burn you to save it .” Then taking a deep breath, he continued. “Because this time you crossed a line you can’t come back from. You destroyed the life I had built after you created a void between us all those years ago. The only steady presence I had left. Then had the audacity to manipulate me again when I just confronted you.” “ You burned my world .”

Suguru swallowed hard, his face softening. He could see the truth in Satoru’s eyes—this was no longer his best friend. They were past the point where Suguru could say something to bring him back. He knew Satoru would kill him. And what beautiful that death would be, his final gift.

“ At least curse me a little at the end ,” Suguru said, his voice accepting.

Satoru’s gaze shifted briefly to the corner where Nanako and Mimiko stood, their wide eyes glistening with tears.

“Not this time,” Satoru said. “ But I will curse you in a way you deserve .”

Mimiko, braver than her sister, stepped forward. “You said we’d all leave together.”

“So? Only you three are allowed to lie?” Satoru shot back. The venom in his tone silenced her, leaving her pale.

He turned back to Suguru. “You wanted me back, didn’t you? Now your curse will be to watch me live without you .”

Suguru’s composure cracked. “Satoru, you don’t understand. She’ll kill you. She’s coming for Jujutsu Society. Please, let’s leave together. You can punish me all you want, but listen to me—there’s a sorcerer massacre coming.”

Satoru’s brows furrowed as he yelled. “You were working with her?!” Infinity ready to choke the room of any atmosphere.

“No!” Suguru roared, desperation in his voice. “She came to the island, threatened me, said she’d kill you if I let you return to Japan. You can confirm it with the staff—they were there that day.”

“And you let her walk away?”

“Not intentionally,” Suguru admitted, his voice faltering. “She...she told me she orchestrated Kento’s death. I couldn’t move.”

“What did she look like?” Satoru demanded, his voice steady but cold.

Suguru hesitated. “Kaori. But she had stitches on her forehead.”

Satoru’s expression darkened. “Sukuna!” He called out.

Sukuna stepped into the room since he was hovering outside pestering Shoko about a new chocolate, infused with edible, delivery she’d received earlier, his usual smirk replaced by mild irritation now. Shoko followed behind, cradling a white Persian cat in sunglasses.

“What now?” Sukuna grumbled, glancing at Suguru before turning his attention to Gojo.

“Find out where Kaori is,” Satoru ordered.

“Why would I keep up with her whereabouts? She’s probably with Jin.” Sukuna rolled his eyes at Geto. “What did he say now?”

“She’s not.” Satoru pushed. Sukuna sighed, pulling out his phone as Satoru continued glaring at Suguru. After a quick exchange of texts with Jin, his face hardened. “She went to the market, but she’s late.”

“Put him on it,” Satoru was hinting at Toji, unwilling to let Suguru know anything, not anymore.

“No, I have someone better.” He muttered, texting the same someone quickly.

Then, closing his phone, Sukuna turned to leave, “I’ll go check on Jin. You, in the meantime, head to Kento’s penthouse. It’s been secured. We need to keep your return to Japan—and unfortunately his—hidden if it’s what I think it is. Text me the rest.” He patted Gojo’s shoulder and strode off.

Suguru’s eyes kept darting between them; he didn’t like this friendship, but he was grateful, although reluctant, that someone was looking out for Satoru, but he could do better, he thought.

Gojo nodded, then continued questioning Geto. “But one thing still doesn’t make sense. How were they planning to tame Sukuna? He’s already 20 fingers strong.” His voice had a sharp edge, reminiscent of both their early days at Jujutsu Tech—days spent collecting cursed fingers while Sukuna lounged smugly, munching on hot chips during missions. Gojo and Geto both used to fantasize about removing their senpei’s smug grin back then.

“She didn’t say,” Suguru admitted, his expression darkening. “But she had a cursed object in her hand. A cube. I couldn’t tell exactly what it did.”

Satoru didn’t respond, his thoughts spinning. He turned to leave, but Suguru grabbed his arm. “At least don’t stay in Japan if you’re not going to listen to me.”

Satoru’s icy gaze snapped to the hand still gripping his arm, and the threat was clear in Gojo’s eyes. He hadn’t forgotten waking up earlier, disoriented and vulnerable under Geto’s hands trailing down his stomach and further.

Sensing the shift, Suguru withdrew his hand. Without a word, Satoru walked off, Shoko trailing behind him.

Once a few steps outside, Satoru paused and scratched Toru’s chin. The little white cat purred in Shoko’s arms, its tiny sunglasses slipping slightly. “What’s with the shades? Cute, but why?” he asked.

Shoko smirked. “Well, fun fact: when Megumi took her to the vet for a checkup, the vet told him she has light sensitivity. Also, your students think she’s you. So, they dressed her the part.” She ruffled Toru’s fur. “And, honestly? From what I’ve seen, she’s just as much of a menace as you.”

Satoru’s face lit up. “Good,” he cooed, voice dripping with affection. “Who’s a good girl? Yes, you are. You’re the best girl. Daddy’s little troublemaker. Once Daddy’s settled back home, he’ll bring you with him, okay? Until then, you hang out with Aunty Shoko and keep her from smoking too much, alright?” He booped her nose with one finger, which made her paw at it.

Suguru could still overhear the entire exchange before the door closed, cutting him off from hearing anything further. Despite everything, a small, bitter smile tugged at his lips. This was going to be a hard life—Satoru forever out of reach.

The moment was shattered by the sound of someone clearing their throat loudly. Shoko frozen mid-retort as Gojo stiffened mid-cooing at Toru. He turned slowly, meeting Yaga’s stern gaze. The older man stood a few feet away, arms crossed.

“When, exactly, were you both and the pink-haired, idiots planning to loop me in on the fact that Zenin’s alive?” Yaga’s voice carried a stern weight.

“He stole the cat!” Shoko blurted out as Gojo turned to her, expression of betrayal: “What the hell, Shoko! I thought we were friends.”

“I’m not sorry.” She shrugged, still clutching Toru.

Gojo scratched the back of his head sheepishly. But before Shoko could grab him by the collar, he teleported, leaving her alone to deal with Yaga’s simmering fury.

Shoko sighed heavily, muttering under her breath, “Oh, I’m so going to kill them.”

Toru continued to purr happily in her arms as Shoko tried distracting Yaga with her, who wasn’t buying it.

Meanwhile, Nanako and Mimiko hugged Suguru tightly, their smaller frames clinging to him. Though they scolded him for leaving them alone without a second thought, their forgiveness came far easier than Satoru’s ever would.

As soon as Satoru arrived in Kento’s penthouse, his eyes, as usual, first darted towards the bobblehead of himself on Kento’s shelf. ‘Strongest husband’ still shone beneath it, but the title tasted bitter in his mouth now. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Gojo’s gaze trailed up the figure darting outside in the doorway. The dim light carved shadows along shoulders too broad to be human, his form draped in silence as if the air itself recoiled. His veins shimmered faintly under his skin, like fractured glass catching light. It slammed the door behind. Perhaps a memory, although he couldn’t recall any. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes with the cold heels of his hands. He really needed to visit Shoko. Ever since he quit his medications, his hallucinations were starting to feel real. He needed better treatment. He’d even sensed no cursed signature through his Six Eyes. Then sniffing his sweater, he winced. Maybe harassing Shoko could wait one night. But he still took a peek outside just to be sure, and as expected, there was nothing to confirm anything had ever been there.

He waddled towards Kento’s bathroom, stopping short at the sight of crumpled tissues stained with dried blood littering the trash bin. His stomach twisted. Kento must have been struggling more than he'd let on before his death. Satoru squeezed his eyes shut, jaw tightening, then shook his head. No point dwelling on it now.

Grabbing a trash bag, he cleaned up the mess in silence, now wearing the headphones he’d found on the couch, blasting Kento’s nostalgic playlist he’d probably been listening to before… everything. The expensive noise-canceling gear clung tightly to his head, a testament to his husband’s audiophile tendencies. ‘ What a waste now ,’ he thought as he dusted and vacuumed, opting not to change the bedsheet since it still held Kento’s scent. Taking it easy by not cleaning too many rooms, he finally took his shower. When he looked at his reflection in the fogged mirror, he couldn’t help but feel grateful Kento would never have to see his marred skin. He could remain handsome in his memories. Thought was dark, but oh well.

With Tool’s "Schism" blaring through the headphones and draped in one of his husband’s old Slipknot sweaters—hanging loose on his frame since Kento was broader, though Gojo was taller—he stared at the boiling water in the electric kettle, too drained to cook anything else. When the whistle broke his thoughts, he poured water over the cup of instant ramen and made his way to the couch. He toyed with the bowl but didn’t eat, his eyes instead fixating on Kento’s Switch. Normally, he’d pick it up and play through Kento’s saves just to mess with him. Today, though, he hesitated. ‘ He’d probably yell at me for not finishing the damn game ,’ he murmured, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Kento was OCD like that.

Finally, he powered it on, the familiar interface illuminating the dim room. He sank deeper into the couch, letting the music and the empty penthouse swallow him whole while he stared at their living room, memories flooding back.

The sound of a door creaking open shattered the stillness. He jerked upright as Toji stumbled out of the guest room in nothing but sweatpants and a tank shirt, scratching his jaw mid-yawn.

“What the—where did you come from?” Satoru barked, pulling off the headphones.

Toji glanced at him, unbothered. “Who do you think’s been ‘securing’ this place? You forgot my existence that quickly?" He strolled into the kitchen, spotting the ramen packet on the counter.

Satoru slumped back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, I need to get my head on straight if you’re sneaking up on me again.” He picked up his ramen and gulped it in quickly, his throat burning, then raising his voice, he added, “Make me more while you’re at it!”

Toji muttered something under his breath but surprisingly obliged, clattering pots and pans like he owned the place.

Gojo picked up the Switch, eyeing the last played game suspiciously. He clicked on Animal Crossing, thinking Kento probably downloaded it at the request of one of the kids, maybe Inumaki, then ran away from the oddly lifelike debt. But instead of an abandoned town, he was met with a fully thriving and decorated island with beautiful and neat hedges. He strolled around, careful not to disturb anything. But then, shouldn’t the hedges have overgrown by now? Megumi had mentioned this once while showing him around his own town after Gojo had pestered him into it. His husband had died about a month and a half ago. Without stopping what he was doing, Satoru asked loudly, “Did you play the Switch?”

Simultaneously, Toji yelled, “Why’d you clean? I was keeping it dusty to avoid suspicion. But never mind now.” Then, responding to the original question, he added, “No, I hate that thing. Too small for my hands. I prefer something with a less tiny screen and less breakable buttons.”

“Then who trimmed the hedges?” Gojo asked, still not looking up.

Toji froze for a second. “Sukuna must have touched it.” For now, Gojo seemed to buy it or didn’t pay attention. Whatever it was, Toji was grateful.

A while later, he plopped down with two steaming bowls and side dishes in front of Satoru, fully garnished with green onions, eggs, and a dash of sesame oil.

Gojo blinked at the spread, keeping the switch aside, then reached for his soda absentmindedly. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

Toji’s eyes darted to the side, widening briefly before settling into a lazy smirk. “I can do a lot of things, Brat. Should’ve checked the fridge—it had these pre-made.”

“Right.” Gojo poked at the ramen suspiciously before taking a bite. It was hot—too hot. He grabbed his Strawberry soda and chugged, coughing between sips as Toji cackled across the table.

When the burn subsided, Gojo frowned. "This... tastes like Nanamin’s cooking.” He took another bite, slower this time. “What did you use?”

“Uh, just... found a recipe.”

Gojo arched a brow. “Since when did Kento start buying recipe books?”

Toji froze for a split second, just long enough for Satoru’s six eyes to notice. Then, with a casual shrug, he added, “It was on his phone. Notes or something.”

“And since when did he write recipes down?” Gojo pressed, his confusion mounting.

Toji deflected, shoving a mouthful of noodles into his mouth. After swallowing, he muttered, “I never apologized for what happened all those years ago.”

The sudden shift in tone caught Satoru off guard. He choked on his ramen, slamming a fist to his chest to clear his throat. Toji didn’t meet his eyes.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Toji broke it after a beat. “I’m not excusing anything I did, but I didn’t have the support system you have.”

Gojo started to laugh, noodles halfway to his mouth, but caught himself when Toji’s glare hit like a punch to the gut.

Toji didn’t bother waiting. “Growing up in the Zen’in clan wasn’t a bed of roses. Not for anyone, and definitely not for someone without cursed energy. They treated me like some kind of abomination. Like my existence alone was an insult to them. So, I kept trying to prove I was worthy. Worthy of not being dehumanized, of not being beaten senseless every day until they got tired, which wasn’t anytime soon. I tried everything, but nothing was ever good enough.”

He huffed out a bitter laugh, his gaze far away. “One day, they even shoved me in the dungeons under the house. Just to get rid of me. They were so sure I’d die down there.”

Gojo tilted his head, slurping his noodles. “Then did you survive?”

Toji’s palm met the back of Gojo’s head with enough force to rattle his hair. “For the last time, I’m real and sitting here, you brat. Stop acting like everything’s some kind of hallucination.” Then finished with an eye roll. “And since I’m sitting here, it should be obvious I survived.”

“My bad.” Gojo rubbed his head, the sting lingering.

Toji ignored him. His lips twitched, almost smiling. “I still cherish the looks on those bastards’ faces when I came out alive—with just one scar.”

“Badass,” Gojo muttered around another mouthful, though Toji’s unimpressed stare had him quickly swallowing.

Toji leaned back, faintly smiling, his voice steady but low. “After that, I doubled down even harder. Strict discipline. Brutal training. Even my appearance. Everything to prove those bastards wrong. Then I met Megumi’s mom, and for the first time, I had something worth holding onto—something other than despair. We were genuinely happy. I thought maybe I could stop trying so damn hard.”

His jaw tightened. “But even that didn’t last. So, I kept going. Fighting harder. Surviving. Hell, I even took on the so-called Strongest duo. Killed an innocent girl on the way. And yet, it was never enough. Never enough to outrun the hell I grew up in, and I guess my defense mechanism, or whatever the kids these days call it, was to keep going further and further just to prove the Zen’in wrong. You probably never knew what it was like to chase approval you’d never get. A simple ‘I’m proud of you.’ I used to hate you for it, for my own insecurities." He exhaled sharply. “In doing all that, I forgot about Megumi.”

Gojo didn’t move, his gaze unwavering. “My life wasn’t as tortured as yours growing up, but I never really had a normal childhood either. I was separated from my parents at a very early age to be groomed as a respectable clan head, which made me see my parents more as fictional characters than as people I could talk to. Hell, even on the day you found me as a kid, I had run away from home, and that stupid servant caught me and brought me back. My life didn’t truly begin until I bulldozed my way into joining Jujutsu Tech and met Suguru.”

“So that’s why you’re a man-child now. You used to be so serious back then,” Toji quipped, making Gojo chuckle.

Toji’s voice softened, almost imperceptibly. “But I’m glad you took him. He would not have survived that place. At least not with his sanity.” Both Gojo and Toji laughed at that because no way was the Emo kid coming out alive of that one; he wasn’t Maki or Mai; even they were unhinged now. Megumi too was sensitive in a different way. No kid deserved that.

Then a question flickered into Toji’s mind: “Though I’d like to know...how did that day go? The day you took him. Also, how’s Tsumiki? Can I see her?”

Gojo tilted his head, chopsticks digging in his bowl. He looked like he was looking for something in it; his usual overconfidence was replaced with hesitation. “Oh, uh, well… Tsumiki is in a coma, still the same as Sukuna must have mentioned, and yeah, I can take you to see her after…”

Before Gojo could answer the rest, Toji’s phone buzzed on the table. A single name flashed across the screen: NK.

Toji swiped it facedown without hesitation, masking his reaction with a practiced ease. But for the briefest moment, something unspoken flickered across his face—an emotion too quick for Gojo to notice in his noodle-induced distraction.

Toji smirked, almost sardonic. “Done for Tsumiki and never mind. I’m sure your version of events is exaggerated anyway.”

“Excuse me!” Gojo gasped, gesturing wildly with his chopsticks. “I do not exaggerate. I’m the most honest, humble, and straightforward person you’ll ever meet.”

Toji rolled his eyes, picking up his bowl. “Right. And I’m Captain Hook.”

"Y’know," Gojo started, "it’s weird, with you alive again. Last time we were this close, I was shoving hollow purple across to you."

Toji chuckled dryly, slurping his ramen. “Yeah, well, life’s full of surprises.”

Gojo smirked, but his usual cocky mask softened just a bit. "So on the day I became the Honored One, aka the strongest, aka the Gojo Satoru? Big moment for me, by the way—thanks for that."

Toji rolled his eyes. "Just tell the story, you oversized owl."

"Fine, fine," Gojo said, leaning forward. His voice lowered. "You’d be proud. I was following this ten-year-old home.”

Toji spat out his ramen. “You were what? Like some perv?!”

Gojo chided, “That’s what he said too! But anyway, don’t interrupt me. It’s a good story.” Then he shoved some ramen in his mouth and, with his mouth full, continued. “He was being followed by your old pal Naoya’s men. I handled them. They wanted to ‘claim’ Megumi like some discount detergent.” He waved a hand dismissively, like erasing a bad memory.

Toji gripped his chopsticks tighter, the wood creaking. "Handled it, huh?"

Gojo continued, swallowing. “Yeah. Then I walked up to him. He was unaware about the men. Kid was brooding there, trying to negotiate protection for his sister.” Popping a fishcake into his mouth, he continued. "Told the brat I’d take care of them. Made sure Megumi knew what he was worth—that he had options. That he didn’t have to be just another Zen’in puppet.” Resting an arm over the chair, he added, "But I’m glad I went that day. Megumi’s a pain, but he’s also one of the good ones. He’s got your fire, y’know. He even used to look like you back then, probably will again once he becomes a fully grown Grumpy Potato."

Toji snorted, his lips twitching into the barest hint of a smile. "Kid’s probably better off with you anyway."

Gojo grinned wide, cocky again. "Obviously. Who else could raise a Zen’in into a half-decent human being?"

Toji rolled his eyes.

The silence between them stretched, broken only by the rhythmic clinking of chopsticks against bowls.

Then Gojo raised a question, his tone lighter, mischievous. “Didn’t peg you for the brooding nihilist type. Thought you were more of a 'kill now, think never' guy."

Toji grinned, wolfish. "And look how well that worked out for me."

That made them both laugh.

"Y’know," Gojo continued. "He lectures me. Lectures! Says I’m 'irresponsible' and 'unreliable.' Can you believe that? Me? Irresponsible?"

"Yeah," Toji deadpanned, "I can."

Gojo glared at him, playful. "Oh, shut up, Mr. 'Sold My Kid to the Zen’ins for a Quick Buck.'"

Toji shrugged, unbothered. "Hey, at least I didn’t sell him for free; you’d probably trade him for a mochi."

Gojo groaned, shaking his head. "You’re lucky he’s a good kid despite all that. Kid’s got this weird sense of justice, though. Always diving headfirst into fights he shouldn’t take, thinking he can fix everything. It’s annoying."

"That’s your fault," Toji shot back. "He probably watched you pull that crap a thousand times."

Gojo blinked, mock-offended. "Excuse you, I’m a perfect role model."

They both laughed, then Toji sighed, a rare softness creeping into his tone. "Still... it’s good to know he’s okay. That he’s got someone looking out for him. Even if it’s you."

Gojo smirked, lifting his bowl in another mock toast. "Damn right, it’s me. Cheers to the world’s best-dressed dad duo."

Toji clinked his chopsticks against the bowl again, shaking his head with a grin. "You steal my fits, Gojo."

"And don’t you forget it," Gojo quipped, slurping the last of his noodles.

They finished eating, then Gojo stood to clean, and Toji followed. Gojo raised a brow.

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m still traumatized by your drama yesterday. You looked one monologue away from throwing yourself off the truck,” Toji replied, scratching the back of his neck.

Gojo snorted and turned back to the sink. “And what? You’re here to catch me if I topple over?”

“Obviously. I and Sukuna can’t have the great Satoru Gojo die in his husband’s kitchen. The irony would be too much.”

As Gojo started washing the dishes, he asked casually, “You said I had ‘support.’ What exactly did you mean by that?”

Toji leaned against the counter. “I meant you have friends who care about you. Hell, even Sukuna— Sukuna , whose hobbies include murder and monologuing—stayed awake for days trying to pinpoint your location with me. He actually looked worried. I didn’t even know he had facial muscles for that. Shoko probably chain-smoked through an entire store's inventory. That pink-haired kid of yours? Looked like he was auditioning for a zombie flick. Honestly, it was pathetic. The bastards were useless without you.”

Gojo hummed, the conversation teetering between acknowledgment and avoidance. “I’m grateful for them,” he said, his tone flat.

But the words hung heavy in the air. No matter how much support Gojo had, the truth was his curse: to stand alone . If he’d died yesterday, no one could’ve saved him—not even his self-proclaimed friends. And worse, his fall would have taken Japan down with him.

Still, a small smile tugged at his lips as he stacked the bowls. His students were ready now, ready to carry his dream forward. And with no higher-ups left to screw things up, he could rest easy…ish.

Then a thought struck him. “Wait. You didn’t have friends?”

Toji shrugged. “I thought I made one that day, y’know, when I handed over Amanai’s body to that contractor. What was his name again? Shiu? Yashiu? Whatever. I asked him to lunch after, but the asshole ghosted me. Used me like a common whore and ditched.”

Gojo froze, a faint flicker of anger sparking in his eyes. Why was he angry on Toji’s behalf? Were they friends now? God forbid. But he couldn’t just shove Toji back in the cell after they had murdered the higher-ups together, especially since Toji had found him, Suguru likely having wards up to prevent sorcerers like Sukuna from entering the island. Only someone with heavenly restriction like Toji’s could’ve entered, and Maki wasn’t ready to take on Suguru.

Clearing his throat, he changed the subject. “Anyway, uh, my bad for killing you that day. But, let’s be real, lunch with that idiot wouldn’t have saved you.”

Toji snorted. “Yeah, but at least I wouldn’t have died alone. He’d have died with me.”

“True. Relatable, even. I got dumped at a KFC once.”

Toji blinked, then broke into a laugh. “What—by a friend? Oh yes, Sukuna gave me the HD version when I joined your gang. Said it was initiation lore.”

A few hours ago, a classroom at Jujutsu Tech had resembled a warped fever dream more than a place of learning. Sunlight shone ominously over a makeshift KFC setup, complete with a curtain backdrop and a sharpie-painted sign reading "KFC—Sorcerer's Special: Fried Curses" dangling precariously.

The audience? Anyone unfortunate enough to be on campus—essentially everyone, since it was a workday—perched on foldable chairs, waiting. The room buzzed with confused chatter as rows of students and alumni filled the seats, their expressions a mix of bewilderment, annoyance, and existential crisis.

Mei Mei, bribed with a year’s supply of KFC biscuits, strutted forward holding a bedazzled megaphone. “Humans, sorcerers, half-cursed spirits, and freeloaders, welcome to the reenactment of a legend! This evening, you’ll witness heartbreak, betrayal, and fried chicken. Starring Yuki Tsukumo as the undeniably silliest sorcerer Gojo Satoru and Shoko Ieiri as everyone’s favorite broody malewife, Suguru Geto!” She winked, earning groans from the crowd—except for Panda, who whispered to Yuta, “Prepare for war crimes.”

In the background, a fake window opened behind a counter littered with what might have once been chicken or rubber ducks. Sukuna, sporting a crumpled paper hat reading ‘SukuFry King’ and a greasy KFC apron, stuck his head out to advertise. “KFC—get your crispy, juicy pieces right here, while the drama unfolds!”

Hakari leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin on his face, and shouted, “Twenty bucks says this joint goes up in flames before the credits roll! Who’s in?”

Panda shook his hand.

In the center sat Toji Fushiguro, chained to his chair. His usual mysterious aura seemed muted by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

“I don’t even like chicken that much,” he muttered, his voice flat. A sign taped to his chest read ‘DO NOT FEED THE MURDERER’, as if that was the real threat here. Most people didn’t recognize him, so they eyed him with suspicion.

Across the room, Sukuna held out a pink Barbie phone to his ear, pretending to call Toji while looking in another direction. “Shut it, Fushiguro Daddy. No one invited you to the feast; you’re just here for the vibes.” He spoke only loud enough for Toji to hear and scowl.

Suddenly, the Barbie phone blared “ tunk tunk tun ta ra ra !” at full volume in his ear, echoing through the room. Sukuna jumped, nearly dropping the phone in the very real fryer, shooting a glare at it.

Just then, Yuki, playing Gojo, stormed onto the stage wearing a baby blue crop top that read " Being an atheist got boring, so I shall now be God " and a dollar-store ‘eyelash game savage’ blindfold beneath dark fake glasses. Her fluffy flip-flops slammed against the floor like she was declaring war and fighting on bad fashion’s side. “Everyone loves me,” she announced, arms outstretched like a runway model, pausing for effect. “But no one loves me like KFC chicken does—crispy, juicy, and always there for me!”

She then turned sharply, accidentally addressing the wrong side of the room, i.e., Sukuna, who turned her the right way with one hand over her head. “Suguru,” she intoned, dragging the name out like an eighties villain. “You promised to share in my eternal quest for... fried enlightenment! And if you don’t, I’ll unleash my secret weapon: the extra crispy dance !”

Todo, who had showed up uninvited (again), let out an enthusiastic whistle as Yuki flipped her hair—only for her white hair wig to fly off, revealing the shiniest bald cap anyone had ever seen. He leaped to his feet, clapping. “YES, QUEEN! SLAY!”

Meanwhile, Sukuna pulled out a megaphone he’d stolen from Inumaki. “KFC: Where chicken meets tragedy. Get your two-piece meals at the concession stand!”

Kusakabe raised a hand. “Uh, I thought this was a strategy meeting?”

Todo turned to him. “Kusakabe, my brother! Witness their youth!”

Kusakabe glared. “I will fail you.” Making Todo slump back into his chair.

Yuji leaned over to Megumi, whispering, “Did Todo hit his head again?”

Yuki, now firmly reattached to her wig, struck another pose. “KFC is my soulmate,” she declared, voice dripping with faux heartbreak. “But Suguru—Suguru thinks it’s Mid-FC! The betrayal!”

Sukuna, leaning forward like the Colonel’s most unhinged employee of the month, sneered. “Are you ordering chicken, or am I committing mass murder in five seconds?”

“No one asked you, Sukuna!” Yuki snapped, flinging a napkin at him. Sukuna caught it mid-air, incinerating it with a clawed hand.

From the side, Shoko shuffled forward, cosplaying Suguru Geto with a fake tattoo sleeve, red sparkly buttons on her earlobs, and a tangled, dusty wig being held together with thoughts and prayers in a hoodie titled ‘Cuntest sorcerer of the modern era’. She was carrying a KFC bucket. “Gojo, we need to talk,” she said, forcing her voice deepen into a raspy purr that sounded more I-smoked-all-week than brooding.

Yuki (Gojo) whirled around, her flair so exaggerated she smacked the bucket out of Shoko’s hands. “But why, Suguru?! Is it because I always steal the best pieces of chicken?”

As Shoko (Geto) began her breakup monologue about emotional neglect and chicken, Higuruma (playing Toji) crawled across the stage, like a centipede, toward the fallen chicken bucket. Toru hung around his neck playing wormie. "So... no one’s gonna eat that? Can I—?”

Shoko (Geto) slapped his hand away with disdain. “No, Toji.” She kicked the bucket out of his reach.

Panda’s laugh sounded suspiciously like a car backfiring.

Shoko (Geto) rubbed her temple, "Gojo, why do you always have to be like this? Why can’t you just order a normal meal like everyone else?" She was trying to keep a straight face but kept glancing at the beer can she’d snuck in.

Yuki (Gojo) looked at her, adjusting her blindfold and fake sunglasses, with betrayal. "Because I’m not like other boys, Suguru."

Junpei staired wide-eyed, muttering, “Is this normal?” Mimiko and Nanako patted his shoulders comfortingly.

“Yes,” Mimiko said, deadpan. “Everyone knows about this except for Gojo and Geto-sensei.”

Shoko (Geto) grabbed the bucket from Higuruma’s hands—he’d managed to pluck it from the floor—and tossed it into the audience, where it hit Ijichi square in the face.

Shoko (Geto) yelled, "Gojo, it was NEVER about the chicken. It was about YOU. Always YOU."

Sukuna (KFC employee) sounded suspiciously like a Keren out on hunt, saying, "Are you two gonna order something, or do I have to call homeless control? We have a literal two-piece deal even your broke sorcerer asses can afford—trust me, it’s more fulfilling than your entire life’s purpose!” He paused, raising an eyebrow. “And it comes with a side of regret!”

Yuki (Gojo) scowled at him, "Oh, this isn’t about chicken, King of Ass-Pull techniques. This is about principle!”

She turned to face Shoko, nearly knocking over the cardboard counter in the process.

Megumi groaned into his hands. “Why?”

Nobara slapped his back. “Shut up. This is the best thing I’ve seen all week.”

Ino (as Shoko), fully committed to his role, burst through the side door, a fake cigarette dangling from his lips, looking incredibly done in Shoko’s high-school uniform that revealed his gorilla-level hairy legs. "I can’t have more of you both not communicating with each other and then coming to me crying about your feelings!" he bellowed, waving the fake cigarette around like a deranged conductor's baton. "I’m moving to med school to fake my studies.”

He propped one foot up on a chair, chest puffed out. "Next time you have a meltdown, try punching a wall or something! Seriously, I didn’t sign up for ‘Days of Our Lives: Extreme Oblivious Edition!"

Miguel (playing Ijichi), lugging an absurdly oversized notebook even for his frame, stumbled in after him. “Sensei! I’m taking attendance—oh no. Not again.”

Then from the other door, Choso (playing Nanami), in an absolutely horrendous business suit from the clearance bin, stormed in. "I’m DONE, Gojo. I quit Jujutsu Tech. I’m joining corporate and selling my soul. I don’t have time for fried chicken skits; I want to wake up eight years later and look at my balding head, then wonder where my youth went."

Yuki (Gojo) pointed at him. "You wouldn’t dare ruin my sunflower garden on your head!"

Maki, unimpressed, sighed, “This is why no one respects them.”

Sukuna (KFC employee) adjusted his crumpled paper hat, radiating despair. "Can someone please exorcise me already? No one appreciates the Colonel."

Yuki (Gojo), now focused again after her moment of ADHD, said, "You betrayed me when you ordered boneless chicken wings, Suguru."

Shoko (Geto) shot back, "They’re practical, Satoru!"

Higuruma (Toji), now sitting on the ground, held a cup out toward the audience. "Spare change? Anyone? Please. I’ll take KFC gift cards at this point." He paused, leaning toward Shoko. "Geto, buddy, a nugget? Anything? I’m starving."

Shoko (Geto) shot him a withering side-eye. "Not now, Toji. I’m having a quarter-life crisis."

Higuruma (Toji) nodded solemnly, then held the cup higher toward the crowd. "No worries. Continue. But seriously, just a bite?"

The real Toji groaned in the background, making Sukuna chuckle.

Panda tried to sneak some popcorn from Kirara’s stash, only to be slapped on the paw. Inumaki and Yuta sighed, sharing some shrimp chips with him.

Shoko (Geto) stormed to the counter and slapped down a crumpled 500-yen bill. "Satoru, for the last time, we are NOT ordering bones-only."

Across from her, Yuki (Gojo) leaned on the counter, radiating the kind of energy that came from seven whiskey shots too many. "It’s about the morals, Suguru,” she declared, wagging her finger. "Bones are the soul of fried chicken! How can you betray me by ordering—” She spat the words like a curse, “boneless chicken wings?”

Sukuna sighed from behind the counter, poking at a rubber chicken on a spatula. "This is KFC, not marriage counseling."

“Why am I here again?” Toji growled, tugging at the chains around his ankles, hoping they’d break and he’d make a run for it.

“Because you lost at Uno! Haha Loser!,” Sukuna mocked, a little too unhinged and happy, tossing a handful of napkins into the deep fryer for fun.

Yuki (Gojo) dropped to her knees, hands clutching at thin air like she was performing in a Shakespearean tragedy. "Suguru, don’t leave me! We’ve been through everything together—Mochi! Nanami’s bangs! Chicken!” Her voice cracked, as if each word was ripping her apart.

Within moments, she was sprawled on the floor, flailing her limbs like a soap opera actor who’d just discovered their long-lost twin was actually a disguised alien. "Think of the Nuggets, Suguru!" she wailed, her melodrama reaching new, uncharted heights.

Shoko (Geto) rolls her eyes, stepping back. “That’s exactly the problem, Gojo! You only think about yourself... and chicken!” She picks up the fallen bones-only KFC bucket, shaking it. “This... this symbolizes everything wrong with us.”

Sukuna (still KFC ambassador), now fully leaning out the KFC window, clicks his tongue. “Should’ve gone with the spicy tenders, Suguru. More flavor. Less heartbreak.”

Yuki (Gojo) stands, dusting herself off, looking stoic now. “Fine, Suguru. If you wanna leave... then go. But don’t come crawling back when you realize that no one, NO ONE, makes better chicken-related decisions than I do!”

Shoko (Geto) flips her dusty fake hair, then coughs as it spins around only to land in her mouth. “It’s over, Gojo. You’ve... changed. And it’s not just about the chicken anymore.”

Somewhere in the back, Todo yelled, “Even Takada-chan loves bone-in chicken.” Earning side-eyes from everyone. Then Shoko (Geto) turned her back and continued, “Are you Gojo Satoru because you like bone-in fried chicken, or are you chicken because you hate boneless?" Weirdly enough, making Mimiko and Nanako shed a tear as the rest of the students eyed them awkwardly while Maki and Junpai rubbed their backs.

Higuruma (Toji), crawled back to his spot and sighed. “Breakups are hard, huh? To gain heavenly restriction against ‘em, spare a wing for a guy in need ?” He sounded suspiciously like a sleazy pyramid scheme salesman peddling floor cleaner.

“Honestly,” he continued, with a mock-serious tone, “ for just five easy payments of emotional trauma, you too can avoid heartbreak forever! Act now, and I’ll throw in a free set of emotional baggage, making you top tear Red-Flag !”

Kashimo (Haibara) floated aimlessly as a poorly conceived ghost prop, holding up a sign that read " Nanami ’s fault ."

Beside him, Choso (Nanami) buried his head in his hands. “Haibara, you lucky little shit, must be glad you died before witnessing this.”

The door slammed open again, hinges screeching like they were about to quit, as Yourozu (channeling Sukuna with the energy of a feral cryptid) covered in sharpie tattoos burst in, dual-wielding two buckets of KFC. “Yo, these trash humans should ditch the chicken and sell fried human toes!” She howled, spinning one bucket like a fidget spinner.

Before anyone could process the culinary war crime, Kashimo (Haibara), still in a white bedsheet covered with mysterious stains, phased into existence next to her like a glitch in the Matrix. “Honestly? This is the most alive I’ve felt in decades,” he muttered, chewing one enthusiastically.

Yourozu’s (Sukuna) eyes gleamed. “Picture it! Toes—crispy nails on the outside, chewy fleshy core on the inside—portable protein and calcium for cursed spirits on the go!”

Kashimo (Haibara) nodded, as if possessed by the spirit of a business bro (or just Nanami?). “You’re onto something. Pair it with sauces—spicy teriyaki, miso glaze, a dab of mayo. Go full Michelin.”

“‘Sukuna’s Special Toes’!” Yourozu (Sukuna) roared, arms raised like she’d just invented sliced bread. “Limited edition. Toes freshly cursed, aged for maximum crunch. Hurry up for Sukuna’s Toes Cumming near you.”

Kashimo (Haibara), still glowing and looking like a horror movie side character who’s about to narrate the end of the world, declared, “I’d throw my life savings at that. Beats playing ‘haunted tag’ for eternity.”

The room was silent—in horror—as they stared at Yourozu mimicking Sukuna’s trademark smirk, now directed at a chicken nugget she was calling “toe prototype.”

In the middle of it all, Toji was the only one snickering, making real Sukuna chuck his Barbie phone at him from the KFC booth. The phone broke into a million pieces on impact with Toji’s skull before scattering on the floor.

Higuruma (Toji) slides over to real Toji, holding up his empty cup. “Spare change?”

Real Toji handed him a KFC coupon from his back pocket. “Here, go nuts.”

Higuruma’s eyes light up, holding the coupon like it’s a winning lottery ticket. “Now this is the kind of happy ending I deserve.”

Miguel (Ijichi) muttered to himself like a malfunctioning NPC. “One day... one day I’ll grow up to be big and strong... like my amazing senpais…” His voice wobbled, trembling like he was on the verge of tears—or self-combustion—but the sheer tension radiating off him made him look less like a sad little intern and more like an excavator about to explode in the middle of rush hour. His hands shook as he clutched a clipboard for dear life, but his expression screamed, ‘Please don’t ask me how I’m doing,’ while his aura screamed, ‘Ask and you’ll die.’

Real Ijichi looked at him like he was regretting life decisions. “Was I really this pathetic as a junior?” he whispered to himself, trembling. Akari nodded next to him.

Kusakabe folded his arms. “I was told this was a cursed spirit seminar. Where’s the educational value?”

Todo shouted from the back, "The only education you need is learning what kind of woman orders boneless chicken!”

“That’s it! You will be failed AND SUSPENDED from the Sister School Exchange Event. I’ll also ban your entry here so you can’t see Itadori!” Kusakabe yelled while Ijichi tried to calm him down.

Without another word, Todo sat back down. Yuji breathed a sigh of relief.

Back at the counter, Yuki (Gojo) had fully climbed onto the counter, pointing at Shoko (Geto).

“You call yourself my best friend—my soulmate, Suguru—and you order BON—" she choked on the word, “—LESS?!”

Shoko (Geto), completely unfazed, popped a cigarette into her mouth and lit it with the fire emanating from Sukuna’s deep fryer. “They’re practical, Satoru. You don’t have to deal with bones when you’re hungover or just returned from swallowing balls.”

Yuki (Gojo) bellowed.

Panda leaned over to Hakari and whispered, “This is why mammals don’t need wings.”

Hakari nodded.

Yuta stared blankly at the scene unfolding before him, slumped between Panda and Inumaki. “I thought turning my ex-girlfriend into a curse was the lowest point of my life,” he said.

“Same,” Maki replied from the front, rubbing her temples.

Megumi groaned. “This is an insult to women and fried chicken.”

Yuki (Gojo) turned her attention to Sukuna. “You’re the employee here! Tell him he’s wrong!”

Sukuna, now wearing his KFC hat at a jaunty angle, barked out a laugh. “Listen, ‘Delulu iz D Solulu’ ambassador, I just work here.” He sneered, pointing a rubber chicken drumstick like a scepter. “But let me tell you this—no one who orders boneless chicken respects themselves. Or anyone else. They’re the spiritual equivalent of someone who microwaves ice cream.”

The room gasped in collective horror, except for Yuji, who looked genuinely curious about microwaved ice cream. “Does it melt faster?” he whispered to Hakari, who groaned and rubbed his temples.

Real Toji, visibly done with everyone’s nonsense, muttered, “I’ve killed men for less.”

“Shut up, Toji,” Yuki snapped, chucking a ketchup packet at him. “You’re only here because Sukuna thought it’d be funny.”

“Damn right, it’s funny,” Sukuna quipped, flipping rubber ducks in the fryer.

The crowd noise reached a crescendo when Shoko (Geto) grabbed a tray of fries and shoved them at Yuki. “Fine! If you’re so obsessed with bones, why don’t you eat these? They're BONES of the potato world!”

The insult hit harder than expected. Yuki (Gojo) gasped, clutched her chest like she’d been stabbed, and fell onto the counter.

“I—CAN’T—BELIEVE THIS—” she wailed.

Choso (Nanami) yelled from the audience, “Haibara, take me now!”

Kusakabe muttered, "You idiots called me from Kyoto for this?" Akari sighed. “It’s a recurring nightmare; just go with it. It’ll be over soon.”

Soon Shoko (Geto) threw her cigarette into the fryer. The grease exploded.

Ino (Shoko) yelled from the door, “The principal’s on the way! Save yourselves, peasants!” He bellowed then, without missing a beat, hitched up his (Shoko’s high school) skirt like a Disney princess mid-escape and yeeted himself out the nearest window, purple boxers on full display like a chaotic pride flag. He landed in a somersault that was either pure James Bond or budget Brokeback Mountain, depending on how you squinted, before taking off with all the grace of a pigeon dodging traffic.

Sukuna burst through his cardboard KFC window in a single fluid motion, like an Olympian who moonlighted as a feral mothman. With zero hesitation, he grabbed Real Toji by the collar and yeeted him like a human projectile. The chair and Toji soared through the air in cursed synchronization before crashing into the nearest bush with a sound so loud it startled three crows into orbit.

Quickly turning around, Sukuna then yelled out. “Alright, that’s it. Everyone get out before I curse this entire campus for being budgetarily impaired . I swear, even the vending machines are in a dollar drought.”

Todo stood up. “You can’t curse me; I’m too strong.”

“Shut up, best friendo,” Nobara snapped, kicking the back of his chair.

Yaga stormed in, looking like he’d aged ten years in ten seconds, forced to babysit an entire fraternity. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU ALL DOING?!” he roared, veins on his forehead threatening mutiny.

Higuruma (Toji but with none of the chill) bolted upright like a startled meerkat, clutching his KFC coupon like it was the last horcrux. “I’m out!” He ran offstage, tripping over Yuki, who was sprawled out on the floor. Making Toru abandon him for Megumi.

Meanwhile, Shoko—now in a baldcap (she had flung her Suguru wig without looking, making it land atop Todo)—was casually guiding Yuki offstage by dragging her flip-flop-clad feet, as Yuki grabbed random stage props since she still couldn’t see through her Helen Keller blindfold and fake sunglasses combo. “Just... pretend you had cataract surgery,” Shoko whispered. “But don’t quote me; I’m not an ophthalmologist.”

Todo, now crowned by the discarded rag-like wig, was deep in character as Takada-chan’s split personality, striking a pose. “Shake ‘em buns,” he intoned with grave sincerity, the words heavy with meaning only he could comprehend.

Mei Mei, still holding the megaphone, announced smugly, “And that concludes tonight’s performance! Tips are accepted in cash or chicken.”

Sukuna tips his paper KFC hat. “Always a pleasure, Yaga. If you ever need us for another reenactment—”

Yaga cuts him off, pointing to the door. “I’d rather face Mahito.”

As the “actors” leave the stage, Higuruma (Toji) waves his KFC coupon in the air, victorious.

“Take that! Student Debt!” then turns face and runs away when Yaga gives him a death glare.

Yaga sighed as the students scrambled to leave, laughter echoing down the halls.

“Next time,” Yaga growled in the hallway, “I’m calling the Zen’in clan to babysit you all.”

Sukuna shrugged. “Good luck with that; strong ones are already here.”

But before Yaga could question him, the curtains fell —they really fell because Yuji decided to lean on them like they were a support group for his Paranormal Finger Munchies. “...My bad,” he muttered, slowly backing away.

Megumi sighed and turned away in embarrassment, with Toru, who was apparently the real protagonist of this story (in her mind), and began walking off in silent protest. Toru, nestled in his arms, purred loudly while striking poses that screamed, Servant, paint me like your French girls, her little primordial pouch hangin out like it’s own cursed womb.

“HEY! My turn to hold Toru!” Nobara yelled, storming after them with the energy of a rabid raccoon. She grabbed at Toru’s tail, but Megumi expertly pivoted, keeping the cat out of her reach like they were playing keep-away with a sacred relic. Panda tried to go after Nobara to stop her but was tackled by Maki and Kirara for lunch money he promised he’d pay them back.

Toru winked at Nobara. If cats could flip people off, she absolutely would have.

Meanwhile, Inumaki had somehow managed to snatch Toru’s tiny sunglasses and was attempting to wear them over one eye. The result? He looked like a certain one-eyed cryptid who’d stumbled out of the depths of urban legend forums.

“Shake!” Inumaki declared, striking a pose.

“Give those back before you snap them,” Yuta ran after him, diving to wrestle the sunglasses out of Inumaki’s hands. But Inumaki was faster, shimmying his shoulders like a little gremlin, the glasses barely hanging on as he cackled in triumph.

The scene devolved further when Nobara tackled Megumi, sending both of them—and Toru—tumbling to the ground along with Maki, Kirara, and Junpei. Hakari took pictures for blackmail later. Toru leapt out unscathed, jumping into Ijichi’s arms, who held her like a bomb waiting to explode before passing her off to Kusakabe, where she purred like she’d planned it all along.

“Finally, someone in this room with taste,” Sukuna muttered, placing the KFC paper hat on Toru’s head. Akari leaped into action like a caffeinated kangaroo, ready to snap pictures of Toru: the Kaisen to our Jujutsu ’s official Instagram page; yes, Toru had an Instagram page now in only 12 hours of arrival.

Yuji whispered to Nanako and Mimiko, “Do you guys think Toru likes boneless chicken?”

Sukuna turned sharply, his glare a thousand curses being unleashed at once. “Don’t you dare, brat.”

Choso and Kashimo sprinted into the practice grounds. “Take me now, best friend!" Choso (Nanami) yelled at Kashimo, who tried to float away only to bump into a pole with a reverberating clang , due to him still being in the white bedsheet.

Gojo was clutching his stomach and laughing on the couch on the balcony. Next to him, Toji leaned against the railing, recounting the KFC incident with an amused smirk. “I can’t decide if I should be flattered... or straight-up horrified,” Gojo muttered, still half-laughing.

Toji snorted, glancing at his phone when it buzzed. “Hold that thought; I gotta take this.” He pushed off the railing and headed toward the guest room he’d claimed, waving a dismissive hand as Gojo waved back, still wheezing with laughter.

As Toji shut the door behind him, he dialed a number. The line clicked, and Sukuna’s dry voice answered almost immediately. “What now?

Toji whispered, “Where the hell are you? Higuruma and Yuki are looking for you.”

“Home with Jin, like I said earlier,” Sukuna replied, his tone sharp. “Why? Did Nanami do something again? I told them to keep him in check—he’s becoming a wildcard lately.”

“No, not this time,” Toji replied, leaning against the desk in the room. “Something’s going down in Shibuya. Veils are going up. They’re asking for you specifically.”

There was a pause before Sukuna spoke again. “Ok, I’ll head there now. But FYI, Kaori is a threat and needs to not be let near the school or trusted with Yuji; she’s not home, and I’m betting she won’t be back. I’m sending Jin your way. Also, you and Gojo need to get to Shibuya within the hour—but keep Gojo out of sight. No curses can see him, and definitely don’t let him see Nanami. You get what I’m saying?”.

Toji frowned, the weight of Sukuna’s tone making him stiffen. “Yeah, I get Nanami. But why all the other cloak-and-dagger shit?”

“Because their plan hinges on Gojo being out of the equation, and I intend on finding out what it is.” Sukuna explained bluntly. “But if I don’t call you by 10 PM, take Gojo and get the hell out of there. No exceptions. He can be around in Shibuya, but do not let him step foot near me, no matter what. He’ll make himself a target, then become impossible for you to control, and if he jumps in, we’re all screwed. His plan is the darkest shit I’ve ever heard, so you have to make sure he’s gone. The kids will need him more than anyone else if this goes south.”

Toji exhaled sharply, the weight of the situation sinking in. “Alright, you’ve got my word. Honestly, he thinks half this shit’s a hallucination anyway. Shouldn’t be too hard to keep him distracted.”

Sukuna let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s the med withdrawals. Sober him up, but not too much. If he gets too clear-headed, he’ll try to play martyr again, especially with Nanami being there. You know how he is.”

Toji smirked faintly. “Got it. By the way, where’s Nanami? I need to steer clear of him while keeping Gojo clueless.”

“Last we talked, he had found Kaori and was following her into Shibuya.” Sukuna spoke, his voice darkening. “My texts haven’t gone through since, and at first, I figured it was just subway reception. Now I’m not so sure.”

Toji clenched his jaw, nodding even though Sukuna couldn’t see. “Alright. I’ll look for him when I get there.”

“Be careful,” Sukuna said, his tone low but firm. “And remember, no matter what happens—keep Gojo from seeing him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Toji replied before the line disconnected. He stared at his phone for a moment, his thoughts scattered everywhere and nowhere all at once. He didn’t know what the night would hold for them—would he survive this time, especially since even Sukuna was unsure?

He sighed, thinking, what’s the point of dwelling on it now? Maybe his karma had come to collect, but one thing was certain: he would get Gojo and Nanami out, even if it was the last thing he did, for his kid at least.

With that resolve, he headed back to the balcony, his expression unreadable. Gojo was still flopped over the couch.

Without looking up from the switch he was fiddling with, Gojo asked casually, “Who were you on the phone with?”

Toji froze for a fraction of a second before recovering. “Sukuna. There’s some mission in Shibuya. They asked me to call him.” His tone calm, as to not show any cracks to the six eyes.

Gojo hummed, seemingly disinterested. “Cool. Can we go? I’m bored out of my mind here.”

“No.” Toji’s response came out too loud and too quick, making both of them pause. He cleared his throat, forcing his voice into a more neutral tone. “We need to keep you under the radar. We still don’t know who took Nanami out, and you’re... not exactly at your best right now.” He gestured vaguely at Gojo with both hands, as if trying to encompass his entire disheveled state.

Gojo’s jaw tightened, his fingers stilling on the switch. For a moment, something raw flickered in his gaze. Then he plastered on a grin. “Oh, come on! I’ll be as fast as the Flash. No one will even know I was there.” He leaned back, balancing the switch on one finger like he was proving a point.

Toji sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But Sukuna’s brother—Genie or whatever his name is—is coming. We’ll go with him when he gets here. Until then, you stay put.”

Gojo perked up slightly at the concession, nodding lazily. “Jin. You’re so bossy, Grandpa."

Toji muttered something under his breath about “needing a break” and left the room to brew the kind of coffee strong enough to short-circuit the strongest sorcerer, for they all needed Gojo awake.

Behind him, Gojo twirled the switch on his finger, the laughter fading from his face as he stared out over the balcony.

A few days before Nanami’s death, Sukuna stood on the barren, icy expanse of Antarctica, glaring at the horizon as if it had just told him his nipples looked like pepperoni. The howling wind slapped his robes over his face like some petty spirit of humiliation, and he hissed, batting them away. Nearby, a lone seal flopped lazily on the ice, side-eyeing him with all the disdain of a Netflix critic.

“Why the hell am I even here?” Sukuna muttered, his words yanked away by the wind before they could hit the ears of anyone who mattered. Not that anyone was around to hear them anyway, unless you counted the penguins—and Sukuna most certainly did not. Just then, a particularly audacious seal flopped by like it was late for its evening shows.

“There’s no cursed energy here,” he grumbled louder. “Not even microscopic. Just seals and penguins. And they don’t even have the decency to be cursed seals or cursed penguins. What’s the point?”

A penguin waddled by, stopped, and honked in response, its tone dripping with disrespect. Sukuna glared, debating whether it was worth vaporizing the smug, chubby bird. After a long pause, he sighed dramatically. “You’re lucky I respect the food chain.” The penguin flapped its wings like it was giving him a round of sarcastic applause before belly-flopping onto the ice and sliding away.

Something was off. Why was he here, standing on this oversized ice cube with penguins that had more social skills than Yaga? And it wasn’t just the fact that he’d been stuck here for weeks, enduring the cold like some exiled deity. He had been sent on a “ research mission ,” which, in his humble opinion, was just a fancy way of saying, “ We don’t know what to do with you, so go annoy some polar bears .” Joke’s on them—there weren’t even polar bears here. Antarctica was a punishment, plain and simple.

On top of that, Yaga had assigned Yuki to “ keep an eye ” on him, and since she wasn’t about to freeze her ass off in the middle of nowhere, she’d dumped him here with strict instructions not to leave or she’d throw him in a black hole for some days, and Sukuna didn’t like the idea of that. That would be worse than Gojo’s Infinite Void.

For weeks, he’d been begging Yuki to let him return to Japan, but no dice. She was stationed at Jujutsu Tech, basking in the comfort of sofas and coffee while he froze his nipples off in the middle of the Antarctic wasteland.

The daily calls hadn’t helped. He was in the humiliating position of begging Yuki to let him leave.

“Yuki, I’m cold,” Sukuna had grumbled into the phone for the fifth time in a row.

“Then turn into your true form and warm yourself up,” she had replied, her tone brimming with barely hidden laughter.

“I’m not wasting my energy on this hellhole!” Sukuna yelled, but softly.

‘ You always abandon research missions, Sukuna. Maybe some alone time will help you focus ,’ Yaga had said with a smirk. As if that wasn’t code for ‘ Fuck off!. ’

The audacity. He didn’t even abandon missions that often! Only when they were boring, which was always. Still, he called Yuki fifteen times a day to beg for permission to leave, and she roasted him every single time.

“Let me come back to Japan!” he’d shouted during his next attempt.

“No,” Yuki had replied, not even trying to hide her amusement. “You’re like a cursed snowman. You’ll be fine.”

“Have you forgotten I’m human too? I’m freezing!”

“What’s the point of being the King of Curses if you can’t warm yourself up?”

He’d hung up on her, fuming, but he’d still called her back an hour later. It was the principle of the thing.

“Yuki,” he said, his voice dripping with faux patience. “Please, I have to come back to Japan.”

Yuki, sprawled across a beanbag at Jujutsu Tech, flicked her sunglasses up. “Oh, really? What happened to ‘ Antarctica is boring, but at least the seals mind their own business ’?”

“That was before I realized penguins are loud!” Sukuna growled, glaring at a particularly smug-looking bird waddling by. It honked at him, unbothered, like it had just one-upped his entire existence. “Also, I’m not staying because Yaga doesn’t trust me with research.”

Yuki snorted. “Gee, I wonder why. Maybe because the last time they asked you to ‘study cursed energy ecosystems,’ you created cursed energy piñatas and invited the first years to take a swing.”

“That was science,” Sukuna snapped, crossing all four of his arms indignantly. “How else do you explain where curses come from? Answer: spicy candy!”

She raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure that’s not in the syllabus.”

“And you’re not in the syllabus either, but here we are,” he shot back. “Look, Yaga only sent me here because he thinks I’ll ‘abandon missions’ or whatever. Newsflash: Maybe they shouldn’t send me on missions where the highlight is making snow angels ! I’m the best sorcerer they have!”

Yuki chuckled, taking a long sip from her iced tea. “You’re not exactly selling me on why I should let you go.”

“Because something’s happening in Japan,” Sukuna said, his tone turning serious for a split second before another penguin flopped onto the ice, belly-sliding past him. He sighed deeply, muttering, “I swear to God, if that penguin honks at me again, I’m turning it into sashimi.”

The penguin, as if sensing his threat, honked. Loudly . Yuki disconnected, laughing.

Sometime later, though, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fumbled it out with numb fingers, half expecting it to be Yuki rejecting another one of his requests. Instead, the number was one he’d been waiting for. His lips curled into a grin. Finally.

“Got something big,” Toji said, his tone smug. “Higher-ups are moving pieces, and it’s not looking good for Nanami. You want me to take it to Yuki?”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a grin. “Yeah. You handle Yuki. I’ve got something else to do.” He was already halfway to summoning his cursed energy to leave this icy hellhole. As he disappeared, the penguin honked one last time. It sounded suspiciously like, “ Don’t come back, loser. ”

Within an hour, Sukuna was off the ice and into the nearby oceans. Plans were for people like Toji; Sukuna didn’t need one. He had instincts, cursed energy, and a bone-deep sense that he’d find Nanami, no matter what.

Yuki was sprawled on the sofa, flicking her bike keys into the air like she had nothing better to do than look cool. She caught them with a lazy smirk.

Meanwhile, Toji arrived at Jujutsu Tech with the intel in hand. Sukuna joined the conversation via video call, his face taking up most of the screen as the camera bobbed with the ocean’s current.

“Why are you on a boat? What happened? Did the penguins finally overthrow you?” Yuki asked, raising an eyebrow as she caught sight of Sukuna’s blurry background.

“Not a boat,” Sukuna corrected, his tone dripping with faux patience. “I’m in the water. I have a lead.”

Yuki smirked. “Oh, so you’re just swimming around hoping for a miracle?”

Before Sukuna could snap back, Toji strode into the staff room, tossing a USB drive onto the table. “Ignore him. I’ve got important intel.”

Yuki sighed, spinning the keys one last time before slipping them into her pocket. “Alright. You’ve got ten minutes.” Her tone was equal parts annoyed and intrigued.

Toji didn’t waste time. He laid out what he had discovered—fragmented but damning evidence that the higher-ups were deliberately isolating key sorcerers and sending them on suicidal missions. “It’s divide and conquer,” he explained. “Nanami’s their target, and they’ve already set the pieces in motion.”

The casual way he said it sent a chill down the room. Yuki’s smirk disappeared, replaced with a frown as she plugged the drive into her laptop. The screen lit up with files, mission reports, and redacted documents. Her eyes darted across the screen, and her expression darkened.

When Toji finished, Yuki leaned back, exhaling heavily. “I thought Nanami-kun was on leave,” she said, turning her laptop to show him on medical leave on the employee portal. Sukuna’s eyes were ablaze. “I saw it in his eyes—his soul had already left him. I should have said something.” She clenched her fists, her voice rising with frustration. “And now he’s already on that cursed ship mission. I knew something was off when they started assigning us those old death traps—missions with body counts higher than the people they’d save. It’s been weeks. This is bad.”

Sukuna’s voice crackled through the call. “Told you it was urgent.”

“Shut up,” Yuki said without looking up. “I’ll ban you from leaving Antarctica.”

“I already left!” Sukuna shot back, splashing water onto the camera for effect. “I told you, I’m handling it.”

Yuki asked Sukuna. “And you thought this guy should be in charge?” Gesturing to Toji.

“Not my circus, not my penguins,” Toji replied with a shrug.

Her gaze shifted sharply to Toji as she asked Sukuna. “But who the hell is he? And how’d he manage to get this much dirt on the higher-ups? They’re practically untouchable.”

Before Sukuna could answer, the door creaked open. Shoko stepped in, clearly hunting for her sixth coffee of the day. She froze the moment her eyes landed on Toji, her expression betraying a flicker of recognition. Without a word, she turned to leave, but Yuki was faster, blocking her path.

“Oh no, no, no. You’re not getting out of this, Shoko-kun.” Yuki’s sharp tone left no room for argument. “What do you know?”

Shoko sighed, rubbing her temple before glancing at Sukuna, who gave her a silent nod to continue. “Fine,” she muttered. “He’s Fushiguro Toji. Former Zen’in. Long story short, he was the one who’d fought Gojo for Amanai, then died, then Sukuna and I revived him— well, mostly Sukuna —because he’s got a reputation for being... resourceful . The kind of guy you hire when you need the impossible done.” She glanced sideways at Toji. “Times must be hard that he’s out during the day.”

Yuki’s eyes widened as realization dawned. She turned back to Toji, her annoyance replaced with something like awe. “Wait a minute—you’re that Toji Fushiguro?!”

Toji arched an eyebrow, smirking faintly. “Depends. What’s the story this time?”

“Oh my God,” Yuki breathed, clapping her hands together. “You’re the one who took out half the Zen’in clan’s prized fighters, aren’t you? And didn’t you steal something from the higher-ups once? What was it? A cursed tool? A vault of cursed objects? No, wait—it was both, wasn’t it?!”

Toji leaned casually against the wall, his smirk widening. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Yuki, completely ignoring the tension in the room, began to fangirl unabashedly. “This is amazing. Amazing! I mean, I knew they were corrupt, but this? And you? Papaguro, a secret badass, just casually dropping truth bombs in our staff room? Incredible.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. “If you’re done swooning, I’m the one who’s actually going to save Nanami.” He moved to disconnect the video call.

Yuki, snapping out of her excitement, called after him. “Wait! Sukuna, we need a plan—”

Sukuna’s voice was low and dangerous. “I already have one, so stay out of my way. Also, get Higuruma on board but no one else, until I know more.”

As the call disconnected, Yuki turned back to Toji, her earlier awe quickly returning. “Okay, but seriously—how’d you find all this out? Do you have spies or something? Do you need an apprentice? I’m a fast learner!”

Toji chuckled softly, enjoying the attention more than he cared to admit. “Maybe next time, Tsukumo.”

Shoko sighed heavily as she finally poured her coffee and dialed Higuruma.

Yuki grinned at Toji, her eyes sparkling. “I’d love that! But wait, what’s your type in women?”

Toji sighed, “Not this again.” Remembering Geto’s curse, asking him the same question years ago, then cutting chunks of his hair, probably for her collection.

The ocean was an endless void, vast and indifferent, but Sukuna’s determination didn’t waver. It took days of searching—suppressing his cursed energy as thin as thread along with his immense power to avoid detection—before he finally found him.

Kento Nanami.

He was surrounded by two curses, their forms hunched and pulsing with dark energy. They hovered near him, guarding him like vultures over a corpse. From behind a massive boulder, Sukuna crouched, observing with cold calculation as he talked to Nanami. Then Nanami fell limp, his breathing shallow but steady. His aura was no longer human—it roared with a malevolence Sukuna knew too well. Yet exhaustion had claimed him, his body seemingly broken under the weight of his new reality.

Sukuna gritted his teeth. He couldn’t risk interfering now. Let them think they’d succeeded. Let them believe their plan was working. He needed answers, and for that, Nanami would have to remain their pawn.

Five days later, Shoko received Nanami’s body for cremation. Sukuna had kept following the body to make sure he returned, having replaced it with another water-damaged body with a similar build. The infirmary was eerily quiet while Shoko prepared the body by reversing some of the decomposition, her movements methodical but her gaze distant. Sukuna reappeared, his steps echoing in the infirmary as he rolled his neck; his face held no expression.

“Move,” he ordered flatly.

Shoko stepped aside, her hands stilling on the tray of scalpels she had set out as a precaution. Sukuna flexed his fingers, intertwining them with a crack, before muttering an incantation under his breath. His body shifted, inhuman—his true form revealing itself . Two additional arms sprang forth, and a grotesque mouth split open across his stomach, grinning in anticipation.

The room seemed to darken as Sukuna completed the ritual, his voice reverberating like the toll of a funeral bell. The air hung heavy, suffocating, as though it too bore witness to the unholy act. Nanami didn’t wake immediately, his body unnaturally still. For a brief moment, silence reigned—broken only by the faint crackle of residual cursed energy from Sukuna’s grotesque form.

Then the scream came.

It ripped through the infirmary like a shockwave, primal and raw, sending Shoko stumbling back. She instinctively reached for a sedative, but her trembling hands fumbled with the tray as Nanami shot upright, muscles straining against his skin a lot more than they ever did before, his movements sharp and inhuman. His hair, now cascading well past his ribs like living tendrils, moved unnaturally, catching the dim light as if woven with cursed energy.

Shoko’s breath hitched. “ This isn’t medicine ,” she muttered under her breath, her voice quivering. “ This is a curse .”

Nanami leaped from the operating table in a jogger with a force that cracked the floor beneath him. His once measured presence was gone, replaced by an oppressive silence that seemed to drain the room of air. His eyes burned—cold, hollow, predatory—surveying the space as though every soul inside was prey waiting to be devoured. He reminded Shoko of the Vikings she’d read about; the lethality was all there and amplified.

Toji lunged forward, gripping Kento’s arm, but even his immense strength wavered against the former salaryman’s newfound power as he caught his arm, ready to detach it. “I wasn’t this insane when you brought me back,” Toji growled through gritted teeth, his muscles straining.

Sukuna, his four arms coiled like steel cables, grappled with Kento’s other side. “That’s because he’s not just alive—he’s a half-cursed spirit now ,” Sukuna hissed, beads of sweat glinting on his brow. “ This isn’t just Nanami anymore. This is something engineered. ”

The room trembled as Nanami’s cursed energy surged, crackling like a thunderstorm confined within his towering frame. His Ratio Technique flared wildly, invisible vectors dissecting vulnerabilities in everything he looked at. The precision of his abilities, once a hallmark of control, was now chaos turned surgical.

“He’s targeting our weak points,” Shoko barked, retreating further as her eyes darted between Nanami’s movements and the growing fractures along the walls. “He’s reading us like a map.”

Nanami’s gaze finally locked onto Shoko, and for a brief second, the air felt heavier, as though he’d turned the weight of the world against her. His lips moved soundlessly, but the only word that escaped was Satoru. Over and over again, like a mantra woven with violence.

Yuki burst into the room, Higuruma close behind. Her sharp intake of breath was the only acknowledgment of the scene before her. “What the hell is this?... Never mind! Where’s the sedative?” she demanded, her tone steady despite the carnage.

Shoko thrust the needle toward her. “Between his vertebrae. Aim for the base of the neck!” Yuki nodded, moving in behind him.

As Nanami’s head snapped toward Yuki, she met his burning gaze without flinching. His hair framed his face like a storm’s edge, wild and alive, his presence looming over her as though he were deciding whether she deserved to exist.

“Bastard’s still moving!” Higuruma grunted, grabbing Nanami’s shoulders as Nanami’s steps grew towards Shoko. The ground seemed to bow beneath his weight with every movement.

Yuki didn’t retreat. With a deft motion, she jabbed the needle into the precise spot Shoko had indicated. Nanami’s body tensed, a snarl curling across his lips as the sedative took hold. His knees buckled, and he collapsed in a heap in Toji, Sukuna and Higuruma’s hold, his gaze still locked on to Shoko in front of him. The hatred in his eyes lingered long after his body went limp.

“Quickly!” Shoko shouted, breaking the frozen silence. “Get him back on the table before he wakes up!”

The men acted immediately, their movements almost synchronized as they hauled Kento’s unconscious frame onto the operating table. His chest rose and fell erratically, the air around him heavy with residual energy that crackled and sparked like the remnants of a dying storm.

Everyone’s hands worked methodically, strapping restraints around Nanami’s waist, chest, wrists and ankles.

Shoko’s voice was low but filled with dread as she murmured, “This isn’t just a resurrection. His physiology—his aura—everything’s different. He’s more curse than human now.”

Sukuna remained silent, his four arms lowering slowly as he stared at Kento’s restrained body. The transformation wasn’t just unsettling—it was deliberate. Whatever had happened to him wasn’t an accident. It was calculated cruelty, designed to strip away his humanity and leave behind a weapon wrapped in flesh.

And now, Kento Nanami—once bound by precision and principle—was a hunter in every sense of the word.

Even asleep, he looked ready to kill.

Moments after Nanami was fully sedated, Shoko ripped off her gloves with a frustrated snap and tossed them into the medical waste bin. The sharp clang echoed in the uneasy silence as she turned to the others, her glare cutting through the tension.

“Care to explain what went wrong?” She snapped at Sukuna, her voice edged with anger that barely masked her fear.

Sukuna stood with his four arms crossed, his crimson eyes fixed on Nanami’s restrained form. His posture was rigid, his entire body coiled like a predator watching its prey for the slightest twitch. “From my experience? Same thing that happened with Yuta,” he said evenly. His tone was calm, but the lethal undertone made it clear he was ready to attack if Nanami so much as stirred.

After a beat, his expression darkened. “Students—or anyone—can’t know he’s alive. This doesn’t leave the room. Pretend that the higher-ups had him cremated and hold a fake funeral.”

Toji leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. “Your nephew’s not doing too well without him, y’know,” he said, tone almost teasing.

Sukuna’s jaw tightened as he glanced briefly at Nanami, his face hard as granite. “The way he is now? I wouldn’t trust him around a fly, let alone Yuji or the other kids. And especially Gojo...” He exhaled sharply, his voice quieter but no less intense. “If Gojo finds out Nanami’s alive, he’ll lose it—go completely batshit. Or worse...” His gaze turned razor-sharp, cutting through the room. “He might kill Nanami himself, thinking he turned his partner into a curse. Gojo’s not stable enough to handle this. He has to believe Nanami’s gone for good, at least until Nanami stabilizes and we are sure we are not being watched anymore. And for that to happen, they all need to think they succeeded.”

The room fell into silence as minds raced.

Higuruma broke the quiet. “So... he is special grade now?”

Sukuna continued to study Nanami, whose breathing was unnervingly even for someone restrained and sedated. “Yes, the cursed energy radiating from him is overwhelming. He’s definitely special grade.” He turned to Shoko. “We’ll see soon enough.”

Yuki folded her arms, her brows furrowing. “But how’d this even happen? Gojo wasn’t there when he died, and that’s the only reason Yuta’s ex was cursed and came back the way she did. Also, why didn’t he turn into a curse immediately after his death? Why did he turn after his resurrection?”

“I don’t know much about love-related curses,” Sukuna admitted, his tone begrudging. “They’re extremely rare. But... being loved by the Honored One? That could’ve been a factor. Or maybe it’s Nanami’s love alone. Might even just be his disdain for Jujutsu Sorcery . Who knows? It’s from his soul, so only he can control it.”

Their gazes all returned to Nanami, who lay motionless, the warmth that had once masked his strength was gone, replaced by something primal and unrelenting. His features looked chiseled, almost feral.

Toji broke the silence. “Which curse is inhabiting him? If we know its name, maybe you all can exorcise it?”

Sukuna shook his head. “It’s not a curse that existed before. I ruled over all curses—I’d know. This one... it’s new. A sorcerer’s curse. Created entirely from him.” He paused, his voice hardening. “We die thankless deaths, fighting for what’s right, only to be used as pawns. This curse? It’s the embodiment of that resentment. If we try to separate it, it’ll kill him along with it.”

The room fell into uneasy silence, their shared gaze returning to the motionless figure on the table.

Higuruma broke the quiet again. “What do you think he’s capable of?”

Sukuna studied Nanami like a puzzle with dangerous edges. Even restrained and sedated, his body obeyed an entirely different rhythm now. Sukuna stepped closer, his eyes tracing the faint glimmers of energy that flickered around Nanami’s restraints like embers in a dying fire. “Probably doesn’t even need close combat anymore,” Sukuna muttered, almost to himself.

“Yeah, but what’s he got now?” Toji pressed, straightening from the wall.

As if in answer, Nanami stirred. The restraints tightened with a groan of protest, cursed energy pooling faintly around his body. The room tensed. Shoko froze mid-step, her gaze snapping to the faint glow at Nanami’s fingertips—a distortion so subtle it was almost imperceptible until the light refracted.

“Did the air just— bend ?” Higuruma asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

A crack echoed through the room, soft at first, then louder, spreading outward. The restraints trembled as invisible vectors formed jagged lines through the table beneath him. Sukuna’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of realization flashing across his face.

“He’s calculating,” Sukuna muttered, suspiciously proud. “Even unconscious, his Ratio Technique’s active.”

The air around Nanami shimmered as cursed energy twisted itself into geometric precision. The table splintered, the fractures expanding as if Nanami’s dormant technique was deciding which angle would bring the entire thing crashing down.

Shoko’s breath hitched. “That’s not just his Ratio Technique—it’s... multiplying .”

The glow at Nanami’s hands coalesced into something darker, a shadowy distortion that flickered like cursed flame. The edges of the room seemed to warp as the technique expanded, sucking in light and space. The faint hum of cursed energy grew louder, heavier, pressing down on everyone in the room.

Yuki took a cautious step forward, her brow furrowing. “He’s not targeting weaknesses— he’s deciding what counts as a weakness .”

Sukuna’s crimson eyes glinted, his voice low but charged. “He’s turning his technique into an AoE field. If we don’t restrain him properly, he won’t need to move a muscle to rip us apart.”

Yuki didn’t hesitate. “Higuruma, Toji—get more restraints. I’ll grab sacred paper to reinforce them. If he wakes before we’re ready, we’re done for.”

Toji grunted, already moving toward the storage cabinet.

Shoko hovered near Nanami’s head, her fingers moving quickly as she adjusted the sedative line, sweat beading on her temple. “It’s... it’s a transformation. His body, his cursed energy—they’re both...”

Sukuna finished her sentence. “ He’s not just a sorcerer anymore. He’s a curse in a sorcerer’s skin .”

Toji and Higuruma returned with additional restraints, and Yuki began layering the sacred paper around Nanami, her movements quick but deliberate. The glow around him pulsed faintly, his cursed energy pushing against the reinforced bonds.

Toji glanced at Sukuna as he secured the final restraint. “So, what now? Hope he doesn’t wake up and obliterate us?”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a grim smile. “We wait. If he wakes up, we fight. And this time, we don’t underestimate him.”

Nanami’s chest rose and fell evenly, his face devoid of emotion, but his presence radiated power—primal, unrelenting. Even sedated, he felt like an undead king biding his time, waiting for the moment to strike. The restraints shimmered under the weight of his cursed energy, holding for now.

But everyone in the room knew they wouldn’t hold forever.

Some hours later, Nanami woke, his eyes snapping open to a dimly lit room. The restraints dug into his skin, but it wasn’t pain he registered—it was the pressure. Every muscle in his body was coiled like a tightly wound spring, cursed energy seeping from him in jagged waves. His breaths came sharp and shallow, feral, like a predator cornered.

Then the memories from the afterlife hit, unrelenting and vivid: Haibara’s face, his laughter, the warmth of their friendship, the crushing weight of his pain. It all rushed back like a deluge, tearing through him without mercy.

His scream ripped through the infirmary, primal and guttural, a sound born of anguish and rage. The vibrations of his cursed energy warped the air, distorting the light around him. The restraints groaned under the force of his thrashing, his muscles bulging impossibly larger than before, every movement deliberate yet unrelenting.

Shoko approached cautiously, keeping her voice calm but firm. “You’re safe, Nanami. It’s a long story, but Sukuna revived you. You’re back with us now. I promise I’ll explain everything once you calm down.”

Toji and Higuruma stood on either side of the room, their weapons ready—the Inverted Spear of Heaven and the Executioner’s Sword gleaming in the light, both artifacts straining against the oppressive energy radiating from Nanami. The air pressed down on them like a storm, thick with malice and unspoken violence.

Nanami’s breathing slowed slightly as Shoko’s words registered. His hazel eyes—now darker, almost golden—flicked toward her with a sharpness that almost made her step back instinctively. “Satoru?” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly, as if dragged from the depths.

Shoko hesitated, masking the flicker of tension in her expression. “He’s fine. Still on his mission.” She avoided mentioning the acid attack or Gojo’s precarious situation. Nanami was volatile enough without the full truth.

His broad shoulders slumped slightly, a faint glimmer of relief flickering in his otherwise hardened expression. But then, his gaze snapped back to her, his tone sharp and demanding. “My death?”

Shoko glanced at Yuki, whose voice carried an edge of caution. “Not yet.”

Nanami’s eyes burned brighter, his energy surging as his voice cut through the room. “You’re lying!”

The restraints shuddered as his cursed energy flared, the air around him rippling in response. Yuki didn’t flinch, but her sharp inhale didn’t escape his notice. Sukuna, watching from the side, exhaled heavily, his four arms crossed. “Of course, he can see through lies now too,” Sukuna muttered, shaking his head.

Nanami glared at him, and for a moment, it felt as if the room itself recoiled from his stare.

The glow of his cursed energy shifted subtly, no longer chaotic but eerily calculated. Higuruma tensed, gripping his sword as the faint outline of a hexagonal grid materialized around Nanami. Toji’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening.

“He’s recalibrating the restraints,” he murmured. “He’s analyzing their structural integrity.”

A low hum resonated through the room as the grid expanded, fractures spreading along the restraints’ surfaces. The cursed energy emanating from Nanami pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat amplified to unnatural levels. It wasn’t just his Ratio Technique—it had evolved, extending beyond touch to encompass the very space around him.

“His field’s active,” Higuruma said quietly, his grip tightening on the Executioner’s Sword. “If he decides we’re weaknesses, we’re done.”

Shoko stepped back as Sukuna strode closer, his crimson gaze locked on Nanami’s glowing form. “Stay where you are,” Sukuna commanded, his voice low but firm. “Nanami-kun, don’t test me right now.”

Nanami’s focus shifted to Sukuna, his stare piercing and wordless. His long blond hair, wild and untamed, framed his angular face like a crown of defiance. His jaw clenched, the sharp planes of his expression betraying nothing but simmering fury. The room seemed darker in his presence, the shadows sharper, as though bending to his will.

Hours later, after Nanami had been subdued and his energy stabilized, Shoko and Sukuna sat beside him. His wrists were red where the restraints had held him, but the tension in his body remained, even as he chewed a sandwich Shoko had given him—a familiar comfort from his past.

“So, I have to be a ghost now?” Nanami asked after a long pause, his voice flat.

Shoko nodded, her expression solemn. “It’s for your safety—and Gojo’s.”

“You’re more than a ghost, Nanami,” Sukuna said, his voice cutting through the stillness. “You’re a weapon now. Let’s make sure you aim it right. You fought for others before; now fight for yourself, for selfish reasons.”

Nanami’s lips curled into a humorless smile, but his eyes carried the weight of his unspoken rage. “Not until the higher-ups are dead.”

Sukuna’s gaze remained locked on him, unflinching. “That’s where you come in. They’ve gone into hiding since your death. Toji could track them, but his focus is on Gojo. Your job is to find them. And when you do...” His voice dipped, razor-sharp. “I’ll make sure no more Haibaras need to be buried. I promise.”

Nanami didn’t reply. His silence was heavier than any words could have been. The air around him grew colder, his cursed energy stirring faintly, a subtle warning that the man who had once occupied this body was no longer here. What remained was darker—an unrelenting force of precision and rage.

After a moment, he gave a sharp nod and turned to leave.

As he crossed the room, Higuruma’s sudden intake of breath caught his attention. The other man was staring at his phone, his expression shifting between shock and resignation. Nanami’s movements were instantaneous—fluid, predatory. Without a word, he snatched the phone from Higuruma’s hand.

The screen showed Gojo shirtless on a beach, sprawled lazily under the sun. Beneath the image, the caption read, “My one and only.”

Nanami’s grip on the phone tightened ever so slightly, his jaw tensing. His golden eyes lingered on the image for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he handed the phone back without a single word or glance at Higuruma. His focus shifted immediately to a corner of the room, where an outfit hung—a suit unlike anything he’d worn before.

He stepped toward it and ran a hand over the fabric, its intricate patterns catching the dim light. The dark suit bore elaborate crusade-like and abstract designs in shades of red and black, its ornate detailing both understated and commanding. The crimson patterns seemed to shift subtly with the light, as though alive. He dressed quickly, the fit immaculate, and picked up a cleaver—a weapon with a black handle wrapped in a red cowprint cloth—that rested beside the suit & shoes.

Fully dressed, his waist-length blond hair falling in deliberate disarray around his shoulders, Nanami looked like something otherworldly. He invoked fear.

Nanami reached his Aston Martin Vanquish, its sleek green form waiting in the shadows of Jujutsu Tech. He slid into the driver’s seat, the engine purring beneath him with an almost sentient hum. The modifications—bulletproof panels, explosion-resistant chassis—were unmistakable. Gojo’s doing, of course, though the man had feigned ignorance. Nanami’s analytical mind had known immediately, even before his transformation.

Now, though, he barely needed such protections. His body moved with a new clarity, every sense honed to razor precision. It wasn’t like Gojo’s Six Eyes—this was primal, feral. Colors were sharper, sounds crisper, and every beat of the world pulsed through his veins as though he were part of it.

Reaching the island, Nanami stepped into a world that pulsed with energy. The crash of waves, the rustle of leaves far in the distance, and the faint thrum of Suguru’s wards ahead—all of it was excruciatingly vivid. His vision cut through the dark effortlessly, every detail rendered in sharp relief as though the night itself conspired to show him the way.

The sea swallowed him silently as he slipped into the water, his movements eerily smooth like a snake. The cold bit at his skin, but he barely registered it.

Reaching a vantage point on a neighboring island, Nanami settled into the shadows. Days passed in utter solitude. Sustained only by salted fish he hunted and the relentless rhythm of Suguru’s movements, he waited. Every detail was committed to memory: patrol patterns, changes in energy, the subtle shifts in Suguru’s wards.

Then, finally, his patience was rewarded.

Gojo emerged from the mansion, his movements quick and angry, each step betraying his frustration. Nanami’s heart lurched involuntarily as he watched the sorcerer storm toward the ocean. Gojo plunged his head beneath the water, as though trying to drown his anger—or himself.

Nanami was on his feet in an instant, moving before his mind could process the thought. His focus was razor-sharp, his body a coiled spring of precision. But before he could reach the edge of the cliff, a vice-like grip clamped around his neck, slamming him down to the ground.

His arms were yanked behind him, his legs pinned.

“I thought you were assigned to follow the old geezers,” Higuruma spat, his voice sharp with irritation, the strain of holding Nanami evident in his trembling hands.

Nanami’s head twisted sharply, his golden eyes locking onto Higuruma and Yuki, who were working together to hold him down. His wild, waist-length blond hair framed his face like a mane, his expression a mask of cold detachment. There was no anger, no humanity—just a terrifying, calculated stillness.

Then he struck.

One sharp kick to Higuruma’s knee sent the man stumbling back with a hiss of pain. Nanami’s arm snapped free like it was never restrained to begin with, his muscles flexing with supernatural strength.

Sukuna lunged, his strikes precise and unrelenting, aiming to subdue rather than destroy. But Nanami moved like smoke, his speed and grace unnatural, slipping through the cursed king’s blows with unnerving ease. The restraints on his wrists snapped like fragile threads, scattering across the floor as he twisted free.

Sukuna stepped back instinctively, his crimson gaze narrowing in surprise. The cursed king hesitated, holding back his techniques, wary of accidentally killing the half-cursed sorcerer. Nanami’s cold expression flickered with the faintest trace of understanding—and he exploited the opening mercilessly. They all were holding themselves back as to not accidentally kill him, and Nanami was going test it.

Yuki charged, her arms aiming to lock around Nanami’s midsection. But he twisted effortlessly, breaking her grip as if it were a child’s attempt to hold him.

Now the three of them circled him, their attacks coordinated and deadly. Sukuna’s fists blurred through the air; Yuki’s cursed energy surged with power, her strikes landing like earthquakes; Higuruma’s Executioner’s Sword carved through the space where Nanami stood—but none of it landed.

Nanami moved through their strikes like a shadow in the dark, his form slipping past their coordinated assaults with fluid, almost inhuman precision. His cursed energy hummed faintly in the air, subtle distortions marking his every step.

The field around him seemed alive, his presence bending the environment to his will. The ground groaned as invisible vectors fractured their surfaces. Ratios shifted imperceptibly, favoring him in ways the others couldn’t predict.

But he didn’t counterattack. His focus remained singular. Satoru .

He turned sharply toward the water, his movements swift and silent. Just as he was about to leap, a sharp, stinging pain erupted in his back. The sensation spread like wildfire through his body, his cursed energy faltering for the first time.

Nanami staggered, his legs buckling. He turned to see Toji in the distance waving at him, as darkness consumed his mind.

When consciousness returned, Nanami’s eyes snapped open in Jujutsu Tech Infermery again, their golden glow duller but no less sharp. The cold steel of the table pressed against his chest, his damp hair clinging to his skin. The restraints dug into his wrists and arms, groaning under the strain as he thrashed violently.

Shoko approached cautiously, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “You need to listen to us, Kento.”

His breathing slowed, but his glare was unrelenting, locking onto her with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine.

“We need you,” Sukuna said, voice calm, deliberate, every word a measured attempt to cut through the tension. “Something they’ll never see coming.”

Nanami’s lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line, his cold silence more suffocating than any shouted threat. His gaze drifted briefly to the scalpel glinting in the corner of the room. A flicker of intent passed over his face, his muscles tensing.

The restraints creaked ominously as his arms pulled against them, the steel beginning to bend.

“Just stop!” Shoko yelled, her voice cracking with urgency. “Listen to me before you decide to kill us all. If you don’t agree after hearing me, then kill me first.”

Nanami’s gaze turned to her, colder than winter steel. He didn’t move, but the air around him seemed heavier, charged with unspoken menace.

Shoko drew a shaky breath, interpreting his stillness as permission to speak. “Gojo has been through hell,” she began, her voice softer now. “The higher-ups are the reason you died. And he...” Her voice faltered, the memory of Gojo’s injuries flashing vividly in her mind, images sent from the American burn unit.

“They made sure he was exhausted enough that even a grade 4 curse could hurt him,” she continued, anger threading through her words. “You love him, right? Then help us eliminate the higher-ups so you can keep loving him. Because you know he won’t stop fighting curses until he dies. But if we do this—if you help us—we can create something better. A world where sorcerers aren’t just names in an obituary nobody bothers to visit the graves of. A world where maybe you, he—and the kids—get to live long enough to know what middle age feels like.”

Nanami’s expression didn’t change, his face a mask of stone as he broke his chains, and as he stood up, gaze shifting toward the door.

Standing there, trembling, was a pink-haired boy, tears streaming silently down his face.

“Nanamin,” Yuji whispered, his broken voice cutting through like a knife.

Sukuna moved instantly, stepping between Yuji and Nanami. His crimson gaze locked on Nanami, daring him to make a move. “If you hurt him,” Sukuna growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble, “I will personally drag you to hell!”

For a long moment, the two stared each other down. Nanami’s expression remained, his cold eyes glinting faintly with something unreadable. Then, after an agonizing beat, he gave a single, sharp nod. His gaze flickered, and though it wasn’t warmth, it carried the faintest memory of what it used to be.

Sukuna stepped aside reluctantly, his piercing gaze sweeping toward Yuki, Toji, and Higuruma. Without a word, his expression instructed them to be ready.

Yuji didn’t hesitate. He launched himself forward, arms wrapping tightly around Nanami’s torso in a desperate, bone-crushing hug. For a split second, Nanami’s body tensed like a coiled spring, his cursed energy flaring in the air—a suffocating reminder of how close they all were to disaster.

But then, something shifted. The hard lines of his face softened, the murderous mask he wore cracking just slightly. His expression didn’t lose its edge, but for the first time since his resurrection, it carried a ghost of who he once was.

Yuji clung to him, his words spilling out in a frantic, tear-soaked stream. “I missed you so much, Nanamin. Gojo-sensei wasn’t here either, and no one told me Uncle Sukuna had brought you back, and I wouldn’t have found out by accident if I hadn’t cut my finger on a cabinet and come to find Shoko-sensei, and you were here and tied up, and—”

Nanami remained silent, his imposing presence unmoving. Slowly, almost mechanically, his hand lifted and rested on Yuji’s back. The motion was stiff at first, as though he were relearning how to comfort someone, but it grew steadier, more natural. The energy pressing down on the room lightened slightly as Yuji’s sobs quieted.

His gaze lifted to Sukuna. His golden eyes burned with a silent, unyielding vow. It was a promise that needed no words: I will find the higher-ups. But the one who sent me to die is mine to kill .

Sukuna’s lips curled into a faint, dangerous smirk. “As long as you deliver,” he said, his tone laced with amusement, “I don’t care who does the killing.”

Yuji pulled back slightly, his tear-streaked face still pressed close to Nanami’s shoulder. Nanami glanced down at him briefly, his gaze softening for the smallest fraction of a second before his focus returned to the room. He rose to his full height, his movements slow and deliberate, each shift of muscle calculated to avoid startling the wary sorcerers watching him.

“Get him out of here,” Sukuna ordered, his tone curt, gesturing toward Yuji. “He’s not ready to be around Yuji for long right now.”

Shoko stepped forward, her voice gentle as she coaxed Yuji away. She guided him toward the door, asking about his injury. Yuji looked back once, his wide eyes meeting Nanami’s icy stare. The door shut behind them with a finality that left the room unnervingly quiet.

Nanami rolled his shoulders, testing his freedom with deliberate movements. The weight of his power filled the space, oppressive. His long blond hair, wolfish and untamed, fell across his face as he turned, a shadow framing his sharp features. His aura was suffocating, a heavy blanket of intent and menace.

The cursed energy around him pulsed faintly, the air subtly distorting in response. Ratios shifted imperceptibly with each of his steps, the environment bending under his presence, as though his very existence had become a calculation waiting to unravel its surroundings.

He leveled his cold, predatory gaze on Sukuna, Yuki, and Toji. His stance was composed, yet the air around him rippled like a predator deciding whether to pounce.

There was no need for restraints now.

Nanami was no longer a man bound by principle or duty. He was a weapon, honed and unyielding. And he knew exactly where he was aiming himself.

Nanami’s sole focus had become the higher-ups. His pursuit was relentless, silent, and methodical—each movement and decision precise. Like a predator stalking its prey, he waited for the perfect opportunity.

One evening, his patience bore fruit. He sent the others the locations of most of the targets but kept one particular man’s whereabouts for himself.

The car door closed without a sound as Nanami stepped out, his movements impossibly fluid. He glided toward the sprawling suburban mansion, the dim porch light casting jagged shadows across the manicured lawn.

The target was a sleazy elder, cowering in luxury with his mistress and her children. But tonight, they were out. The house was empty except for the man himself.

Perfect. No unnecessary casualties.

Inside, Nanami ascended the staircase, each step creaking faintly beneath his boots. The sound blended with the faint hum of a television, masking his approach. His gloved hand brushed against his coat, retrieving his cleaver. Its clothed edge caught the faint light filtering through the window, a muted gleam that promised violence.

The door to the top-floor bedroom swung open with deliberate slowness, revealing... an empty bed ?

Nanami’s eyes darted to the ornate mirror across the room, catching the faintest flicker of movement.

A massive phoenix-like shikigami, its blazing feathers illuminating the space, dove toward him with a deafening screech. Nanami pivoted sharply, the creature’s flames licking the air where he’d stood a moment before.

A second phoenix followed, its talons outstretched. It struck him with brutal force, slamming him against the wall. Dust and splinters exploded into the air, the impact rattling the entire house.

The elder’s mocking voice rasped from the shadows. “I’m not so easy to kill.”

Nanami straightened slowly, his movements unnervingly controlled. He rolled his shoulders, adjusting his cuffs, the faint green gleam of his peridot links—the same pair Gojo had given him—catching the firelight. His long blond hair, wild. His expression a mask of detachment.

Without a word, he turned as if to leave, only to duck below and sweep a powerful low side kick to the old man’s lateral compartment in his calf above his knees.

The elder fell with a sickening crunch, his surgically replaced hip shattering on impact. A howl of pain escaped his lips as blood pooled around him. “You bastard!” the man screeched, summoning more phoenixes, their fiery wings beating in synchronized fury. They filled the room with heat and light, spitting flames as they closed in on Nanami.

But he was faster.

Nanami’s cursed energy flared to life, an oppressive force that twisted the air. He extended his hand, and shimmering Ratio Blades materialized—thin, jagged constructs of pure cursed energy, their edges glowing faintly.

With surgical precision, he slashed through the first wave of phoenixes, severing their heads and wings mid-flight. The creatures disintegrated in bursts of cursed flames, their shrieks echoing into silence.

From the corner of his vision, another phoenix dove, aiming for his blind spot. Without hesitation, Nanami’s hand shot out, gripping the creature mid-air. Its fiery talons scraped uselessly against his skin, the cursed flames extinguished by the sheer density of his energy.

His grip tightened, and with a brutal twist, he snapped the creature’s head clean off. Cursed blood sprayed across the room in vivid arcs. Without a glance, he hurled the lifeless shikigami at the elder, who stumbled back with a scream of terror.

The room fell still, the air heavy with smoke and the faint crackle of fading energy.

Nanami advanced, his steps slow, and crouched beside the elder, who writhed on the ground, clutching his shattered hip.

“You must remember one thing,” Nanami said, his tone flat and devoid of emotion. “ I’m thorough in everything I do. ”

The elder’s trembling voice cracked as he begged. “Who are you? Please... please let me go.”

Nanami leaned in, his face mere inches from the man’s. His golden eyes burned with a cold intensity. “Look at me. Really look at me ,” he hissed, his voice a blade cutting through the man’s pleas.

Recognition dawned in the elder’s face, his expression twisting into sheer horror. “You... you’re supposed to be dead. ”

Nanami’s lips curled into a grim, humorless smirk. “ No. But you are .”

He straightened, his cursed energy crackling ominously around him. His Ratio Technique flared, no longer confined to physical contact. The very air around the elder shimmered as invisible calculations took form.

“You think brute force is your ally?” Nanami murmured, his voice calm but laced with menace. “Let me show you what precision feels like.”

The elder’s body seized as his bones began to crack. The sound was grotesque, each fracture deliberate and excruciating. It started with his fingers, twisting unnaturally before snapping one by one.

Nanami’s Enhanced Ratio Collapse technique radiated outward, targeting each structural weak point with chilling efficiency. His ribs folded inward, his legs contorted, and his spine twisted as though being rewritten by an unseen force.

The elder’s screams became incoherent, his body a grotesque heap of broken limbs. His breathing stopped, but the terror etched on his lifeless face remained.

Satisfied, Nanami stood. His movements were unhurried, each step deliberate as he wiped the cleaver clean with a crisp handkerchief. The faint creak of his gloves was the only sound as he sheathed the weapon.

He glanced at the mirror, his reflection staring back—a man transformed. His long blond hair fell like a lion’s mane over his shoulders, his gaze sharp and unrecognizable.

Without a backward glance, Nanami adjusted his coat and stepped into the hallway. The dim light cast fleeting shadows as he disappeared into the night, silent and unstoppable.

Sometime later, Nanami stood in the quiet of a classroom. His presence was commanding, his deep voice steady as he guided Yuji through the intricacies of Black Flash. The instructions were precise, clinical, and devoid of unnecessary warmth. Yet beneath the surface of his calculated demeanor was a barely restrained storm—a turbulence he refused to unleash.

Yuji nodded, absorbing each word with quiet focus. But then, the faint hum of teleportation rippled through the air, an unwelcome sound that sent a jolt through Nanami’s chest.

Nanami’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers twitched ever so slightly at his sides. Yuji paused mid-step, his brow furrowing as concern flickered across his face. He didn’t ask questions. The adults told him nothing about the truths they buried, but Yuji had learned to keep Nanami’s presence hidden at all costs.

“I’ll distract him,” Yuji said softly, his voice calm but resolute. Without waiting for acknowledgment, he left the room, slipping into the hallway where Yuta and Megumi sparred with their swords.

“Gojo-sensei is back!” Yuji’s voice rang out, echoing down the corridor. The two boys froze for a heartbeat before holstering their weapons and bolting toward the source of their excitement.

Back in the classroom, Nanami remained rooted to the spot, his breaths slow and deliberate as the hum of teleportation grew louder, vibrating through the air like the strings of a pulled bow.

And then Gojo appeared in the playground outside his classroom’s window.

The place seemed to tilt under the weight of his presence, the overwhelming charge of cursed energy coiling through the air. His white hair caught the faint light, his features as sharp and perfect as Nanami remembered. For a fleeting moment, their gazes locked.

Nanami’s chest clenched painfully.

Gojo’s Six Eyes would see everything. They would cut through the half-curse exterior, past the predator he had become, to the man who once stood by his side. To the man he’d loved.

And for an instant—a brief, fragile instant—Nanami thought he saw something. Recognition, maybe. An echo of something flickered in Gojo’s eyes. For the first time since Nanami’s resurrection, his lips twitched, the faintest shadow of a smile threatening to break the surface.

But then Gojo’s gaze shifted.

It slid over him like he was nothing. A phantom. A forgotten memory.

To Gojo, he was already dead.

The flicker of hope that had stirred within Nanami was snuffed out, leaving an empty void in its place. His hands hung limply at his sides as the students rushed to surround Gojo, their concerned chatter filling the space while Toji glared at him.

Nanami turned and walked away without a sound.

The penthouse was dark and cold when Nanami returned the next day after aimlessly roaming around. He didn’t bother turning on the lights, letting the darkness swallow him as he collapsed onto the couch. He pulled the switch, but it did nothing to muffle the storm raging in his mind. Toji was already there, lounging with his usual smug indifference, watching some discovery show, but Nanami didn’t spare him a glance.

They existed like two ghosts haunting the same house—silent, untouchable, and tethered by something neither could name.

Nanami leaned back, his head tilting against the cushions as his mind spiraled. Even with his eyes closed, the image burned into his thoughts: the faint acid scars etched across Gojo’s skin, jagged reminders of everything he had endured.

His stomach twisted. He had been the one sent to die. He had taken his last breaths knowing Satoru would go on, that he would fight for their broken world. But now, Satoru bore the scars of a battle no one should have fought alone.

Nanami’s fingers curled tighter around the switch, his knuckles whitening as the storm inside him raged. Guilt and fury churned together, dark and consuming, until only one thought remained.

Avenge .

It wouldn’t bring him peace. It wouldn’t heal the jagged edges of his broken soul. But it would be something.

And right now, something was all he had left.

Within 24 hours, the opportunity came.

Nanami’s phone vibrated against the cold surface of the table, Sukuna’s text lighting up the screen. A picture accompanied the message—a woman with a deep scar running across her forehead.

Follow her. No engagement until further notice.

Moments later, another text followed. Leave immediately. Gojo is on his way .

Nanami didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his coat, pulling it over his shoulders as he left the penthouse without a word. The air outside was frigid, biting against his skin, but it wasn’t the cold that made him pause.

It was the hum.

A faint, inescapable vibration in the distance—Gojo’s cursed energy.

Nanami’s instincts screamed at him to move, and he obeyed without thought, sprinting down the stairs toward the roof. The sharp rhythm of his boots against the concrete echoed in his ears, each step carrying him further from the suffocating presence behind him.

Away. Away from Gojo. Away from the ache that clawed at his chest every time he thought of those empty eyes sliding over him like he was nothing.

Was it anger that drove him now? Or was it guilt, raw and consuming, twisting with the knowledge that Gojo’s reaction wasn’t indifference? It was love. A love so deep that seeing Nanami—half-dead, a creature of resentment and precision—had been too much for Satoru to bear.

But this wasn’t the time to dwell.

His sharp gaze cut through the bustling city below, his senses heightened by his half-cursed nature. A thousand sensations brushed against him—the press of cursed energy from the buildings, the whispers of malice in the streets. Then he found her.

Kaori.

She moved through the chaos with purpose as she weaved through the crowds. Nanami’s cursed energy suppressed itself to near nonexistence, cloaking him in shadows. Sukuna’s technique was perfect for this—hiding in plain sight, a predator invisible to its prey .

But Kaori wasn’t alone, and the overwhelming cursed energy around her was the reason he’d find her so fast, even if so far away.

Nanami’s enhanced senses picked up on them immediately. Curses. Special grades. Jogo’s volcanic energy burned bright, even at this distance. Beside him, the octopus curse—Dagon—moved with the same fluidity Nanami remembered from the day he died.

And then there was Mahito.

Nanami’s jaw tightened. He kept himself anchored, his grip on the rooftop railing turning his knuckles white. He could feel their energy swirling, oppressive and sickening, each one a force unto itself.

He kept following them from too far after slipping into his Vanquish once scaling down the building.

He abandoned the car; once he was sure Kaori slipped into Shibuya Station. He followed, scaling a nearby billboard outside the station, silently. From his vantage point, he watched her weave her cursed energy into the air—a lattice of intricate wards wrapping around the building like a trap waiting to be sprung.

His phone buzzed.

Higuruma: Hold position. The students are en route to Shibuya.

Nanami’s sharp gaze shifted. From his perch, he could see them in the distance: Yuji, Yuta, Megumi, Hakari, and the others. A wave of younger sorcerers flanked by assistant managers and senior warriors like Choso, Kashimo, Ino, and many more. They moved with grim determination, their faces etched with the kind of resolve Nanami knew too well.

For a moment, something stirred deep in his chest.

But he buried it.

His focus returned to Kaori, her intricate weaving of wards nearly complete. Nanami’s cursed energy flickered faintly, the slightest pulse of power escaping his control before he reigned it in. His Ratio Technique hovered at the edge of his mind, his instincts calculating distances and vulnerabilities with mechanical precision.

And then he felt it.

The air shifted, thickening as a wave of cursed energy surged from Shibuya Station. It rippled outward, raw and overwhelming, drowning the city in its wake. His golden eyes narrowed as he scanned the chaos.

The wards had activated.

Kaori stood at the epicenter, her hands raised as the lattice of cursed energy twisted into something darker. Behind her, the curses gathered—Jogo’s fiery presence, Mahito’s sickening energy, Dagon’s fluid malice, and others that Nanami couldn’t immediately place.

His phone vibrated again, Sukuna’s name flashing on the screen.

Don’t interfere.

Nanami’s thumb hovered over the screen, his breath steady, his heart a cold, deliberate beat. But his attention snapped back to the station when a shadow moved across the rooftop opposite him.

Gojo.

The world seemed to stop.

Nanami’s gaze locked on the figure, Satoru’s white hair unmistakable even in the gloom. Gojo’s presence was a beacon, a storm of cursed energy that threatened to consume everything around him.

Nanami gritted his teeth. His grip tightened on the cleaver at his side, its jagged edge catching the faint glow of the city lights. Every instinct told him to move, to fight, to do something.

But he waited.

From his vantage point, he saw the students closing in, their forms disappearing into the labyrinth of Shibuya Station. The curses moved in tandem, their energy coiling and snapping like serpents ready to strike.

And above it all, Kaori smiled.

Nanami exhaled slowly, his breath fogging in the cold night air. The storm had begun, and there was no turning back.

The city held its breath.

For A/N please check out AO3

Ch 11- TBA

Series Masterlist

All Works Masterlist

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