At lunchtime, the students scattered in a chaotic rush, leaving Gojo Satoru alone.
Yaga Masamichi was puzzled. He could understand why Geto Suguru had made a swift exit—but why had Asou Akira bolted off so quickly?
Yaga was about to call Geto over; someone had to be conscripted to escort Gojo to the boys' dormitory, and Geto was the obvious choice. After all, the future "Special Grade Jujutsu Sorcerer," master of Cursed Spirit Manipulation, wouldn't be intimidated by the influence of the Three Great Families.
"Geto…" Yaga began—but before he could finish, his phone buzzed with a new message.
He told Gojo to wait a moment, then checked his phone. It was a message from Asou Akira:
"Sensei Yaga, Geto really doesn't want to go back right now. And Gojo-kun clearly doesn't appreciate my company. Since he's arrived at school alone, he probably doesn't even know where the dorms are—and there's no one around to cook for him. Could you please help him out with lunch just this once?
Yaga's heart twisted with conflicted emotions. The Gojo clan truly hadn't erred in selecting Asou Akiya as Gojo's study companion.
"Gojo," Yaga said, turning to the white-haired boy, his words faltering on his lips.
"I'm not hungry," Gojo cut him off flatly, shutting down the conversation before it could begin. "Where's the dorm? I'll go check it out myself." He tugged at his collar, grimacing at the sticky, uncomfortable feeling clinging to his skin. "It's way too hot today—I need a shower."
Yaga sighed, rubbing his temples. "How about this—I'll lend you some ingredients. Can you cook?"
Gojo, recalling scenes from his favorite food anime, replied with solemn conviction, "I've watched plenty. Should be able to figure it out."
"Alright," Yaga said. "Come by my office first so we can register your cursed energy. After that, I'll take you to the dorm. You'll need to learn to live independently while you're at Jujutsu High. If you run into trouble, ask Geto for help."
He paused, then added firmly, "And remember—don't go bothering Asou-kun unnecessarily. His job is to focus on his studies and grow stronger alongside you both."
The mere mention of "Weird Bangs" triggered a visceral reaction in Gojo: his feet ached, his eyes stung. Without hesitation, he pulled out his sunglasses and slid them on.
Bit by bit, Gojo was beginning to accept the basic principle that students should respect their teachers.
But that rule most certainly did not include classmates!
Gojo Satoru said with utter nonchalance, "For Yaga-sensei's sake, I won't go out of my way to bully that guy."
Yaga-sensei chided him gently, "Gojo, you should address your classmates by name."
Having had that name forced upon him twice in a single day, Gojo reluctantly conceded, "Fine. I'll call him by name next time."
Yaga-sensei led Gojo to the headmaster's office to register his cursed energy, then packed up ingredients from his own staff quarters before escorting Gojo to the boys' dormitory. By the time they'd come and gone, most of the lunch break had already slipped away. With no other option, Yaga-sensei bought a loaf of bread from the school shop and thrust it into Gojo's hands. "This is your lunch. Go take your shower at the dorm—the water and electricity are already connected. The place was renovated under the Gojo family's supervision, so figure out how everything works on your own."
Gojo tore open the bread wrapper and took an eager bite. "Whoa—I've never had this kind of bread before."
Crumbs clinging to the corner of his mouth, the white-haired boy looked for all the world like a pampered Kyoto aristocrat untouched by the hardships of everyday life—someone who'd likely never handled cash more than a handful of times in his life, whose every purchase was dictated by whim alone, the bills simply sent back to the Gojo estate or settled with a swipe of a card.
Yaga-sensei's face twisted into a pained grimace. "…."
How long would this gilded, silver-spoon-fed young master actually last at Jujutsu High before running back home?
And was the future of the jujutsu world truly meant to rest in such hands?
---
Boys' Dormitory
In the hallway, Asou Akiya stood at the sink, washing dishes after his meal. A knock came at the door, and Geto Suguru's voice filtered through: "Mind if I come in?"
Asou opened the door for him.
Geto entered carrying a case of bottled mineral water, which he set down effortlessly on the floor. Dressed in loose, comfortable loungewear, he exuded the relaxed air of someone fresh out of the shower. "I figured we'd need it for physical training class," he said easily, "so I bought a case for you too."
Asou chuckled. "Oh? Suguru's learning to plan ahead now?"
Geto replied without missing a beat, "I learn from your strong points, of course. That's just what a good student does."
Asou deftly placed the washed dishes and chopsticks onto the drying rack, wiped his hands clean, and gestured for his classmate to take a seat inside.
They each twisted open a bottle of mineral water, using it as a stand-in for a proper drink, and clinked their bottles together.
Glancing around the room, Geto remarked, "I thought I might run into Gojo here. So you didn't invite him to eat with you after all?"
Asou Akiya smiled sweetly and countered, "Disappointed?"
"He not coming is even better," Geto Suguru said, settling onto a simple wooden stool—backrest or no backrest didn't matter to him. He'd come specifically to gauge Asou's attitude. "Asou… I don't understand. You seem to care more about him than you do about me. Weren't we the first friends we made here at school?"
Asou heard the discontent in Geto's voice—petulant, almost childish, utterly at odds with the composed, thoughtful persona he usually cultivated.
Was this… teenage friendship insecurity?
"Didn't you have any friends before?" Asou asked bluntly.
The question struck true.
Geto's eyelid twitched. He quickly rallied, forcing back the vulnerability and propping up his usual air of popularity. "Of course I had friends! They were just… ordinary people."
Asou smiled gently but said nothing to expose the unspoken truth—that Geto had only ever been popular with girls, and yet went out of his way to avoid them. Instead, he chose his words carefully:
"With Gojo-kun… I'll admit, I do have other considerations. He's incredibly strong, but inexperienced in the ways of the world. If I can build a good rapport with him, my safety won't be an issue."
Geto immediately made a solemn promise. "I'll protect you. You don't need to force yourself to get close to him. We can team up for missions together."
But Asou—the very person meant to feel reassured by those words—didn't feel any joy at all.
So someone was offering to protect him.
That someone was Geto Suguru, who cherished protecting the weak, who guarded his comrades fiercely, and who would become a Special Grade Jujutsu Sorcerer by next year.
The deeper Asou delved into the jujutsu world, the more his hunger for strength grew—relentless, unshakable.
And yet, reality was terrifying. One shouldn't be misled by the protagonists of the original story. The vast majority of jujutsu sorcerers, upon graduation, remained stuck at Grade 4 or Grade 3—their strength plateauing far below legend.
This year's cohort, however, was exceptional. Only because of that did Asou dare aim for the rank of Grade 2 sorcerer.
Yaga-sensei could train him in hand-to-hand combat and cursed energy control. Geto's Cursed Spirit Manipulation could give him invaluable实战 experience against real curses. Ino Natsuko's Reverse Cursed Technique stood ready to heal his wounds at any moment—offering not just recovery, but even complimentary scar removal. And Gojo Satoru… if he ever chose to cooperate, his Six Eyes alone could guide Asou past his own limits.
If, with all these advantages at his disposal, he still failed to reach Grade 2 by graduation, he might as well bash his head against a block of tofu and call it quits.
Personal strength—this was the truth Asou Akiya could never afford to ignore.
"Geto."
"Do you know," Asou asked, his tone suddenly quiet, "what level of strength it actually takes to walk away unscathed from an encounter with a curse in the jujutsu world?"
It was a strange question—but one heavy with meaning.
"A Grade 1 sorcerer, probably," Geto Suguru mused aloud, following the thread of thought—and was startled to realize just how perilous a jujutsu sorcerer's life truly was. "The strongest curses are Special Grade, though I've never seen one myself. I've heard even Grade 1 sorcerers can die during exorcisms. If your only goal is survival… maybe that's enough."
"Do you know about the opposite of jujutsu sorcerers—the curse users?" Asou asked again, posing another question meant to provoke deeper reflection. "Why don't they join Jujutsu High?"
Geto had heard of curse users before enrolling. He couldn't comprehend their selfishness, and with a tone softened only by habit, he voiced his disdain:
"They're people who use their power for pleasure—indulging recklessly, causing chaos. They get what they deserve. Maybe they were just born without any sense of justice."
Asou shook his head gently. "No. They're afraid of death. And that's not shameful. No one wants to spend their whole life exorcising curses."
Geto disagreed inwardly—he himself would gladly do it.
But Asou pressed on, his voice quiet yet firm: "Suguru, Grade 1 sorcerers are rare. Those who live peacefully into old age? Even rarer. Most jujutsu sorcerers die in agony."
Geto's pupils slowly widened as Asou spoke, his words flowing like still water—gentle, yet chilling in their clarity, laying bare the grim fate awaiting so many in their world.
"I chose to enroll in Tokyo Jujutsu High… because I wanted to witness your battles. To see your strength, your passion—to witness my own youth through your eyes."
"The modern jujutsu world," he continued, "is a brutal marathon."
"At the finish line…"
"…lie only the corpses of the weak."
"These are my true feelings," Asou said softly. He reached out and brushed his fingers across Geto's forehead—damp with cold sweat—and tucked the boy's long, unruly bangs behind his ear. Just then, footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.
"Suguru," Asou murmured, "don't make friends with the weak. Don't treat the weak as your comrades. Your heart… won't be able to bear the weight."
"I've been hinting at this from the very beginning: being classmates is enough."
"Remember this—Grade 1 isn't a goal. It's the bare minimum for self-preservation."
"I can't reach that level."
"And someday—when danger becomes unavoidable—I will leave the jujutsu world behind."
The dark-haired boy smiled, a faint trace of regret in his eyes, more unsettling than any expression Geto had ever seen on him. For the first time, Geto felt a cold shiver race down his spine, sweat breaking out across his skin.
With Yaga-sensei overseeing things, Asou Akiya wouldn't be assigned to high-risk missions, and the higher-ups in the jujutsu world would conveniently forget the existence of a mere "study companion."
But if he ever dared—out of foolish pride or misplaced loyalty—to step into the path of those two boys destined to become the "strongest"…
His fate would be certain.
Doomed to vanish without a trace—no corpse, no bones, nothing left behind!
…
Bloom, young jujutsu sorcerers.
This world, cursed by the weight of human hearts—I've already revealed its rules two years ahead of schedule.
…
Outside the door, Gojo Satoru strode down the corridor, Yaga Masamichi leading the way ahead of him. Through the indifferent gaze of his Six Eyes, Gojo glanced past the first dormitory room.
He had caught Asou Akiya's later words—not through sound, but by reading lips. He just happened to know how.
—Clear-headed. Calculating.
His eyes swept the corridor. To ordinary eyes, it was an empty hallway. But to Gojo, the air was thick with the lingering traces of cursed energy—residual filth left behind by countless curses. It swirled across the walls and floors like grotesque, tangled brushstrokes, a visual assault so repulsive it felt like staring at a canvas painted in bile and rot. Had the Cursed Spirit Manipulator thrown some kind of curse spirit party right outside the dorm?
Yet even in this filth, Gojo's Six Eyes instantly picked out two faint human fingerprints on the doorframes—fresh, deliberate.
Someone had wiped down his and Geto's dormitory doors… and accidentally left behind smudges.
Whose were they?
In the next heartbeat, his Six Eyes zeroed in on the hidden corner of the doorknob—the precise spot where a thumb had pressed. The prints belonged to Asou Akiya.
A person so rational and self-aware… urging his classmates to stay away from the weak, yet choosing to quietly approach someone strong?
And of all things—cleaning?
That kind of demeaning task… wasn't that what servants liked to do?
A flicker of curiosity stirred in Gojo—subtle, but unmistakable. He mentally cross-referenced everything he knew: Asou came from a clan bound by ancient restrictions, possessed negligible cursed energy, had a history of suicide attempts, and had reportedly endured a miserable life back at the Tachibana household.
"Kamo?" he murmured under his breath. "Zenin? Or… could it be… my family's little tangerine?"
How strange. Worth another look.
Huh!
That weird-banged guy had already run off?
…Pathetic.
—
[Adapted from Geto Suguru's original line in the canon]
Being a jujutsu sorcerer is like running a marathon…
But what if, when you finally cross the finish line, all you find is a mountain of your comrades' corpses, drenched in blood?
…
Author's Note:
Asou Akiya's character fits surprisingly well into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen. But pairing him with Gojo Satoru? That's the hardest path of all.
The "ideal" route to romance Gojo Satoru is practically written in stone: equal status, childhood friends, comparable strength, preferably born into rival clans—fueling mutual rebellion against family legacies and leading to secret, thrilling rendezvous.
But honestly… how utterly boring is that plot?
It implies that as long as someone checks the right boxes—noble birth, shared history, matching power—they can win Gojo's heart regardless of who they truly are.
Ironically, that kind of relationship often feels the most realistic.
Yes—painfully, undeniably real.
The world has already laid a golden bridge straight to Gojo Satoru's affection. All one needs to do is take a single step forward.
Who wouldn't adore that picture-perfect childhood bond? Pure, sweet, full of shared laughter and memories—growing up side by side in perfect harmony. Even I, the author, find myself drawn to those stories; they're soothing, comforting, a balm for the soul.
Gojo Satoru's preferences are already common knowledge: he's drawn to strength, potential, and individuality.
That's precisely why I wanted to write from the perspective of an ordinary person—an insignificant, low-born jujutsu sorcerer—who sees not just Gojo's dazzling smile, but also the coldness beneath it; who notices not only his liveliness, but also the disdain hidden behind it; who recognizes the icy detachment beneath that radiant beauty; who feels the weight of inequality in Gojo's casual arrogance; and who glimpses the "other side" of Gojo Satoru—the side rarely turned toward anyone but Geto Suguru—the divine child's condescending gaze upon mere mortals.
If the moon lingered too close to the earth, would anyone still look up in awe?
If a flower bloomed safely in a garden, would anyone risk their life to reach it?
Ah, beauty…
The higher you soar above the world, the more breathtaking you become.
The purer and more untouchable you appear, the more fiercely you command attention.
—Yu Wei
Written in reflection, February 25, 2024