Outside the boys' dormitory, the trash bin overflowed with discarded clothing: cherry-blossom yukata, jackets, dress shirts, undershirts, socks, boxers—an entire wardrobe's worth.
Asou Akiya and Geto Suguru, returning from their dawn training session, stopped dead and stared at each other in silent question. Suguru recognized something familiar among the heap. Holding his breath against the unhygienic stench, he fished out a black sleeve.
It was the standard Tokyo Jujutsu High uniform jacket—Gojo Satoru's.
"…Only one person could do this," Akiya sighed, half-admiring, half-exasperated.
"I thought people who wasted money like this only existed in dramas," Suguru said calmly. He harbored no hatred for the rich, nor any urge to scold Satoru. Whether the heir squandered fortunes or not was none of his business.
Akiya glanced at Suguru's unruffled expression and decided to poke the bear. "Each of his dress shirts probably costs no less than two hundred thousand yen."
Suguru fired back instantly. "So, does that mean we should grovel?"
Akiya rewarded him with an approving look. Suguru had finally learned to turn the tables in conversation.
More than that, Suguru let out a low, mocking laugh. "Someone like Gojo would never let himself suffer. If I ever saw him fail to adjust to campus life and run home crying to the Gojo estate, I'd mock him for the rest of his life."
Akiya opened his mouth, closed it again, and simply turned to watch a certain white-haired idiot sprint out onto the corridor as though the Six Eyes had pinged two cursed energy signatures and demanded immediate investigation.
Sensing their presence, Gojo Satoru announced his arrival with smug satisfaction. "Weird-bangs is just jealous, isn't he?"
Suguru stepped forward, polite as poisoned honey. "Young Master Gojo, what exactly is there to be jealous of? That you don't have a single friend? That you wear sunglasses indoors and never pay attention in class?"
The air between them crackled with gunpowder. Negative emotions churned, cursed energy swirling thick and ominous.
Satoru bared his teeth.
Another fight? The woods started right behind the dorms—no one would notice.
Akiya's instincts screamed danger. He had no desire to get dragged into a brawl while still sore from morning training.
"You two chat… I'll just—"
"Wait!"
In a blink of short-range teleportation, Satoru latched onto Akiya's arm and yanked. The sudden force made Suguru mistake the move for an attack; rage flared in his eyes. "Gojo—let him go!"
Pain shot through Akiya's arm. Bruises bloomed instantly across the exposed skin. He couldn't wrench free from those fingers.
Akiya gritted his teeth. "Use your words."
Only then did Satoru loosen his grip a fraction, indignant and utterly unreasonable. "I told you to wait and you tried to leave."
The white-haired boy was behaving bizarrely. He completely ignored Suguru's fury and focused solely on Akiya, as if spoiling for a very specific fight. "Akiya, I haven't had breakfast. I've been waiting for you forever."
Akiya's expression softened despite himself. Feeding Satoru every night had nearly drained his living expenses.
"You could buy something at the campus store."
"No. I want food you made with your own hands."
The words were blunt, almost rude, yet carried an unmistakable undercurrent.
An order.
[You take someone's money, you lose the right to complain. You take someone's food, you lose the right to bite the hand that feeds you. And you have the nerve to pick on me first thing in the morning?]
Fury flared hot and sudden in Akiya's chest. All his kindness toward this spoiled, ungrateful cat—never exploitative, always measured, always followed by compensation, never crossing real lines—felt thrown back in his face.
Asou Akiya's black pupils contracted sharply. In a single heartbeat his mind dissected the reason behind Gojo Satoru's sudden, theatrical tantrum.
[His palm is warm. He didn't activate Limitless against me!]
[He… trusts me?]
[What on earth did this idiot imagine in his room all night?!]
Ever since Akiya had fabricated the "Gojo family retainer" backstory (every sentence laced with nothing but heartfelt sincerity), Satoru had never formally acknowledged the role. Until this moment the entire premeditated scheme had remained imperfect, a prophecy only half-fulfilled.
A truly flawless layout required heaven's timing, earth's advantage, and the harmony of men; a perfect closed loop where every player believed themselves outside the game while standing squarely in its center.
And now—
Everything was proceeding smoothly. Victory was within reach.
The speed at which this closed loop was snapping shut had far exceeded projections!
Headquarters hadn't even sent their people yet, and Gojo Satoru had already fallen headlong into the identity trap!
The sequence was completely reversed. The ideal order had been: Headquarters approaches Akiya → Akiya extricates himself unscathed → he swears a binding vow to Satoru and Suguru proving he is no Headquarters pawn → only then earns Satoru's trust.
Under Yaga Masamichi's protection, Akiya had grown accustomed to the relaxed atmosphere, but now a heavy weight settled in his chest. The pain of the bruises blooming across his arm magnified tenfold, as though ants were gnawing the flesh beneath his skin.
He knew exactly where he had miscalculated. His grasp of human hearts was still too green. He had drastically underestimated the depth of fifteen-year-old Gojo Satoru's faith in the Gojo clan and the iron certainty of his worldview: "Because I am Gojo Satoru, only the Gojo family would ever protect me, only they would ever show me kindness."
The Six Eyes raised in seclusion—well-deserved reputation.
In Gojo Satoru's life the seat of "best friend" still hung empty. Geto Suguru stubbornly resisted the arrival of friendship. No one had ever told Satoru what a bond looked like when it carried no blood tie, no profit, no scheme—pure, selfless affection.
At this stage of his life, Satoru's soul had no warmth, and the Six Eyes that observed the world were equally cold.
Someone online had once said: the worst era to live in is feudal times; the worst occupation to hold is servant. Once a person kneels, rising again becomes almost impossible. The price of never kneeling, however, is to never rely on anyone.
Suguru's anxious gaze was inches away. In that instant countless realizations crashed over Akiya. He managed a strained smile.
[I have no way to stand equal with you, Suguru.]
Being a classmate required this much exhausting calculation.
Being a junior—another protected charge—offered no path to partnership.
The only meager comfort Akiya could cling to was the arrogantly radiant expression on Satoru's face, equal parts adorable and infuriating, as though being served breakfast by Akiya were the most natural thing in the universe.
Deep in his heart Akiya clenched a fist until his nails bit crescents into his palm, silently vowing.
[Dear classmate Gojo, every order you give me today will one day be repaid in full.]
[Just wait until you're mortified, you Six-Eyes-dependent idiot!]
[You dared to lower your guard so easily?]
[Your breathing patterns, your likes and dislikes, your diet, your handwriting, your accent, your daily rhythm, your fighting style… I'll memorize them all, just like Dazai Osamu in Bungo Stray Dogs, until I know you better than you know yourself.]
[And then I'll publish a monthly Jujutsu High magazine titled "Gojo Satoru, Still Pulling Overtime Today."]
Having thoroughly talked himself down from the ledge, Asou Akiya felt his soul ascend to new heights of enlightenment; he was practically sprouting fluffy cat ears. The smile that bloomed across his face was radiant enough to make Geto Suguru take three instinctive steps back. Akiya turned toward the dormitory with buoyant grace and called out cheerfully, "Come on, Gojo. I'll make you breakfast. What flavor do you want—something light, or sweet?"
Gojo Satoru sensed only a sudden, explosive surge of negative emotion from the black-haired boy… followed instantly by perfect, sunny calm.
Geto Suguru stood frozen, one hand still raised in the air, forgotten. Gojo had simply, innocently, dragged Akiya away without the slightest awareness of the fury he had just provoked.
Cursed energy spiking past Grade 3!
That was one step away from going full dark side!
Suguru realized his worry had been completely unnecessary and achieved instant nirvana.
With Gojo around, Akiya was going to grow up fast whether he liked it or not.
…
Breakfast was kept light: a bowl of steamed rice with miso soup on the side.
Throughout the meal Gojo Satoru behaved with uncharacteristic restraint. He sat in perfect silence, white hair gleaming softly in the morning light, features cool and aristocratic. The unveiled Six Eyes reflected the boundless sky. He did not announce "itadakimasu" the way most Japanese did before eating.
The Gojo clan had drilled table manners into him well.
Once the bowls were empty, however, the leash came off.
The bed was an explosion of twisted sheets and blankets—clearly never intended to be made. With plenty of time before classes, Satoru fired up the game console. The television blared the iconic Mario theme. He folded himself cross-legged on a floor cushion and lost himself in the game. Until yesterday he had still made a token effort to make his bed and pretend at independence. Today he had officially outsourced the task to Akiya.
Akiya stepped into Gojo territory for the first time without hurry or alarm. He had already changed into the spare slippers waiting in the cabinet. He finished cooking, washed the dishes, then moved on to wrestling the expensive bedding into order. The Gojo-provided linens were unmistakably luxury—simple, elegant, free of patterns or logos—yet even the finest cotton required regular washing and sunning. No amount of money excused laziness.
The faint warmth of the body that had slept there still lingered between the sheets, the fabric arched where shoulders and knees had pressed.
The sensation of real, lived-in life settled over him.
This world had tilted on its axis because of Gojo Satoru, and it was only because of Gojo Satoru that Asou Akiya had ever enrolled here at all.
When the chores were done, Akiya drifted behind the boy on the cushion and observed—studiously, almost academically—the way Satoru's fingers danced across the controller, the rhythm of his movements, the level of skill displayed on the screen.
Satoru paused the game and scowled over his shoulder. "Why are you staring at me?"
Akiya's smile did not quite reach his eyes. "I'm trying to measure exactly how thick your skin is. Ordering a classmate around without a shred of shame."
"Hah?" Now that Satoru had unilaterally decided Akiya was a little tangerine, he spoke with the blunt familiarity reserved for family retainers. "Shouldn't the one feeling ashamed be you? How much did the old tangerines pay you?"
Akiya enunciated every syllable. "Not a single yen."
—You're the one spending my money.
Satoru barreled on, lightning-fast. "Then you got some other benefit. Don't lie to me!"
Akiya gazed down at him with wide, guileless eyes. Standing had its advantages: he could see the perfect swirl of white hair at Satoru's crown, the pale, elegant column of his neck above the half-collar, the conservative dress shirt beneath.
"Gojo, are you sure it's wise to trust me this much? I already told you I'm not from the Gojo clan."
Satoru sing-songed, "I caaan't heeeear you~."
For now he had absolute faith in the judgment of the Six Eyes, and his voice carried an almost coquettish lilt.
"You saw the pile of dirty clothes outside, right? Buy me new ones from now on."
Akiya sighed. "…Do you at least know how to use a washing machine?"
"Of course I know how," Satoru answered with the weary air of someone discussing quantum physics. "But then you have to hang everything out to dry, and that's a huge pain, and I refuse to wear clothes that come out of the dryer looking like crumpled paper."
"I can't afford clothes that average two hundred thousand yen apiece," Akiya said, hammering home the reality of a poor student's life.
Satoru rolled his eyes so hard the Six Eyes nearly spun. "I'm not asking you to pay." He fished an unmarked black card from his pocket and flicked it toward Akiya like a shuriken. It was the pocket-money card the Gojo clan issued him. "That's for clothes from now on. And if you feel like washing them yourself, be my guest."
Akiya caught the legendary unlimited card between two fingers and stared at it, emotions tangled somewhere between hilarity and exasperation.
[So you've really decided I'm one of your household staff?]
Putting himself in Satoru's shoes for a moment, Akiya answered carefully. "Outerwear is one thing—I won't quibble about that. But you have to learn to wash your own underwear."
Satoru blinked, genuinely baffled. "Why?"
Akiya's voice dropped to a grave, almost paternal register. "Unless you want to mysteriously end up with a child someday."
A teenage boy in the full flush of puberty.
Before the campus cleaners could wheel the bin away, Asou Akiya doused every last scrap of clothing in cooking oil. To keep the flames from spreading, he soaked the ground in a wide circle with water, struck a match, and set the whole pile ablaze, neatly erasing Gojo Satoru's potential catastrophe.
The morning air filled with the acrid stench of burning fabric.
Gojo Satoru stood off to the side, looking for all the world like a man who had just discovered how dark reality truly was.
It was only 2005; the internet had not yet evolved into the perfect machine for broadcasting a rich heir's embarrassing scandals. Only Akiya, who had lived through the information-explosion era of the future, understood exactly how many eyes in the jujutsu world were fixed on Gojo Satoru. The Six Eyes might not be inheritable, but Satoru's children would still be born into the main bloodline of the Gojo clan, legitimate heirs regardless.
Even without looking far ahead, one only had to consider the final boss of Jujutsu Kaisen: Kenjaku.
That absolute lunatic of a mastermind had once possessed a woman's corpse, carried a pregnancy to term, and given birth—all to create the perfect vessel for Ryomen Sukuna.
Itadori Yuji, the protagonist himself, had been born that way.
Fuming at the Gojo clan's criminally inadequate sex-education program, Akiya delivered the lecture Satoru so desperately needed. "Do you understand now? As long as someone gets hold of your DNA, a man and a woman don't even need to sleep together to make a child. This isn't the feudal era anymore. We have to protect our privacy, or we'll invite trouble we can't afford."
Satoru answered in a flat, deflated voice. "Fine."
Akiya decided the Gojo clan really had no excuse for not putting him on payroll.
In the classroom, during first period, Yaga Masamichi singled Akiya out for praise. "Excellent progress. Your total cursed energy has broken through to Grade-3 sorcerer level. Train up your close-combat weaknesses next, and you'll be a solid Grade-4. Against Grade-3 cursed spirits, just avoid getting surrounded and you'll exorcise them safely."
Having survived the morning's chaos, Akiya replied with perfect calm. "Understood. Thank you for the guidance, sensei."
The chief culprit behind his earlier mood swing showed no reaction whatsoever, vibrating in his seat with eager anticipation for physical training class.
[Jujutsu High Mutual Aid Trio]
[Ieri Shoko: What the hell happened this morning?]
[Asou Akiya: I burned a trash can. Contributed to world peace.]
[Ieri Shoko: ?]
[Geto Suguru: The burnt smell by the boys' dorm—that was you?]
[Asou Akiya: Yep. Couldn't be helped. Someone's common sense is still stuck in the feudal period and he throws clothes anywhere. You two be careful too—especially you, Suguru. Your technique has a chance of being inherited. Plenty of people in this world would love a child born with Cursed Spirit Manipulation.]
[Geto Suguru: …I think I just figured out what happened.]
Gojo Satoru shot to his feet with a bang of his palm on the desk, cheeks flaming crimson, and bellowed in desperate camouflage, "You thieving alley cats, secret-chatting behind my back again!"
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Three speechless stares.
If you're going to use metaphors, Gojo-kun, at least pick ones that make sense.
Yaga Masamichi watched Gojo Satoru once again spurt nonsense and get collectively despised by the other three, cleared his throat, and paused the lesson.
"I just remembered we don't have a class group chat yet."
"Gojo, Geto, Asou, Ieri: I'm making one right now and pulling you all in."
"From now on, absences and mission assignments will be announced in the group."
With the homeroom teacher's authoritative decree, all four students simultaneously downloaded a messaging app that was basically the 2005 version of WeChat. Gojo Satoru, for the first time in his life, joined a group chat and immediately raced to change his nickname in an attempt to look cool.
He was going to prove he was not some feudal-era tangerine!
[Strongest Demon King: Yo! It's ya boy Gojo Satoru!]
[1st-Year Homeroom · Yaga Masamichi: Gojo. Change it back. This is an academic and mission group. Assistant supervisors will be added later. Do not embarrass me.]
Thus Gojo Satoru's budding chuunibyou was mercilessly nipped in the bud by Yaga-sensei. The other three applauded.
Ieri Shoko stared at the nickname and suddenly remembered the book she had received on the first day of school. She still hadn't cracked it open; maybe she should flip through it tonight. There might be some topics in there that normal teenagers actually talked about.
Second period: physical training.
This was Asou Akiya's daily scheduled beating. Instructor: Geto Suguru. Audience: Gojo Satoru and Ieri Shoko.
Yaga ordered, "Gojo, pair up with Ieri. Do not interfere with the others."
Gojo had been hoping to spar with Suguru all along; he had only been hovering to mock Akiya, not to be a proper training partner. He objected instantly. "Shoko's so weak I might kill her with one punch."
Ieri Shoko felt a chill crawl down her spine. "Thanks. You can go easy."
Gojo stated plainly, "I infuse Blue into my fists. Anything (cursed spirit or curse user) that gets hit triggers a second explosion. Things tend to end up in pieces."
Ieri raised her hand toward Yaga like a lifeline. "Sensei! Sudden stomach ache!"
Yaga: "…"
Taking full advantage of girl privileges, Ieri successfully slacked off and claimed a leisure chair on the sidelines.
Yaga, left with no choice, personally dragged the persistently disruptive Gojo away from Suguru and Akiya's session. "Gojo!! Come here right now—I'll train your physical technique myself!"
Amid the chaos and laughter of the period, Akiya gained a great deal. Pleasure lit his face. In Suguru's words: "After your cursed-energy volume broke through, your reaction speed jumped, and both your raw speed and explosive power have increased."
The improvement reminded Akiya of Okkotsu Yuta in the movie: a frail, pitiful boy who, the moment he stepped into the jujutsu world, underwent explosive growth. One of the main reasons had been cursed energy—his naturally massive reserves allowed him to trade blows with a twenty-seven-year-old Geto Suguru in close combat.
Total cursed-energy volume determined a sorcerer's potential floor; only by raising that floor could every aspect of strength rise together.
Akiya knew opportunities like this were once-in-a-lifetime.
School days slipped by while Akiya seized every second to grow stronger. With Gojo Satoru's black card covering expenses, he no longer had to scrimp and save; whenever he cooked for Satoru, he simply made enough for two.
Sometimes the meals were light and clean, sometimes sweet, sometimes fiery enough to scorch the tongue. It was precisely that last category that made Gojo Satoru leap from his seat like a scalded cat.
The moment the spice hit, he stuck out his tongue, eyes watering, and chugged milk straight from the carton. "Are you trying to poison me every single time?!"
Akiya only smiled, serene as ever. "Hardly. Look—I'm eating the exact same thing and I'm perfectly fine."
The black-haired boy calmly picked up another chopstickful of bright-red mapo tofu, chewed with evident delight, and let a small, contented hum escape his throat.
Satoru stared at the crimson dish as though it had personally betrayed him. "Freak."
Since his companion had broken the rule of silence at meals, Akiya saw no reason to hold back conversation. "I just think you should taste everything life has to offer instead of staying locked inside the flavors the Gojo clan decided you were allowed to like."
"And one day, if you genuinely fall in love with chili peppers, that will be true strength."
From any angle the Six Eyes examined him, Akiya's expression radiated nothing but sincerity and gentle goodwill—no trace of malice or prank.
Satoru calmed, gingerly licking his stinging lips. "Why do you say that?"
Akiya's answer floated out, vague and meaningful. "Maybe because I don't want you to turn into a hopeless sugar addict someday."
To ordinary people, sweetness was the taste of happiness.
To Gojo Satoru, excessive sweetness was the burden of Limitless: his brain forcibly rewired his taste buds because of the constant sugar needed to fuel the technique, turning bitterness into cloying false joy.
"Everyone needs at least one flavor they choose for themselves," Akiya continued quietly, "good or bad, free from family or technique."
"…Oh."
Dinner ended. Satoru, having eaten his fill and then some, immediately began whining for seconds and successfully secured another round of feeding from Akiya.
To the rest of Tokyo Jujutsu High, Gojo Satoru's attitude toward Asou Akiya had flipped overnight. From icy indifference he had swung to shameless freeloading, constantly ordering Akiya around, demanding this and that, and throwing tantrums the moment he was refused.
This blatant classmate-bullying earned fierce opposition from Geto Suguru and enthusiastic melon-eating from Ieri Shoko.
Akiya, caught perpetually between the two boys' explosive rivalry, simply studied in peace.
Fighting was youth too, after all.
Late April arrived in the blink of an eye.
The commotion at Tokyo Jujutsu High had grown too loud to conceal any longer. Headquarters officially dispatched personnel—black-clad envoys—who came straight to the first-year homeroom teacher, Yaga Masamichi, to inquire about the constant brawling between "the Six Eyes" and "the Cursed Spirit Manipulator."
The matter could be played small or catastrophically large: two future Special Grades tearing each other apart before they even graduated!
Yaga gave a helpless shrug. "They're teenagers full of hormones. They've only known each other a short while…"
The envoy pressed, "What do they fight over? Simple dislike?"
Yaga nodded.
The envoy continued, "There are four first-years—three boys. The third boy isn't involved?"
Yaga recalled Akiya's expert dodging and barely suppressed a grin. "He's extremely quick at staying out of the crossfire. Rarely gets hit by accident."
The envoy scribbled notes, head lowered. "So Gojo Satoru is close with him?"
Yaga's heart tightened. Here came the real trouble.
"Just average," he said.
[Average closeness—credibility low.]
The black-clad envoy from Headquarters finished writing, face betraying nothing, giving Yaga Masamichi no glimpse whatsoever of his thoughts.
After a thorough investigation, Gojo Satoru's daily life was laid bare. On the report, the envoy noted in neat, impersonal strokes:
[Grade-4 sorcerer Asou Akiya. Prepares Gojo Satoru's three meals every day. Relationship with Gojo Satoru: good. Calls Gojo Satoru out of bed in the mornings and at noon. Collects his laundry in the afternoons. In the evenings, helps Gojo Satoru… write reflection letters.]
The very next day, this nobody entered Headquarters' field of vision for good.
"Asou Akiya. Orphan? Non-clan?"
"What were the investigators doing? How has this slipped under the radar until now?"
"Grade-4. No inherited technique. Pathetic strength. The Six Eyes of the Gojo clan could never befriend someone like that. Even the lowliest servant in any of the Three Great Families ranks higher."
"Perhaps he's simply skilled at currying favor and managed to ingratiate himself with the Six Eyes. According to reports, the Cursed Spirit Manipulator also dislikes him and frequently beats him during physical-training classes."
"A weakling with no backing at all. Could he serve as a pawn to monitor the Six Eyes?"
"It's worth trying."
"A mere commoner sorcerer…"
The elders of Headquarters debated the matter and unanimously concluded that Asou Akiya posed no significant threat.
They decided to summon the student to Kyoto Headquarters in person.
…
After school, on the path back to the dorms.
Two men in traditional black clothing stepped directly into his way and spoke without inflection: "By order of Headquarters, Asou-kun, you are summoned. Please accompany us to Kyoto immediately."
The familiar chill of danger and death wrapped around Akiya like grave-clothes.
If he were not, in their eyes, a plant placed by the Gojo clan—if he had not secured himself a powerful shield—he would already be marked as Headquarters' property: an ordinary classmate who spent every day at the sides of Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru, easy to control.
By sheer luck, Suguru and Satoru were right beside him, lending him the courage to face the envoys head-on.
Suguru asked politely, "Akiya, shall I come with you?"
Satoru rolled his eyes. "If you don't want to go, just don't."
Akiya had no intention of dragging Suguru into this. If Suguru lost his temper and trashed Headquarters, suspension would be the least of their problems; earning the permanent enmity of the higher-ups would be catastrophic. A Cursed Spirit Manipulator who had not yet reached his peak could not withstand Headquarters, and the one person who could—the bearer of the Six Eyes—would never set foot in that place for Akiya's sake.
To Satoru, it was nothing more than a nest of rotten tangerines, the foulest concentration of feudal decay in existence.
So, in the end… Asou Akiya was still alone.
The situation could turn on a dime, and the slightest misstep would send everything spiraling out of control. The ones waiting for him now were old men who toyed with power as casually as breathing, and the only person who could have been his shield, Gojo Satoru, no longer saw him as a simple classmate.
Would Satoru avenge a mere "servant" if he died?
He would not.
In that regard, this boy was not even as good as Geto Suguru.
What Akiya needed from Satoru was not kindness; it was the faintest flicker of unwavering conviction, the iron will to walk the path he had chosen himself, even if it led through mountains of blades and seas of fire, without a single regret.
Before leaving, Akiya asked the black-clad envoys to wait a moment. They agreed without protest. He smoothed a stray lock of hair behind his ear—an uncharacteristically shy gesture—and turned to Satoru.
"Could you smile for me? Just once?"
His longing was soft as a passing breeze, almost imperceptible.
Satoru stared at him, utterly baffled and growing impatient. "What the hell are you on about? If you don't want to go, then don't."
Akiya pretended not to hear.
Satoru did not smile. His face was cold, sharp, distant—like a bright moon gazing down on mortals with complete indifference.
The breeze whispered to the moon, begging for courage. The moon did not care.
The young master of the Gojo clan, one of the Three Great Families, had always treated Headquarters with the same contempt: if he didn't feel like going, he simply didn't go. He could not begin to understand the fear of a commoner. "There's nothing to be happy about, so I can't smile—and I don't want to. You're weird. If you need my help, just say it straight."
Akiya refused to lean on anyone. "No. This is my road. I'll walk it to the end myself."
So that his knees would never bend. So that his spine would remain unbroken for the rest of his life.
He swallowed the disappointment of a smile he would not receive and gave the usual instructions, calm as ever. "Satoru, there won't be dinner tonight. Figure something out yourself. I recommend mooching off Yaga-sensei. Ordering delivery isn't safe for you."
Satoru had far too many enemies outside these walls; a delivery address listed as Tokyo Jujutsu High was an open invitation to poison or spit. The Six Eyes were not infallible against petty tricks—Akiya had already proven that.
Satoru dodged an elbow from Suguru and answered frankly, "Akiya, hurry up and deal with it. I'll be waiting for you to come back and cook."
Akiya refused. "Kyoto's too far. The ride exhausts me. I won't be back in time for dinner."
Satoru shrugged, utterly unconcerned. "Bring food with you, then. Same difference."
Akiya still refused. "I'm not bringing anything. You didn't smile for me. I have zero motivation."
Satoru's jaw dropped. He jabbed a finger at his own face. "Am I some kind of smiling rental service?!"
Had the little tangerine's personality done a complete one-eighty today?
Daring to threaten him!
Akiya drew the words out, slow and deliberate, delivering the rare, heart-piercing jab that made even Suguru feel refreshed. "Satoru, aside from that dazzling 'I'm the strongest' grin, you don't really have much else going for you right now. You should take some emotional-intelligence lessons from Suguru. And if any packages arrive for me, could you and Suguru pick them up?"
"Bye. Off to Kyoto I go."
Akiya waved, gave both Satoru and Suguru a small, genuine smile, and walked toward Headquarters.