The scenery between Tokyo and Kyoto blurred past the train window in streaks of green and grey.
In the back seat, Asou Akiya turned his face to the glass and, in the privacy of his own mind, laid his final card on the table for Gojo and Geto: the absurd little novel he had mailed ahead as "express delivery."
If he never made it home, that ridiculous story would be the last gift he left behind.
The true power of a binding vow lay in deterrence.
The true meaning of breaking one was suicide.
Akiya had no intention of accepting any compulsory demand from Headquarters and ending up in a cage where he could neither live nor die. The twenty-eight-year-old Gojo Satoru had once described the higher-ups as a pack of self-preserving, arrogant, hereditary idiots—but those idiots still held the "law" of the jujutsu world in their claws and could erase a life with a single bored gesture.
His only advantage was the contempt they felt for him. He would cling to his harmless persona and survive.
[Reference: Gojo Satoru's experience, Yuta Okkotsu's experience.]
[Simulate the Headquarters scene in my head—make it as real as possible. Predict every elder's tone.]
[Every word, every inflection, decides whether I leave this place breathing.]
[The darkness is my stage.]
Akiya closed his eyes, letting an icy calm settle over them, and pretended to doze. His ten fingers lay interlaced and perfectly still on his lap.
Kyoto. The Headquarters that ruled both jujutsu high schools was a place ordinary sorcerers spoke of only in whispers. Rumor painted it pitch-black, row upon row of shōji screens, and behind each screen one of the jujutsu world's ancient aristocrats.
When the car finally stopped on Headquarters soil, Akiya said nothing. He raised both hands without being asked and submitted to the search.
"No cursed tools."
"No technique."
"Cursed energy volume: Grade 3. Sorcerer rank: Grade 4."
The attendants who delivered those verdicts looked at him with the faint, instinctive disdain the old clans reserved for anyone born without an inherited technique. To them, no technique meant no value—human trash.
Akiya's expression did not flicker. He followed the attendants into a room where every trace of modern light had been banished. The sudden darkness made his eyes sting, but he refused to blink or hesitate. Alone, he bore the crushing pressure of a Headquarters summons and stepped onto the knife's edge to perform his puppet show.
Traditional candles replaced electric bulbs. Hand-scrawled vermilion talismans crawled across the walls like dried blood. The air tasted of wax, old paper, and death. Plain shōji screens rose on every side of the vast, hollow chamber.
Akiya stood in the exact center—solitary, exposed, a condemned man awaiting sentence.
Behind the screens, silhouettes shifted like ghosts. Candlelight licked across his face, painting his features in shifting amber and shadow. The darkness at his feet seemed alive, swallowing his silhouette inch by inch. In a strange way he carried the same chill as the room itself: the cold, calculating aura that made ordinary people flinch. The difference was that Headquarters wielded that chill to dominate; Akiya wielded it to survive.
He betrayed no tremor before the screens. Instead he sank into the deep, theatrical bow of a period drama and spoke with flawless deference.
"My lords, I am Asou Akiya, first-year student of Tokyo Jujutsu High. I have come at your summons."
A low, ancient voice drifted from the upper-right screen. "You share a classroom with the Six Eyes and the Cursed Spirit Manipulator. Tell us why they fight."
Akiya's reply floated out soft and hollow, as though the darkness itself spoke. "This lowly one is an orphan of no family or standing, cursed energy feeble. Only through Teacher Yaga's kindness do I attend school at all. I tread carefully each day and know little of my honored classmates. I only know that Gojo-kun enjoys giving Geto-kun nicknames and has sworn he will never allow Geto-kun to reach Special Grade before him."
An impatient voice snapped from directly behind. "Between the two, who is stronger?"
Akiya answered without favoritism or fear. "In close-quarters combat, Geto-kun has the edge. In cursed technique, Gojo-kun reigns supreme. I have never once seen Gojo-kun take an injury in a fight."
A hoarse, amused rasp rose from the upper-left. "For a Cursed Spirit Manipulator to train his body so diligently—how rare."
A fourth voice, then a fifth, then a sixth—each colder than the last, each carrying the weight of decades—rose in rapid succession.
"The Six Eyes raised by the Gojo clan is naturally superior to any Cursed Spirit Manipulator. Are you questioning the competence of the Three Great Families?"
"Answer me plainly: how long can Gojo Satoru maintain the Limitless while at school?"
"Asking such things of an ordinary student is absurd. You might as well demand to know how many cursed spirits the Manipulator has already tamed…"
In that moment, Asou Akiya truly felt like a lamb surrounded by butchers, each elder searching for the softest place to sink the knife.
The jujutsu world was a demon's lair, but those who clawed their way toward its heart were never lambs.
"Forgive this unworthy one," he said, voice perfectly level, "but I am powerless to assist."
He waited until the chorus of greed and ambition had spent itself, then shattered it with a single sentence.
"I once swore a deadly vow that I would never, under any circumstances, betray Lord Shinshi."
Lord Shinshi[1]?
There were no gods in the jujutsu world. Who dared claim the title "divine child"?
The instant the honorific left his tongue, every mind in the chamber leapt to the same conclusion: the one clan that produced, once every five hundred years, an heir in whom the Six Eyes and Limitless awakened together; the clan that had clawed its place among the Three Great Families through raw, heaven-defying talent alone. For a thousand years, no matter how the tides of power rose or fell, the Gojo clan's reverence for the bearer of the Six Eyes had never wavered—like pilgrims tending a living idol night and day.
An elder from the Kamo family—one of the Three Great Families—turned purple with envy and spat, "The Gojo are insane. No matter how exceptional Gojo Satoru may be, he is nowhere near worthy of being called a divine child."
The chamber instantly devolved into a full-scale denunciation of the Gojo clan.
The atmosphere did not lighten, yet it no longer worsened. The hereditary members of Headquarters had envied the Gojo bloodline for generations. Who wouldn't kill for a world-altering prodigy to appear in their own house every few centuries?
After a long silence, the first ancient voice spoke again.
"You are a Gojo retainer?"
Akiya bowed so low his slender neck seemed ready to snap.
"No, my lord."
Every word truth. Every word a trap.
At the eye of an unimaginable storm, where no second Six Eyes existed to see through him, Akiya smiled without sound.
His tongue sowed rumors, his throat offered fragility, his lips wore the mask of youthful innocence.
"I am merely a rootless student of sorcery," he continued. "Possessed of minor cleverness. Truly unworthy of the honored lords' notice."
Whether he was or was not, Headquarters would never take his word alone.
After exhaustive examination—
three one-way binding vows were discovered etched into his very soul. Violate any single one and death would be instantaneous.
The elders flew into humiliated fury, convinced the Gojo clan had seen through their little scheme. In unison they accused the Gojo of coddling their heir rotten, of sending an unregistered retainer to Tokyo Jujutsu High without so much as a courtesy notice!
When all was said and done, wasn't the Gojo clan simply guarding against Headquarters planting its own spies?
Tch!
They were all foxes from the same den—what was the point of pretending otherwise?
…
In the luxurious dormitory that belonged to Gojo Satoru, two boys sat side by side on the floor late into the night, controllers in hand, racing through a two-player game.
Geto Suguru had originally refused to set foot in Gojo's room, but Gojo had sworn up and down: "The moment Akiya gets back, the very first thing he'll do is check whether I turned off the lights and ate dinner. Don't you want to be here when he walks in so we can ask what those rotten tangerines at Headquarters wanted? They're not nice people."
"It's so late," Suguru murmured, glancing at the star-drenched sky beyond the window. "Will he have to stay overnight somewhere?"
Gojo snorted. "Do you seriously think that's worth worrying about? I was traveling alone when I was ten. Even the servants back home never fussed this much."
Suguru shot back without hesitation. "Akiya isn't like you. He hates troubling people, and he hates making us worry even more."
"Annoying!" Gojo Satoru hurled the controller aside and puffed up like an angry cat. "All night long the only name out of your mouth is Asou Akiya. I'm your classmate too—how come I never get any special treatment?"
Suguru choked on air, his fox-like eyes glaring at the unreasonable creature beside him. "Please. Haven't you been given enough already?"
Satoru's voice dropped, suddenly quiet. "Those aren't the things I want."
He fixed Suguru with the Six Eyes—clear, piercing, almost cruel in their purity, the blessing bestowed upon the Gojo clan once every five centuries. No one could withstand that gaze without flinching.
Suguru admired Satoru's talent and refused to consider himself inferior, yet even he felt a twinge of guilt under the stare.
Abruptly Satoru changed the subject. "Before he left, Akiya said the only thing I've got going for me is my smile. And you were totally gloating, weird-bangs. What did you two mean? I'm actually curious."
Suguru blinked. "Huh?"
Satoru asked with complete sincerity, "Have I ever smiled at you guys like that?"
Suguru's memory supplied an instant montage: mocking grins, provocative smirks, the gleeful face Satoru wore while shaking cherry blossoms onto everyone's heads… but never once the bright, unguarded smile of someone who believed, from the bottom of his heart, that he was the strongest and happiest person alive.
After a beat, Suguru fetched a handheld mirror. The two of them sat cross-legged, facing each other like children at a sleepover, and began an earnest discussion about facial expressions.
"I think Akiya was encouraging you to smile more," Suguru said. A faint warmth stirred in his chest—classmate feelings, maybe. "He's… unique. Gentle but distant. He reads us better than we read ourselves. There are probably a hundred little details we miss that he notices and quietly tries to fix."
Through their fights Suguru had discovered Satoru's blunt honesty; through flower-viewing and late-night gaming he had glimpsed the excellence beneath the arrogance. Born to feudal aristocracy, yet somehow still innocently unaware of the world's sharper edges. It made a person want to straighten the places where he'd grown crooked.
Satoru peered into the mirror and contorted his face into increasingly ridiculous expressions, showing no mercy to his own beauty.
"I'm the strongest," he announced experimentally. "Let's try this."
A grin split his face.
"Ha!"
"Weird-bangs! Look! I really am the strongest—and the best-looking when I smile!"
They played through the night, ordered midnight snacks, and no matter how hard Suguru fought the heaviness in his eyelids, the presence of someone noisy and generous—who let him touch anything in the room without a second thought—dragged him gently toward sleep. The thrill of all-nighters felt far away now.
Suguru yawned, vision swimming. He couldn't remember the last time staying up had been this peacefully exhausting.
Satoru glanced over once, then returned his full attention to the game.
Darkness slowly gave way to dawn.
When Asou Akiya finally returned, shoulders dusted with Kyoto frost and the morning chill clinging to his uniform, he noticed light spilling from the dormitory windows. Fatigue evaporated; he lightened his steps, passed Suguru's silent door, and stopped in front of Satoru's.
As expected, the Six Eyes had already detected the rustle of a souvenir bag.
The door flew open. The white-haired boy on the other side looked nothing like yesterday's aloof prince. Instead he lunged forward and beamed—a deliberate, practiced, radiant smile that lit the dim hallway like sunrise.
"I figured out why you wanted me to smile. It looks good, right?!"
Akiya froze, mind blank, the image burning itself into his retinas: he smiled at me.
Was Gojo Satoru smiling because of what he had said yesterday?
In the moment he most needed something beautiful, a private moon had risen solely for him.
Caught off guard by the full-force beauty attack, Akiya decided that a no-longer-icy Gojo Satoru was officially the cutest, sweetest creature in the entire jujutsu world. He didn't breathe a word about the ordeal and simply thrust the bag forward.
"Souvenirs from Kyoto. I was worried you hadn't eaten enough, so I brought snacks and sweets."
"Waiting up all night was totally worth it," Satoru crowed, nose already buried in the bag, inhaling the scent of his favorites.
"Sorry to keep you waiting."
A faint tremor passed through Asou Akiya's heart. His earlobes flushed a natural crimson. For the first time in his life, someone had stayed up from midnight until dawn just for him—even if it was only for a bag of souvenirs. His eyes cleared, bright and soft, exactly like the sweets Gojo Satoru loved most, radiating a welcoming sweetness that Satoru instantly recognized as wholehearted kindness directed solely at him.
Gojo Satoru no longer found Akiya quite so annoying. Or rather, he had accepted the clan's arrangements. While enjoying Akiya's care, he had quietly folded the boy into his own circle of protection; he would never allow anyone to die right under his nose.
With that, Akiya gently pushed the sleep-deprived Satoru back inside. "I'll turn off the lights. Go to bed."
Satoru instinctively resisted. "Hey, hey—"
Akiya paused.
He saw Geto Suguru asleep in Satoru's dormitory. The television screen displayed a paused game.
The two boys who had sworn they would never be friends had spent the entire night together, utterly absorbed in their match. The one whose topknot had come undone rubbed his eyes, sat up, and mumbled, "Satoru, why didn't you wake me?"
Satoru shrugged as if it were obvious. "You fell asleep on your own. How is that my fault?"
Akiya fell silent.
So this was how cruel it felt to assume too much.
Without another word, he lowered his head, expression shuttered, rolled up his sleeves, and began tidying the table and gathering scattered game cartridges. He shut off the television with quiet efficiency, making Satoru look every inch the pampered young master who had never lifted a finger in his life.
Suguru's thoughts lagged half a beat behind. His emotional awareness finally jolted awake. He leapt to his feet in sudden alarm, realizing the terrible truth: Akiya had been gone all day, and here he was, laughing and playing video games with Satoru until dawn—right in front of Akiya!
Panic seized him. A premonition of losing a friendship swept over him like cold water.
No misunderstanding, please—his friendship was with Akiya, not the utterly unbothered Satoru lounging nearby!
It was over.
Akiya had seen him slacking off, asleep on the job.
Suguru instantly discarded the now-useless Satoru, plastered concern across his face, and hurried over to help Akiya clean up their mess. In a low, urgent voice he explained, "Akiya, Satoru said you'd definitely come here to check on him, so I thought I'd wait. He was the one who tricked me into playing—he said anyone afraid to game all night was a total rookie."
"I understand," Akiya replied.
He answered with a brilliant, forgiving smile.
In that dormitory, the only one without a heart or a care was Gojo Satoru.
Satoru munched on his snacks, head tilted, cheeks puffed out in adorable rounds. "???"
Why did he suddenly feel like the two of them were speaking in code again, saying the strangest things right in front of him?
What was wrong with playing games all night? Absolutely nothing.
[1] 神子 (“Kami”+”Child”) literally means “child of a god” or “divine child.”. Fun fact, It’s also the archaic word for Miko (巫子), or a shrine maiden. hehe.