"Me or Asou Akiya—who's better looking? Answer fast!"
"You've… been through something, haven't you? In terms of appearance, you are, without question, the most exceptional figure the Gojo clan has produced in five hundred years."
"Why not a thousand years? Am I really worse than some dead guy from the past? Do you even see me anymore?!"
"Y-Yes, yes—of course! You are utterly peerless. No one comes close."
The head of the Gojo clan soothed his Six Eyes prodigy with practiced ease—but the repeated mention of "Asou Akiya" left him deeply puzzled.
Shouldn't his son's closest companion be the Cursed Spirit Manipulator?
Hadn't Gojo Satoru even gone out of his way last time to capture a special curse as a gift for that very boy?
First, he'd been jolted awake in the dead of night. Now, during afternoon rest, another call from Satoru came through—this one even more bewildering than the last.
The moment Satoru opened his mouth, it was like being pummeled with wild, directionless fists—leaving the clan head momentarily dazed.
Are all those years of etiquette lessons… wasted?
He tried to press for details, but Satoru had already hung up—clean, abrupt, and utterly final.
The Gojo patriarch pressed a hand to his forehead, lost in thought. What could have caused such a change in his son? Before enrolling at Tokyo Jujutsu High, Satoru had never been this brash, this restless, this vibrantly alive. It was obvious: something—or someone—at school had profoundly stirred him.
He summoned a maidservant. His expression was cool, detached, authoritative.
"Bring me photographs of one of Satoru-sama's classmates—Asou Akiya."
After a while, the head of the Gojo clan found himself staring at a series of images capturing the same black-haired boy at different ages.
Asou Akiya's looks were nothing like Satoru's. He appeared delicate—almost frail—his features still boyish, his stature slight, his frame unformed. Clearly a late bloomer.
The Gojo head couldn't fathom why Satoru would ever compare himself to such a person. How could something that grew wild on the ground ever rival a divine heir painstakingly cultivated for centuries by one of the Three Great Families? The boy's demeanor was gentle, harmless—pleasant, perhaps, but utterly devoid of the innate nobility radiating from Satoru. Truly, his son was worrying over nothing.
"Hm?"
He'd been about to dismiss the matter entirely—when his eye caught a particular street photograph: a fourteen-year-old Asou Akiya, pale and sickly, swathed in bandages, standing alone on a quiet sidewalk during middle school.
With the Gojo head's razor-sharp discernment, he instantly recognized something concealed beneath the surface.
It wasn't conventional beauty that drew attention to Asou Akiya.
Rather, it was a haunting, almost spectral quality—a sense of being on the very brink of shattering, yet refusing to fall. It stirred a dark, visceral urge: to drag that fragile boy straight into hell and watch as karmic flames licked at those obsidian-bright eyes until they burned with despair.
That sickly pallor.
That stubborn, clinging vitality.
And above all—that gaze, fixed with the eerie, unwavering intensity of ghostfire.
"The reason he became a jujutsu sorcerer at fourteen is clear now," the Gojo clan head murmured.
There were countless ordinary children who'd lost both parents—but those who shattered the boundaries of normalcy to awaken cursed energy? Those were vanishingly rare.
This photograph revealed a truth: the boy possessed the fundamental qualities of a sorcerer. His very nature was extraordinary, set apart from common folk from birth.
"Even so," the Gojo head added coolly, "you could never match Satoru-sama's brilliance."
A commoner-born sorcerer was simply too weak—so weak that the Gojo patriarch didn't even need to lift a finger to keep him in his place. The boy would never climb high enough to matter.
Restricting a sorcerer's official rank was a punishment the Three Great Families reserved for those who defied them.
But was it even necessary here?
After all, the vast majority of Jujutsu High graduates never rose above Grade 4 or Grade 3.
The Gojo head glanced indifferently toward the outer garden. Even a servant sweeping the courtyard—someone utterly ordinary in this household—would be considered a Grade 4 sorcerer in the outside world.
Having cursed energy was the bare minimum for survival within the Three Great Families. Those without it lived worse than livestock. The kindest fate such people could hope for was being cast out into ordinary society to manage the main family's external estates. Above that, Grade 2 sorcerers formed the backbone of the clan's operational strength; Grade 1s were the core; and Special Grades—those were rare anomalies, born only by sheer fortune.
Compared to the Zenin clan, whose treatment of their own bloodlines bordered on brutal, the Gojo clan could almost be called "enlightened."
As for the Kamo?
He didn't even spare them a second thought. Neither he nor the Zenin had ever held the Kamo's hereditary technique in high regard. Their "Blood Manipulation" wasn't even worthy of carrying the shoes of the "Six Eyes + Limitless" or the "Ten Shadows Technique."
For decades, the Kamo clan's position among the Three Great Families had rested not on producing peerless geniuses, but on the consistent, reliable inheritance of their bloodline technique—generation after generation.
—
Meanwhile, at Tokyo Jujutsu High, three first-year students were also discussing the Three Great Families.
They were eating portable bento boxes at lunch—courtesy of Asou Akiya—as a celebratory reward for roasting Gojo Satoru together.
With the help of Geto Suguru's cursed spirits, they'd perched themselves on the rooftop of a traditional Japanese-style building, feet resting on the curved tiles, the wind from the school's forested hills rustling through their hair. It was their version of a high school "rooftop lunch"—casual, carefree, and utterly irreverent.
"Where does Gojo even get that level of confidence in his looks?" Ieri Shoko asked, genuinely curious. "Someone like him—once girls actually get to know him—even a little—they'd never send him love letters, right?"
Asou's temperament was famously gentle—so mild and patient that Ieri had never met another teenager who came close.
And yet, despite posing absolutely no threat, Gojo had actually gone so far as to put his hands around Asou's neck. What a rotten, unbearable attitude.
Geto, drawing from personal observation, offered his insight: "I can't speak for older women, but younger girls absolutely hate guys with foul mouths. They'd much prefer someone like me—or Asou—who actually has emotional intelligence. I'd bet Gojo's never even received a single love letter."
Ieri Shoko couldn't help but recall, with sharp amusement, the way Geto had just casually "stepped on" her earlier. She arched an eyebrow and gave him a slow, teasing smile.
"Oh?"
Asou Akiya poked at a piece of grilled fish in his bento with his chopsticks, smoothly changing the subject: "His confidence comes from being a Gojo. You're underestimating just how popular he is among the Three Great Families. There's no shortage of refined, traditional beauties—the 'Yamato Nadeshiko'* type—who dream of marrying him."
*{Note: "Yamato Nadeshiko" - A japanese term meaning the "personification of an idealized japanese woman". The term is the archetype of conservative and traditional femininity}
Geto instinctively bristled. "Are you saying the female sorcerers of the Three Great Families have marriage on their minds all the time?"
Ieri replied coolly, "Didn't you hear Asou's exact words? Yamato Nadeshiko–type beautiful women."
Geto paused—suddenly enlightened. In this modern age, where freedom and individuality were prized, how many truly gentle, graceful women were left who'd willingly marry someone like Gojo Satoru?
Besides, jujutsu sorcerers were rare to begin with—and female sorcerers with cursed energy were rarer still.
"Are the Three Great Families… really that harsh on women?" Geto asked, a flicker of guilt creeping in. He hadn't meant to speak so carelessly.
"Hmm…" Asou nodded slowly. "They treat female sorcerers primarily as vessels for bearing heirs. Especially in the Zenin clan—they never even allow women to undergo training on par with their male counterparts from the start."
"The Zenin are the worst," Ieri remarked offhandedly. "What about the Gojo and Kamo clans?"
"The Kamo have a tradition of taking concubines," Asou explained evenly. "The Gojo are relatively better in that regard."
As he laid bare the ingrained customs of the Three Great Families, Geto felt a wave of relief that he hadn't been born into any of them. The suffocating weight of feudal tradition left him unsettled.
"So the Gojo clan is actually the best among the Three?" he mused aloud. "At worst, Satoru's just arrogant—which, honestly, isn't that hard to tolerate."
Asou smiled faintly. "Every strength has its shadow. In some ways… the Gojo might be even more ruthless."
That tone—calm, detached, almost weary—was unmistakable. It was exactly how someone sounded after returning from the Jujutsu Headquarters. A familiar chill prickled up Geto's spine.
Ieri, now alert as a female sorcerer, added a layer of caution to her voice. "What kind of… 'ruthlessness'?"
She couldn't help but worry for her own safety after hearing about the clans' systemic flaws.
Asou chose his words carefully. "It's not quite what you imagine—and I wouldn't call it a 'bad custom' per se. Let me think how to phrase it… Ah. The Gojo are… unusual. Women without cursed energy are universally regarded as the lowest class—that's undisputed, even acknowledged across all Three Great Families. But beyond that, within the Gojo household, there's another layer…"
"Since when does the Gojo clan have some 'special condition' that I don't know about?"
A cold, sharp voice sliced through the air.
Suddenly, the white-haired boy was hovering just beside the roof's edge—levitating effortlessly, arms crossed, expression smug. He looked far too pleased with himself, wearing the exact face of someone who'd just caught his classmates gossiping behind his back.
"Oh—caught red-handed," Asou Akiya said with a playful shrug, sticking out his tongue like a child caught telling tales.
Geto Suguru and Ieri Shoko weren't particularly worried. After spending time with Gojo Satoru, they'd come to understand his character well enough. Though he wouldn't hesitate to humiliate classmates with his overwhelming strength, he never abused his clan status—surprisingly, for a young master of one of the Three Great Families, he almost never leaned on his family's authority.
"If what you said is true," Gojo declared, clenching his fist in a mock-threatening gesture, "then I won't hold it against you. I'm not denying it—the Three Great Families are full of rotten tangerines. But don't go making things up about *my* house."
"That's exactly what I thought you'd say," Asou replied, turning it into a riddle. "Tell me this: in the Gojo clan, there exists a healthy male—born of the main bloodline, possessing cursed energy, and even wielding a hereditary technique—yet he receives no respect whatsoever. How is that possible?"
Gojo froze.
Geto's face twisted in disbelief. "That's impossible!" he blurted out. "You yourself said the Three Great Families prioritize techniques above all else. How could they possibly look down on a male sorcerer who has both a technique and pure main-family blood?"
Ieri nodded firmly in agreement. "Right! I remember you stressing how crucial techniques are."
It defied logic—a sorcerer with a hereditary technique couldn't possibly be at the bottom of the hierarchy in one of the Three Great Families!
But Asou ignored their outsider assumptions and turned his full attention to Gojo alone.
"What do you think?"
Gojo said nothing for a long while. Unconsciously, he raked his fingers through his white hair, tousling it into disarray. Below his dark sunglasses, the lower half of his face was taut with unease and inner conflict—as if searching desperately for a defense of his clan, yet finding none.
Because the truth was undeniable: such people did exist in the Gojo family.
Finally, he muttered something so casually arrogant it bordered on absurd:
"Why? Because they don't have the Six Eyes."
Geto stared at him. "What does that even mean?"
Ieri let out a quiet, exasperated sigh, utterly amazed by just how toxic the Three Great Families really were. "So it's actually true?"
"Yeah," Gojo said, his tone suddenly lighter. Noticing Asou seated in the center, he shamelessly slid over to plop down right beside Ieri. With a subtle flick of his cursed energy, he activated his "Limitless" technique to keep his trousers and shoes pristine against the dusty rooftop tiles.
He'd never paid much attention to his clan's darker customs before—but now, prompted by Asou Akiya, a quiet ripple stirred deep within him.
People often see reflections of themselves in those who share even a sliver of their nature. And in this world, individuals who bore even a fragment of resemblance to Gojo Satoru were vanishingly rare.
Gojo began to explain, his voice calm but edged with something uncharacteristically serious: "My clan's inherited technique is called the 'Limitless.' At its core, it's the ability to manipulate space itself through precise, atomic-level control of cursed energy. Things like 'Infinity'—which halts motion—or attraction, repulsion… those are just refined applications developed over time."
The moment he spoke those words aloud, the very air seemed to shift—as if the revelation of his technique amplified its presence, sharpening its reality.
Unfortunately, no one present felt like fighting.
Geto Suguru simply wanted to understand Gojo's point. "I get it," he said, frowning slightly. "But… so what?"
With his role in the conversation about the Three Great Families complete, Asou Akiya gracefully withdrew from the discussion and returned his focus to his meal. His appetite had noticeably improved. After all, seated beside him were nothing short of a stunningly handsome boy and a breathtakingly beautiful girl—the view alone was nourishing. And Gojo's voice, low and smooth as he spoke, carried a strangely compelling cadence.
Gojo continued, building his explanation from the ground up: "The Gojo clan's situation is different from the Zenin's. The 'Limitless' technique isn't actually that rare—it might even manifest more frequently than the Kamo's 'Blood Manipulation,' statistically speaking."
He shrugged nonchalantly. "So, every now and then, someone in the family inherits the 'Limitless.' But once they turn six and it becomes clear they don't have the Six Eyes? They just… collapse inside, like they've been handed a terminal diagnosis. They're stripped of main-family status, banished to a branch house, and put to work managing mundane estates. Honestly? They end up worse off than ordinary sorcerers who merely possess cursed energy but no technique at all."
Geto was stunned. "Your 'Limitless' is that powerful—how could the Gojo clan possibly abandon someone with that potential?"
Gojo adjusted his sunglasses with a sharp, almost mechanical motion. His voice turned hard, distant, as cold as polished steel.
"The power belongs to me—not to them."
He felt no kinship with those who surrendered to despair the moment fate denied them perfection.
Behind those dark lenses lay the Six Eyes—a pair of irises said to appear only once every five hundred years, now hidden from the world.
"Without the Six Eyes," he said flatly, "no one can wield the 'Limitless.' They can't accept reality. They're given the clan's strongest technique—only to discover it's as good as nonexistent in their hands. That's what breaks them."
When lunch ended, Asou Akiya carefully dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin—and with it, absorbed the full weight of the Gojo clan's most merciless truth: the brutal culling of those deemed unworthy by blood alone.
He thought to himself: Gojo left out a few secrets.
The Six Eyes weren't merely an ocular anomaly—they were bound to the soul itself.
When Gojo Satoru nearly died at sixteen, the color in his Six Eyes had faded to an unprecedented dullness—like embers smothered in ash.
And that was the real reason Kenjaku no longer targeted Gojo, despite having murdered multiple Six Eyes bearers in infancy throughout history. Even if Kenjaku seized Gojo's body, he could never activate the 'Limitless.'
Because the true power didn't lie in the eyes, or the technique.
It resided solely in Gojo Satoru—the living, breathing boy himself.