Chapter 42
Sorcerers ranked Grade 2 or higher held the privilege of undertaking solo missions.
In the first-year class group chat, multiple assistant supervisors were added, quickly forming two-person teams. Both Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru received their assignments and departed for their designated locations, leaving behind Yaga Masamichi and Asou Akiya, who would now conduct their extracurricular training separately.
For Yaga-sensei—a Grade 1 sorcerer—this arrangement actually made one-on-one instruction with Asou far more efficient.
The true convenience of being a Cursed Corpse Technician now revealed itself: Yaga could remotely control multiple cursed corpses simultaneously, deploying them to support Asou in combat and eliminating any risk of surprise attacks from curses.
This setup not only drastically increased the student's survival rate but also stoked his fighting spirit. After all, Asou's rapid growth wasn't happening in a vacuum—both Geto Suguru and Ieri Shoko had poured significant effort into his development.
Geto's Cursed Spirit Manipulation functioned like a private training ground—an ever-replenishing reservoir of curses drawn from the Three Great Families' hidden archives, generously loaned to boost Asou's combat experience.
Ieri's Reverse Cursed Technique served as his personal medical corps, swiftly healing injuries and erasing the lingering aftereffects of battle.
Add to that Yaga-sensei's selfless mastery of taijutsu, and the occasional, razor-sharp insight from Gojo's Six Eyes—a single sentence here or there, worth more than months of practice—and the result was extraordinary.
In just over two months since enrollment, Asou Akiya had, against all odds, been granted the kind of elite, holistic tutelage usually reserved only for heirs of the Three Great Families.
Any graduated sorcerer who witnessed this would be left utterly speechless.
Even Mei Mei and Iori Utahime, the two senior students, had taken a gentle interest in their only soft-spoken yet fiercely diligent kohai. They'd each offered a bit of goodwill, sharing hard-earned knowledge.
Mei Mei taught Asou refined, family-inherited weapon techniques—small but lethal flourishes that turned ordinary strikes into precision art.
Iori Utahime's technique, tied to song and dance, might seem delicate—but the fact that she'd risen to Grade 2 using a support-type ability proved her underlying combat instincts were sharp. Guiding a Grade 4 sorcerer like Asou was well within her capabilities.
Through relentless effort—and careful maneuvering between Jujutsu Headquarters and the Gojo clan—Asou Akiya had finally reaped the rewards of his intricate planning.
Without even realizing it, he'd become the quiet center of attention in taijutsu class—the unlikely "group pet" he'd once never dared imagine himself as.
It was exhausting. It was grueling.
Yet, brimming beneath the fatigue was a quiet, overflowing happiness.
While Gojo and Geto chased each other across the country—bickering, clashing, and slowly forging their own legend—it was the Six Eyes that watched in stillness. That crystalline, sky-blue gaze reflected the entire expanse of Tokyo Jujutsu High, patiently chronicling Asou Akiya's progress: slow as a snail's crawl from the perspective of a divine child, yet undeniably, steadily forward.
—
Meanwhile, Tokyo's most dreaded season arrived: the suffocating plum rains*.
*{Note:The "plum rains" (梅雨, tsuyu in Japanese) refer to the East Asian rainy season that typically occurs from early June to mid-July. Despite the poetic name, which was derived from the ripening of plums during this period, the season is widely disliked in Japan for its persistent, oppressive humidity, overcast skies, and near-constant drizzle or light rain.}
Thick mist rolled through the mountainous outskirts, blanketing the forests in low-hanging fog. Humidity clung to every surface, and the wooden dormitories of Tokyo Jujutsu High became ground zero for dampness and mildew.
But thanks to the school's policy of covering all utilities, even commoner-born students like Asou and Geto could indulge without guilt. Inspired by Gojo's unapologetic luxury, they, too, ran their air conditioners twenty-four hours a day.
Outside the boys' dormitory, the constant hum of outdoor AC units filled the air—a steady, mechanical chorus working tirelessly to suck moisture from the saturated rooms within.
But laundry became a nightmare. With no sun to dry clothes, the dryers ran nonstop—from morning until night—filling the halls with a constant, grating mechanical drone that deeply disturbed Gojo, who was accustomed to absolute silence.
Furious, Gojo gathered every last piece of his dirty laundry, marched straight into Asou's room, and dumped the entire heap onto his bed. "Here," he declared, as if bestowing a sacred duty upon his personal "little tangerine."
When Asou returned from an exhausting training session and found his bed buried under a mountain of Gojo's clothes, he couldn't help but roll his eyes in exasperation.
This was the consequence of having exchanged spare keys to each other's rooms.
As he stepped outside to clear his head, he ran into Geto, who looked equally frazzled—his nerves frayed by the relentless noise of the dryer. "Asou," Geto said, weary-eyed, "how about we unlock the empty room next door and turn it into a dedicated laundry space? Just for the washer, dryer—all the noisy appliances."
Asou immediately agreed. "Then the lock-picking is all on you."
Geto, ever the pragmatic opportunist, summoned a low-grade cursed spirit—unpaid, unquestioning, and utterly obedient—and sent it phasing through the wall. The spirit twisted the deadbolt from the inside and swung the door open without a sound.
And just like that, the vacant room between Asou's and Geto's quarters found its purpose.
They quickly hauled the washer and dryer inside, hooked them up to water and power lines, and—problem solved.
—
Once the plum rains finally lifted, a new nuisance emerged from the damp forests: mosquitoes.
Unlike their urban cousins, the wild mosquitoes bred in Jujutsu High's mountainous surroundings were fiercely aggressive—and their bites carried unusually potent venom. First-year students, their bodies unaccustomed to this local strain, often suffered severe reactions, howling in misery after just a few bites.
Among the four first-years, Asou Akiya was tragically crowned this year's prime mosquito offering. He attracted far more bites than the others—any patch of exposed skin instantly became a target, swelling into pea-sized, angry red welts.
Once again, Ieri Shoko's Reverse Cursed Technique proved invaluable, soothing the inflammation and sparing Asou further torment.
Gojo, watching from the sidelines, laughed until he was nearly breathless. "Hah, you look pitiful!"
But Geto frowned in confusion. "That doesn't make sense. Logically, Gojo should be the one getting bitten the most."
Gojo immediately activated his Limitless, as if that alone could repel insects. "Mosquitoes have never dared touch me at home," he boasted.
"I wasn't talking about your technique," Geto clarified, deadpan. "I meant your blood. With how much sugar you eat, your blood's probably sweeter than ours."
Asou groaned, rubbing his newest bite. "Don't believe that myth. Mosquitoes don't have a sense of smell like that, and they certainly can't detect blood sugar levels or blood types."
—
The next day, Asou Akiya's newly requested summer uniform arrived. The crisp white jacket was refreshingly light and distinctly refined, creating a striking visual contrast against Gojo Satoru's sleek black uniform—like daylight meeting midnight.
Asou didn't just wear the new outfit—he elevated his entire presence. He applied antiperspirant meticulously, fastened a mosquito-repellent bracelet around his wrist, and carried himself with such subtle care that his usual "unassuming classmate" aura transformed into something quietly polished, almost elegant.
Geto Suguru blinked.
"…Huh?"
Then—scratch scratch scratch—
"Argh! Why me?!" Geto yelped, slapping his neck. "Ieri! Please—treat this now!"
Just like that, the mosquitoes' favor shifted. The next unwilling victim was Geto Suguru.
Science had long confirmed it: mosquitoes were drawn to dark colors, strong body odor, and elevated body heat.
Gojo Satoru, with his pale skin and snow-white hair, naturally produced lower levels of certain attractant hormones. His scent was mild, he rarely perspired, and—crucially—he was constantly shielded by the passive barrier of his Limitless technique. Even dressed head-to-toe in black and walking through the muggy forest, he remained utterly untouched by the swarms.
Geto, however, was a different story entirely. Broad-shouldered, physically active, and radiating robust vitality, his warm, oxygen-rich blood was practically an open invitation to every mosquito in the vicinity.
—
A week later, Yaga Masamichi walked into class and did a double take.
All the male students now wore gleaming white summer uniforms. The girls, meanwhile, had draped pristine white lab coats over their standard black uniforms—effectively mimicking the boys' look. One of them raised her hand earnestly. "Yaga-sensei, these skirts are such a hassle. Can I request not to expose my legs?"
Yaga waved a hand dismissively. "Wear whatever you like. Customize it however you want."
He already suspected the real reason. After all, the boys' summer uniforms covered them from neck to ankle, while the girls' included short skirts—a design flaw in mosquito season. Mei Mei had already taken matters into her own hands, altering her skirt into a modest, knee-length version to protect her skin. The message was clear.
Geto sighed dramatically. "Sensei, I desperately need a Grade 1 curse for mosquito repellent."
Gojo crossed his arms, equally aggrieved. "I refuse to spend the summer listening to those damn buzzing pests."
Yaga listened to their summer-induced complaints—half-lazy, half-serious—and then turned to the one student who hadn't spoken: Asou Akiya.
Asou met his gaze and offered a new solution. "Sensei, I'd like to learn a mosquito-repellent variant of barrier technique."
"Fine," Yaga said without hesitation.
Geto and Gojo both scoffed at the idea of studying such a niche, "uncool" skill. But Asou and Ieri Shoko dove into it with quiet dedication. And Geto—unable to tolerate the sheer injustice of others working while he lounged—quickly caved to peer pressure and joined the grind.
Only Gojo remained stubbornly unenrolled.
—
That night in the dormitory, soft shimmering barriers hummed to life in every room—except one.
Gojo Satoru, ever the contrarian, had simply hung a traditional mosquito net over his bed.
The new barrier techniques rendered their users effectively invisible to mosquitoes.
But a mosquito net? That was just a physical object—something insects could, and did, investigate with relentless curiosity.
Buzzzz… buzzzz…
Lying beneath the gauzy canopy, Gojo scowled at the ceiling, surrounded by the maddening drone of wings.
Listening to the maddening buzz of mosquitoes, Gojo Satoru found himself longing for the Gojo estate—where not a single insect, no matter how determined, had ever come close to him.
As a child, to guard against assassination attempts by curse users, his every residence had been wrapped in layer upon layer of impenetrable barriers. The gardens remained eerily pristine—no birds, no beasts, not even a mosquito dared flutter near. The servants permitted to attend him were few, and none were ever allowed to touch his skin.
Before his technique had even awakened, the Gojo clan's protection had been exhaustive, suffocating, almost fanatical in its thoroughness.
It was as if… something terrible had happened before.
Without Yaga-sensei's guidance, and utterly bored, Gojo began idly swatting mosquitoes with miniature bursts of Blue, his precision so fine he could pop them mid-flight like tiny, buzzing balloons. But more importantly, through the Six Eyes, he quietly observed the barrier techniques flickering in Geto's and Asou's rooms. Within minutes, he'd dissected their structure, absorbed their principles—and instantly cast his own flawless version.
"That little tangerine really is sharp," he muttered to himself, rolling onto his back. "He was right again."
He flopped over, tousling his already-mussed white hair, and hugged a plush pillow to his chest.
"He didn't even warn me…"
"So mean!"
"But with him around," he mused, voice drifting into daydream territory, "missions would be so comfortable."
Then his eyes lit up with sudden realization.
"Huh… Why didn't the Gojo household train him to be an assistant supervisor? I *need* an assistant supervisor!"
In the hierarchy of the Three Great Families, a Grade 4 sorcerer was practically invisible—so low in status they had no real rights at all. But Gojo, blinded by his own privilege, didn't see anything odd about his thought process. He acted on impulse.
At 2 a.m., he dialed Asou Akiya's number, utterly indifferent to the fact that his classmate was fast asleep.
Asou answered in a daze, half-dreaming, clutching a knitted plush cat named "Xiao Mi" to his chest. Faint, sleepy "meows" seemed to echo in his ear.
Wait… someone's offering me a job as Gojo's assistant supervisor?
"Be Gojo's… assistant… supervisor?" he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. "You mean… wait to get slapped across the face by someone even after you give your best?"
"What nonsense… No thanks."
Click.
He snapped his flip phone shut, tossed it onto the nightstand, and immediately buried his face back in the pillow, drifting off again—this time into a dream where a perpetually unlucky-looking man named Kiyotaka Ijichi clung to his leg, sobbing dramatically about all the absurd, chaotic things "Gojo-sama" did when bored or angry.
Outside, the summer night hung heavy and warm—but the cool air drifting from the AC made sleep blissfully deep.
"…"
Gojo sat frozen on his bed, phone still pressed to his ear.
Did… did the little tangerine just insult me?
In an instant, the white-haired boy shot upright—so fast his head nearly knocked against the ceiling. "You're dead! Tomorrow, I'm slapping you myself!"
How dare someone reject him—especially his little tangerine!
He was going to make a scene. Was the entire Gojo household trying to rebel?!
After a night of restless fury, Gojo stormed to Asou's dorm the next morning. He kicked the door open with enough force to rattle the frame—then, barely remembering he was supposed to show some classmate decency, refrained from yanking Asou out of bed.
Instead, he leaned down, pressed his lips close to the sleeping boy's ear, and bellowed at the top of his lungs:
"WAKE UP! You're going to explain right now why you accused me of wanting to slap you!"
"…" Is that Gojo's face? Why is it so close to me?
When Asou Akiya opened his eyes, he thought he was still dreaming.
In the haze of grogginess and disorientation, the colorful knitted cat in his arms—seizing the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—punched him square in the cheek.
The sudden, absurd impact jolted him fully awake. He yelped and grabbed the flailing little cursed corpse, which had wriggled itself into a frenzy.
Just as Gojo was about to protest his innocence, the commotion of the kicked-in door had already roused Geto Suguru. He burst into the room moments later—only to witness Gojo Satoru looming over Asou's bed at dawn, the very picture of a bully caught mid-act.
Instantly, Geto's heart sank. A wave of protectiveness surged through him—the instinctive urge to shield the weaker classmate from harm. His eyes locked onto the white-haired boy with icy hostility, especially when Gojo began insisting, "It wasn't me!"
"Gojo," Geto said flatly, voice sharp with accusation, "if it wasn't you, then why are you here? Look at Asou's face—it's clearly a fist mark!"
"I'M INNOCENT!!!" Gojo shrieked, voice cracking with desperation.
Little tangerine! Stop playing dead! Say something—anything—to clear my name!!!
—
…
[Canon Character Note]
Kiyotaka Ijichi, age 26, is a junior to Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento. Though technically a Grade 4 sorcerer, he later becomes Gojo's primary assistant supervisor.
Poor Ijichi spends his days caught between Jujutsu Headquarters and Gojo Satoru—perpetually stressed, exhausted, and sporting the weary, resigned expression of a true corporate drone. Yet despite it all, he earns the deep trust of 28-year-old Gojo.
Whenever Gojo wants to intimidate him, he dramatically threatens: "I'll slap you with my full strength."
Kiyotaka Ijichi: QAQ Someone please save me!