In this world, many things were undeniably wrong — even those directly involved could become lost in confusion, unable to distinguish right from wrong, black from white.
Yet one truth remained unassailable: growing stronger without relying on external forces could never be mistaken.
Countless events, countless tragedies — their root cause often lay simply in the fact that those involved lacked sufficient calm and power. If a sorcerer possessed a composed mind alongside overwhelming strength, such a person could unquestionably turn the tide and salvage so much that would otherwise be lost.
Do not emulate Megumi Fushiguro.
Do not possess a top-tier technique yet forsake the profound meaning of self-elevation.
"What 'restriction' have we got today?" Asou Akiya asked with leisurely amusement, watching one of Tokyo Jujutsu High's acknowledged strongest — Gojo Satoru — wield a broom in a stance that somehow transformed the humble cleaning tool into the proud flourish of a red-tasseled spear.
"Helping you clean your room," Gojo Satoru replied with perfect calm.
He had once again sought out Ieiri Shoko to repair his brain, and the two had agreed upon a new binding vow — with Ieiri Shoko dictating the terms. As payment for the treatment, she demanded that Gojo Satoru spend the day cleaning Asou Akiya's dormitory. Gojo Satoru had accepted for the sheer fun of it, showing not the slightest concern that his actions might seem beneath him; the strongest had no fear of such trifling matters as housework.
Asou Akiya quietly appreciated Ieiri Shoko's thoughtful gesture and began considering what gift might serve as a suitable return courtesy.
Girls liked handbags, didn't they?
Gojo Satoru worked diligently, finishing the living area before moving to the bedroom — sweeping the floor thoroughly, then wiping down the furniture to remove any lingering dust. In truth, the furniture was already quite clean; Asou Akiya maintained a regular cleaning routine and kept his dormitory spotless and orderly.
"Your bed is so small," Gojo Satoru remarked mid-task, suddenly abandoning his work to dart over to the bedside table. He picked up a framed photograph and studied it closely.
Four Jujutsu High students dressed in kimono stood together — one pouting playfully, another smiling warmly, a third with eyes brimming over with radiant light, and the fourth positioned in the center of the back row, his brows and gaze overflowing with an unmistakable, irrepressible happiness.
This was a photograph in which Gojo Satoru appeared, for once, the least remarkable among them.
No one treated him as the protagonist — no one revered him, feared him, or regarded him as the root cause of the imbalance plaguing the jujutsu world.
"Cherry-blossom viewing photo from April?" Gojo Satoru turned back and declared. "I want a copy too!"
"A trivial matter," Asou Akiya noted, committing it to memory.
Watching Gojo Satoru pat the pillow and attempt to make the bed, Asou Akiya let out a soft chuckle. When he received a puzzled glance in return, he explained, "Knowing that Gojo himself has made the bed will surely make sleeping in it tonight twice as sweet."
Gojo Satoru responded matter-of-factly: "Whether you sleep well or not has little to do with me."
Asou Akiya countered gently: "Is that your rational analysis? I believe people influence one another, ultimately shaping and completing each other."
At that moment, Gojo Satoru wanted nothing more than to finish the binding vow quickly — he had no interest in verbal sparring.
Ten minutes later, ninety percent of the dormitory cleaning was complete.
"Does the bathroom count too?!" Gojo Satoru raised his voice sharply, abruptly shattering the pretense of his role as a humble cleaner.
"Of course it does," Asou Akiya replied with sympathy. "Or would you prefer to admit defeat to Shoko and let her replace this vow with another?"
"Do you think a binding vow is child's play?" Gojo Satoru protested indignantly. "Once I agree to it, I absolutely cannot go back on my word — violating a vow is a consequence no sorcerer can afford to bear."
Before stepping into the bathroom, Gojo Satoru pressed repeatedly for reassurance: "It's not dirty, not smelly — and you haven't had any recent bouts of diarrhea, right?"
Asou Akiya could no longer maintain a straight face: "It should be quite clean — you can use your eyes to check the conditions inside."
Gojo Satoru declared with haughty pride: "I don't look at filthy things."
Asou Akiya: "..."
Asou Akiya settled at his desk, let out a quiet sigh, and turned back to his book — unwilling to engage further with Gojo Satoru's erratic antics.
Gojo Satoru bolted from the bathroom clutching a cleaning rag, then shouldered the mop like a weapon and charged back in.
A tragic thought flashed through Asou Akiya's mind.
[Will that toilet even be usable anymore?]
The season of frequent celebrations among sorcerers had passed, and on one late-August evening, the moon hung bright and clear while sparse stars adorned the velvet night sky like scattered jewels.
Asou Akiya carried a teacup as he stepped alone from his dormitory, walking to the end of the corridor where he stood gazing upward at the heavens in prolonged silence. His dark eyes reflected the shimmering multitude of stars, and an indescribable surge of emotion welled up within him.
He savored this sentiment that belonged entirely to himself.
How many years had it been since he could quiet his heart enough to truly appreciate the scenery around him — to slow his pace and gaze once more upon the starry sky?
The sky of 2024 had been a dull, ashen gray — long bereft of so many visible stars.
[Being alone is pretty good too.]
Asou Akiya allowed a faint thread of spiritual loneliness to envelop him.
The person he had once been lived under crushing repression — neither receiving wholehearted love nor capable of offering it in return.
Had he simply accepted his fate, that might have been the end of it, yet his nature refused to yield; he yearned to pursue a romance that transcended the bounds of ordinary reality.
"Mon âme éternelle, observe ton vœu, malgré la nuit seule et le jour en feu."
{My eternal soul, redeem your promise, despite the night alone, And the day on fire.}
Asou Akiya recited in French the verses from A Season in Hell.
The boy's voice was soft and gentle, still carrying the tender innocence of youth, untouched by the cynicism of the world — evoking the pure, angelic cadence one might hear from a choirboy.
Asou Akiya sighed with deep feeling: "No matter how many years have passed, I still love Rimbaud's poetry — the spiritual beauty woven into those lines transcends time itself, transcends reality. After graduation, I will travel to France and visit Rimbaud's hometown…"
Asou Akiya's artistic sensibilities were overflowing uncontrollably, yet his two classmates always seemed determined to shatter his moments of solitude.
One hand — then two — crept up quietly, with mischievous malice, to ambush his shoulders.
"Hey!"
Gojo Satoru let out the triumphant cackle of a successful prankster.
"Yo!"
Geto Suguru joined in the assault alongside Gojo Satoru, concealing his cursed energy so expertly that he completely evaded Asou Akiya's perception.
These two shattered the fragile barrier Asou Akiya had built between himself and the world, yanking him back into their vibrant tale of youth rather than leaving him adrift in a romantic film unfolding at the end of the nineteenth century.
Those literary giants had long since passed into history; living people belonged to the twenty-first century, where the era surged forward with roaring, unstoppable waves. The two acknowledged strongest pushed him onward, swept him along, lifting him to the crest of those waves so they could all gaze out together upon the vast horizon of the world.
Asou Akiya replied with unruffled calm: "Are you two hungry and craving a late-night snack, or unable to sleep and looking for someone to entertain you?"
Gojo Satoru answered without hesitation: "I refuse to choose — I want both!"
Geto Suguru deftly distanced himself from the blame: "I was sound asleep until he woke me with a phone call — sleeping quite sweetly, in fact."
Then, in a gentler tone, Geto Suguru added: "After that, I noticed you standing in the corridor admiring the night sky. Curiosity got the better of me — I wondered what the night looked like through your eyes — so I came out. I truly didn't mean to startle you."
Asou Akiya silently glanced back and forth between the hands still resting on his left and right shoulders — grateful, all things considered, that his heart was resilient enough to withstand the shock.
Gojo Satoru paused for a moment before casually tossing out a remark that drew Asou Akiya's full attention: "Want to watch a movie?"
Asou Akiya inquired, "I don't particularly enjoy tragedies."
Geto Suguru followed suit without missing a beat: "And I don't care for romance films."
Gojo Satoru stared at the pair in astonishment — never imagining that these two were even further removed from typical high school trends than he was.
"Perfect — I hate boring movies. Let's go! To the cinema!"
The three young men — this makeshift group of high school boys — banded together for a midnight screening.
In the end, they found none of the thrilling tension they had anticipated; instead, it turned into a shared viewing of a horror film, complete with collective commentary and complaints.
"Not scary at all." This came from the inwardly unshakable Gojo Satoru.
"No helping it — cursed spirits are far more frightening, so my tolerance has gone up accordingly." This was Asou Akiya, who had already seen the film before; his expression remained perfectly composed as he pretended his own courage was equally impressive.
"That corpse looks ridiculously fake. Akiya, pay attention — your popcorn is about to be completely raided by Gojo." This was Geto Suguru, an extraordinary young man raised in an ordinary household; he abandoned all pretense of manners when watching movies, his inner entertainer fully unleashed.
Asou Akiya glanced down — oh no — his popcorn bucket was already half empty and still rapidly depleting. After finishing his own portion, Gojo Satoru had stealthily positioned his left hand along the rim of Asou Akiya's container.
"I want some." Gojo Satoru's voice rang out with its characteristic lilt.
That sugary-sweet tone, paired with the dim lighting of the theater, almost made one suspect that a white-haired schoolgirl was seated beside them.
"Here — take it all, both of you." Asou Akiya laughed softly. With two very different types of classmates flanking his shoulders, he realized that somewhere along the way, the lingering scent of gunpowder that had once hung between them had quietly dissipated; the three of them had somehow, truly, become friends.