The dying sun bled through the scattered clouds, draping the ancient courtyard of Jujutsu High in a heavy, gilded light. In that solemn glow, Kamo Itsuki stood before his assembled friends, his figure casting a long shadow that seemed to anchor them all. "So, do not doubt," he continued, his voice cutting through the twilight stillness. "Our exorcisms are not a futile cycle. They are a holding action—a necessary defense to keep the tide of curses from rising too high while we build the levee that will finally turn it back."
He paused, allowing the weight of their endless battles to settle, then reframed it as a temporary, strategic necessity. "My plan is still just a sketch," he admitted, his gaze sweeping across their faces—searching for understanding in Geto's thoughtful eyes, challenge in Gojo's lifted brow, and pragmatic assessment in Shoko's calm stare. "But the first cornerstone is to address the root leakage of cursed energy from non-sorcerers. My solution works through belief, not force."
He explained with the patience of a lecturer outlining a profound, yet simple, truth. "If a news report screams about a monster, it sows panic. But if a religious leader performs a 'miracle'—publicly revealing and then banishing that same monster—the public sees a divine act. They accept the supernatural when it is framed within the architecture of faith, not fear. We would craft a religion whose scriptures don't speak of sin, but of spiritual parasites. Its central texts wouldn't just describe curses; they would embed, allegorically, the foundational principles for sensing and stabilizing one's own cursed energy."
He painted the long game: a charismatic figure, performing public exorcisms, making the invisible war visible on their own terms. Followers would grow, not from fear, but from witnessed power and a promise of personal agency. This faith would become a cultural vessel, slowly normalizing the reality of the hidden world. Once that foundation was laid, the techniques within the parables could be made literal, taught as spiritual exercises that slowly, generation by generation, would arm humanity against its own negativity.
"In a century, perhaps," Kamo concluded, his voice softening with a mix of weariness and unwavering conviction, "the balance could irreversibly tip. We could move from endless defense to a final, quiet victory."
The sheer scale of the vision—a generational project spanning lifetimes—left the group in a hushed silence. The golden light seemed to capture them in a moment of suspended animation, each grappling with the audacity and the profound burden of the path laid before them.
Ieiri Shoko was the first to break the quiet, her medical pragmatism cutting through the grand theory. "Building a religion from nothing is a monumental task. Wouldn't it be more efficient to go directly to the government? Leverage state power and infrastructure."
Kamo's response was immediate and grimly realistic. "We have superficial cooperation—they allow us to use police reports to cover up incidents. That is a transaction of convenience. Full disclosure is a surrender of sovereignty." His eyes grew hard. "If we reveal the full extent of the jujutsu world to state authority, they will not see partners. They will see a strategic resource and an existential threat. The most likely outcome is not collaboration, but containment: military suppression of any sorcerer deemed non-compliant, and the systematic reduction of the rest to assets in a lab. Gojo, Yuki, or I might withstand an army, but the average sorcerer would not. We would be trading one oppressive system for another, far more efficient one."
Shoko absorbed this, her frown deepening as she reluctantly nodded. The clinical picture he painted was, she knew, the most probable outcome of such a gamble.
"Which leads to the second cornerstone," Kamo continued, seamlessly shifting from distant hope to immediate tactics. "While we lay that generational groundwork, we must fortify our position now. We need more sorcerers, and we need them stronger. Currently, Jujutsu High and the sorcerer ranks are a closed garden, tended by the Three Great Families and a handful of noble clans. But their bloodlines are a puddle of talent compared to the ocean of Japan's population." A note of fierce determination entered his tone. "We are limiting our future to a genetic aristocracy while a continent of potential lies unseen in the ordinary world. Our next step is to find those hidden talents—the ones the old system ignores—and bring them into the light. Our strength, and our new world, will be built not just on new ideas, but on unlocking the human potential the old one has wasted."
The golden light had fully surrendered to dusk, and the courtyard was now lit by the cool, pale glow of emerging stars and the distant lights of the school. In the deepening shadows, Kamo Itsuki's gaze held a sharp, surgical focus. His mind mapped the immediate steps: a nationwide recruitment of latent talent, a direct challenge to the clans' monopoly. Let the Higher-ups resist. Their objections would now be mere noise against the authority of three Special Grades. And if that noise became obstruction… well, that was a problem perfectly suited for Gojo Satoru's particular talents. Some pruning of the old guard was inevitable, and Gojo would handle it with brutal, efficient relish.
He took a measured breath, steering the conversation to the next tangible pillar of his design. "Our current method is reactive and inefficient. We hide our battles behind localized curtains to avoid panic, but it scatters our forces across the entire country. We are always racing, always out of position." His voice gained a new, technical intensity. "My solution is a proactive system. A single, vast barrier over all of Japan."
He outlined the concept with clean, logical precision. This would not be a simple curtain to hide behind. It would be an intelligent filter, woven from techniques learned at Tengen's side and his own deep understanding of cursed energy signatures.
"Its primary function would be identification and translocation," he explained. "It would sense the birth or manifestation of any curse above a certain energy threshold. Then, it would not contain it locally, but use a spatial-bending principle to instantly transfer it to a designated containment zone—a secured area adjacent to Jujutsu High."
The implications unfolded clearly. Every major cursed threat in Japan would be funneled to a single, prepared location. Sorcerers would no longer exhaust themselves traveling; the battlefield would come to them. New recruits would gain experience in a controlled, support-rich environment, drastically increasing survival rates. It would turn their endless, scattered war into a manageable, centralized conflict.
A profound silence settled over the group as they absorbed the staggering scale and cold brilliance of the idea. The rustle of night leaves in the old trees was the only sound.
"I have to admit," Tsukumo Yuki finally said, her voice laced with a scholar's respect, "your plan has a concrete architecture mine lacked. You've moved from philosophy to engineering."
Geto Suguru nodded, his strategist's mind already analyzing the stages. "The religion and the new recruitment are long-term cultivations. But this barrier… this is a project we could begin now. It creates immediate, tangible change."
"A centralized exorcism zone would be a medic's dream," Ieiri Shoko added, already imagining the logistical benefits. "We could have proper facilities on-site. Survival rates would skyrocket."
Gojo Satoru, however, slumped with an exaggerated, childish pout. "When did you have time to think all this up? It's annoying. I feel like I've been left in the dust."
"That's because you spend all your time talking about slaughtering people instead of thinking about what comes after," Ieiri shot back, her tone the familiar mix of scolding and concern.
"Don't remind me," Geto sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Compared to Itsuki, I feel like I've been napping for a decade."
The brief, familiar banter sliced through the weight of the discussion, leaving the atmosphere lighter, charged with a sense of united purpose.
It was then that Nanami Kento stepped forward, his usual reserve replaced by solid determination. "Senior Kamo. My strength is modest, but please allow me to contribute to this plan. I wish to do my part in building this… better system."
Beside him, Haibara Yu straightened his back, his youthful face set with earnest resolve. "Me too!"
Kamo looked at the two first-years, then at the unparalleled group of allies surrounding him—the revolutionary, the idealist, the healer, the unstoppable force. The blueprint was drawn. The first pieces of a new world were stepping onto the board.