Jujutsu High, Tokyo**
The scent of old paper and ozone filled the office as the teacher, a man named Yaga, stamped the final document with a decisive thud. He looked up from the paperwork, his gaze appraising. "Well, with all this information, I'll place you as a semi-Grade 2. Year two, mid-semester."
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of excitement. Semi-Grade 2. To be thrown into the second year was a testament to the raw, untamed power he'd sensed during my examination. The academic portion had been a formality; the real test had been the art of jujutsu.
"As for your… condition," he continued, his tone softening slightly, "you should know that this life isn't a prison sentence. We have people who live flexible lives, hold regular jobs. It's about balance."
"I get it," I said, leaning forward in my chair, unable to keep the eagerness from my voice. "So, when do I start?"
Yaga stroked his chin, the coarse bristles of his beard rustling. "Hmm. Next week, I suppose. That gives you time to settle in." He fixed me with a serious look, the kind of look that precedes a lecture about life and death. "Just remember that in the world of jujutsu, life is a constant—"
"I know the consequences," I cut in, perhaps too sharply. "I know that every mission could be my last, that I'll be fighting monsters born of negative emotions, and that I'll likely see people die. You don't need to elaborate." I'd read the manual. I wasn't some naive kid.
A flicker of something—respect, maybe—crossed his features. "Good. Then that's all."
With a nod, I stood and left the quiet office, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind me. The air outside was fresh and cool, a stark contrast to the stuffy room. I found myself in a sprawling courtyard, the architecture a strange but beautiful blend of traditional Japanese design and modern functionality.
It was immense, far larger than any school I had ever seen. My gaze drifted upwards, past the tiled roofs and towards the sky. I could feel it—a subtle, almost imperceptible hum in the air, a pressure that blanketed the entire campus. The barrier. It was a masterpiece, a living testament to the power that protected this sacred ground.
"Tengen," I whispered the name I'd read about in the dog-eared *Sorcerer's Basic Manual Guide* I'd bought. The being who was both the foundation and the prison of this place.
"Hey you!"
The voice was sharp, cutting through my thoughts. I turned, my hand instinctively twitching towards my side. A woman was sprinting across the lawn, her movements a blur of frantic energy. She was in her mid-twenties, with a shock of stark white hair that seemed to catch the last rays of the setting sun. Her outfit was… bold, torn denim shorts with a see through white shirt and black bra. She skidded to a halt in front of me, panting, drenched in sweat from head to toe.
"Me?" I pointed a thumb at my chest, genuinely confused if she was talking to me or someone behind me.
"Yes, you!" she gasped, bending over to catch her breath. "Have you seen a boy? He has the same hair color as me, and he's… well, he's around here somewhere."
"No, I haven't," I replied, my tone flat. I turned to continue my walk towards the gate. The sun was already dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The city would be waking up with its own kind of things soon enough.
"Wait!" she called out, her voice regaining its strength. "Why are you in such a hurry? Are you running from something?"
I glanced back at her, taking in her disheveled state. "I need to get home. It's getting dark. And nowadays, crimes against men are on the rise. Better safe than sorry." It wasn't a complete lie; I just preferred my own company.
She straightened up, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Hm. True." A sly smile then played on her lips. "Can I ask you a favor, then? Help me find my brother. His name is Satoru."
I stopped walking and gave her a deadpan stare. "What will I get out of it?"
"Good karma?" she offered with a wink.
I just stared, unimpressed.
"Wait, wait, I was joking!" she said, waving her hands dismissively. *'No, you weren't, you liar,'* I thought, but kept it to myself.
"Fine," she sighed, adopting a more business-like tone. "How about a place to stay? There's a five-star hotel nearby. I'm a rich, strong, and independent woman, I can handle it."
"Money," I said simply. "I'll take XXX yen."
Her eyes widened for a moment, then she narrowed them, calculating. "Hmm. I can do that." She extended a hand. "I'm Sayo, by the way. Sayo gojo."
"Where was the last place you saw him?" I asked, my interest now genuinely piqued. The promise of a hefty payout was one thing, but the sheer chaos of this family was proving to be far more entertaining.
"The food court by the east dorm," Sayo huffed, starting to walk with a renewed sense of purpose. "He probably has some idiotic notion that 'blending in with the commoners' is good character development. It's not. It's just annoying."
We fell into a comfortable rhythm, the path winding through manicured grounds that felt more like a Zen garden than a school campus. The air grew cooler as the sun bled out across the horizon, casting long, distorted shadows that danced between the trees.
"You know," I began, breaking the silence, "for a 'rich, strong, and independent woman,' you seem to do a lot of chasing your brother around."
Sayo shot me a sidelong glance, a smirk playing on her lips. "Independence doesn't mean you don't have to wrangle your idiot siblings. It just means you can afford to pay people to help you do it." She winked. "Speaking of which, don't think I've forgotten about our little arrangement."
"I wouldn't dream of it," I replied dryly.
We looked around the East and north part of the campus but her brother was nowhere to be found.
As we rounded the corner of a particularly imposing-looking dormitory, the rhythmic *thump-thump-thump* a bouncing basketball reached us.
"Someone is playing at this time?" She muttered. And we went to check the place.
The court was small, its chain-link fence sagging in places, the asphalt surface spiderwebbed with cracks. And there he was. A figure of impossible height, all limbs and effortless grace, his white hair a beacon in the fading light. He sank a three-pointer without even seeming to look, the ball swishing through the net with a satisfying sigh.
Leaning against the fence, a cigarette held loosely between her fingers, was a girl with dark, shoulder-length hair. She watched the spectacle with the kind of weary, long-suffering expression one usually reserved for a particularly stubborn pet.
"Found him," I muttered, a sense of dread and amusement washing over me.
Sayo didn't just walk; she propelled herself forward, a storm of righteous fury in a bold outfit. "Satoru Gojo! You absolute, self-absorbed moron!"
The boy, Satoru, turned at the sound of his name, a lazy grin already on his face. He didn't have time to brace himself before Sayo's fist connected with the back of his head in a sharp, practiced *thwack*.
"Ow! What the hell, Sayo?" he yelped, stumbling forward and rubbing his scalp with a comically exaggerated pout. "I'm a growing boy! You can't just go around damaging the merchandise!"
"Merchandise?" she seethed, planting her hands on her hips. "You were supposed to meet me an hour ago! I've been running all over this campus looking for you! Do you have any idea how much cardio that is?"
"I was busy honing my skills," he declared, striking a dramatic pose. "A true genius must practice all forms of expression, including the art of the slam dunk."
The girl by the fence took a long, deliberate drag from her cigarette and exhaled a plume of smoke. "He's been making that same shot for twenty minutes. He's not honing his skills, he's just showing off."
"Thank you, Shoko!" Sayo called out. "See? Even your enabler agrees you're being a pain!"
Satoru's attention, which had been bouncing between his sister and his friend, finally landed squarely on me. The blindfold he wore was simple black cloth, yet I felt an unnerving, almost physical pressure as his gaze focused on me. It was like being examined under a high-powered microscope.
"Oh? Who's this?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave. He sauntered over, all lazy confidence. "A new friend, Sayo? Did you finally hire someone to follow me around full-time?"
"Don't be an ass," Sayo said, grabbing him by the ear and twisting, just enough to make him wince. "This is Isshin. He was kind enough to help me find you when you were playing hooky. He's also a new transfer. Semi-Grade 2, starting next week."
Satoru's entire demeanor changed in an instant. The lazy slouch vanished, replaced by a coiled, vibrant energy. A wide, predatory grin split his face. "No way. Semi-Grade 2? Just like that?" He closed the distance between us in a single stride, extending a hand that felt like it could crush stone. "The name's Satoru Gojo. It's a pleasure. I'm the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer alive, in case you haven't heard."
I took his hand, bracing myself. The handshake was firm, but it wasn't the physical strength that was staggering. It was the sheer, unadulterated volume of cursed energy that rolled off him, a tidal wave of power that made my own reserves feel like a puddle. "Isshin," I managed, keeping my voice steady. "A pleasure to meet you."
"'Pleasure' is an understatement!" he boomed, finally releasing my hand. "Man, another strong one! This school is finally getting interesting!" He whipped a sleek, top-of-the-line phone from his pocket and practically shoved it into my chest. "Here, put your info in. We're gonna be classmates, after all. Gotta have a way to organize missions, grab food, you know, important stuff."
I fumbled with the phone for a second, my fingers feeling clumsy against the smooth screen as I typed in my number.
"Don't mind him," Shoko said, walking over and flicking her spent cigarette to the ground. "He gets like this when he meets someone who might actually be a challenge. I'm Shoko Ieiri. The resident doctor and professional Gojo-wrangler, when his sister isn't available."
"A pleasure," I said, handing the phone back to Satoru.
"So, Isshin," Satoru said, slinging an arm around my shoulders with a familiarity we had not earned. He smelled faintly of expensive cologne and sweat. "Since you're joining our prestigious, slightly dysfunctional family, tradition dictates that the first round is on you. We're going out. I'm thinking of ramen. The good place, not the tourist trap."
"Hey!" Sayo protested. "Who said anything about him paying? And who said I was going?"
"I did," Satoru said simply, his grin never faltering. "And you're coming because you're the one with the black card. Shoko, you're driving since you're the only responsible one here."
Shoko sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand disappointments. "Fine. But I'm stopping for a coffee first."
"Excellent! It's a date!" Satoru declared, already steering me away from the court and towards the main gate. Sayo followed, muttering about irresponsible brothers and extortionist younger siblings, but a small, fond smile played on her lips.
As we walked, the three of them bickering good-naturedly, I felt a genuine, unforced smile form on my own face. This world of cursed spirits and life-or-death battles was terrifying, yes. But as I was dragged along by the self-proclaimed "Strongest," I realized that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so lonely after all.