Third person
Few hours later
Satoru sauntered up to the massive gate, placing a hand on the cold iron. With a soft, resonant chime, the heavy gates swung inward on their own, revealing a sweeping stone path that wound through a meticulously raked Zen garden.
The crunch of gravel under their feet was the only sound that broke the profound tranquility of the grounds.
"Home sweet home," Satoru announced, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace the entire estate. "Come on in, Isshin. Don't be shy. The door won't bite."
Isshin stepped through the gateway, his eyes trying to take in everything at once. The garden was less a collection of plants and more a living work of art, with moss-covered stones, a small, burbling koi pond, and a single, perfectly pruned maple tree whose crimson leaves seemed to glow in the ambient light.
"Stop showing off, Satoru," Sayo chided, though her tone was more amused than annoyed. She led them towards the main entrance, a grand *genkan* with a deep, dark wood floor. "Try not to track dirt everywhere. The staff just finished polishing."
As they slid off their shoes and stepped into the house, the air shifted. It was warm and carried the faint, clean scent of tatami mats and brewing tea. The interior was a breathtaking fusion of ancient tradition and modern luxury.
Polished wooden hallways stretched into the distance, framed by shoji screens that offered glimpses into other, equally immaculate rooms.
"So," Satoru said, plopping down onto a plush leather sofa in a sunken living area that seemed to defy the traditional aesthetic with its sleek entertainment system and minimalist decor. "This is the fun part. We've got a private theater, a training dojo that's bigger than most school gyms, and an onsen out back. What's your poison first, newbie?"
"I think he'd like to see his room first," Sayo said, shooting her brother a look. "You know, the one he's staying in? As a guest?"
"Oh, right! Hospitality!" Satoru snapped his fingers. "The guest wing is that way," he pointed lazily down a long hall. "Pick any room you want. They're all the same, basically. Five-star, minibar stocked, view of the garden. If you get lost, just yell. I'll hear you."
Isshin felt a wave of surrealism wash over him. He had gone from testing into a school for spirit killers to being offered a room in a palace that belonged to the most powerful family in the jujutsu world. "This is... a lot," he managed to say.
"Get used to it," Sayo said with a shrug. "When you're a Gojo, 'a lot' is the starting point." She turned towards the kitchen. "I'm going to get some tea. Shoko, do you want anything?"
Shoko, who had been quietly observing the entire exchange with a look of detached amusement, finally spoke. "You got any beer?"
Sayo paused, then sighed. "Fine. Beer for the doctor, tea for the civilized." She disappeared down another hallway, leaving the three of them in the cavernous living room.
Satoru leaned forward, his blindfolded face turned towards Isshin. "So, seriously," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "What's your Cursed Technique? You can't just drop in here as a semi-Grade 2 and not have something crazy up your sleeve. Don't hold out on me."
Isshin met the unseen gaze, a challenge of his own forming in his mind. "Maybe I'll show you tomorrow. If you're lucky."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Satoru's face. "Oh, I like this one," he chuckled. "This is going to be fun.
***
The first light of dawn was a pale grey stripe against the shoji screen when Isshin's eyes snapped open. For a moment, the disorienting luxury of his room felt like a dream.
The soft tatami mats, the faint, clean scent of the wood, the sheer, unnerving quiet—it was a world away from the cheap motels and cramped apartments he was used to. Then it hit him. Today was his first day.
He swung his legs out of the high, plush bed and stood, his stomach twisting with a nervous energy he hadn't felt since his own examination. He rifled through the small duffel bag that contained all his worldly possessions.
His options were bleak: a pair of worn-out jeans, a faded black band t-shirt with a frayed collar, and a scuffed leather jacket that had seen better years. It was the uniform of a street punk, not a student at the most elite academy for sorcerers in the country.
"Damn it," he muttered, staring at his reflection in the full-length mirror. He looked like he was about to go start a fight in a parking lot, not learn the intricacies of cursed energy.
The soft *shhhnk* his door sliding open broke his sulk. Satoru stood leaning against the frame, already dressed and holding a steaming mug. He wore a simple, black high-collared pullover with the Jujutsu High emblem stitched subtly over the heart, a casual yet undeniable statement.
"Having a wardrobe crisis, are we?" Satoru asked, his voice dripping with lazy amusement. He took a deliberate sip of his coffee, his blindfolded face tilted as if he could see the frown on Isshin's face perfectly.
"None of this is exactly regulation," Isshin grumbled, gesturing to his pathetic pile of clothes. "I'm going to look like a lost stray."
"A very dangerous lost stray, but I see your point," Satoru conceded, stepping into the room. He placed his mug on a polished side table. "I figured this might happen.
A guy who shows up with nothing but a terrifying amount of cursed energy usually doesn't pack for a semester." With a flourish, he produced a large, sleek shopping bag from behind his back and tossed it onto the bed.
"Took the liberty of having my personal shopper grab you a few things," Satoru said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Try not to get it covered in blood on the first day. It's dry-clean only."
Isshin stared at the bag, then at Satoru. He unwrapped the tissue paper to reveal a perfect, pristine set of the Jujutsu High uniform.
The fabric was heavy, durable, and dark as night. The high-collared jacket felt like armor. He looked from the clothes to his host, a grudging sense of gratitude warring with his own pride.
"Thanks," he managed, his voice a little rough around the edges.
"Don't mention it," Satoru replied, his grin softening for a fraction of a second. "Consider it a signing bonus. Now hurry up and change. Sayo's making breakfast, and if we're late, she'll hold it over my head for a month."
Ten minutes later, Isshin emerged from his room, feeling like an entirely different person. The uniform fit him perfectly, its sharp lines and serious weight lending him an air of authority he wasn't sure he'd earned yet.
"Now you look the part," Satoru declared, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "Ready to go make some teachers sweat?"
Downstairs in the sprawling dining room, the scene was already in motion.
Sayo, dressed in a long sleeve bodycon garter mini with slim stockings, was scrolling through a tablet while sipping green tea.
Shoko, looking like she'd been awake for approximately five minutes, was slumped over a cup of coffee that was almost as big as her head.
"It's about time," Sayo said without looking up. "Breakfast is on the table. Eat. We leave at fifteen."
Breakfast was a blur of perfectly grilled fish, fluffy rice, and miso soup that was so good it felt like a crime. As they all stood to leave, Satoru slung an arm around Isshin's shoulders.
"Alright, people!" he announced to the room at large. "Team Gojo—and its newest intern—is ready for deployment. Let's go cause some trouble."
He steered Isshin out the front door, where Sayo was already waiting by a sleek black sedan. Shoko shuffled after them, muttering something about needing more caffeine.
As they walked down the long stone path, the morning sun finally breaking over the wall, Isshin felt the last of his nervousness melt away, replaced by a thrilling, electric anticipation. He wasn't just heading to school. He was heading to war, with the strangest, most powerful family he could imagine at his side.