Satoru's foot slammed into the grassy field, turf spraying as he pivoted his weight. He felt the air pressure shift—a dark-gloved fist carved a path through the space where his cheek had been a millisecond prior.
"——Urk!?"
This guy..!
Reinhard didn't reset; he flowed.
He surged forward, his leg slicing through the wind in a wide, diagonal arc—its speed bordering on the absurd.
In response, Satoru vaulted upward, his body coiling midair like a high-tension spring.
Using the momentum, he twisted, bringing his heel crashing down toward Reinhard's shoulder with enough force to splinter a building.
But—
A hand snapped up, intercepting the strike with the casual grace of someone catching a falling leaf.
Reinhard's fingers clamped around Satoru's shin like a steel trap. Then, with effortless strength that defied the laws of physics, the Sword Saint hurled him through the air at neck-breaking speed.
I'm starting to wonder if I'm the one with Infinity or if he is... I can't even touch him at our current level of restraint.
Satoru twisted mid-flight, slamming both feet into the ground. Earth exploded beneath his soles as he skidded back, carving two ragged, smoking trails through the pristine mud and turf of the Astrea estate.
The Sword Saint moved.
The space between them didn't just shrink; it vanished.
"———!"
Satoru's Six Eyes flared. A shadow overtook his face—Reinhard's fist was already inches from landing, a blur of motion that even Satoru's brain was struggling to track.
Then, it stopped.
A fraction from contact, the fist trembled against an unseen force. Infinity manifested like a pane of invisible, absolute diamond, saving Satoru from a very public embarrassment.
The air between the fist and Satoru's nose rippled, the space being folded infinitely.
After a long, shaky breath, Satoru exhaled.
"...That's my loss yet again."
Reinhard straightened immediately, dropping into a relaxed stance, his smile easy and devoid of any ego.
"You're incredibly skilled, Satoru. Truly. I'm sure I would be at a loss if not for my Divine Protection of Initiative, and the Divine Protection of First Attack Immunity, and Second Attack Immunity, and also Precognition, and—"
Yeah, yeah... I get it. It's BLINDING, dude… like literally—
"——And also the—"
Satoru stepped forward, cutting him off with a wave of his hand.
"I know, Reinhard. You tell me after every spar. You don't have to sugarcoat it." He reached up, pushing his sunglasses back into place. "Besides, listing your 'cheats' is basically just bragging at this point, isn't it?"
Reinhard blinked, looking genuinely mortified.
"Bragging? Volcanica forbid! I was only trying to provide an objective analysis of why your technique didn't connect. Your speed is actually superior to almost every person I've ever faced."
"Yeah, yeah. Flattery will get you everywhere, you humble king."
Satoru glanced to the side, his white hair messy from the exertion.
"Honestly... I've been needing to fight someone like this for a while anyway."
What he didn't say—what he couldn't bring himself to admit out loud—was that being overpowered like this? It was exhilarating.
Back home, he was the ceiling. He was the"Strongest." There was no one left to look up to, no one to push him to the brink.
Not even Suguru could make him feel this specific brand of "I might actually die."
It's amazing. It's thrilling!
"Satoru?"
Reinhard raised an eyebrow, snapping him out of his inner monologue.
"You have a very... intense look on your face. Are you sure you aren't injured? My fist did come quite close."
"Who, me? Nah."
Satoru waved him off, his confidence returning in a flood.
"I was just thinking that if I had actually landed that last kick, you'd be apologizing to your gardener for the new crater in the lawn."
Reinhard chuckled, a warm, melodic sound.
"I don't doubt it. Perhaps next time, I'll have to ask for the Divine Protection of Landscape Maintenance."
"See? Now you're getting it!"
Satoru laughed, clapping Reinhard on the shoulder.
"That's the spirit. Though, if you get any more of those 'Protections,' I'm gonna start filing a complaint with that Dragon of yours. It's bad for my ego."
"Ah——ahem, yeah. Let's call it here." Satoru dusted off his peculiar uniform, trying to reclaim his casual 'I don't care' vibe.
"I've still got to catch up on this world's history and all that, so... later."
He turned and began to saunter back toward the mansion, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He didn't look back, but he could feel Reinhard's respectful gaze lingering on his shoulders.
Ugh. Nothing kills a post-battle high like diving into dusty books... but hey, duty calls. If I'm gonna be a King, I at least need to know which elders' buttons I'm pushing.
—————————————
Satoru sat with one leg casually crossed over the other, a thick book resting in his hand. Around him, towering shelves stretched endlessly in every direction—rows upon rows of ancient tomes and manuscripts rising like the ribs of some vast, forgotten beast.
The library loomed above, cavernous and quiet, its sheer scale swallowing even the sound of turning pages despite the fact it was deathly silent.
"Hmm..." Satoru hummed, clicking his tongue. His index finger tapped rhythmically against the open page as he mulled over its contents.
I've probably crammed enough knowledge to pass for a functioning local in this world… which means—It's time to hunt.
For what, exactly? For recruits. For the 'Gojo Camp'!
He closed the book with a soft thud, placing it neatly on the desk before rising to his feet.
Without hesitation, he strode out of the library, his footsteps echoing through the cavernous silence.
The hallways he passed through were ornate—gilded trim, marble floors, tapestries, and chandeliers—a palace masquerading as a home.
Nobles, attendants, and knights nodded respectfully as he walked by, each greeting him with silent reverence.
They shouldn't know I've been chosen for the Royal Selection yet... Then again, this feels like Reinhard's doing. He probably just told them to treat me like they would him. Typical.
He tapped the stem of his sunglasses, adjusting them with a tilt before his gaze sharpened—focus snapping back into place.
"I'm not looking for quantity…" he muttered to himself. "Even one person is enough—so long as they're the best of the best."
The one I'm most curious about is probably with that "Emilia" girl's camp… Subaru, was it?
Satoru's lips quirked into a dry smile.
The way he was acting around her before—it's obvious where his loyalties lie. My chances of pulling him over? Pretty much zero, I'd imagine.
A shame, really... I wanted to see that bundle of Cursed Energy he's carrying actually put to use.
"Still gonna teach him, though," he whispered to the empty hallway.
He smirked to himself at the thought, hands slipping into his pockets as he continued down the hall.
He could feel the eyes of the staff on him—wary, curious, and a bit intimidated. He didn't blame them.
Even suppressed, the Six Eyes made him feel like a predator walking through a sheep pen.
"Satoru?"
Reinhard appeared at the end of the corridor, looking like he'd just finished an afternoon of being perfect.
"You've finished your studies already? It's only been three hours. Most scholars take weeks to digest those texts."
"I'm a fast reader," Satoru said, his grin widening. "Besides, I'm bored of theory. I want to see the capital properly. And maybe visit a certain mansion tucked away in the Mathers territory."
Reinhard's expression softened into a knowing look.
"Ah. You wish to check on Subaru-kun and Emilia-sama?"
"Something like that…"
Satoru said, skipping a few steps forward with a youthful energy that felt out of place in the stiff mansion.
"Actually, I'm thinking of doing a little 'guest lecturing.' You think that Margrave will mind if I drop in unannounced?"
Reinhard chuckled.
"Roswaal L. Mathers is... an eccentric man. I suspect he would be more fascinated by you than offended. Shall I prepare a dragon carriage?"
"Mmm… sure why not, I'm not exactly i a hurry after all."
Satoru said, stretching his arms behind his head.
Satoru was about to take his first step toward his room when two figures rounded the corner, pushing a silver tea cart with synchronized precision. They stopped abruptly upon seeing the Sword Saint and his eccentric guest blocking the path.
They were maids—twins, to be exact.
Satoru paused, his head tilting to the side. Behind his glasses, the Six Eyes scanned them instantly, reading their flow of mana and the subtle physical tension in their muscles.
Definitely stronger than they look, heheh~ Is this world just full of freaks? If so, that's damn near perfect for me.
He didn't just see their strength; with a little bit more effort, he saw something even more amusing.
The Divine Protection of Mind Speak, huh?
Something like that made his smile widen.
"Well, well," Satoru drawled, leaning forward with his hands on his hips. "Does everyone in this kingdom come in matching sets, or are you two special~?"
The two maids bowed in perfect unison, the crisp rustle of their skirts the only sound in the hallway. One had her hair pinned back severely, her expression sharp and professional—Flamme. The other wore a softer expression, her posture slightly more demure—Grassis.
"Good afternoon, Reinhard-sama," they chorused. Then, their eyes shifted to Satoru.
"And to you... honored guest," Flamme added.
Her tone was polite, but Satoru caught the slight edge to it. She was eyeing his modern attire and the way he loomed over Reinhard with a mixture of suspicion and protective duty. She clearly wasn't used to anyone treating the Sword Saint with such casual disregard.
Reinhard gestured to them warmly.
"Satoru, allow me to introduce the head maids of the Astrea household. This is Flamme, and this is Grassis. They ensure this house doesn't fall apart while I am away."
"An exaggeration, Reinhard-sama," Grassis said softly, her cheeks tinting pink.
"A fact," Flamme corrected, her gaze flicking to Satoru's shades. "Especially when guests leave books scattered about the library."
Satoru grinned. He liked this one. She had a bit of Utahime's temper in her—the kind that was fun to poke.
"Guilty as charged!"
Satoru said, stepping into their personal space with that effortless, gliding stride.
The twins flinched instinctively. It wasn't fear, exactly, but the sheer pressure of his presence. Even with his energy suppressed, standing next to him was like standing next to a dormant volcano; you just knew that if it blew, everything for miles would be gone.
"I'm Satoru Gojo. Nice to meet ya." He bent down slightly, bringing his face level with Flamme's.
"You've got a scary look in your eyes for a little brat. Kinda creepy..."
Flamme's brows furrowed, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the handle of the tea cart.
"I am simply concerned with the order of the household, Gojo-sama. And your... attire... is quite unusual for a candidate."
"It's called fashion. You guys are a bit behind the times here!"
Satoru teased, straightening up. He looked between the two of them.
"So, Flamme and Grassis, right? Since I'm heading out on a little field trip soon, you wouldn't happen to have any snacks on that cart, would you? Brain work makes me hungry."
Grassis looked panicked, her eyes darting to the delicate pastries arranged on the silver platter.
"T-These were prepared for Reinhard-sama's afternoon tea, but..."
"Please, help yourself, Satoru."
Reinhard interjected with a smile.
Before Grassis could even reach for a plate, Satoru had already swiped a tart with a hand that moved like a blur. He popped the whole thing into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
"Mmm. Not bad~" he mumbled around a mouthful of crust. He swallowed and pointed an accusatory finger at Flamme.
"A little dry, though. You should tell the chef to use more butter in the crust next time."
Flamme's eye twitched.
"I will... make a note of it."
"You do that."
Satoru said, dusting crumbs off his hands onto the pristine floor, much to Flamme's visible horror. He looked at Reinhard.
"Alright, I'm off to do some thinking. See ya!"
He walked past the twins, but as he passed Grassis, he paused, leaning in to whisper loud enough for all of them to hear.
"And tell your sister to relax. Frowning gives you wrinkles... lighten up!"
He didn't wait for a reaction. With a casual wave over his shoulder, Satoru pushed open the heavy doors and stepped out into the sunlight of the courtyard.
Behind him, silence reigned in the hallway for a long moment.
"Reinhard-sama,"
Flamme finally said, her voice trembling with indignation.
"That person... he is dangerous. He lacks any sense of propriety, and the way he looks at things... it's as if we aren't even there."
Reinhard watched the closing doors, his expression thoughtful and a little bit sad.
"Hmm? Dangerous? Satoru is powerful, certainly... but he's also very lonely, Flamme. Don't judge him too harshly."
——————————————
Before long, he stepped into his personal quarters within the Astrea Estate—a space so cavernous it was easily one of the largest rooms in the entire manor. The moment he crossed the threshold, the room seemed to shimmer in greeting, sunlight dancing across polished mahogany floors and ornate, gilded furnishings that screamed "old money."
"I've walked in here a dozen times already," he muttered, a playful half-smile tugging at his lips, "and it's still impressive. Never saw anything this grand back home, not even in the Gojo Clan."
He dropped into the plush desk chair with a satisfied sigh, unceremoniously kicking his feet up onto the polished surface like he owned the place—which, at this point, wasn't far from the truth. He leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.
Now for the hard part—finding recruits.
Besides the folks already here, and maybe a few I can count on one hand, I don't know anyone impressive enough to make the cut. I need people who won't just stand around looking pretty.
His head tilted lazily from side to side, a knuckle pressed to his chin as he let out a thoughtful hum.
...Mmm. Scratch that. I actually do know someone.
That orange-haired thief girl from the slums—Felt. She was a brat, sure, but she'd be a perfect fit for the Gojo Camp. Satoru hadn't seen her fight, but the Six Eyes didn't lie; she possessed a Divine Protection. In this world, that alone put her in rare company. Other than that maid pair and Reinhard—who for some reason was hoarding hundreds of the damn things—he hadn't seen anyone else with even one.
"My intellect honestly scares even me sometimes..." he smirked, his ego inflating in the quiet of the room.
"Now then—unless she got herself thrown in a cell for stealing again, which I can just ask Reinhard about—she should still be in the slums."
Satoru pushed up from the chair with a feline stretch, drifting toward the tall glass window. Outside, the sun hovered just above the horizon, casting long, golden rays across the sprawling Lugunican landscape. It was a picture of absolute calm before whatever storm tomorrow decided to bring.
"I'll head there tomorrow," he murmured, watching the light fade into a deep violet.
"Reinhard'll probably tag along anyway... whether I ask him to or not. He's got that 'loyal dog' vibe down to a science."
His smirk faded slightly as a sharper thought crossed his mind.
Elsa Granhiert.
She struck him as the type to hold a grudge. And getting your ass handed to you by a teenager in sunglasses? Yeah, that was usually grounds for a vendetta. Still, he doubted she'd return anytime soon—especially not alone. Not after the taste he'd given her of his power.
He clicked his tongue softly, his gaze sharpening behind his dark lenses.
"Guess I should keep my guard up, just in case," he muttered to the darkening room.
A sense of absolute, unshakable confidence settled over him. Without the messy variables of Cursed Techniques or Domain Expansions to worry about, the playing field felt tilted entirely in his favor.
"In both worlds... I'm untouchable."
The carriage jolted over a particularly deep rut in the road, but inside the cabin, Satoru didn't so much as wobble. He remained perfectly centered, suspended in the effortless grace of a teenager who knew the laws of physics were more like "suggestions" when it came to him.
Yeah. I changed my mind, what you gonna do about it? That whole "recruitment mission" can wait just a bit longer.
"Procrastination time! Instead... I'm more interested in that Subaru guy——the one from my world."
It still felt strange. Two people from Japan, isekai'd into the same fantasy world? He didn't know whenSubaru had arrived, or how, but the coincidence was too big to ignore. It was like finding a specific grain of sand in a desert, and then finding another grain from the same beach right next to it.
"Regardless… that bundle of Cursed Energy he's sitting on is just rotting."
He narrowed his eyes, a glint of genuine mischief flashing in the blue depths behind his shades.
"And I—Satoru Gojo, humble as ever—refuse to let that kind of potential go to waste!"
With a smirk, he crossed one leg over the other and rested his chin on his knuckles.
"So, I'll be teaching him. No magic. None of that mana nonsense. Just the real stuff."
His tone dipped slightly, becoming more analytical. Through the Six Eyes, he had peeled back the layers of Natsuki Subaru like an onion. The kid was a mess—physically… he wasn't actually terrible, above average, mentally frantic—but that darkness... that thick, cloying residue of shadow energy clinging to his soul was unmistakable.
"He doesn't have a Cursed Technique. If he did, it'd be second nature by now—like breathing. I would've seen it the moment I arrived..."
He paused, a rare moment of silence stretching as the scenery of the Lugunican countryside blurred past the window.
"... These eyes don't lie, after all."
If there was no technique, then there was only one path for the tracksuit-wearing loser: Cursed Energy Manipulation.
Basic reinforcement. Turning that stagnant pool of darkness into a weapon.
Satoru shrugged, leaning back with a beady grin before bursting into a low, almost villainous laugh that seemed to vibrate the very glass of the carriage windows.
Outside the cabin, the carriage driver stiffened, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the reins. He didn't dare look back, his eyes wide with terror as the muffled, manic laughter of the "Fifth Candidate" echoed from the plush interior.
I'm going to be such an incredible teacher. He's going to hate me. It's going to be great!