Kyoto — Rooftop District
Wasuke's eyes flicked back toward the two figures struggling to catch their breath behind him. The afternoon sun reflected off his scarf, partially covering his mouth. His voice was calm, but it carried a weight that made the boys stiffen.
"You two are not Grade 1 Scocerors. So what the hell are you doing trying to exorcise a curse identified as Grade 1."
Kenzo's knees hit the pavement as he fell to his hands and knees. Tears streamed down his young face, catching the light as he lowered his head toward Wasuke. "It's my fault," he sobbed. "I was overconfident and thought we stood a chance against the curse."
Haruto stepped forward, chest heaving, eyes wide with shame. "No, it's my fault too. I should have tried my hardest to stop Kenzo from going, but instead, I joined him."
Wasuke let out a heavy sigh, the sound drifting across the quiet street like smoke. "Whatever. It's the idiots at Jujutsu Tech that allowed you to go anyway. They're to blame."
The two boys' gazes remained fixed on him, awe and fear mingling in their expressions.
Kenzo thinks: This is my first time meeting Special Grade Wasuke Itadori Jr. He's really young… and he's already this powerful. One shot. One single strike. And a Grade 1. Gone. No effort at all.
Haruto thinks: Can I… ever get as powerful as that?
Wasuke turned away, his scarf fluttering in the wind as he began walking forward. "In any case, you two should head back to Jujutsu Tech."
The boys scrambled to their feet, saluting with rigid precision. "Yes, sir!"
Wasuke thinks inwardly: That was no regular Grade 1 curse. This… this is what we could classify as a special grade 1. But why would a curse that strong be in Kyoto? Tokyo's overrun with curses now? This makes no sense at all.
Above them, atop the nearest building, Kenjaku's thin smile curved as he raised one hand. He began a low chant, voice echoing with unnatural resonance.
"Space shall bend to my command."
"Power shall falter where I decree."
"Let all who enter this sphere be shackled."
"And let none leave alive."
The air shimmered invisibly. A sphere began to spread outward, enveloping the entire area where Wasuke was walking. The streetlights and the faint glow of the setting sun warped within the sphere's radius. Kenjaku's smile deepened.
"Well then," he said softly, almost to himself. "Shall we get started?"
Meanwhile, behind Wasuke, Kenzo and Haruto whispered to each other nervously. Haruto's voice trembled. "Kenzo… should we… ask for an autograph?"
Kenzo shook his head, lips pressed tight. "I want to… but I'm scared."
Wasuke's stride faltered suddenly. His head snapped toward the source of movement in blinding speed. His scarf slid down, revealing the snake-like pattern across his mouth, a sign of the Inumaki Clan's cursed speech. His eyes narrowed.
"Get… CRUSHED."
The curse slammed into the ground with brutal force. Dust and cracks formed in the asphalt, but the curse remained intact.
Wasuke froze, mind racing. It didn't get exorcised…?
Suddenly, the massive curse split into smaller forms. They lunged toward him with jagged, erratic movements, catching him off guard.
Wasuke thinks: It can split?
As the fragments reached him, they detonated violently, the shockwave slamming against his body, but his unique physiology absorbed most of the impact. Pain prickled along his skin, but he barely faltered.
He clenched his fists, determination sharpening his features.
Just as he prepared to charge forward, a blur appeared behind him. A silver glint. A sword.
Iori Okkotsu stood there, smiling, poised to pierce.
Wasuke thinks, shocked: Iori-san… what the hell is happening here?
His instincts screamed to pivot, to protect himself, but then he heard the screams of Kenzo and Haruto. He turned his gaze and saw fragments of the curse streaking toward them like jagged purple comets.
Wasuke thinks inwardly: I might have survived that explosion… but they won't. They won't survive.
He assessed the situation quickly, mind racing. I couldn't defeat that curse with one command… but if it splits, it weakens.
Wasuke's body tensed. Without a second thought, he directed his cursed speech at the fragments. "EXPLODE."
A series of violent detonations rippled outward. Purple blood splattered across the pavement, the shockwaves throwing up dust and debris. Every fragment disintegrated in a brilliant, terrifying display of raw cursed energy.
Silence returned for a brief, heart-pounding moment.
Then a searing pain tore across his back. The sword, piercing him.
Wasuke's eyes went wide. Blood trickled from his mouth, vivid against his pale skin. He staggered slightly, muscles straining to remain upright.
Iori Okkotsu stood behind him, expression calm, eyes gleaming with sharp satisfaction. "How typical of the Itadori's," he said slowly. "Sacrificing yourself to save others. Useless people. Do you have any idea how important you are to Jujutsu Society, Wasuke? And yet you are willing to throw your life away for Scocerors who will never amount to anything. So stupid."
Wasuke's vision flickered as pain radiated through his spine, but his mind remained razor-sharp. He could feel the curse of Iori's attack in his body, but it did not dim his awareness. He had been trained for this. Trained for far worse.
He drew in a sharp, controlled breath, every muscle poised, calculating his next move.
Kenzo and Haruto shouted, "Wasuke-san!"
Their voices cracked with panic as their bodies moved on instinct. Their feet scraped against the pavement as they prepared to rush toward him, desperation overriding fear.
But Wasuke's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Don't come here. Leave!"
The command wasn't cursed speech, it was raw authority. Kenzo and Haruto froze mid-step, their bodies locking in place as if rooted to the ground. Their hearts pounded violently in their chests.
Wasuke turned his head slightly, blood still trailing from the corner of his mouth. "You two stand no chance against him. You will die."
Kenzo and Haruto stiffened completely. The weight of his words crushed them far more than fear ever could. They understood the gap between them and the battlefield they were standing in.
Suddenly, Wasuke's body twisted with explosive force. He broke free from the sword embedded in him and leaped backward, creating distance between himself and Iori in a single fluid motion.
Blood erupted from his stomach mid-air, spilling heavily onto the ground as he landed. The metallic scent filled the area, mixing with cursed energy so dense it made the air feel heavy and oppressive.
At that same moment, the cursed spirit finally broke free from Wasuke's cursed speech command. Its body convulsed unnaturally, flesh reforming and regenerating at an alarming speed. It floated upward, stabilizing itself before drifting to Iori's side.
Then, it lowered itself.
Standing beside Iori, not hostile, not feral but submissive.
Wasuke's eyes widened slightly.
Wasuke thought: That special grade cursed spirit… is submitting to Iori-san?
His mind raced despite the pain still echoing through his body. I have many questions. Why is a special grade cursed spirit outside of Tokyo? And why is it submitting to Iori-san?
Slowly, deliberately, Wasuke pulled his scarf back up, covering his mouth completely. The snake-like pattern of the Inumaki Clan disappeared beneath the cloth.
"Iori-san," Wasuke said, his voice steady despite the tension coiling inside him. "What's the meaning of this?"
Wasuke Itadori Jr had made a binding vow. While his mouth was covered, cursed speech did not work. This was to prevent him from accidentally cursing someone. But in return, it made his cursed speech much more powerful.
Even as he asked the question, he placed his hand on his abdomen. A white, luminous substance began forming around his palm, spreading outward in smooth, controlled waves. The energy enveloped his body completely, knitting torn flesh, sealing wounds, restoring him fully.
Iori smiled faintly as he watched, holding the katana loosely at his side, Wasuke's blood still dripping from the blade.
"Reverse Cursed Technique," Iori said calmly. "How troublesome."
Wasuke's eyes sharpened. The calm drained from his expression, replaced by cold anger. "Iori-san," he demanded now, his voice firm and unyielding. "I asked what is the meaning of this."
Iori's smile widened. There was no warmth in it, only conviction.
"Wasuke-kun," he said softly. "I'm afraid, you are going to need to die. For the evolution of Jujutsu."