The Jujutsu Goodwill Event.
The only two jujutsu high schools in all of Japan—Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu High and Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High—hold this annual tournament like clockwork. By tradition, the venue rotates: each year's match is hosted by whichever school won the previous one. Thanks to the standout performance of a certain Pure Love Warrior last year, this year's event would be held in Tokyo.
Which suited Nanami Kira just fine. No long trip required.
Every Goodwill Event drew professional sorcerers to observe—enough to say it commanded the attention of the entire jujutsu world.
All of that felt like a long time ago now. Kira remembered when he'd attended as a student representative of the school himself. His teammates back then had been Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto, which meant Kira had been able to slack off in broad daylight without consequence.
He certainly qualified to attend this year. His name was riding high.
He had single-handedly exorcised a Special Grade cursed spirit and saved several hundred lives in that cinema. His reputation had climbed to its peak—and he had become the figure countless sorcerers now looked up to.
[Mahito's death occurred before the bomb was planted.]
Reputation, other people's opinions—Kira didn't much care either way. The reason he had chosen to preserve the timeline in which he killed Mahito was simple: he needed the prestige.
Only with enough prestige, enough deterrent weight, could he ensure no one would try to harm him. That was the lesson he had drawn from the incident.
So tomorrow is the Goodwill Event...
How tedious.
Through the crack in the door, Kira watched Hoshino Ei press herself against the wood outside. Her eyes were clear and bright, shimmering faintly in the morning light.
Her slender index finger had hooked into the gap and was prying it open, bit by bit. Those faintly pink nails really were beautiful—they suited her snow-white skin, catching the dawn glow.
How tedious. Kira hated tedium. He hated anything outside his plans.
"When is the Goodwill Event?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"...Well. At least it means no work for me."
Kira gripped the handle, pushing the door slowly shut against her fingers.
"Wait wait wait—I'm not done talking yet!"
The girl's voice came urgent from the other side. Her hands strained, fingers clamping the doorframe hard enough that the tips went white, fighting to pull the door back open.
"Kira-kun!"
Hoshino Ei planted her hands on her hips outside, crimson eyes glaring straight at him. Her snow-white hair was mussed, brows arched and severe. She demanded, sharp as a drawn blade:
"Care to explain the handshake event to me?"
She was absolutely fuming. If she hadn't inspected Kira's diary yesterday, she would never have known her man had nearly been snatched away.
Those other hands—what was so great about them? Painted-up hussies, the lot of them. Dolled up to attract attention, and those fair hands? All just the product of hand cream, buffed and bleached. Not like her, Hoshino Ei—naturally beautiful—while those women did nothing day in and day out but seduce men.
Those stray hands had been pawed at by who knows how many people. The so-called handshake event was just selling themselves in public, plain and simple.
"Which little homewrecker is it—? You owe me an explanation!"
Click.
Kira shut the door with a neat little snap.
Locked it, too, with the familiarity of routine.
Ignoring the tantrum outside, he set the diary back in its cabinet, pulled out his nail clippers, and began to trim his nails. Time slipped past in the soft snip, snip of the blades.
Morning stretched out long, like a cup of fragrant tea sipped slowly—the aftertaste lingering, giving meaning to the hours that followed.
Unlike Hoshino Ei, who loved the afternoon, loved the afternoon breeze and the warm sunlight filtering through the paulownia leaves—Kira preferred the morning. Morning was where a day began. From a single dawn, he could map out the whole coming day, every detail laid bare in the early light.
Hoshino Ei's ruckus outside was growing fainter. Kira brewed himself a cup of coffee. He needed to clear his head.
Last night's heavy rain had drummed on through till dawn, then finally eased. He was grateful for it. The rain had scrubbed the sky crystalline, like polished glass, and the air felt fresh enough that each breath cleared the lungs, expelling the stale air of the long night.
Somewhere along the way, he had grown accustomed to this new life. Wake up, go to class, come home in the dusk-fall with the day's last light on the trees, used to having a silly hand chittering in his ear.
Even he was surprised by it. He had always been a man resistant to change—black-and-white frames from some old film reel, a life the tides of time could never quite wash away.
Strange, though. Hoshino Ei had touched his diary yesterday. By all rights, he should have blown her up by now.
Why was she still alive?
Because he believed she was still useful to him, presumably.
Kira let the thought go. His nails were done. He placed each clipping into a glass vial, labeled it, noted the date. He carried the vial down the long corridor and up to the second floor.
Counting doors, he found the storeroom dedicated to his nail collection. His hand rested on the handle, about to turn it.
A strange sound reached him from within.
His face turned to stone. Killer Queen materialized behind him, black cursed energy curling at its fingertips. He shoved the door open.
"Eh—?"
Hoshino Ei flinched like a startled rabbit, the motion jolting her frame. Her slender hands cradled a small glass vial—crystal-clear, its label indicating nail clippings from two days ago.
Looking at this creature, Kira silently revised his assessment of her.
This woman has no value whatsoever.
I should just take her apart.
That was his only thought.
[Jujutsu Mini-Theater No. 1]: Uncle's Stroll
From Volume 2, Chapter 12.
A graveyard.
Kira watched the students cheering in front of him. They had just exorcised a cursed spirit and were strutting with pride.
Green as they were—these were the ones the future belonged to. Children still, not yet fully grown, yet already holding the world in their hands.
When had he himself become an adult...? Kira found himself drifting into the question.
Was it the strands of hair mounting up on his pillow each morning? His favorite bread going missing from the convenience store shelves? The slow accumulation of small despairs—was that what made him grow up?
He didn't know the answer.
He saw off Yuji and the others, then walked home alone under the moonlight, turning the question over the whole way.
His phone rang. Todo.
"Hey, bro. Three o'clock tomorrow. Got it?"
"Todo."
"What's up?" Even Todo caught the gravity in Kira's tone.
"What do you think growth is?"
A heavy question. The line went silent.
For a long, long moment. Then Todo said, with a world-weary air:
"As kids, little girls like dolls. Little boys like electric toys."
"Grown up, men like dolls. Women like electric toys."
"Maybe that's what growth is."
"I see." Kira nodded thoughtfully.
So that's what it is. Growth, it turns out, is boki.