Keitaro had a job to do, and he intended to do it well. He wanted to get rid of all of Sukuna's fingers, and to do that, he would need some help.
More precisely, he needed the higher-ups to hand over the Sukuna fingers in their possession. That way, he could make sure at least eight or nine fingers were destroyed.
Meanwhile, Yuta's training was going... just fine.
He could now manage to have Rika out without losing control. Sure, he couldn't properly copy techniques yet—by that, he meant Yuta couldn't consciously copy techniques at will. He didn't know how to do it yet.
That, however, didn't matter much.
He would get there eventually.
Now, for Keitaro to do his work.
A Meeting With the Ancient Relics
Keitaro stood in front of the so-called higher-ups of Jujutsu society, hands in his pockets. He had to do this. That, however, didn't mean he liked being in the presence of people who would probably piss dust yet somehow still held power.
People over the age of sixty shouldn't have that much authority—the disconnect between them and the current generation was too vast.
Thirty to fifty should be reasonable. Maybe forty-five to fifty was a stretch, but as long as they were somewhat active in the struggles of the common people, it would be fine.
Now, time to speak with people who had hearing problems.
"You what?" one of the old men, an elder with a permanent scowl, practically choked on his own words.
"I said," Keitaro repeated, slower this time, like he was explaining to a particularly dense child, "hand over all the Sukuna fingers you've got. I can destroy them."
The room went dead silent. A few of the elders exchanged glances, while others simply scoffed. One of them, a bald bastard with way too much confidence, leaned forward.
"Destroy them? Impossible. The fingers are remnants of a being too powerful to simply erase. Even Gojo couldn't—"
"My name is not Satoru Gojo," Keitaro interrupted flatly. "Do you honestly believe that the same man who managed to mass-produce healing pills that work just as well as RCT, improved on the New Shadow Style, upgraded the Simple Domain technique, helped raise the standard of Jujutsu society a lot, and created pills that temporarily boost someone's power could not destroy some fingers? I feel like you underestimate me."
A murmur spread through the room. Some of them looked doubtful. Others... looked nervous.
"You expect us to believe this claim without proof?" another elder scoffed. "Destroying cursed objects of such magnitude would require techniques far beyond—"
Keitaro sighed, already getting bored. Without another word, he reached into his pocket, pulling out one of the fingers Gojo had given him. Before anyone could react, he held it in his palm—and crushed it.
Not like breaking a twig. Not like snapping a bone.
The moment his hand closed, the cursed energy within twisted, coiled, and then—snuffed out.
A ripple of something unnatural passed through the air. The oppressive aura of Sukuna's presence vanished, erased from existence. It didn't just dissolve—it was undone.
Maybe a week ago, it took him a month to destroy a single finger. Now? He could do it instantly. The reason was simple—he remembered the feeling. And he was a genius. Now that he had done it once, he could do it again and again.
The room was silent.
Keitaro dusted off his hand. "There. Proof."
One elder, visibly shaken, swallowed thickly. "How...?"
"None of your business," Keitaro replied bluntly. "Now, are you handing them over, or are we going to spend the next hour listening to you all act like you have a choice?"
More silence. Then—
"Get them."
A few of the members reluctantly nodded, leaving the room to fetch the remaining fingers. Keitaro smirked. Well, weren't they just quick to agree?
"See? That wasn't so hard, now was it?"
Kenjaku's Miscalculation
Somewhere far away, in the depths of an abandoned temple, Kenjaku felt it.
Something... was wrong.
A force he hadn't anticipated. An unnatural disturbance in the delicate web of pacts and curses he had spun across centuries.
Then—
Snap.
A jolt ran through his very being, like the sudden, violent loss of a limb. His breath hitched as realization dawned.
The binding vow with Sukuna—
It had been broken.
Kenjaku barely had time to react before something else surged through him—something worse.
His body tensed. His vision swam as a deep, guttural pull yanked at his soul. His breath quickened. The room around him darkened, shadows stretching unnaturally as whispers—no, voices—began to rise.
Countless. Endless. The souls of those he had manipulated, experimented on, discarded like broken tools.
They were waiting.
And now, they saw him.
From the abyss of death itself, they reached out. Hands—twisted, malformed, skeletal—grasped at him from the shadows.
"Murderer..."
"Monster..."
"Thief..."
The chains of a new binding vow wrapped around him, formed not by his own will, but by the sheer weight of the lives he had stolen.
No... This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't how it worked.
His mind raced for a solution, but the grip tightened. His limbs locked in place as the sea of vengeful spirits pulled.
He could feel himself sinking.
Then—
A shift.
No. He refused.
With a flick of his fingers, cursed energy surged, and his body became weightless—his Anti-Gravity Technique kicking in just before the hands could fully drag him under. The spirits still clawed at him, their nails scraping against the thin barrier of his cursed technique.
He was weakened. Vulnerable. But not gone.
Not yet.
Kenjaku panted, sweat trailing down his temple as he hovered just above the abyss.
He could feel himself slipping into madness. His knowledge of cursed energy was slipping from him.
His Cursed Technique was being forcefully stripped away from him.
At the rate this was going... in a year... he would be a husk.
A/N....1out 3{Hopefully}