The restaurant manager barely had time to scream before his body erupted into flames. His arms flailed for a moment, then stilled, blackened and unrecognizable.
"I wish you wouldn't cause such a commotion, Jogo." The man with the stitching on his head, Kenjaku, uttered in a light tone.
"Oh, this is nothing." Jogo grinned sinisterly while flexing his fingers.
The next moment, the fire spread like a chain reaction—patrons, waitstaff, all igniting one by one like a row of matches.
There were twelve customers and seven employees. All burst into flames.
The last one remaining was the waitress, who had just finished serving a table. Her eyes went wide with horror at the massacre happening before her.
Kenjaku, seated comfortably, gave several small coughs. "Glad we didn't choose finer dining."
The waitress spun on her heel, bolting for the door, only to trip over herself and fall to the floor. With desperate gasps, she scrambled on her hands and knees toward the exit, her face marred with fear and panic.
Jogo paid no attention to the lives he had reaped. "Tell me, Geto, how strong am I in terms of Sukuna's fingers?"
Kenjaku hummed, tilting his head as though considering the question seriously. "If I were to be conservative? I'd say eight or nine fingers."
Hanami, who had been silent the entire evening, suddenly shifted. The wood spirit's attention was drawn to a particular corner of the restaurant, its gaze locked onto something... or someone out of place.
"That's plenty." Jogo's tone was filled with confidence, his face grinning maniacally. "Give me the Prison Realm, let me add it to my collection. And in return, I promise you…"
The waitress, now inches from the door, clawed at the floor, her breath ragged with terror. Jogo raised his fingers again, eyes gleaming with excitement.
"I'll kill Gojo—"
"You know what?"
The voice cut through the crackling flames and Jogo's speech alike. Calm. Tired. Annoyed.
"Huh?" Jogo blinked, looking around. In his moment of distraction, the waitress lunged forward, shoving the door open and escaping into the night, her screams fading into the distance.
Hanami slowly raised a hand and pointed. "It seems… we have company."
Jogo and Kenjaku turned their attention to the farthest corner of the restaurant.
A boy sat there, completely still, his posture relaxed. Flames covered his body, yet his face remained as deadpan as ever. No flinching. No screaming. No attempts to put the fire out. Just a long, tired sigh as he reached up and rubbed his forehead.
His clothes, however, had not fared as well. They were rapidly turning to ash, disintegrating thread by thread.
"You're not dead?" Jogo asked, genuinely curious.
Ryota didn't answer immediately. He exhaled slowly, watching the last of his shirt crumble into nothing. "Well. There goes my outfit."
He finally looked at them properly, his expression shifting from mild annoyance to something colder. "I was having a perfectly good dinner. Cheap ramen, quiet atmosphere, no one bothering me." His voice remained level, almost conversational. "Then you three walk in and turn the place into a crematorium."
"Hmm... A human?" Hanami observed.
"No, a Jujutsu sorcerer," Jogo corrected, interest sparking in his volcanic features.
Kenjaku's lips curled into an amused smirk. "Ah, so you're more than just a bystander."
Ryota stood up slowly, completely unbothered by his state of undress. "Twenty innocent people just died because you felt like having a conversation over dinner." He gestured at the charred remains scattered around the restaurant. "I'm guessing that wasn't an accident."
"What can I say? Humans are fragile," Jogo said with a shrug and a chuckle "Not our problem if you can't handle a little heat."
"A little heat?" Ryota's expression didn't change, but something in his tone shifted. "You murdered twenty people for fun."
"And what are you going to do about it?" Jogo leaned forward, lava bubbling from his head. "Cry? Rage? Swear vengeance like some cliché hero?"
Ryota tilted his head slightly. "No. I'm going to make you pay for my clothes."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"...What?" Jogo blinked.
"Fifty six thousand yen. That's what my outfit cost." Ryota held out his hand expectantly. "You burned it, you pay for it."
Even Kenjaku looked taken aback. "You're... asking for compensation? For your clothes?"
"Property damage is property damage." Ryota's tone remained perfectly reasonable. "I'm not a charity case. Pay up Bucko."
The Trio fell silent. Were they being ... Extorted?
Jogo's confusion quickly morphed into rage. "You're seriously asking US to pay YOU? After we just killed everyone here?!"
"Well, yeah. You're the ones who caused the damage." Ryota looked at him like he was stating the obvious. "It's basic responsibility."
"This human..." Jogo snarled, molten rock beginning to drip from his form. "Do you have any idea what you're dealing with? I could incinerate you in seconds!"
"Could you?" Ryota asked mildly. Hands thrumming on the table displaying what those who knew him would recognize as impatience. "Because your flames didn't really work the first time."
"First time? That was just the ambient heat! I haven't even gotten serious enough to display a first time. Let me show you what real—"
"You talk too much." Bored, Ryota interrupted before snapping his finger.
SNAP!
It happened in an instant.
" .. .. Huh?" Jogo's voice halted as he felt the change.
The air around him began to vibrate. Not visibly—the distortion was subtle, almost imperceptible. But the effect was immediate and absolute.
Jogo's body began to shake. Not from emotion or movement, but from every molecule in his volcanic form being subjected to a precise vibrational frequency.
"Hold on, What—" Jogo's words cut off again as the vibrations intensified. The lava that made up his body began to separate, liquefying in ways that defied his cursed nature.
Jogo's form—solid rock and molten lava held together by cursed energy—began to resonate at its natural frequency. Cracks appeared along his volcanic shell.
"Stop—" Jogo horrified, tried to speak, stretching out his hand to attack and stop whatever was happening to him, but he found himself unable to properly control his cursed Energy. It shook constantly, disrupting his control and defying his will, warped by the tremors running through his body.
On his outstretched arm, all he saw was constantly spreading cracks.
"Fifty six thousand yen," Ryota repeated calmly. "That's all I wanted."
With a final, precise adjustment of the vibrational frequency, Jogo's form reached its breaking point. The volcanic cursed spirit didn't explode—he simply... came apart. Like a structure collapsing in perfect silence, his body disintegrated into component parts: rock, ash, and dissipating cursed energy.
In less than ten seconds, one of the strongest special grade cursed spirits in existence had been reduced to a pile of rubble on the restaurant floor. Disintegrating soon after as the bodies of all cursed spirits do.
Ryota lowered his hand and turned to look at the remaining three, his expression unchanged. "Anyone else have opinions about paying for damages?"
THUD!
His words had barely dropped when a thick stack of cash fell on his table. Ryota looked at the wad before looking at Geto who carried a bright smile.
"Not at all. It's what's due. I apologize for the inconvenience our friend caused you." He said, the trademark handsome smile plastered on his face. Meanwhile, his hands underneath the table trembled constantly.
'Vibrational manipulation at the molecular level.' Geto thought, his senses examining Jogo's disintegrating corpse. He could see the essence of the power used to destroy Jogo.
Each molecule in his body had vibrated in an unnatural frequency until it all shattered. And that wasn't even the scary part.
Jogo was a Special Grade Cursed Spirit. The strongest of the group. Dying wasn't the issue. Monsters like Satoru Gojo and Ryomen Sukuna could kill him easily no doubt. Even he himself could do it.
But it wouldn't be easy. In modern times, there was no doubt that Jogo was easily in the Top Ten strongest beings in existence. Geto could account for everyone ... But for people who could kill Jogo in less than Ten seconds ... Only Two to three people had that power.
From today, make that Four. As an old Sorcerer from the Heian Era, Geto (Kenjaku) had knowledge of almost every cursed Technique in existence. Vibrational Techniques weren't common but they weren't unseen either. Never however, had he seen it being used at this level. Killing Jogo easily, was a feat to take note of.
'His cursed Technique ... That's not just raw power—that's precision that requires intimate understanding of matter itself. And he did it so casually...'
"Fascinating," he said aloud, though his earlier amusement had vanished entirely. "What an interesting cursed technique." At the moment, his hands under the table were placed together, ready to unleash his technique at the slightest sign of aggression.
Hanami was in a similar state.
"It's not really about the technique," Ryota replied, taking the stack of bills, shielding it from the heat still permeating in the air. "It's about the principle. Actions have consequences."
Following which, he looked around at the burning restaurant. "Well, this place is pretty much done for. You three should probably leave before the fire department shows up."
Without waiting for a response, space began to distort around Ryota in a familiar swirling pattern.
"Until next time," he said as his form began to fade. "Try not to murder any more innocent people. It's bad for business."
And then he was gone, leaving Kenjaku, Hanami, and Dagon alone with the ashes of their companion and a burning building full of corpses.
Kenjaku stared at the space where Ryota had been for a long moment. Then he stood up slowly.
"We're leaving. Now."
"But Jogo—" Hanami started.
"Jogo made his choice." Kenjaku's voice was flat. "And now we know what we're dealing with. Jogo's death is unfortunate but there's nothing we can do about it now. Let's go. It's best we tell Mahito about this"
As they departed the burning restaurant, Kenjaku's mind was already working. 'A sorcerer with that level of power, that casual about death, that precise with destruction... This changes everything.'
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