The journey back to Jujutsu High was a silent, gray blur. The auxiliary manager Geto had contacted was a nervous, wiry man who didn't ask any questions, his eyes darting to me in the rearview mirror every few minutes as if expecting me to vanish. I sat perfectly still in the back seat, my hands clasped in my lap, the world outside the window streaking by like a watercolor painting left in the rain.
I had done it. I had intervened. I had stared at a fixed, canonical point of absolute tragedy and forced it to bend. Geto Suguru had not slaughtered a village. He had walked away, a traitor and a heretic, but not a mass murderer. It was a victory, of a kind. But the taste of it was ash in my mouth. I had saved 112 lives, but I had not saved my brother from his own despair. I had only managed to change the nature of his fall, diverting the river of fate into a new, unknown channel. I felt a profound sense of accomplishment warring with an equally profound sense of loss.
We arrived at the main gates just after dawn. The first light of morning was painting the sky in soft shades of pink and orange, a beautiful, serene sunrise that felt like a cruel joke. Waiting for me, as if she had been standing there all night, was Shoko. Her face was etched with a deep, weary concern. Behind her stood Principal Yaga, his expression as stern and unreadable as a stone monument.
Shoko rushed forward the moment I stepped out of the car, enveloping me in a hug that smelled of antiseptic and cigarette smoke. "Aki, you're okay. You're okay." She held me at arm's length, her sharp eyes scanning me for any injury.
"I am taking her to my office," Yaga's voice boomed, leaving no room for argument. "I need a report. Now."
The principal's office was an intimidating space, filled with his unsettlingly cute-yet-creepy cursed dolls and the weight of his authority. He sat behind his large wooden desk, his hands steepled, while Shoko stood by my side, a fiercely protective presence.
"Explain," Yaga commanded, his voice surprisingly gentle. He was not angry with me. He was a teacher whose two star pupils had just imploded, and he was trying to understand the fallout.
I took a deep breath and delivered the story Geto had prepared for me. It was a story of half-truths, a carefully constructed narrative that protected us both.
"We got to the village," I began, my voice small and steady. "The villagers had the two girls in a cage. Geto-nii… he was very angry." I looked at my hands, feigning a child's simple confusion. "He talked to the villagers, then he let the girls out. He told them he was taking them somewhere safe. He said…" I let my voice tremble slightly. "He said he wasn't coming back to Jujutsu High. He told me to go home. He said he would call someone to bring me back."
I omitted everything else. My desperate plea. The summoned curses. The moment he stood on the brink of mass murder. My use of Black to open the cage. My intervention was a secret, a heavy stone that I now had to carry alone. To reveal it would be to implicate myself in his defection, and to betray the final, protective gesture he had made on my behalf.
Yaga listened, his expression growing grimmer with every word. He had likely feared this for months. My simple, incomplete story was merely the confirmation of a slow-moving tragedy he had been powerless to prevent.
"I see," he said, the words heavy with the weight of failure. He looked at Shoko. "Suguru is to be classified as a curse user and a traitor. Put out an alert. He is to be considered extremely high-risk. The primary objective is capture, not execution… for now."
The distinction was critical. Because I had intervened, because there was no massacre, Geto's crime was desertion and kidnapping, not mass murder. The Jujutsu world would hunt him, but they would not have the immediate justification to kill him on sight. It was a small, fragile mercy I had bought him.
Shoko nodded, her face pale. In the span of a single year, her entire world, the trio that had been her family, had been annihilated. One had ascended to a solitary godhood, the other had fallen into treason. She was the only one left in the ruins.
Two days passed in a haze of tense silence. I spent them in the infirmary, sleeping for most of it, the physical and emotional toll of the past few weeks finally catching up to me. On the third day, Satoru came home.
He appeared in the infirmary without a sound, his trip abroad apparently concluded. He was holding a ridiculous, brightly-colored stuffed alpaca, almost as big as I was.
"Tadaima," he said, his voice bright and cheerful. "I'm back! Got you a present, Aki-chan. His name is Alfargini Lampaca." He looked around the empty infirmary, his smile faltering slightly. "Things are quiet. Where's Suguru?"
Shoko, who had been organizing medical supplies, froze. She turned around slowly, her face a carefully constructed mask of neutrality. "Satoru… you need to sit down."
The look on her face was enough. Satoru's playful demeanor vanished, replaced by that new, chilling stillness. He didn't sit. He just waited.
"It's Geto," Shoko said, her voice clinical, as if reading a patient's chart. "He defected two days ago. He abandoned his post during a mission, and took two young sorcerers with him. He's been classified as a curse user."
Satoru did not move. He did not speak. He did not even seem to breathe. The air in the room grew cold, the pressure of his Cursed Energy dropping to a terrifying, absolute zero. The stuffed alpaca slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud. He was processing the information, his Six Eyes seeing the truth of it in the residue of Shoko's emotions, in the lingering despair that clung to the room.
His first question was not 'Why?' or 'How?'.
"Where is Aki?" His voice was dangerously quiet. "Was she here? Is she safe?"
"I'm right here," I said, peeking out from the small bedroom attached to the infirmary.
His head snapped towards me, and his eyes—those brilliant, all-seeing blue orbs—scanned me from head to toe, checking for any injury, any disruption to my Cursed Energy. Only when he was satisfied that I was physically unharmed did he seem to relax, but only by a fraction.
He walked over to me, kneeling down so we were at eye level. "Did he say anything to you before he left?" he asked, referring to the time before his own mission overseas.
I had to hold his gaze. I had to lie to the Six Eyes. It was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. "No," I whispered. "He was just… quiet."
He stared at me for a long, silent moment. I knew he could sense the lie, the faint tremor of deceit in my soul. But he couldn't prove it. He couldn't see the memory in my mind. He saw that I was hiding something, but he likely attributed it to the simple trauma of a friend's departure.
He stood up, his face settling into a mask of cold, hard resolution. The brief flicker of the old Satoru was gone, replaced once more by the unreadable demigod.
"It doesn't matter," he said, his voice flat. He was talking to himself more than anyone else. "He made his choice." He looked down at me, and his next words were a vow, a chilling promise that defined our new relationship. "Listen, Aki. Suguru is gone. He chose a different path. And if that path ever crosses ours in a bad way… if he ever threatens you, or me, or this school… I will kill him myself."
He had drawn his line. His best friend, his brother, was now just another potential variable to be controlled or, if necessary, eliminated.
=======
The world moved on. Years passed. Eight of them.
Satoru became a legend. He was no longer just the pride of the Gojo clan; he was a force of nature, the undisputed Strongest. He graduated and became a teacher at Jujutsu High, his methods chaotic but his results undeniable. His guardianship over me became his one, unshakeable anchor. He was a controlling, overbearing, but fiercely protective presence in my life. The secret of my presence at the village remained buried between us, a silent testament to the brother I had lost and the god I had gained.
The past eight years have been a long, quiet, and deeply strange journey. The gaping wound left by Geto's defection never truly healed; it simply scarred over, a permanent, ugly reminder of the family we lost. Life, however, moved on. I grew from a child into a teenager, my days defined by a relentless, almost punishing, training regimen. I was no longer just Satoru's little sister; I was his student, his prodigy, and in the eyes of the Jujutsu world, a monster in my own right.
The wielder of the Stygian Eyes.
I was fifteen now, a first-year student at Jujutsu High. My control over my techniques was refined. White was a near-perfect shield. Black was a scalpel of erasure. Gray, the power of manifestation, was still volatile and difficult, a tool I was only beginning to understand. I was, by all accounts, a Special Grade in the making.
The training grounds of Jujutsu High had become my truest home. The scent of dust and sweat was more familiar to me than any perfume. It was here, on a sweltering afternoon in early November, that my fragile peace was about to be shattered.
"Too slow."
Maki Zen'in's voice was a sharp crack in the air, followed by the whistle of her polearm. I didn't flinch. I didn't need to. I simply let the technique flow. White.
For a split second, my body became a paradox. I was there, but all substance, all concept of being a target, vanished. The heavy, cursed-energy-infused tip of her polearm passed through my shoulder without resistance, striking nothing but empty air. The look of intense frustration on Maki's face was one I had grown very familiar with.
"That's cheating and you know it," she grunted, spinning the weapon around for another strike.
"Salmon," Toge Inumaki commented from the sidelines, which I knew meant, "It's her technique. How can it be cheating?"
"It's cheating because I can't punch it!" Maki retorted, lunging again.
This time, instead of phasing, I met her attack. As the polearm swept towards my legs, I dropped low and reached out, my fingers brushing against the weapon's shaft. Black.
It was not a blast of power. It was a silent, surgical touch. The Cursed Energy reinforcing the polearm was instantly and utterly erased. The weapon, suddenly just a normal piece of metal and wood, lost all its potency and clattered harmlessly against my shin. Maki stared at her now-useless polearm, then at me, her teeth grinding.
"I hate it when you do that," she muttered.
"Panda Kick!" a cheerful voice roared.
I sighed, turning just in time to see the massive, furry foot of my other classmate swinging towards my head. Panda's physical strength was immense, but his attacks were straightforward. A quick application of White to my head and neck, and his powerful kick passed through me, sending him stumbling off balance.
"You guys are ganging up on me," I stated flatly, brushing a strand of black hair from my face.
"We have to! You're no fun to fight alone!" Panda complained, regaining his footing.
"Tuna mayo." (He's right.)
My three classmates. My friends. In the eight years since Geto had left, they had become my new anchor. Maki, with her fierce determination and her deep-seated anger at the world that had rejected her, was someone I understood on a fundamental level. We were both fighting against a fate determined by our birth. Toge, with his quiet nature and the immense, dangerous power he kept sealed behind his collar, was a kindred spirit in carrying a heavy burden. And Panda… well, Panda was Panda. The kind, stable, and occasionally goofy heart of our strange little group. They were the first real friends I had ever had.
"Alright, alright, break it up," a familiar, infuriatingly cheerful voice called out. Satoru Gojo appeared at the edge of the training ground, not having walked there, but simply… arrived. He was holding a bag of sweets, as usual. "Don't wear out my star pupil before the fun starts."
Maki scoffed. "What fun? Another boring mission to exorcise some Grade 2 sewer sludge?"
"Nope!" Satoru said, popping a candy into his mouth. "Even better! You're getting a new classmate!"
We all stared at him. A transfer student in the middle of second year was highly unusual. So he same as me first-year.
"I'm not babysitting some first-year," Maki immediately declared.
"Oh, he's a first-year, alright," Satoru said, his grin widening. "But he's a bit of a special case. Super shy. A bit of a loner. Oh, and he's cursed. Like, really cursed. So be nice!"
My blood ran cold. The casual, almost flippant way he said it… the timing… A name from the future I had tried so hard to forget screamed in my mind.
"Gojo-sensei," I said, my voice quiet but cutting through the others' chatter. "What is his name?"
Satoru's gaze met mine. His Six Eyes, even behind his blindfold, could see the sudden, sharp tension in my posture. He didn't know why, but he knew I had suddenly become deadly serious.
"Yuta Okkotsu," he said.
The name hit me like a physical blow. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Yuta Okkotsu. The boy whose latent potential was second only to Satoru himself. The boy whose story, a story of love and curses, was the catalyst for Geto Suguru's final, public act of war against the world. I had thought, hoped, that Geto's altered defection would have changed this. But fate, it seemed, was a stubborn, relentless river, always seeking its original course.
The future I had been dreading for eight years wasn't distant anymore. It had just walked through the gates.
We met him in the classroom. Satoru had all four of us wait, building the suspense like the showman he was. When he finally slid the door open, the boy he ushered inside was even more pathetic than I had imagined.
Yuta Okkotsu was a scarecrow of a boy, hunched in on himself as if trying to occupy as little space as possible. His cheap uniform hung off his skinny frame, and his dark hair was a messy, unkempt mop. He radiated an aura of profound anxiety, but beneath it was something else. A vortex. A swirling, bottomless pit of negative energy that was so immense, so potent, it made the air in the room feel thick and heavy.
My Stygian Eyes saw it clearly. It wasn't a curse clinging to his back. It was wrapped around him, fused to his very soul. A monstrous, possessive force born not of hate, but of a love so powerful it had refused to accept the finality of death. It was a Vengeful Cursed Spirit of unimaginable power.
Rika Orimoto.
"Everyone, this is Yuta Okkotsu," Satoru announced. "Play nice. He's very delicate."
Maki was the first to speak, her voice dripping with contempt. "You're telling me this gloomy-looking shrimp is our new classmate? I don't accept him."
Panda, ever the diplomat, waved a friendly paw. "Hey, name's Panda. Nice to meet ya."
"Salmon," Toge offered.
Yuta just trembled, unable to meet anyone's gaze.
My own reaction was silence. I watched him, my crimson eyes taking in every detail. The nervous twitch of his hands, the way he flinched when Maki spoke. This was the boy who would fight my brother. This was the boy who would inherit the title of Special Grade. He looked less like a powerhouse and more like a lost puppy.
"Aki?" Satoru prompted, nudging me. "Aren't you going to say hello?"
I took a step forward, and Yuta flinched back as if I had struck him. My intense gaze was probably unnerving.
"You're cursed," I stated, not as an accusation, but as a simple fact.
He nodded miserably.
"But you're not the one who cursed her," I continued, my voice soft. The logic was simple. Curses are selfish by nature. The monstrous entity clinging to him wasn't hurting him; it was hurting anyone who tried to hurt him. It was protective. It was a shield, not a weapon turned inward.
Yuta's head snapped up, his eyes widening in shock. It was the first time anyone had verbalized the truth he felt in his heart. "How… how did you know?"
Before I could answer, Maki slammed her hand on a desk, her patience gone. "This is ridiculous. What is this, a therapy session? If you're a sorcerer, show us what you can do. What kind of curse is it?"
"Don't bully him too much," Panda warned. "He just transferred."
"Kelp." (I agree.)
"Shut up! People who can only use their power because they were born with it have no room to talk!" Maki's voice was full of her own frustrations, her own anger at the Zen'in clan, and she was directing it all at the easiest target. She took a threatening step towards Yuta. "Are you just gonna stand there and let a girl push you around? You pathetic…!"
"Don't you dare."
The voice was not Yuta's. It was a chorus of feminine rage, a screech of nails on a chalkboard that echoed from the very air around him. The temperature in the room plummeted. The shadows in the corners of the room deepened, coalescing. Two enormous, monstrous hands, with claws like daggers, erupted from the shadows behind Yuta, reaching for Maki.
A wave of raw, terrifying power washed over us, a pressure so immense it felt like being at the bottom of the ocean. This was Rika. And she was on a scale beyond anything I had ever faced in person.
But Satoru was faster. In an instant, he was between Maki and the monstrous hands, his own hand held up. The claws stopped an inch from his palm, halted by his Infinity.
"Now, now, Rika," Satoru said cheerfully, as if speaking to a misbehaving pet. "Hands to yourself. We don't hurt our new friends on the first day."
The hands slowly, reluctantly, receded back into the shadows. Yuta was shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down his face. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to…"
Maki, Panda, and Toge stared, their earlier attitudes gone, replaced by a mixture of shock and genuine fear. They had felt the killing intent. They had felt the power of a true Special Grade.
I, however, just stared at the terrified, weeping boy. My heart ached with a strange mix of pity and dread. The boy who was haunted by a love so powerful it had twisted into the world's most potent curse had finally arrived.
My System, dormant for so long, pinged with the weight of destiny.
[Canon Arc Initiated: The Cursed Child.]
[Primary Objective: Survive the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.]
[Secondary Objective: Protect your classmates.]
[Tertiary Objective: Confront Geto Suguru.]
The path was set. The silence was over. And I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that this was the beginning of my painful, inevitable reunion with the brother I had failed to save.