In the classified files of Jujutsu Headquarters, the numbers were calculated:
Dead in the Shibuya Incident: 5,376 (not counting the transformed).
Deaths caused by transformed: 7,129.
Severely injured or incapacitated: 6,955.
Lightly injured: 4,251.
Total casualties: 23,411.
That number crushed the paper as if it were more than ink: it was the imprint of the catastrophe, the real toll of the clash between the King of Curses and a certain existence.
The irony was that, compared to the original story, those numbers were the lesser evil.
In the canon, all of Tokyo was swallowed by shadows; the twenty-three districts were practically wiped out. Almost five million people had to evacuate, and the situation reached the point where relocating the prime minister's residence to Osaka was considered after the disappearance of several high-ranking officials.
The presence of Damian, in a strange way, managed to reduce part of the devastation.
But when the night gave way to dawn and the sun bathed the ruins of Shibuya, what appeared on television screens was not the reflection of that reality, but a completely different story.
The anchorwoman, with a flawlessly made-up face and a controlled tone of voice, delivered the news with barely a trace of gravity:
"Last night, during Halloween celebrations, multiple natural gas explosions occurred in the Shibuya district, causing ten deaths and fifty injuries of varying severity. The government will reflect deeply and strengthen the supervision of public safety…"
Immediately, the image changed. The camera showed peripheral streets already cleaned, a few remains of collapsed buildings fenced off with safety barriers, and rescue brigades in uniform performing "clean-up tasks."
Ten dead? Fifty injured?
The outside scene contradicted the broadcast, ridiculing the official words.
More than half of Shibuya's core had vanished! Where once there was life and buildings, a gray, flat, dead surface stretched for kilometers…
Beyond that glass-like polished zone began a forest of ruins: steel beams rose toward the overcast sky like the exposed ribs of a gigantic monster; powdered glass dust and concrete reduced to gravel covered everything with a dull shroud.
Absurd?
No one questioned it.
The frenzied Halloween crowd, the piercing screams of panic, the chaotic stampedes, the missing and the relatives searching for them… all of it had been erased.
In its place remained the memory imposed by the mandatory "clean-up" of the high command.
Of what had happened, only distorted fragments remained: the detonations, the glow of uncontrollable flames, the shoving amid the confusion… and that "reasonable" number broadcast in the official news.
"Reiko… Reiko disappeared… in the explosion…"
An older man, with a vacant gaze, murmured in front of the barricade line. He stood motionless, eyes fixed on the gigantic gray plain stretching before him, repeating like a cassette the implanted memory.
His daughter had left excited the night before to join the Halloween parade in Shibuya… and never came back.
Deep inside, something told him the story didn't fit.
He felt a strange void… a sadness he couldn't explain, a restlessness that gnawed at him. But every spark of doubt was immediately smothered by the invisible weight of cognitive correction.
"Natural gas explosions?"
Maki's ironic voice sounded. Dressed in the uniform of the Tokyo Metropolitan Magic Technical College, she adjusted her glasses while observing from the rooftop of a building that had survived the catastrophe.
From above she could clearly see how the sorcerers moved quickly among the ruins, gathering remains that were too obvious of human limbs and erasing the traces of cursed spirits.
Farther away, enormous construction machines, mobilized by government orders, slowly advanced toward the edges of the vast smooth plain. Simulating repair work, although anyone with eyes to see understood they were symbolic gestures: nothing could fill the void.
…
"…What enormous fireworks."
Nanami walked silently through an alley infested with disinfectant and the sharp stench of blood. Under his shoes came the constant crunch of glass and charred synthetic fibers.
On one side, some Halloween decorations, stained dark, had been trapped in the twisted frame of a window.
They swayed faintly with the wind, as if still trying to remember a celebration that had ended in nightmare.
"..."
Nanami stopped for a moment to adjust his tie.
Behind the glasses, his eyes reflected a deep exhaustion, not only physical.
He knew what this meant. If the instigator behind the Shibuya Incident was still alive, similar incidents would happen again in Tokyo.
He let out a long sigh and rubbed his brow slowly.
"…When will I be able to take a vacation in Malaysia?" he muttered, with bitter longing.
…..
"Reconstruction! The governor of Tokyo announces the creation of the Special Shibuya Reconstruction Headquarters."
"Experts attribute the tragedy to the overlap between rare geological activity and the aging pipeline network."
"Tomorrow a citizen prayer event will be held…"
One after another, the news repeated in a loop on television.
But at that moment, none of that disturbed the quiet morning of Damian and Marin.
The young woman raised a hand to shield herself from the sunlight filtering through the curtain. Half asleep, she opened her eyes slightly.
"Ah… it's already morning." She murmured lazily.
She exhaled a drowsy sigh and, seeking to prolong the warmth of the bed a little longer, stretched out her arm to hug her boyfriend.
However, her hand only found empty sheets.
"...?"
She blinked, now more awake, and realized that in fact Damian was no longer by her side.
The absence cleared her mind even more.
It was then that she perceived an aroma that stirred her curiosity.
"Damian-kun?" she called softly, her voice still sleepy.
She calmly pulled the blanket aside, placed her bare feet on the carpet, and, drawn by that smell, walked toward the kitchen.
There she found him.
Damian was wearing an apron and stood in front of the stove, focused on what he was doing.
In the pan, dumplings sizzled. The oil bubbled, and the white dough of the dumplings was beginning to turn golden, releasing a tempting aroma.
"You're awake." Noticing her presence, Damian turned his head and smiled at her. "Go wash up, breakfast will be ready in a moment."
But Marin slowly approached and wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting her face against his back.
"Why did you get up so early? You were exhausted last night…" she murmured with a touch of affectionate reproach.
Damian turned around and caught her in his arms. And with a gentle gesture, he left a kiss on her forehead.
"I wanted to make you breakfast. You were sleeping so peacefully I didn't have the heart to wake you."
…
After washing up, Marin returned to the dining room. The table was carefully prepared: fried dumplings still steaming, freshly cooked buns, a fresh salad of vegetables and cut fruits, and a pair of cups of hot milk releasing a soft steam.
Both sat facing each other, and for a moment the house was wrapped in a comfortable silence, broken only by the clinking of chopsticks and the crunch of food being bitten.
Marin tried a bun, chewed it slowly, and smiled in satisfaction.
"It's delicious! Your cooking has improved again."
Damian smiled calmly, "If you like it, eat more."
Outside, the street bustled with normality.
The murmur of the city, the footsteps of passersby, and the sound of cars seemed to speak of an ordinary morning, as if no one really knew what had happened in Shibuya the night before.
Marin picked up a dumpling and brought it to her mouth.
The golden, crispy crust broke between her teeth, releasing hot juice of meat mixed with the sweetness of cabbage, which flooded her palate with an irresistible flavor.
The morning light passed through the large window, bathing the freshly laid linen tablecloth in a warm and welcoming glow, as if this scene belonged to another world.
"Latest news about the gas explosion accident in Shibuya: the death toll has risen to fifteen…"
Then, the voice of the anchor broke in from the television on in the adjoining room:
"..."
Marin's chewing stopped abruptly.
Her fingers gripped the chopsticks tightly, and an involuntary tension ran through her arms.
She lifted her gaze, through the steam rising from the food, and fixed it on Damian.
"Damian-kun…" Her voice was low, still dragging the laziness of having eaten, but with a tone of doubt. "…Last night… even though you were there, did so many people still die?"
The image of when he returned last night came to her mind. The faint trace of blood clinging to his body… the coldness she had felt on his skin. But all of that had quickly dissolved under the hot water of the shower and, afterward, been erased by the burning heat of his body.
He hadn't even touched the dinner she had carefully prepared for him.
Instead, he wrapped her in the warm current of the water and in an even more intense whirlpool, until all the questions she wanted to ask drowned in her own gasps.
Damian's hand, which was holding his cup of milk, stopped.
His gaze fell, and his eyes fixed on the white liquid swaying in the cup.
"When I got there, the chaos had already begun."
He didn't explain anything about the cursed spirits, nor did he mention the King of Curses. He didn't speak of that terrifying domain that was about to annihilate half the district, nor of the slash that could reap everything in its path.
He only used a vague word: chaos.
The brightness that breakfast and the sunlight had lit on Marin's face instantly faded.
Even though her boyfriend was a "superhero" with power beyond human, he had not been able to prevent the death toll from continuing to grow relentlessly.
That helplessness bit into her heart with force.
Her gaze slid toward Damian's beautiful profile.
He was serene, unshaken, as if the television were speaking of a disaster that had occurred in a faraway country and not in the city that surrounded them.
"..."
Damian placed the cup calmly on the table. He didn't care about the number broadcast in the news. Fifteen or five thousand, to him they were just background noise.
But Marin's fallen expression and the paleness of her knuckles as she squeezed the chopsticks made him furrow his brow slightly.
He stood without saying anything, walked around the table, and leaned toward her. Marin, with her head lowered, didn't react until she felt an arm slip under her knees and another under her back.
"Eh…? Kyaa~!" A small cry escaped her lips as Damian lifted her with ease, pulling her out of the chair. Instinctively, her arms wrapped around his neck in search of balance.
He sat back down in his own chair with her in his arms, placing her on his lap straddling him, face-to-face.
His arms wrapped around her firmly, pulling her against his chest. He lowered his head just enough for his chin to brush the crown of her head, and his warm breath slid softly along the edge of her ear.
"Marin…" His deep, grave voice drowned even the monotony of the anchor on the television. "At least the others were saved."
Those simple words fell on Marin like a warm current, melting the confusion and sadness still trapped inside her.
The refuge of his embrace, together with the certainty of his words, immediately erased the heaviness from before. Little by little, her lively nature surfaced again, and the playful spark returned to her eyes.
"Right!" she exclaimed, raising her small fist with enthusiasm, and a wide smile lit up her face, sweeping away any shadow of doubt. "My Damian-kun is the best!"
Her body swayed with excitement, moving her hips playfully as she brushed against him, mischievously seeking to provoke some reaction in him.
She lifted her head and looked at him with those bright eyes that seemed to want to capture everything.
"Ah, right!" she suddenly said, almost unable to contain her cry of excitement. "Does Damian-kun also have to keep his superhero identity a secret? Just like Batman or Spider-Man? Kyaaa, that's so cool!"
Her sudden outburst drew a laugh from Damian. He raised his hand and, with tenderness, slid his fingers through Marin's hair, caressing her with such affection that she tilted her head like a cat.
"Eat already." He turned her with a natural movement and placed in her hand the glass of warm milk that had been left half-drunk, interrupting her fantasies about secret identities.
"The milk is getting cold. And don't forget that you have stage rehearsal today."
"Ooh, right!" Marin opened her eyes in surprise as she remembered, hugged the cup, and drank a big gulp.
A small white ring was left on her lips, making her laugh as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
With an obedient gesture, she slid off his lap and returned to her seat. But before separating completely, she let her butt rub against Damian's crotch.
….
Elsewhere, hidden from the eyes of the world.
Several sliding paper doors stood in the middle of the gloom. A faint thread of light filtered underneath, barely enough to illuminate a fragment of the void.
Several elderly voices echoed in the darkness, colliding with each other.
"That man who appeared in Shibuya… is there confirmation of his identity?"
"The girl from the Zen'in family let something slip. He is a celebrity."
"Name?"
"Nero."
"Background?"
"There are no traceable records. No fluctuations of cursed energy were detected in his body. In appearance… he would be just an ordinary person."
"Ordinary person?" A third voice rose abruptly, "Megumi Fushiguro saw him with his own eyes! That man shredded Mahoraga! And Higuruma also sent a report: not even Sukuna came out unscathed against him!"
"Then what do we propose?" asked the first voice.
"Recruit him?"
"Eliminate him?"
"Eliminate him? Ha!" A sharp voice burst with sarcasm. "And who will do it? Satoru Gojo is still trapped in the Prison Realm! Or do you intend to ask Sukuna to eliminate him? Not even he could do it!"
The voices multiplied, tangling in fierce discussions, like vultures fighting over the remains of a corpse.
But suddenly, a deep voice descended over all of them with a crushing force:
"Enough!"
The echo shattered against the walls.
"Vulgar noise…" The voice turned cold. "Where has your dignity gone?"
Silence was immediate. Not a murmur dared to break it.
The voice rose again, "About this so-called 'Nero'…"
"…Maki Zen'in and Kento Nanami will be sent to establish contact."
The air grew even heavier as the decrees began to descend.
"One: confirm the survival of Suguru Geto and declare his death once again."
"Two: recognize Satoru Gojo as co-author of the Shibuya Incident and expel him permanently from the world of sorcery. Any attempt to release his seal will be punished with the same crime."
"Three: declare that Masamichi Yaga instigated Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto to cause the incident, and sentence him to death."
"Four: immediately carry out the death penalty of Yuji Itadori."
"Five: designate Yuta Okkotsu as the one responsible for carrying out Yuji Itadori's execution."
"Six: entrust Maki Zen'in and Kento Nanami with the mission of contacting the variable factor of the Shibuya Incident: Nero."
The last two words descended like an icy seal stamped upon a scroll.
No one spoke again.
The decision had been made.
And its fulfillment was the only path.