"A cursed spirit?!"
Gojo's instincts flared instantly. He yanked his arm back with a sharp, localized burst of spatial repulsion, snapping his gaze up to face the giant monstrosity that had just gripped his wrist.
Wait... no.
"The Ten Shadows Technique..." Gojo muttered, taking three swift steps backward to create distance.
His Six Eyes spun beneath his dark sunglasses, analyzing the towering white behemoth in front of him. He mapped out its hyper-dense cursed energy pool, the grotesque, muscular frame, the sword forged from positive energy attached to its right arm, and the massive, eight-spoked wheel floating ominously behind its head.
The heavy, suffocating air radiating off the creature vibrated with an aura of absolute death.
Okay, buddy... where the hell did you pull this big guy from? Gojo thought, a rare drop of cold sweat forming near his temple. For the first time since his awakening two days ago, he felt a genuine prickle of danger crawling up his spine.
Before coming out to track down Toji Fushiguro's kid, Gojo had done a quick skim of the Zenin clan's private archives on the Ten Shadows Technique. He knew exactly what this thing was.
The ultimate shadow. The untameable divine general.
Gojo's mind worked at hyper-speed, calculating scenarios at a microscopic level.
If this really is the tenth shadow... Mahoraga... then according to the records, it can adapt to any and all phenomena. That includes spatial manipulation. That includes Limitless. That includes my Infinity. If that wheel turns, it can adapt to space itself and slice right through me. Should I just erase it on the spot with a maximum output Hollow Purple?!
Gojo's eyes darted from the monster to Megumi, then to the terrified Zenin goons, and back to the monster.
Fuck the Zenin clan, but if this monstrosity goes on a rampage in the middle of Tokyo—
Wait.
Gojo paused mid-thought, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. Something was dead wrong here.
According to the ancient Zenin records, when a Ten Shadows user initiates the Mahoraga ritual, the shikigami instantly attacks the summoner first, before moving on to slaughter every participant in the ritual until everyone in the vicinity is dead. It was a glorified, unlosable suicide pact.
But right now?
Mahoraga was just... standing there.
It had blocked Gojo's hand to protect Megumi, and now it was hovering silently behind the six-year-old boy like a terrifying, ten-foot-tall bodyguard. It wasn't swinging its sword. It wasn't roaring. It wasn't attacking indiscriminately. It was completely motionless, waiting for its master's command.
Did... did this six-year-old brat actually SUBDUE it?!
Gojo almost snorted out loud at his own crazy thought. Who the hell am I kidding? Subdued by a six-year-old kid?! That's impossible! It has to be another shadow... right?
"MAHORAGA?!"
A collective, ear-splitting shriek from behind Gojo shattered the quiet tension in the alley.
The three Zenin Hei members looked like they had just witnessed the sky fall. Their eyes were bulging out of their sockets so hard they looked ready to pop, and every single drop of blood had drained from their faces, leaving them pale as ghosts.
"YOU CRAZY, SUICIDAL LITTLE BASTARD!" the Hei leader screamed, grabbing his own hair in absolute hysteria. "WE JUST WANTED TO TALK TO YOU! WHY THE FUCK DID YOU SUMMON HIM?!"
"If you have a death wish, go jump off a building!" another goon shrieked, falling flat onto his ass and scrambling backward like a terrified crab. "Why the hell are you dragging us into your suicide ritual?!"
"Please! I'm only twenty-one! I haven't even slept with a girl yet!" the youngest Hei member sobbed openly, tears and snot flowing freely down his face as he curled into a tight defensive ball on the pavement. "I don't want to die a virgin in a dusty side street!"
Gojo's mouth twitched violently. He looked at the three grown, elite sorcerers having a complete mental breakdown on the floor, then back at the calm six-year-old boy.
"Hey. You piece-of-shit cowards, open your damn eyes and look," Gojo snapped, waving his hand toward Mahoraga. "Is it attacking? No. It's standing there completely still. That means it's already been subdued."
The three Zenin goons froze mid-sobbing.
In their blind, instinctual panic, they hadn't even processed the scene properly. Now that Gojo pointed it out, they realized the legendary slaughter-machine hadn't made a single aggressive move after blocking Gojo's grab.
"N-No... That's impossible!" the leader stammered, shaking his head furiously while wiping sweat off his chin. "It's an illusion! It MUST be an illusion cursed technique! A six-year-old child taming the Divine General?! That doesn't make any damn sense! It's a trick!"
"Hey, idiots, this thing is 100% real," Gojo scoffed, lightly tapping the frame of his sunglasses near his temple. "Do you think my Six Eyes can't detect a fake illusion?"
"NO! IT'S IMPOSSIBLE! WE DON'T BELIEVE IT!" the goons continued to yell, clutching each other like frightened schoolgirls.
At this point, those three would rather believe the sun was going to explode tomorrow morning before accepting that a six-year-old child had single-handedly tamed the undefeated Eight-Handled Sword Divergent Sila Divine General Mahoraga.
Megumi, who had been standing there listening to this entire ridiculous circus with an utterly bored expression, finally spoke up.
He slowly turned his head to glare at Gojo, his dark eyes brimming with disdain.
"Hey, white-haired kid. Get lost if you don't want to get stabbed in the neck a second time."
Gojo's eye twitched hard enough to give him a facial cramp.
This little shit...
It wasn't just being called a "kid" by a literal six-year-old. It was the fact that Megumi's arrogant tone, bored posture, and casual disrespect were an exact, 1:1 carbon copy of Toji Fushiguro. The dead bastard's trashy personality DNA was way too strong.
Gojo had honestly come out here out of a weird, warped sense of respect for Toji—the man who had pushed him to his absolute limits and nearly killed him. He thought he'd honor the dead mercenary's final request by keeping his son out of the greedy, abusive clutches of the Zenin family.
Now, looking at the massive, ten-foot-tall cosmic calamity standing obediently behind the six-year-old brat... Gojo suddenly had a profound realization.
Yeah... it's not the kid who needs protection here. It's the Zenin clan.
Gojo raised his hands in a lazy "I'm out" gesture, a cocky, amused smirk returning to his face.
"Alright, fellas! Looks like this is an internal family matter after all. I won't interfere!"
"Gojo! GOJO SATORU, DON'T LEAVE US HERE!" the Zenin leader screamed in absolute desperation. "YOU BASTARD!"
"Catch ya later, brat!" Gojo winked at Megumi.
Without wasting another second, Gojo pressed two fingers together.
ZIP!
Space warped around him, and Gojo instantly vanished into thin air, leaving behind nothing but a faint breeze.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The quiet, steady sound of small boots hitting the pavement echoed down the alleyway.
Megumi casually flicked his wrist. The dense, pitch-black shadow beneath his feet opened up like an ocean pool, and Mahoraga sank silently back into the darkness, vanishing without leaving a single trace.
With the giant monster gone, Megumi slowly walked toward the three Zenin Hei members.
The three elite sorcerers—grown men who were supposed to be Grade 1 combatants—were currently huddled together on the dirty pavement, shivering like cornered puppies.
Megumi stopped a foot away from them, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he looked down at them with deadpan eyes.
"I was planning to visit the Zenin clan estate soon anyway," Megumi said in a flat, effortless voice. "Since you guys are already here, you can give me a ride. The Zenin clan should welcome its new leader."
The three goons swallowed hard in unison, their throats making a loud, syncronized GULP. Sweat drenched their dark uniforms as they stared up at the six-year-old monster standing before them.
Fighting him? Trying to capture him by force?
That thought didn't even cross their minds. They wouldn't dare try it even if someone handed them all the money in Japan.
Trembling violently, their mouths dry as desert sand, all three of them frantically nodded their heads.
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