Gojo let out a sigh of exasperation, tilting his head toward Subaru—who stood watching the crimson carriage roll off into the distance, Wilhelm perched stoically at the front.
Then Subaru's gaze snapped toward the sorcerer, eyes wide and sparkling with fresh awe.
"Dude… there are cat-girls here!"
Gojo raised a brow, glancing sideways. "Wasn't your heart supposedly stolen by 'Emilia-tan' not even two hours ago?"
He leaned in slightly, voice lowering in mock seriousness.
"Also… that's not—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Well… letting that little misunderstanding fester could be hilarious. I just hope I'm around to see his face when he finds out that cat-girl is actually a cat-boy.
Gojo chuckled to himself, closing his eyes with a grin.
Subaru frowned, already sweating nervously. "O-Oi… what? That reaction was crazy ominous, you know!"
Gojo just waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah. Anyway—I completely forgot I, too, am a royal candidate. Meaning I've gotta go to the capital and dazzle some crusty old nobles with my charming smile and overpowering charm."
He scowled slightly. "Ugh."
"Wait, what? So… this is goodbye?" Subaru asked, voice dipping. "What if I, I dunno, slack off while you're gone?"
Gojo smiled. Slowly. The kind of smile that says 'I will haunt your dreams if you even think about it'.
"Well, that's your choice," he said casually. "But you're the one who wants to get stronger. I'm just the guy who can help you do it."
"Anyway, see you soon. Tell the maids and Roswaal I'll be back soon enough. Emilia- well, I'll be seeing her at the capital."
He stretched lazily, then clapped his hands together. The air around him warping like shattering glass—reality bending, warping—and then in an instant, he was gone.
Only a faint shimmer of residual cursed energy lingered in the space where he'd stood.
"…See you then, dude."
Subaru stood frozen for a second, then let out a long breath. He turned his eyes skyward, squinting in thought.
Then they widened, lit up by sudden revelation.
"…I just got an idea above all ideas!"
———————————————
Satoru warped in a blink—a fissure in reality tearing open for a breathless moment before sealing shut as soon as he appears. He was back in his room at the Astrea Estate.
Exhaling slowly, he turned to the window, arms crossed, eyes scanning the endless green of the fields and treeline beyond.
"I'd bet good money Reinhard's already felt my return and is currently speed-walking his knightly ass over here," he muttered.
He sighed, letting his head roll slightly back, then turned toward the door just as he heard the inevitable—
KNOCK-KNOCK.
"Come in. Buddy old pal Reinhard," he called, already smirking.
Right on cue, the door creaked open, and in stepped the red-haired knight—Reinhard van Astrea. Not a single thread of his outfit was out of place. Pristine. Polished. Strength radiating off of him.
"Satoru," Reinhard said, calm but clearly strained. "I'm relieved to see you're safe, but… don't you think this is cutting it a bit close?"
Gojo just grinned, shrugging like he'd merely overslept a nap and not vanished hours before an important political summit.
"We'll be fine. I mean, you do have like… Divine Protection of Instant Teleportation to the Capital or something, right?" He shot him finger guns for good measure.
Reinhard's brows drew down, lips tightening ever so slightly. "...Unfortunately, it doesn't quite work like that."
Satoru blinked. His smile froze. "...R—right. Obviously. I was joking. Kinda."
There was a beat of silence before Satoru turned back toward the window, scratching the back of his head.
"Even if we're late, it'd look pretty damn badass don't you think, Reinhard dude?"
Reinhard's lips curled into a calm, confident smile as he met Satoru's gaze.
"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully.
"But arriving early tends to make a better impression on the people. First impressions matter more than you think."
His eyes held a quiet conviction, the weight of experience shining through.
Satoru grimaced, running a hand through his hair in mild frustration.
"Argh… why do you have to make such a valid point?"
He shook his head, then raised a finger with a playful wag.
"No worries, Reinhard! I didn't mention it earlier, but I can actually teleport us straight there. Just… not right now. Can't exactly show up looking like a mess."
He nodded toward the dark, impeccably tailored suit laid out neatly on his bed.
"I'll come find you when I'm ready, alright?"
Reinhard closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting out a quiet sigh.
"It seems you've also forgotten... the Royal Selection isn't until tomorrow."
Satoru froze—then whipped around with theatrical speed, pivoting on his heel to face Reinhard directly. His eyes, though obscured behind dark lenses, widened in disbelief.
"EH?! You made it sound like we were about to be late! And it's not even today?!"
Reinhard remained unfazed.
"My apologies if I gave that impression."
Satoru let out a low groan, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Nah, it's fine. Actually… that works out perfectly for me."
Reinhard tilted his head slightly, curious.
"Oh? And why is that, if I may ask?"
Satoru grinned.
"Because I'm going people hunting."
A pause.
Silence hung in the air.
"...To, uh, join the Gojo camp. I mean."
Reinhard blinked.
"Ah."
———————————————
The Slums...
Satoru strolled through the slums, his shoes squelching softly against mud-caked streets. Crumbling walls, rusted tin roofs, and the reek of stagnant water clung to the air. Around him, beastkin and humans alike—cloaked in rags, chewing on rock-hard scraps of bread—glared from doorways and alley shadows.
Their eyes held no fear. Only contempt.
They probably think I'm some noble out slumming for amusement... They would only be half wrong, technically.
He sighed internally, gaze flicking across gaunt faces and hollow eyes.
Yeah... poverty really is universal. No matter what world you're in, the bottom looks the same.. shame.
He stopped. Lowered his hands.
"Tch. Screw formalities."
In a flash of crackling light, Satoru clapped his hands together—and vanished.
Gasps erupted behind him. A child dropped their crust of bread. Adults murmured in shock, some shielding their eyes like they'd seen a ghost vanish in daylight.
Within the Loothouse..
The room was dim, lit only by the subtle rays of the sun seeping through the gaps. Dust danced through shafts of amber light leaking through warped gaps in the wooden walls and roof. From the outside, the place might've looked abandoned—if not for the bickering echoing from within.
A small figure sat atop a barstool, legs kicking slightly above the floor. A red scarf hung from her neck, her wild golden hair spilling like straw.
"Oi, old man Rom! What's wrong with this drink?!" she barked, slamming a tiny wooden cup against the counter.
Behind the bar stood a towering slab of a man—muscle layered upon muscle, a scar across his nose, eyes wary but warm.
"You ungrateful little gremlin," Rom muttered, chuckling.
"I gave you that milk outta kindness. Least you could do is not yell about it."
Felt scowled. "I know what milk is! But this stuff's either waterlogged or gone bad! How am I supposed to grow if you're stunting me with some gone off milk!?"
Rom snorted and reached over, ruffling her hair with a massive hand.
"You should be grateful you've got anything at all, kid."
Then—another voice cut in, echoing from behind them.
Smooth. Teasing.
"Aww, that's just adorable, man. I didn't think you had such a soft side the last time I dropped by."
Felt flinched. Rom's muscles immediately tensed.
They both snapped toward the voice—wide-eyed. Fear spiked in the room. After what Elsa Granhiert had done, caution wasn't a luxury—it was survival.
Felt blinked, a spark of recognition forming.
"Wait—it's you!"
Satoru stepped into the candlelight, a grin tugging at his lips.
"Yup. Don't worry, I—"
CRACK!
A colossal wooden club came down with the force of a landslide—directly onto Satoru's head.
"Felt! Back, now!" Rom shouted.
She jolted from her seat—but didn't run.
"WAIT! WAIT!! HE'S THE ONE WHO SAVED US, YOU FREAKING IDIOT!"
Rom blinked, sweat beading along his temple. Slowly, he turned.
Satoru stood perfectly still. Not a scratch. Not a crease in his jacket.
Just an unimpressed tilt of the head.
Rom exhaled, lowering the club immediately.
"I—I apologize... I wouldn't dare treat our savior like this but.. after everything with the Bowel Hunter..."
Satoru waved a hand casually.
"Don't even worry about it. Totally get it."
He smiled.
Felt folded her arms, tilting her head. "So what brings a bigshot that beat up the Bowel Hunter back here of all places?"
Satoru grinned, walking over with his hands in his pockets and taking a seat at the stool.
"Your finest cup of milk!"
Rom just raised a brow, "You sure? I could treat you with a cup or two of beer."
Satoru shook his head. "I don't do alcohol, messes with not only my vision but it can my powers aswell." He shrugged. "Milk!"
Felt sat next to him, watching him take the drink into his mouth. "So...?"
Oh god that's really bad-
Fighting the sensation to gag, he lowered the milk down onto the wooden surface and wiped his mouth.
"Ergh.. oh right.. I want you both to... join me!"
Rom and Felt shared their confusion. "Meaning..?"
"I want you to join my camp. For the Royal Selection." He gave a dramatic raise of his hand.
"The Gojo Camp—current only two members!"
Rom frowned. "You're... a royal candidate?"
"That's the rumor," Satoru replied, adjusting his shades.
"Honestly, I don't care about thrones or power struggles, but a certain red-haired knight makes me feel all bad if I just don't bother."
He turned to Felt, smirking.
"Which brings me here."
Felt raised an eyebrow. "You want me to join..?"
"Why not?" Satoru shrugged. "You've got a Divine Protection, you're scrappy, and you don't let anyone talk down to you. That's useful to me."
Felt seemed shocked at how he somehow knew, but before she could speak up-
Rom crossed his arms, towering like a shadow over the girl. "She's not for sale. Not for politics. Not for war."
Satoru waved a hand again. "Relax, relax. This isn't conscription to war or whatever. I'm just offering her.. no- you both a chance to do more than rot in a back alley drinking spoiled milk and alcohol."
Felt glanced between the two men—Rom's unwavering stare, and Satoru's easygoing grin.
"...And what do I get out of it?"
Satoru's smile widened.
"Freedom. Resources.. Moneeeey~ if that's your thing. But more importantly…"
He leaned in, voice lowering just enough to sound conspiratorial.
"A front-row seat to all the chaos I'm about to cause in this clearly messed-up kingdom."
Satoru's grin widened, finger idly tracing the rim of the chipped wooden cup.
"You're down here, stealing, fighting—surviving day by day while nobles toss coins at banquets. So here's a thought..."
He leaned in, his voice low, conspiratorial.
"When I become ruler, I'll flip the whole damn board. Tear down everything that's wrong with this system. Build something better—real equality, top to bottom."
He looked at her, sharp and unblinking.
"But I'll need your help to do it."
Rom didn't speak. He simply watched Satoru with that quiet, unmoving intensity—like a mountain waiting to see if the storm would pass or break upon it.
Then—Felt's voice cut through the silence.
"...Fine."
Rom blinked.
"Felt...?"
She stepped forward, arms crossed, fire in her eyes.
"If you're actually serious—if you're really gonna blow this whole corrupt system to pieces and fix it—"
She smirked.
"Then yeah. I'll help. I want a front-row seat when those smug nobles and bootlicking knights see everything they've built crash down."
Satoru's smirk never wavered, but his gaze shifted, calm and steady, toward Rom.
Rom held his stare for a long beat. Then—
"If Felt's in... so am I."
He rose from behind the bar, standing tall like a titan, his tone resolute.
Satoru gave a single nod.
"Good. A carriage'll be by later. Pack whatever you need."
He turned to leave, but paused. Glancing once more over his shoulder:
"...By the way, the milk sucked. But thanks anyway."
Then—with a whisper of static and a shimmer of distortion—he vanished.
The room fell into silence again. Dust floated lazily through the amber light.
Rom sighed, glancing down at Felt.
"You sure about this?"
Felt tightened her scarf and gave him a wicked grin.
"If it means I get to piss off the nobility? Heck yeah."
———————————————
The day of the Royal Selection...
The ornate carriage rattled softly over cobblestone streets, sunlight glinting off its polished exterior. Inside, seated on plush cushions, were three figures.
Satoru sat with legs crossed, reclining slightly with his signature cool detachment. Beside him, the ever-composed Reinhard. Across from them—arms folded, face scrunched in visible discomfort—was Felt, dressed in an elegant orange gown.
"So Rom's staying back at the estate, eh..." Satoru muttered internally, side-eyeing the empty space beside Felt.
"I guess it'd be awkward as hell for a big guy like him, nobles'll hate him for sure."
He turned to Reinhard, brow quirking.
"Okay, seriously. How the hell did you even get her an outfit this fast?"
Felt scoffed, tugging at the stiff fabric like it was laced with thorns.
"I can't believe I'm wearing this thing. Feels like it'll tear if I breathe wrong! If I was part of the actual Selection, I'd kick you right across the face, you damn knight!"
Reinhard chuckled, unfazed. Meanwhile, Satoru leaned back and glanced out the window as the carriage passed over the royal bridge, the opulence of the Capital glittering beneath a pristine sky.
"So... show up at the castle, kiss up to these bootlicking knights and nobles, and charm the so-called 'wise men', right?"
Reinhard gave a patient smile.
"That's... one way to describe it, yes."
"Tch. I've dealt with enough crusty old men in the Gojo Clan to last three damn lifetimes."
Reinhard gave a polite cough.
"Please, Satoru... try not to refer to them as 'crusty old men.'"
"Yeah, yeah." He sighed again, tugging slightly at the collar of his sleek black-and-purple suit.
"They better not try to touch my hair..."
———————————————
Inside the Castle- Subaru's POV
Subaru stepped into the enormous hall, his eyes darting across the formation of knights and figures arranged before the throne.
"So these are the candidates for the throne..."
His gaze settled on each figure stood infront.
Emilia, radiant as ever, poised with a quiet strength.
Priscilla Barielle, wrapped in scarlet, her regal arrogance practically glowing.
Crusch Karsten, upright and steely, her military uniform crisp and imposing.
And Anastasia Hoshin, relaxed in white, her lilac scarf and easy smirk speaking volumes.
But...
"Wait... where's-"
Then a familiar voice rang out.
"Ah, Subaru! I figured you'd be here."
Reinhard appeared at his side with his usual grace, smiling.
"Yo, Reinhard! I've been wondering where you've been—"
But Subaru's words caught in his throat as he turned to the figure beside Reinhard.
The feline "girl" from before, now dressed in white knight attire and wearing that same mischievous grin.
"It's you—!"
Felix gave a wink, ears twitching.
"Nyep~!"
Reinhard nodded calmly.
"Indeed. Felix Argyle. A knight of Lugnica—and despite appearances, he is male."
Subaru's face dropped in realization.
"So that's why Gojo-sensei kept laughing..."
Felix purred.
"See ya later~"
And with a grin, he was gone, blending into one of the knightly rows.
———————————————
The hall grew quiet as a stern-looking green-haired knight stepped forward.
"I, Marcos—leader of the Imperial Knights—will oversee today's Royal Selection proceedings."
His voice carried through the vaulted chamber.
"It began half a year ago. One by one, the royal family vanished—beginning with the king himself..."
Anastasia's voice cut in, casual yet cutting.
"Liiiisten, I get it—you wanna give us the full drama. But I'm a busy woman. In Kararagi, we've got a saying.. 'Time is money.'"
Crusch followed up, arms crossed.
"Agreed. Our time is precious. Let's get to the point of why we're actually here."
Miklotov McMahon, one of the elder officials, leaned forward.
"You believe you already understand why you've been summoned today, Lady Crusch?"
She smirked.
"Is it not a drinking party?"
Miklotov blinked.
"No. Absolutely not."
Crusch turned, eyes narrowing.
"Felix... this isn't what you said."
Felix hummed sweetly.
"All I said was 'maaaaybe.'"
"... Then I retract everything I said, my apologies.."
Anastasia raised a finger.
"Hold up. Just because she's backing off doesn't mean I am. Skip the recap—most of us know how this works."
Emilia spoke gently.
"Still... it might be helpful for some—"
Anastasia interrupted, tone sharp.
"Yeah, but nobody asked you, sweetheart."
Subaru's fists clenched.
"Why you—"
A muffled voice echoed from behind him—Al, the man in the helm.
"Hey, I'm new here! I'd actually like to hear the whole thing!"
Marcos glanced toward Al, expression pinched.
"Is this your knight, Lady Priscilla?"
Priscilla didn't even open her eyes.
"Whether I informed him or not is irrelevant. You would have rambled regardless. Now continue."
Marcos gave a brief nod.
"Very well."
"The reason we've summoned the Dragon Priestess candidates is due to a new prophecy—one etched into the Dragon Stone. It names five candidates. And one among you will forge a covenant with the Dragon itself... and ascend as ruler."
Subaru blinked.
"Five... then.. where's Sa-"
Reinhard turned toward him, eyes gleaming.
"You're right. Only four are here. But today, that will change."
He stepped forward as Marcos called his name.
"Reinhard van Astrea—please, come forward."
Reinhard stepped forward, each movement refined and certain—knightly perfection in motion. He lowered his head with respectful grace, hand placed flat over his chest as he bowed before the assembly of nobles and elders.
"Honored members of the Council of the Wise, Imperial Knight Reinhard van Astrea reports the successful completion of my assignment. The Fifth contender—the final candidate spoken of in the prophecy—has been found."
The air shifted.
Murmurs rippled across the grand hall. Even the most stoic of nobles straightened in their seats, eyes narrowing with intrigue. Then—
The doors.
Massive and ornate, they creaked open with deliberate ceremony.
Light poured into the room.
And there he was.
Satoru Gojo.
Hair white as snow, aglow in the sunbeam like he had descended from another world entirely. His the bottom of the suit flowed behind him, purple trim catching the light with each step. Dark shades shielded his gaze, but his aura—unapologetically relaxed—spoke volumes. Hands stuffed in his pockets. No bow. No formality.
Reinhard bowed once more, his voice unwavering.
"The one to whom I have pledged myself. The one I believe worthy of leading this nation into a new era."
"Satoru Gojo-sama."
———————————————
Satoru POV
Talk about talking me up, huh? Thanks, my trusty red-haired knight … However!
Reinhard lowered his head again, palm to chest in that ever-graceful bow.
"Satoru-sama, thank you for gracing us with your presence."
Satoru's brow twitched.
Honorifics now? Well, considering all the eyes in here, I guess that tracks. Still... what a pain.
He raised his voice suddenly, eyes narrowing on Reinhard.
"Reinhard... you—"
The room tensed.
His tone shifted—dramatic, accusatory.
"You never told me they'd start messing up my hair!"
He pointed an accusing finger at him like it was a crime scene.
Reinhard, ever composed, only smiled.
"My apologies. I believed it was the only way we could prepare you properly… so I chose not to say."
Satoru sighed, dragging a hand through the aforementioned hair.
He turned to another familiar face in the crowd, grin returning.
"Yo, Subaru. Didn't think I'd see you here."
His eyes gleamed behind the sunglasses.
"Looks like you've kept up your training. Would've been embarrassing if I had to flick you in front of all these people."
Subaru's shoulders jumped back instinctively.
"O-Oi! One more of those flicks and I'll be permanently disfigured!"
A few stifled chuckles from knights nearby.
Then—Marcos, ever the stern conductor of order, spoke up.
"Satoru-sama. If you're done rekindling old friendships, please come forward."
Satoru exhaled, long and low, hands slipping into his pockets.
With a slow, deliberate stride, he moved toward the front, stopping beside the other candidates.
He nodded to Emilia—a knowing, subtle gesture.
"Well then?"
Reinhard stepped forward again, this time producing the object of ceremony—the Insignia.
Ah. So that's what they want.
Without a word, Satoru took it.
It was warm in his hand—alive, almost.
Then—
Light.
It shone brilliantly, a pulsing, radiant glow that lit up the entire chamber.
Gasps echoed all around, nobles and knights alike leaning in.
He raised it overhead casually.
"Yup. See? It's glowing and all that jazz~"
Reinhard chuckled, rising to his feet with composure.
"As you all can see, the Dragon Stone has recognized Satoru-sama as a Priestess. With this, his participation in the Royal Selection is valid. I believe it is time we formally begin the process."
His words echoed through the hall.
Then—a wave of motion. Every knight in the room leant forward to bow in perfect unison, hand against chest, head lowered. Their discipline was a statement in itself.
But silence doesn't last long in a room full of nobles.
A voice from the crowd pierced it like a needle.
"Let's assume the Dragon Stone recognized him... Isn't he a bit lacking in decorum? In punctuality?"
Satoru's eye twitched.
Great. Here we go.
That familiar scoffing tone—the one nobles mastered from birth—began rippling across the chamber, spreading like wildfire. Murmurs turned into mocking jabs.
"Is this some kind of joke?"
"That's the Fifth candidate?"
"He can't even button his collar properly—"
It was just a bit tight around the neck damn it!!
For just a moment, Satoru's smile twitched. Faltered.
Then came the pivot.
Satoru slowly stepped forward. Each step up the stone stair echoed like a drumbeat. His posture? Relaxed. Casual. But his presence?
Devastating.
He reached the top and turned to face them—on equal footing with the Wise Men.
Tap.
The tip of his boot touched stone. And the world changed.
An invisible weight dropped into the room—a crushing, suffocating pressure. It wasn't magic. Not mana. Not gravity.
It was pure intent. Bloodlust.
The nobles choked on their own breath. Some staggered back, others lowered, hands on their knees to prop themselves up like to stop them all from falling. Yet every knight—Reinhard included—remained perfectly still, untouched, unshaken.
Reinhard muttered under his breath.
"Satoru-sama..."
Just as suddenly—it vanished.
Satoru tilted his head, sunglasses catching the light, his voice low and calm.
"You think I want to be up here?"
He gave a half-laugh. "Because hell no, I don't."
Not a single noble dared interrupt.
"But you mocking me? That's not about me anymore. That's about questioning what the Dragon itself has chosen. You're not doubting me—you're going against your god."
The chamber went still. Gasps rippled again—shock, realization, fear.
He turned his head slightly.
"Reinhard, my knight... come on up. Let's get this party started yeah?"
At the rear, Miklotov—one of the oldest and most respected—finally nodded, silent approval in his eyes.
Marcos cleared his throat and stood straight, speaking with measured authority.
"..Satoru Gojo-sama... and his knight, Reinhard van Astrea..."
Satoru adjusted his collar, pushing his sunglasses down just a touch to let his brilliant blue eyes flicker into view.
"Now then..."
He glanced across the room—Reinhard beside him, Crusch and the grinning Felt for a moment as if knowing what he was planning.
"I've got two of the best lie detectors in the kingdom right here—so anything I say? You'll know if it's the truth."
Then came the bombshell.
Satoru leaned forward, grin curling across his lips.
"I'm not from around here. I think you all call it... 'Beyond the Waterfall,' right?"
The hall exploded with shouts.
"Impossible—!"
"Lies!"
"He's mocking the ceremony—!"
But then—Reinhard stepped forward, eyes wide.
He nodded.
"He is telling the truth."
Crusch followed suit. Composed, calm—though a faint wrinkle in her brow betrayed surprise.
"Confirmed. Satoru Gojo is not of this world."
Silence. Again.
Satoru let it sit.
Then he whispered with a smirk..
"Now then.."
———————————————