Chapter 9

Chapter 9

At first, Yaga thought he’d misheard.

His hands moved mechanically, emitting soft “puff puff” sounds without pause.

Yet his eyes remained fixed on Gojo Satoru—unblinking, unmoving.

“Teacher Yaga?”

Gojo Satoru waved a hand, noting that the man across from him appeared lost in his own world, expressionless.

In an instant, Gojo stood right beside Yaga. He leaned in, poked the Cursed Corpse, and said lightly, “Didn’t you hear me?”

Snapping out of his daze, Yaga sighed and stopped.

He placed the Cursed Corpse, needle, and thread onto the workbench, stood up, and walked to his desk. Picking up a teacup from the side table, he took a sip and said gravely, “Satoru, are you joking?”

A few days earlier, Yuta Okkotsu and his team had gone to Tokyo on a mission. There, they’d clashed with a student—and the Special Grade Curse Rika they’d unleashed had terrified an ordinary civilian.

That man remained hospitalized, foaming at the mouth and hooked to an IV, utterly petrified.

And Gojo’s official report? Just a few scrawled words: *“It’s fine—Okkotsu’ll handle it~~~”*

At the thought, Yaga’s fingers tightened around the teacup—*crack!* It shattered.

He was late on over a dozen reports; when finally submitted, most were barely legible. One read, *“I wish those rotten old geezers would just drop dead~”*—and that was considered *mild*.

Another contained only a single sentence: *“Special Grade was a little baby—accidentally crushed it~”*

The most absurd one sat on his desk now. Its header bore three bold characters: *“Not gonna write.”* Just three words.

Yaga tore off the first page. The next was blank. And the one after that—blank too.

“Satoru,” Yaga set down his teacup, striving for the tone of a concerned teacher, “Take a couple of days off. Your stress… isn’t it getting overwhelming?”

As he spoke, he picked up the teapot beside him and refilled his empty cup. Hot water poured in, steam rising.

The air in the office stilled—only the sound of swallowing tea remained: *glug glug*.

With his slightly rounded belly, Yaga thought he’d resolved the issue. But as he turned back to work, he found himself adrift in a raging sea.

Before a storm, there is always calm—the surface placid, yet beneath, currents churn violently.

This time, the storm in Gojo’s eyes became real—gradually intensifying. The air in the office began to swirl erratically.

Small gusts lifted papers from the desk.

An invisible, unsettling pressure spread—barely containing the madness threatening to consume everything.

Those blue Six Eyes now stared coldly at the principal—devoid of warmth, devoid of humor.

Anyone would have been terrified by such madness—it was the gaze of a higher-dimensional being, utterly horrifying.

They locked eyes—neither moved, neither blinked—engaged in a long, silent standoff.

“Well, I guess that’s how it is,” Gojo finally broke the silence.

He rose onto his toes, bent his right knee, and struck a slightly silly, pirouette-like starting pose. Then, in a blur, he slid toward the office door.

His tone lightened again; his face broke into a smile—as if the intense confrontation moments before had been nothing but a joke.

“The Strongest Teacher Gojo is off to work. See ya!”

And with that, Masamichi Yaga was left alone in the office.

He looked at the Cursed Corpse, bent down, and gently ran his rough fingers over the unfinished doll—from head to toe.

Then he cradled it in his arms, tenderly, as if comforting his own child.

The half-repaired Cursed Corpse curved its mouth into a smile, raised its incomplete arm, and—with its soft cloth hand—gently grasped Yaga’s sleeve, shaking it softly.

This broken object, possessing its own “thoughts” and its own way, was comforting a living person.

Backlit, Yaga’s hunched back seemed to bear a thousand-pound weight. His face was etched with sorrow.

In the empty office, a whisper rose—thin as a mosquito’s buzz.

“I must be… a failed teacher… If I’d noticed Geto’s problem earlier, maybe Satoru wouldn’t…”

*

“Problem Teacher” Gojo Satoru stood motionless behind the curtain, gazing intently at the sky.

Floating above was a curse.

Not a living-creature-type curse—more like a harmless umbrella or a scrap of cloth. That was Gojo’s first impression.

Normally, a curse like this would rank no higher than Grade 3.

Whoever had sent him here had clearly miscalculated. Its energy was extremely low—clearly non-sentient—merely drifting aimlessly, passively absorbing negative emotions from the air.

Rain fell relentlessly. Honestly, Gojo Satoru hadn’t felt rain on his skin in a long time.

Looking up, the umbrella-like curse covered most of the sky—blocking much of the downpour.

The heavy rain had softened to a light drizzle in this area.

A breeze brushed his face, clearing his head.

Nearby, Ijichi and a junior Jujutsu Sorcerer huddled under a single umbrella, shivering.

“A-choo!” The young sorcerer sneezed loudly, trembling.

Ijichi pulled a tissue from his pocket and handed it to his colleague beneath the umbrella.

“Thanks,” the sorcerer said, taking the tissue, blowing his nose, then shivering again. Awkwardly, he asked, “I’m just a rookie sorcerer—not in great shape—but Senpai Gojo’s wearing so little… Is he really okay?”

He glanced at the man standing in the downpour: just a thin Jujutsu High uniform—nothing else.

The wind drove icy rain into his face—biting, painful.

Both he and Ijichi hunched their shoulders, burying their heads deep into their collars, shaking like leaves.

“Ah—you’re a rookie, so you wouldn’t know,” Ijichi coughed a few times and explained. “Mr. Gojo’s sorcerer technique is *Limitless*. Rain can’t touch him.”

The rookie’s eyes widened as he scanned Gojo up and down.

In the pouring rain, the Special Grade Sorcerer Mr. Gojo seemed enveloped by an invisible air barrier.

Raindrops—just as they neared his body or clothes—strangely slid aside, slowed, and finally fell uselessly to the ground.

"Wow, that's amazing!" the newcomer couldn't help but whisper in awe.

Hearing their conversation, Gojo Satoru was noncommittal. Thanks to the Limitless, the rain couldn't get near him.

But reality was different. He looked down at his clothes — clean, neat, spotless.

Not to mention rain, there wasn't even a speck of dust.

No, the problem wasn't the clothes; it was his body.

His skin felt sticky, as if drenched clothes were clinging to him. Below his calves was even worse, as if he were standing in a river that had flooded over him.

"Heh, how interesting." Gojo Satoru spread his arms, staring at the curse in the sky, his voice deliberately raised, full of undisguised provocation: "It's not you. Then who is it?"

Even though it was clearly raining, Ijichi felt as if he were in a sea of fire. The air was burning cold, and an invisible pressure spread, making it hard for him to breathe.

Having worked with Mr. Gojo for a long time, he sensed something was off.

Ijichi frowned, his expression unreadable, and asked his companion: "This curse was reported as Grade 3, but I can feel its Cursed Energy is strong. What do you think?"

In fact, he didn't know—he was just guessing on instinct.

"Huh? Me?" The newcomer Jujutsu Sorcerer pointed a stiff finger at himself, his gaze dull, speaking hesitantly: "Well, a lot of cursed energy? But I don't sense any danger. It feels like some kind of..."

Seeming unable to find the right word, his mouth opened and closed several times.

Remembering that the strongest sorcerer was up ahead and saying something wrong wouldn't matter, he made up his mind and said truthfully: "A shroud? Or an umbrella?"

Behind Ijichi's glasses, his eyes were full of confusion and bewilderment.

Seeing that, the rookie sorcerer sighed helplessly. He was a rookie, and his combat skills were immature — that was a fact.

But at Jujutsu High, reconnaissance and curse analysis had always been his strong suits; he often scored full marks.

Relying on his professional training and his instincts at that moment, he truly believed that curse wasn't aggressive.

Just as he was about to speak up to explain his reasoning, Gojo Satoru's voice suddenly cut in.

"Now, make everyone leave this area. I'll take care of it alone."

His tone was bright and cheerful, his voice rising.

However, his words were alarming.

Ijichi quickly steadied himself, holding his slipping glasses, and asked: "Mr. Gojo, is this curse very dangerous? Do we need to upgrade its rank and have everyone retreat?"

In response to this rapid-fire barrage of questions, Gojo Satoru leaned back slightly and started doing warm-up exercises.

Watching the strongest Special Grade Sorcerer start warming up, apparently about to enter a fight, the rookie sorcerer lowered his eyelids, looked down at the ground, and clenched his fists.

Indeed, he was too incompetent; not only couldn't he help, but even the information he'd gathered was wrong.

Just as he ground his teeth, blood formed beads on his lower lip.

He was about to turn around and follow the order to leave this place.

"You've got talent."

Gojo Satoru's voice rang out again, every word reaching his ears clearly.

He looked up, his eyes wide as saucers, his heart pounding like a drum.

Standing in the rain, Gojo Satoru didn't look back but seemed to know his reaction, adding casually: "Apply for intelligence work, just like Ijichi does."

With that, without waiting for a reply, Gojo Satoru vanished from the spot in an instant.

The next second, he was already at the edge of the roof of a nearby abandoned factory building.

Only the howling wind was left.

He stood atop the high building, looking at the curse, then bent one leg and sat down with casual ease.

Five minutes, ten minutes, or longer — he cleared his head and tried to calm down, as if enjoying the torrential rain.

As it turned out, the saying that heavy rain calms the mind really depends on the person.

Suddenly, he raised one hand, index and middle fingers together, and casually pointed at the huge "umbrella cloth" in the sky.

"Cursed Technique Lapse: 'Blue'."

A blazing blue light instantly tore through the gray rain curtain, hitting the target with precision.

In an instant, the hundred-meter-long curse was annihilated, leaving no trace behind.

With the curse gone, the rain came crashing down.

The rain couldn't reach him, but his heart thundered like a drum, even louder and more agitated.

Gojo Satoru sat on the edge of the roof, letting the storm rage around him, muttering to himself, his voice nearly drowned out by the rain:

"Huh... not you, not that thing floating above you either..."

His Six Eyes shifted slightly, scanning the rain-soaked city below. Finally, his gaze seemed to pierce through the rain curtain, fixing on some distant, uncertain direction.

"Then who... could it be?"

Author's note:

None