Juchu Kaisen - 43

Chapter 43

“Number three!” Gojo threw his arm around Geto’s neck. “I am impressed, make no mistake—but you and I have a bit of work ahead of us. You really need to work on your senses, my man!”

While they had their little moment, I was right next to her as Shoko was tending to Ito’s wounds, bandaging her up and wrapping her in cursed honey. The other girls, even Aomori, were gathered around us in the field as first aid was administered.

“Holy hell, Ito,” Suzuki breathed. “I had no idea you had it in you.”

Ito said nothing to that.

“You fought well,” Suzuki continued. “I mean, from practice, I knew you were strong, but… sheesh.”

“Yeah!” Takahashi echoed. “That—that was really impressive!”

A fair bit more than just impressive, though I got the sense that Ito wasn’t really in the mood for incredulous praise, and more in the mood for unwinding after bringing her negativity up to such a peak.

Food was the answer. She had just fought a battle on an epic scale, and lost. A warrior’s repast should follow after such a thing. Words were nice, but nothing beat a good meal to ease the sting of a loss.

“What’s your favorite food?” I asked Ito.

She looked at me with wide eyes. Almost fearfully. At this point, I was convinced that she wasn’t actually scared of me as a physical threat, but more as a social one. I couldn’t fault her for that. Mortal danger was almost tame in comparison to navigating high school nonsense.

“Uh. I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t really have any.”

Really? “What about when you were younger?”

“Mochi… I think.”

“Do you still like it?”

She shrugged.

“What flavor would you like?”

“Um. Chocolate.”

I smiled. “I’ll get you a ton of chocolate mochi for you in a second, okay? Just take it easy and recover well.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Suzuki was skipping from foot to foot, buzzing in excitement.

Shoko cast her glance. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?”

“I just… love this class!” she burst out. “All the girls are so tough!”

Aomori shifted awkwardly.  

“You’ll get there in time, Aomori,” I said. “For now, just look forward to practicing with Yaga, and then me, okay?”

She nodded sullenly, though I could sense a flutter of appreciation for not being discounted.

“But still, though!” Suzuki grinned. “Before Suguru issued his challenge, we had five girls in the top eight!”

And afterwards, Takahashi fell to number nine as Geto’s place moved up to number three. And Shoko just barely managed to remain in the top eight as no one else had taken anyone else up on a challenge after Ito and Suguru’s.

“Congratulations on the Black Flash,” Shoko said to Ito. “You’ll be even tougher after this.”

“Uh. It wasn’t… my first time,” she murmured.

“Did you do it on purpose?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “I just tried to… hit hard.”

“Did you at least hear the rhythm of the world? Before or after?”

“No, I… I didn’t. I was more focused on the fight.”

So it was just a garden-variety freak-accident Black Flash? None of my advice had helped her?

Disappointing.

Shoko whimpered. “You’re so talented, it hurts my soul.”

Forget Grade One in four years—she might make Grade One in time for the Exchange Event. Even Haruta hadn’t hit a Black Flash, yet.

There was almost a guarantee, at this point, that Ito didn’t have a cursed technique—or if she did, it wasn’t helpful during combat. That was very disappointing, but a lot could be done with fundamentals. Especially when barrier techniques were thrown in the mix. I could give her a primer on the Simple Domain and see if that did anything for her.

I didn’t have any expectations for the Reverse Cursed Technique, though. Shoko was not a precedent. She was an anomaly, and couldn’t be counted. Outside of cursed techniques that facilitated healing, like Nakamura’s rapping, or maybe Ishikawa’s technique, I didn’t see anyone else in our class unlocking that power. Especially not ‘naturally’, the way Shoko, Gojo and I did.

“Thank you,” Ito said quietly.

Behind us, I sensed Kobayashi approaching with a pronounced limp.

Suzuki intercepted him, glaring daggers at the boy. “You want to get healed up, head to the infirmary, loser.”

“I came to speak to you.”

“Funny. Cause I have nothing to say to you.”

“I have something to say to you, however,” he said. “I… disdain jockeying for position.”

“Huh?”

“I disdain needless violence. I disdain harming future comrades-in-arms. I understand the necessity, but it goes against what I believe in. I did not come here to apologize to you. I came to explain myself. I will not fight you, or anyone else, the way I will fight the people that I hate. I will fight my own way, by minimizing harm. I gladly accept whatever consequences may befall me should I continue to do so. But know that I do not take you lightly. I’m simply unwilling to disregard my conscience.”

Suzuki snorted. “Then you’re not taking this work seriously enough. If you can’t bleed and be bleed by those who’ll fight alongside you, you don’t care about making anyone else but yourself strong.”

“We shall see,” Kobayashi said. “The next time we fight, that is. I learned much from today. Hopefully, I can return the favor.”

“Try not to cry when I dislocate both your shoulders at the same time,” Suzuki grinned mockingly.

He snorted, grinning slightly as he turned to leave. “Pain is merely weakness leaving the body. I may be a pacifist, but I don’t succumb easily to life’s slings and arrows. Though I welcome you to try your very best. I care not.”  

He turned his hobble into a walk, biting through the pain as he left, heading back to the main building for some much needed first aid.

Suzuki snorted at him. “What a dick.”

“Well, you heard the man,” Shoko said. “You want him to fight you for realsies, then you gotta make him hate you.”

“How the hell would I even do that?” Suzuki asked.

I had an idea: “Be even half as annoying to him as Satoshi is, whom he very much seems to hate.”

“That’ll do it,” Shoko giggled. “Or it might make him fall in love with you. You never know with boys.”

Suzuki stuck her tongue out in disgust. “That nerd? You can keep him, class rep. I won’t get in the way of your late-afternoon student council meetings.”

Shoko grinned widely. “Don’t threaten me with a good time. I know deep down you’re all about that hot class rep vibe of his.”

“Am not!” Suzuki yelled, blushing slightly at the accusation. “Y-you can keep him all to yourself if you find him so hot!”

“Are you sure?” Shoko asked, riling Suzuki up. “Are you extra, super sure?”

“Screw you, you weirdo!”

I chuckled at their antics. I found it extra amusing to consider what would happen between Shoko and Kobayashi, who would be forced to spend much alone time together doing class rep things.

She was only saying these things to rile Suzuki up, but I could tell that there was a crumb of prophecy in her words. If she and Kobayashi played their cards right, they could turn out to be this year’s latest jujutsu couple!

“Uh—,” Shoko looked at me weirdly.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re grinning at me all weird.”

“Am I?”

They grow up so fast.

“Hibana-san?”

Shoko finally finished wrapping Ito’s last bandage as she spoke up. Shoko helped her up to her feet as I tilted my head questioningly.

“If possible,” Ito continued. “Can I have… passionfruit-flavored mochi… instead…?”

Oh, that? “Of course.”

000

Rumors of Tokyo Jujutsu High’s first full-contact sparring session spread like wildfire.

Natsuyuki, fourth year and dorm captain of the high school dormitory, was in the balcony on the top floor of the dorm building, hands on the railing as he overlooked the lush forest of Mount Ushiro. “There’s no doubt about it,” Natsuyuki said through gritted teeth, fingers tensing on the wooden railing. “Those kids are monsters.”

His three comrades behind him were Semi-Grade Ones, just like him.  For the last couple of years, he and the other Semis had been at the top of the school’s hierarchy by virtue of their Grade.

That had changed when Mukai Reiko had taken that special assignment last year, earning herself the hallowed rank of Grade One before even graduating. Grade One. There wasn’t a higher rank that one could aspire to, unless they were born with a special cursed technique.

“Two of Gojo’s classmates managed to keep him busy,” one of his friends, who was sitting on a chair, leg crossed and fingers interlocked, said. “Nakamura, and Ishikawa. Including Geto, that makes three monsters in one generation. And I’m not even counting Hibana-san.”

Atop the spire of a tiered roof building stood Mukai Reiko, having watched all the fights of the first-years.

At the conclusion of the Geto-Ito fight, she threw her head back and laughed. “My club mates are a pack of troublesome juniors, eh?” She pointed her finger at the distant figures, almost a kilometer away. “A sukeban with a chip on her shoulder. A lazy genius who is being tormented into shape by her best friend. A crazy karate-ka who fights with a burning malice. And Satoshi Ren—the less said about that ball of wild, untamed energy, the better,” she shook her head, grinning. He had yet to truly show his stuff. Mostly because no one had yet to truly hammer him to shape. Yaga had tried, but he was a teacher and an ethical man, deep down.

What that boy needed was something decidedly unethical.

She’d bet her bottom yen that she was fluent in his language. They could accomplish much together. “Hmhmhmhmhm,” she giggled, her eyes widening.

Yes, indeed. The plan was beginning to crystallize.

She would kidnap Satoshi and put him through hell. Then, she’d have some fun with him.

Elsewhere, other matters were being discussed.

In a dark room deep in a secretive part of Tokyo Jujutsu High’s campus, some voices conspired amongst one another.

These were the people that dwelt within the dark underbelly of Jujutsu Society—the wretches that never saw the light of day, nor could they remember the color of grass.

“He can bring anyone to life,” one woman said. “He drew and summoned a real-life boxer. And then Goku.”

“They were even said to retain some individual personalities. Goku, at least.”

“There can’t be very many limits, then. This bodes well for our plans.”

“Well, indeed,” someone giggled.

“We need that boy’s power. By any means necessary.”

“We shall die trying to recruit him.”

“That is the bare minimum. Ishikawa Takumi must join us.”

For the first time in many months, the animanga club was in unanimous agreement on something.

As whispers spread in the lowest lows of society, so too did it spread in its highest highs.

In a different, dark room, dimly lit doors arranged in a hexagonal pattern, sat a teacher of Jujutsu High in a cross-legged fashion in the middle of the doors. Next to him, on a wheelchair, was the aging portly principal Dojima of Tokyo Jujutsu High. He was a bald man that had once had a portly build, though much of his heft had dissipated as his appetite disappeared throughout the years. Though his health waned, his mind was sharp enough to deal with the administrative duties of his office.

“This oversight was not on Yaga-sensei,” Dojima said. “I, too, sat in on Geto Suguru’s entrance interview. We both stood witness to what he could do. Though he did not lie to us, he did imply a far lower ceiling to his potential. It is safe to say, however, that we know nothing about his true limits.”

“Our question is simple,” a councilmember said. “Is he, or is he not, Tokyo Jujutsu High’s third Special Grade student?”

“It is too early to say,” the first-year teacher, Yaga Masamichi, intoned carefully. “We do not know the limits of his Cursed Spirit Manipulation. I only observed one single Grade One under his thrall. If he can absorb multiple of them, or even one of the rare Special Grades, I believe then there would be room to discuss the possibility of his… promotion. Until then, I propose that he is promoted only to Semi-Grade One on a probationary status.”

“Incredible,” one of the councilmembers said in excitement. “Absolutely marvelous. Geto Suguru is truly a diamond in the rough. What a great find.”

“And that boy with the drawings—Ishikawa. A good, traditional cursed technique. Though the subjects of his art leaves much to be desired, he certainly has no shortage of potential.”

“And Nakamura. Poetic cursed speech—I doubt that he is related enough to the Inumakis for that clan’s former criminality to even matter. No, he is clanless and with such potential.”

“If only his choice in poetry wasn’t so degenerate.”

“If only, but the whims of the youth can be excused in such rare instances. He will grow out of his degeneracy in time.”

Yaga-sensei cleared his throat. “Ito Aoi was very impressive as well, in her fight against Geto Suguru. She managed to effortlessly mow down a hail of Grade Three—“

“It’s a shame that she doesn’t have a cursed technique,” one in the council lamented.

Another just snorted in amusement. “What a shame, indeed. Though her cursed energy reserves bode well for her future prospects. No one could deny her usefulness as a bride.”

“I applaud her skill, but must she fight with such unbridled ferocity and inelegance?” another councilmember asked.

“Thank you—I am glad you brought it up,” another said. “Truly. Such is not the way for a sorcerer to comport themselves. Such animalistic glee in butchery.”

As the old men continued prattling amongst themselves, Yaga Masamichi forcefully tamped down on his rage, clenching and unclenching his fists. These old men were too blinded by his young pupil’s gender to even judge her fairly to the standards of any male sorcerer.

Ferocity? Inelegance? Animalistic glee in butchery?

He felt disgusted by the words meant to put down a sorcerer’s greatest efforts in fulfilling her duties as a Jujutsu Sorcerer.

“Yes, indeed,” Yaga spoke before he could think. “We all know that the ideal Jujutsu Sorcerer comports themselves with the composure of a monk as they go about daintily and carefully butchering cursed spirits—for even our sworn enemies deserve the dignity of being ended in a pretty manner, no?!”

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

Principal Dojima sighed. Yaga prepared to be reamed for his uncharacteristic outburst. “Respectfully, council—you speak nonsense. This pupil is by far one of our strongest high schoolers yet, and will represent the Tokyo branch well in the coming Exchange Event. No need to put conditions on her excellence—she will outshine you all in time.”

“Preposterous!” one in the council roared. “Recant your words this instant!”

“I’ll do all you old fogeys one better,” Principal Dojima replied. “Let us recant everything since the moment Yaga-sensei first mentioned Ito Aoi, and go from there. Should the council continue to sniff their own farts ad nauseum, there is nothing I can do to hold my junior colleague’s tongue back.”

Yaga-sensei understood the tone of his statement well. Just because they were being a united front right now, didn’t mean that Yaga didn’t have hell to pay after this meeting was over.

Paperwork until midnight, no doubt.

After some minor grumbling, the topic moved onto more preliminary promotions, and this time, Ito was not being discounted out of hand, due to the biases of dim, old men.

Yaga cracked a small grin at that. Heh. Worth it.

000

“Can we… not do the brain today?”

My bedroom was all tarped up and I was about to start shaving my head for her when I stopped. “Of course,” I said, lowering my razor. “Any reason why?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It just… it feels like a lot, you know?”

Had I misjudged her willingness? That was… awkward. “If I was pressuring you into it, I’m unimaginably sorry,” I said.

Shoko grinned, shaking her head. “No, not really. I’m just not ready is all.” I gave it a little more thought, and I couldn’t help but see where she was coming from. It was a big step. “Can we just… do the usual instead?”

I smiled. “Anything for the world boxing champion.”

“I did cheat for that win,” she said. “Throwing rocks isn’t exactly regulation.”

“It’s not cheating if the ref doesn’t catch you,” I winked at her. “Alright, so what’ll it be?”

Shoko pinched her chin and looked up for a moment. “Can I try… regrowing stuff? I still haven’t got the faintest clue how to do it, so I should at least try, right?”

I grinned. “Sure! We can do one knuckle’s worth of a finger to start.”

I arranged some tarped-over furniture, two chairs with a table between us, and I held my hand on the table while Shoko dangled the scalpel over them, trying to decide which finger to take.

I giggled.

“What?” Shoko asked, grinning slightly, but not taking her eyes from my hand.

“This looks like a manicure appointment from hell.”

She laughed.

Finally, she decided on my index finger, and cut it off at the first knuckle.

“How do you turn off your pain, by the way?” Shoko asked me.

“That doesn’t sound like an extension of the Reverse Cursed Technique. I think you have to burn your receptors away with cursed energy,” I said. “It’s a complicated art, for sure. Too complicated for you, at least.”

“You think?” she asked. “You mean you’re not sure?”

“I’ve never had much use for a technique like that,” I said.

“Hold on—you still feel pain?!”

I blinked at her. “Uh. Yeah. Of course, I do. I’m a living being, aren’t I?”

“That’s not—Teira, I’ve been doing all sorts of—how are you even still sane?”

“That would be the Reverse Cursed Technique,” I said, “keeping my brain chemistry well-balanced and too optimized to ever fall into a harmful neural loop that could breed disorders like psychosis or traumatic stress and the works.” I counted them off with the fingers on my other hand. I had gotten really good at keeping my brain on the straight and narrow throughout my years in the kodoku jar. It was second nature to prevent stress from clinging onto me now.

It did help, considering how my decisions were routinely responsible for the lives and deaths of the many people who worked under me in the Hibana clan and the assorted association vassals.

I lost no sleep over the demise of an enemy, but an ally’s death could occasionally… weigh on me.

Shoko narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you… finally gonna tell me?”

“Finally gonna tell you what?” I asked. “I haven’t exactly been keeping much from you. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t really fear judgment.”

She gestured at the back of my hand.

“What?”

She placed her hand next to mine. Her healthy, slightly tanned skin sharply contrasted against my pale, sheet-white skin that—

“Oh!” I said, slapping my forehead.

“Were you… born like that?”

I chuckled. “No, of course not. Well, mostly not. I was born with the potential to turn my body into what it is today, but I had to work for that ability. When I was born, I was no different from a baby like you.” Aside from my intellect, of course. That bit of information, I would hold back because while I didn’t fear judgment, I did wish to avoid…

…hmm. Maybe I did fear judgment.

“Ah, it occurs to me, it might be upsetting for you to learn what I did to myself,” I grinned slightly. “So, fair warning—it’s a rather upsetting story. Not sad so much as… liable to trigger an ‘oh, god, why?’ reaction from you.”

“Alright, tell! I don’t have all day!”

“Remember when Gojo asked me about my scars?” I gestured at my throat.

“Did you get them before you unlocked the Reverse Cursed Technique?”

“After, but the reason the wound left scars was because a special tool was used—a tool that managed to damage my very soul, not just my body. That makes healing harder than it should be. Anyway—after the bastard who did that to me was dealt with, I figured I needed to do something to improve my body and never be at such a disadvantage again. So I looked to the ritual used to create cursed tools—the kodoku ritual.”

Shoko’s expression was a sight to behold as I gave her the full rundown of my harebrained scheme.

Then, finally, “in the end, I discovered that much of the reason why I was able to get so much out of the ritual was because I had more soul-stuff to work with, courtesy of my deceased siblings. The reason behind that remains a mystery for me, however. You see, I did run some human experiments on a few people who were born twins in my clan and my vassal clans. Because they were regressive troglodytes, all of them had their siblings murdered at birth to preserve their cursed energy capacities, because in the eyes of cursed energies, twins share a singular pool that is divided at birth, and can be made whole when one dies. Therefore, I ran some tests on these people. Nothing invasive—just enough to try and understand if they, too, had extra soul. Curiously, none of them did.”

Something else had been at play to allow my siblings’ souls to catch on mine and meld together in such a fashion. Perhaps it had to do with my reincarnation? Or perhaps it was a weird glitch in nature—a mutation so to speak? I doubted I would ever get to the bottom of things in this life, at least.

I looked down at my finger. “Also—you haven’t made a single bit of progress since I started talking.”

Shoko burst free from her shellshock to look down at my hand, then up at my face.

Then she just nodded. “You did all that to get stronger after your first substantial loss?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” I said.

“Glad you didn’t overreact, at least.”

I laughed.

“Keeping cool under pressure,” she continued. “That’s the Teira way. Good job!”

I laughed so much that I started crying.

---

A/N: Phew. Made it just in time before midnight! Happy International Women's Day! This chapter does not include a girl getting "buried in her PTSD" >.>

damn you, Geto!