Amidst the chaos and screams echoing in the Shibuya subway, Gojo stood with blood on his gloves, body tensed and mind still in fight-mode. Mahito was crumpled and regenerating slowly in a heap of ruined muscle and half-melted grins. Jogo was staggering, fire dimming, eyes full of panic.
Gojo's heartbeat was steady. Victory was seconds away.
Until—
"Yo, Satoru. Long time no see."
Gojo's eyes widened beneath the blindfold.
He turned slowly.
The voice was unmistakable.
His breath caught.
Standing at the edge of the platform, behind the ruined train cars and broken beams, was a man he knew better than anyone else.
Suguru Geto.
Hair tied back in the same loose bun. Robes billowing gently in the underground wind.
But it wasn't just his presence. It was the way he said it—as if they were still in high school. As if nothing had happened. As if death hadn't torn them apart.
Gojo blinked once, caught completely off guard.
"You—" he started.
But it was too late.
Click.
A sudden shift in space. The subway warped as something ancient and cursed surged into the atmosphere.
A coffin-like box made of twisted metal and blood-colored inscriptions slammed against Gojo's feet.
The Prison Realm had been opened.
Threads of cursed script coiled around Gojo's legs and rose like snakes up his body, fast and binding.
Gojo tried to leap back—only for time itself to stop in a brief second of hesitation.
Because his heart screamed Suguru—
But his soul whispered this isn't him.
Gojo clenched his teeth.
"…My heart says you're Suguru Geto," he said, expression unreadable. "But my soul says you're not."
The man smirked and placed two fingers on the top of his head—
Right at the edge of the thick black stitches that circled his skull like a twisted crown.
He peeled back the top of his head.
And revealed a cursed brain pulsing beneath.
"Of course I'm not Suguru Geto," the voice changed—warped and low. "I am Kenjaku."
Gojo's pupils dilated.
Kenjaku.
"I've worn many bodies," Kenjaku continued, voice eerily calm. "This… was simply the most convenient. Everything you see here—Mahito, Jogo, the humans, the transfigurations—all of it, was my plan."
Gojo's body tried to move—but the Prison Realm was already closed.
The box slammed shut, and cursed chains locked Gojo inside with a dull echo that rang like a funeral bell.
Jogo fell to his knees, gasping.
Mahito collapsed, laughing like a child.
It was over.
Or… was it?
The Prison Realm shook.
It twitched unnaturally in Kenjaku's hand before tearing away from his grip and flying to the ground like it had a will of its own.
BOOM.
The metal cube jammed itself into the concrete floor, unmoving. Stuck like an immovable object.
Kenjaku glared at it. He grit his teeth.
"…I always freaking hated this Satoru Gojo," he muttered.
Mahito and Jogo stared at the box, still shaking, still faintly glowing blue. It wouldn't budge.
And now they realized the truth.
They had trapped Satoru Gojo…
But they could not move him.
He was a prisoner—yes.
But one that remained right there, in the middle of the battlefield. Too dangerous to carry. Too heavy to touch. Too cursed to approach.
Kenjaku's face darkened.
"It'll have to stay here," he said, stepping away from it. "We'll continue the plan… without moving it."
Far away, elsewhere in Shibuya—
Itadori's radio buzzed.
He paused. Blood smeared his cheek. His fists were cracked.
"Repeat that?" he said into the device.
A voice came through, trembling.
"Satoru Gojo… has been sealed."
Itadori froze.
The world blurred.
His breath stopped.
"Gojo-sensei…?"
The voice didn't respond.
And the silence that followed hit harder than any curse ever could.