Shibuya on a clear night carried its own kind of noise.
The hum of voices from packed sidewalks, the rolling thunder of trains underfoot, and the constant flicker of neon signs bathing everything in shifting color. The district never truly rested, and tonight, it would not be allowed to.
The first sign came without warning, a slow, deliberate shift in the air, imperceptible to the crowds below but screaming to those attuned to cursed energy.
Somewhere above the masses, an unseen border began to draw itself, stretching across the skyline.
Then it dropped.
A curtain, vast and restrictive. It fell over the most crowded block of Shibuya. To the ordinary eye, nothing changed. But to those who could see, the texture of the night warped.
The curtain didn't keep people out; it let everyone in. Movement flowed freely into its boundary.
Getting in was easy. Leaving, however, was another matter.
For most, the exit would come naturally, almost as if no barrier was raised. For Gojo Satoru, it would be something more akin to the walls of a fortress. It was yet another barrier specifically designed for him.
Of course, that wall would eventually break; no barrier could stand against the strongest, but Kenjaku had done it.
A trap. Perfectly laid.
Far from the glow of neon, Jujutsu High rested under the same starlit sky. The courtyards were still, shadows pooling in the corners between the wooden walkways.
Mahito stood there, leaning against a pillar, the faint scent of night flowers drifting from the garden. He had felt the drop of the curtain as surely as if it had brushed past his own skin.
The order came minutes later, crisp and impersonal. He was to remain on standby at the school. Support, they said. The sort that stayed put unless summoned.
Polite language didn't soften the truth; they didn't trust him enough to let him walk into the most delicate operation in years.
Out of those in power, only Gojo treated him as anything other than a potential disaster waiting for the wrong moment. Even that was trust with limits.
Mahito's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze drifting upward.
"Kugisai's situation was likely caused during the Death Paintings incident..." he murmured under his breath. It fit too neatly to be a coincidence.
Hanami's death left another gap. And Mahito himself, excluded from Shibuya, tilted the balance further. But gaps could be as much opportunity as a weakness.
Then there was Haruta Shigemo, dead far earlier than in the original chain of events Mahito remembered.
In that other timeline, the fool had been the one to push Megumi into summoning Mahoraga. Without him, that particular encounter would shift. Different triggers, different casualties.
Mahito had expected more divergence by now. His presence, his choices, they should have rippled wider. Yet here they were. Shibuya. Right on time. The curtain dropping exactly as before. The same bait, the same target.
A slow, quiet irritation threaded through him. 'Did I matter less than I thought? Or… did Kenjaku plan with me in mind from the start?'
It was possible. Kenjaku was thorough, and he'd had the benefit of seeing Mahito up close in this altered reality. Perhaps the plan hadn't been derailed because it had been recalculated with Mahito as one more piece on the board. Not an obstacle, an element.
Still, Mahito refused to believe he was just singing to the ancient sorcerer's tune. The more likely possibility was that Kenjaku's plan to seal Gojo was irrelevant to other events.
Dagon and Jogo were the only disaster curses left. But Mahito had little doubt Kenjaku would fill the gaps with the resources stolen through Geto's technique. The reservoir of absorbed special grades was more than enough to compensate.
'He must be planning to seal Gojo regardless. With the Prison Realm, it's inevitable. Even without knowing every detail of my technique, eliminating Gojo is still the number one priority. He's just that strong.'
The curtain's pulse rolled faintly through the air again, and Mahito followed the sensation like a fisherman testing the tension on his line.
Somewhere beneath that veil, Gojo was already moving toward the bait. Somewhere in the shadows, Kenjaku was waiting with that same patient smile.
Mahito smiled too, though his was smaller, more private.
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On the streets of Shibuya, Gojo was already attracting the gaze of many. His appearance was enough to capture the eyes of those around him.
But the fact that he was floating in place was also certainly a factor.
Gojo's step didn't slow as the boundary brushed over him. His eyes swept the shifting crowd, the faint shimmer of cursed energy painting the edges of buildings and alley mouths.
"A curtain that lets everyone in…" he murmured. "But keeps me here once I'm inside."
The tone was light, almost amused, but his mind was already running through the possibilities. For the enemy to commit this much cursed energy to a single move, they had to be confident.
Which meant they had something prepared. Alas, Gojo had no worries in mind. He already knew what to expect. The cursed energy that pulsed in the air was familiar.
'The unregistered Special Grades are striking... More like, the leader of theirs is finally making his move.
Shame Mahito never got a proper handle on his appearance or his abilities, but it can't be helped...'
And there were very few things that could threaten Gojo at the end of the day. Information or no information, he was going to win.
He adjusted his grip on the tote bag in his left hand, the casual posture at odds with the rather tense atmosphere in Shibuya that night "Guess I'll have to see for myself~"
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Back at Jujutsu High, Mahito remained in the courtyard, the image of compliance. Inside, the calculations didn't stop.
He could insert himself, not openly, not in a way anyone here would trace, but slip into Shibuya in some other form. The soul-link to his clone thrummed faintly at the back of his awareness, a reminder that he could be in two places at once.
If Kenjaku's net was designed for Gojo, it might not account for him slipping between its knots.
The thought was tempting.
But there was value in waiting, too. Watching.
Seeing how Kenjaku adjusted without Mahito's direct hand in the early moves. The more he revealed here, the more the enemy learned. A hidden piece could be more dangerous than one placed too early.
For now, he let the decision rest. The night was long, and the curtain had only just fallen.
Somewhere, the game had begun. And whether he moved now or later, Mahito knew one thing: He wouldn't be a spectator for long.