Chapter 7
"Well, do you want to go to Jujutsu High with me?"
Gojo Satoru leaned lazily on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, knocking his heel against the cushion as he spoke. In his hand was a small plate of cakes—cakes that, ironically, had been bought by Ryuichi himself.
On the TV in front of them, the evening news was playing. The anchor was reporting about the sudden collapse of a construction site. The media, ignorant as always, was already hyping it up with ridiculous theories about ghosts.
Ryuichi slouched further into the sofa, his silver-white eyes half-lidded. In one hand, he held a freshly opened can of Coke, which he tilted back to pour down his throat in long gulps. He burped softly, then answered without enthusiasm.
"Forget it. I really can't bring myself to care about a place like a school."
He shrugged, stretching his arms lazily. Of course, he had heard of Jujutsu High before. But after his rebirth, after obtaining the Eight Secret Arts, the idea of returning to a place where others would try to control him was laughable. The academy was just another cage, and Ryuichi wasn't interested in being leashed.
Besides, the elders of the academy were a stubborn bunch. They clung to tradition, to their narrow view of Jujutsu. What he wielded came not from their teachings but from his system—the Eight Secret Arts. His power was too unique, too irregular, to comfortably fit under the same roof as them.
And really, why bother? Even without their approval, Ryuichi was confident. With his mastery of the Eight Secret Arts, he believed it was only a matter of time before he stood atop the Jujutsu world. Even when standing beside the man who would later be known as invincible—Gojo Satoru—he was sure he would never fall behind.
Gojo listened to his refusal with a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He wasn't surprised. He knew Ryuichi well enough to know the man had no intention of joining Jujutsu High. If Ryuichi had actually agreed, that would have been shocking.
"Fair enough," Gojo said, taking another bite of cake. "But man, your environment isn't bad at all. Pretty generous of the Zen'in family, huh?"
He slipped off his sunglasses and glanced around the room with genuine curiosity.
The two of them were sitting in a luxurious seaside apartment, the kind of place worth more than most people would make in a lifetime. The room itself was massive, easily several hundred square meters. Everything inside—from the elegant furnishings to the expensive paintings lining the walls—was refined and tasteful. Even the air smelled faintly of the sea breeze mixed with fine incense.
Gojo, heir to the mighty Gojo clan, had more wealth than he could ever need. Yet even he found himself impressed. After all, Zen'in Ryuichi wasn't supposed to be living like this.
The Zen'in clan had always been harsh. Those without Jujutsu were given nothing, abandoned without mercy. Ryuichi had severed ties with that clan years ago. So why was he living in a high-class sea-view apartment?
"This has nothing to do with the Zen'in house," Ryuichi replied, rolling his eyes. "This place? It's my reward."
He reached into his pocket and casually flicked a business card at Gojo.
Whoosh!
The thin card sliced through the air with such speed it sounded like it was cutting the wind itself. Gojo didn't even look up. His slender fingers twitched, leaving afterimages as he effortlessly caught the card between them.
"House of Everything?" Gojo read aloud, raising a brow.
"That's right. I run it."
Two years ago, when Ryuichi had walked away from the Zen'in clan with only a few thousand yen in his pocket, he had just unlocked Divine Armament Hundred Refinements. With that ability, he was finally able to see and exorcise Cursed Spirits. One day, he had helped a small grocery store owner plagued by a minor curse. The man had been so grateful that he handed Ryuichi an enormous reward.
That was the beginning.
From then on, Ryuichi began taking similar requests, using his powers to resolve supernatural incidents while gaining money and combat experience. Eventually, he established the House of Everything, a one-man agency dedicated to solving supernatural problems.
This very seaside apartment had been a reward for helping a real estate magnate who had been haunted by a second-grade Cursed Spirit.
"Yes! The House of Everything!" Ryuichi said proudly. "Any supernatural problem, I'll resolve it. Prices are set according to my mood, no bargaining allowed. Customers pay up, and I take care of their curses. That's the deal. Young men shouldn't be deceived, right?"
He crumpled his empty Coke can into a neat ball and casually tossed it across the room. It arced perfectly into the trash bin near the door. Then he turned, giving Gojo a sly grin.
"So? Interested? I could use an assistant."
Gojo choked back a laugh. "Sounds interesting, but the prices are up to you? That's not a business, that's robbery. You're running a black shop."
"Hey!" Ryuichi clicked his tongue in mock annoyance. "Why call it a black shop? I take people's money and eliminate their disasters. That's fair business. Go around and ask—who in all of Shanze doesn't know that I'm the most honest, reliable owner of a House of Everything?"
Gojo shook his head with a chuckle. "You're impossible. Still, if the Jujutsu Association finds out about your little operation, you'll definitely be in trouble again."
"Maybe," Ryuichi admitted with a shrug.
"Still," Gojo said as he stood, sliding his sunglasses back on, "it's not a bad idea. After I graduate from Jujutsu High, maybe I'll come work part-time for you."
He stretched his body with a satisfying crack of his joints, the sound echoing like beans popping in a hot pan.
"Anyway, be careful. I'm heading out. If anything comes up, contact me. Oh, and…"
Before Ryuichi could respond, Gojo's figure blurred. Cursed energy wrapped around him, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone, leaving only the curtains fluttering by the open window.
"…Your cake isn't sweet enough."
Ryuichi snorted, leaning back into the sofa. "Tch. Don't you ever worry about getting fat with how many sweets you eat?"
But despite his words, a faint smile tugged at his lips.