Satoru Gojo.
The name "Satoru Gojo" once struck fear into the hearts of sorcerers across the world. A Special Grade Jujutsu Sorcerer, he stood unrivaled, universally acknowledged as the strongest sorcerer alive—a title that commanded both awe and dread.
As the pride of the Gojo Clan, he was the first in four hundred years to inherit both the Limitless technique and the Six Eyes. Serving as a teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu High, he wielded his influence to protect and mentor the next generation of formidable sorcerers.
Yet, the balance shifted when Yuji Itadori, an unassuming boy, ingested a Special Grade cursed object, becoming the unwilling vessel of Ryomen Sukuna.
The King of Curses..
Ryomen Sukuna, a being born over a millennium ago, reigned as the undisputed King of Curses during the Heian Era—the golden age of jujutsu. In truth, he was no mere curse but an undefeated human sorcerer, infamous as "The Disgraced One" for slaughtering countless challengers.
After accepting Kenjaku's proposal to join the Culling Game, Sukuna transcended death itself, transforming into a cursed object. His cursed energy and soul were split across twenty indestructible fingers, ensuring his legacy endured.
His resurrection occurred in June 2018, when Yuji Itadori, on the brink of death after an attack by a low-grade curse, consumed one of Sukuna's fingers. Trapped within Yuji's body, Sukuna rarely seized control—until he orchestrated a deception, transferring his soul into Megumi Fushiguro, a descendant of the Zenin Clan.
The Battle of the Strongest…
Gojo Satoru vs. Ryomen Sukuna—dubbed the Battle of the Strongest—was a cataclysmic clash between the modern era's mightiest sorcerer and history's most formidable curse. The battle unfolded on December 24, 2018, in the desolate ruins of Shinjuku, its outcome destined to reshape the future of the jujutsu world.
Their confrontation was apocalyptic, reducing the surrounding landscape to nothingness. Yet, as the battle raged, Sukuna exploited Mahoraga's adaptation to bypass Gojo's Infinity. Initially, Mahoraga altered its cursed energy's properties to negate Infinity—an ability Sukuna himself lacked. But Sukuna waited, biding his time until Mahoraga's second adaptation manifested: not a flying slash, but an expansion of its target.
The attack no longer aimed at Gojo—instead, it cleaved through space itself, disregarding Infinity entirely. Emulating this, Sukuna amplified his Dismantle technique, severing the very world around them. The world-cutting slash bisected Gojo horizontally, cleaving his body in two.
Satoru Gojo was slain.
Ryomen Sukuna stood victorious.
The Aftermath
"You were magnificent, Satoru Gojo. I'll never forget you as long as I live."
Sukuna commended his fallen adversary, vowing to cherish the exhilaration of their duel. Meanwhile, Gojo's final moments unfolded in a dreamlike reunion with deceased allies—among them, Suguru Geto, his dearest friend. In death, he found peace, his spirit unburdened by regret.
Yet, even in his passing, the battle for the fate of the jujutsu world raged on. His allies, now bereft of their strongest protector, had no choice but to press forward—carrying the weight of his legacy into an uncertain future.
After a lifetime bound by obligations and duties—responsibilities that pursued him even beyond death—Satoru Gojo found himself inexplicably returned to the world of the living. In his final moments against Sukuna, he had experienced only a chilling serenity, an icy calm that permeated his being.
The mysteries of the afterlife held no interest for him; whether his soul faced eternal damnation or peaceful oblivion mattered little. His sole desire had been to close his exhausted eyes and surrender to endless slumber. And so he had.
...Yet the eternal rest he sought eluded him.
....
Time became meaningless as he drifted through unconsciousness—hours, days, perhaps centuries might have passed—until the melodic chirping of birds and golden sunlight filtering through his eyelids roused him. His awakening came with the rough texture of earth beneath him and the crisp scent of morning air.
Against all odds, fate had granted Satoru Gojo a second chance at existence.
His eyelids fluttered open gradually, vision swimming with blurred shapes as a soft groan escaped his lips. The indistinct forms of passersby gradually came into focus as he pushed himself upright.
"Is this the afterlife?"
The words slipped from Gojo's lips in a hushed whisper as he examined his palms, fingers flexing experimentally to confirm their solidity. "This is the afterlife," he affirmed with a steadying breath. "If this is death's domain, then I'll accept whatever judgment awaits me."
"Are you alright, mister?"
An unfamiliar voice shattered his contemplation. Tilting his head, he observed a striking woman cradling a child against her hip, her golden hair catching the sunlight.
"..."
"We thought you were dead," the blonde remarked, her tone laced with cautious concern. "You've been lying there quite some time."
Gojo's fingers rose to press against his cheek, the warmth of living flesh undeniable beneath his touch. He cleared his throat. "Tell me—is this the afterlife, or have you come to deliver my infernal punishment?"
The woman recoiled slightly before regaining her composure. "Afterlife? Punishment? What are you talking about?"
Gojo studied his hands anew. "So this isn't the afterlife?"
The child clutched desperately at his mother's skirt. "Oh, sorry mister, we should go," the woman stammered, hastily scooping up her son and retreating. "What a weirdo," she muttered under her breath.
"If this isn't the afterlife..." Gojo sank into a cross-legged position, fingers steepled beneath his chin in contemplation before sudden realization struck. "Yuji!!"
His explosive exclamation echoed through the street, drawing bewildered stares from pedestrians questioning his sanity.
"Now I understand," he murmured, fists clenching until his knuckles whitened. "Sukuna killed me."
A burst of incredulous laughter escaped him as the truth crystallized—he had been reborn in some unfamiliar realm. "I'll leave the rest to you all," he declared calmly, as though his former comrades could hear him. "Yuta, Yuji, everyone... Defeat Sukuna. Protect our world."
"Enough dwelling on the past," he announced, brushing dirt from his clothes as he stood. His signature black blindfold was conspicuously absent, leaving only a fitted white undershirt and black trousers. "First order of business—acquire new blindfolds."
Gojo wandered aimlessly through the unfamiliar terrain, acutely aware of the curious stares boring into him from every direction. Night descended rapidly, yet he had gleaned no useful information about this strange world, nor secured proper lodging since awakening in this unknown place after his prolonged slumber.
His meandering led him to a tranquil lake, its moonlit surface shimmering invitingly. Deciding to refresh himself before seeking shelter beneath a nearby bridge, he stripped off his clothes in the darkness and plunged into the icy waters. Rather than simply cleansing himself, he surrendered to the exhilarating freedom of swimming, reveling in the sensation as visions of a peaceful, ordinary life in this new world flooded his mind—blissfully unaware that this was merely the prologue to another extraordinary journey, so different from the jujutsu world he'd left behind.
A profound contentment washed over him; for the first time, he was truly free from the oppressive oversight of the higher-ups that had constrained him in his previous life. Though he had never experienced true liberation while alive, he had always maintained his characteristic grin whenever surrounded by his cherished students.
"I wonder if they held a proper funeral for me," he mused aloud, the words rippling across the water's surface.
After several minutes of swimming, he emerged from the chilling depths, his body invigorated. Donning his clothes once more, he made his way to the bridge's shelter, seeking respite from his disorienting day.
Exhaustion claimed him instantly—the fatigue of wandering since his abrupt awakening on unfamiliar streets proved overwhelming. Yet sleep offered no sanctuary, as visions of his climactic battle with Sukuna erupted behind his closed eyelids. The haunting memories of fallen comrades—Geto Suguru, his dearest friend, and Nanami, among others—jolted him back to consciousness with violent suddenness.
Beads of sweat cascaded down his face like a torrential downpour, his breathing ragged and uneven, his heart hammering against his ribs with such ferocity he feared it might burst. "How much longer will these nightmares pursue me?" He whispered into the stillness of night.
"Exercise should help," he concluded, rising to his feet.
He began with gentle stretches to loosen his stiff muscles before transitioning into a rigorous routine of sit-ups, push-ups, and squats—the physical exertion gradually quieting his troubled mind. His body, dormant for what might have been years or even decades since his death, awakened with voracious energy, craving movement and challenge.
"Alright then, a run it is," he declared to the empty night.
Without hesitation, he launched into a sprint through the sleeping town, though he knew full well he risked becoming hopelessly lost in this place whose name and nature remained mysteries to him.
Thirty minutes of relentless running left his breathing remarkably steady, as if he'd merely been strolling. "I feel like I could run until sunrise," he chuckled to himself, the laughter dying abruptly as an unusual sight captured his attention. "Now what's this?"
Darting toward the anomaly, he pressed himself against the rough exterior of a nondescript building, his keen eyes tracking the massive vessel as it maneuvered toward the shore near a rickety wooden bridge.
"Is that... a ship? It's enormous," he murmured, unable to tear his gaze from the imposing structure.
"Let's steal some food and cash!" Boomed a voice from the deck.
"Aye aye, Captain!" Came the raucous reply from multiple throats.
Gojo's eyebrows arched in bemused recognition. "Pirates...?"