Years flowed by in the way they only can for a child—a slow, meandering river of days that, in retrospect, felt like a fleeting moment. For Ryouta, it was a period of dual existence. On the surface, he was the quiet Gojo twin, a stark contrast to his brilliant, boisterous brother. He learned to walk, to talk, to feed himself, hitting all the normal developmental milestones with a precision that was, in itself, a form of concealment. He was seen as intelligent, observant, but reserved—a perfectly acceptable, if somewhat unremarkable, heir to the Gojo clan.
Beneath that placid surface, however, a silent, relentless training regimen was underway. Every nap was a deep meditation. Every playtime was an exercise in physical enhancement and cursed energy control. Every moment of quiet observation was a chance to use his Primordial Six Eyes to analyze the world, to deconstruct the very fabric of jujutsu that surrounded him.
His bond with Satoru became the anchor of his new life. As toddlers, they were inseparable, a whirlwind of white hair and boundless energy tearing through the Gojo estate. Satoru, with his standard Six Eyes, was a prodigy of observation, able to mimic any physical movement he saw with flawless accuracy. Ryouta, with his All-Perceiving Eyes, was a prodigy of understanding. He could see the intent behind a movement, the most efficient path for a technique, the subtle shifts in energy that preceded action.
They complemented each other perfectly. Satoru would demonstrate a complex kata he'd seen one of their instructors perform, executing it with dazzling, chaotic brilliance. Ryouta would then perform the same kata, but with an economy of motion and a quiet perfection that made it seem less like a martial art and more like a law of nature.
"How do you do that?" Satoru would ask, his bright blue eyes wide with genuine curiosity, not envy. "It's like... you're not even trying, but it's perfect."
"I just watch you," Ryouta would reply, a simple truth that was also a profound lie. He didn't just watch; he perceived. He saw the flaws in Satoru's mimicry, the tiny inefficiencies in his energy flow, and he simply… corrected them in his own execution. He was using his brother, the most gifted sorcerer of the age, as his personal tutor, and Satoru was none the wiser.
Their first real lesson in cursed energy manipulation came when they were four. An instructor, one of the clan's elders, sat them down in a quiet dojo and placed a single leaf in front of each of them.
"The foundation of all jujutsu is control," the elder said, his voice a low drone. "Your task is to make the leaf float. Not with wind, not with physical touch, but with your will. With your cursed energy."
Satoru, ever the enthusiast, dove in headfirst. His cursed energy, a brilliant, untamed torrent of power, erupted from him. The leaf was blasted off the mat, torn to shreds, and occasionally set on fire. The elder sighed, but there was a proud smile on his face. This was the sign of immense power, wild and untamed.
Ryouta, in contrast, sat perfectly still. He closed his eyes, not because he needed to, but because it was what a child attempting to concentrate would do. In his mind, he was already using his Primordial Flow Weaving, the first technique he'd amplified. He perceived the leaf not as a physical object, but as a nexus of energy, a collection of life force and matter held together by conceptual bonds.
He reached out with a thread of his own cursed energy, a single, perfectly controlled strand. He didn't push the leaf; he "convinced" it that "floating" was its natural state. He subtly altered the conceptual weight of the leaf, making it lighter than the air around it.
The leaf lifted from the mat, gently, silently, and hung suspended in the air, spinning in a slow, graceful pirouette.
The elder's eyes widened. Satoru's frustrated efforts ceased as he stared in awe.
"How...?" the elder breathed, his gaze sharp and analytical. "There was no surge of cursed energy. No fluctuation. It simply… floated."
"I just thought about it really hard," Ryouta said, the perfect, simple answer of a child who didn't understand what he'd just done. Inside, his mind was racing. Too much. That was too much. Conceptual manipulation is too advanced. I need to be more subtle.
He allowed his concentration to "break." The leaf wobbled and fell back to the mat. He then made a show of trying again, this time using a more conventional, brute-force method, making the leaf tremble and shake but not quite lift. It was a far more "realistic" display of a prodigy's first attempt.
The elder relaxed, a slight frown replacing his shock. He had seen something impossible, but it had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He would file it away as a fluke, a one-time burst of talent that the boy couldn't yet replicate. It was exactly the conclusion Ryouta had intended.
That night, the black-golden panel appeared again. He and Satoru had been practicing the rudimentary beginnings of their innate technique. Satoru was already creating small, unstable vortexes of attractive force—the first glimmers of Blue. Ryouta had been carefully mimicking him at a slightly lesser level.
╔═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
║ ◇ PRIMORDIAL SYSTEM ◇
║
║ [TECHNIQUE LEARNED: Blue - Attractive Force]
║ [CURRENT MASTERY LEVEL: APPRENTICE]
║
║ CURRENT ABILITY:
║ Your Blue technique creates an unstable vortex of
║ attractive force. At Apprentice level, you can pull
║ small, lightweight objects toward a focal point with
║ unreliable control. The technique is taxing and requires
║ your full concentration to maintain for even a few
║ seconds. Your understanding is based on mimicry and
║ instinct rather than true comprehension.
║
║ [10X PRIMORDIAL AMPLIFICATION AVAILABLE]
║
║ AMPLIFIED FORM: "PRIMORDIAL CONVERGENCE"
║ [MASTERY LEVEL UPON AMPLIFICATION: TRANSCENDENCE]
║
║ Primordial Convergence transcends the mere manipulation
║ of attractive forces by accessing the fundamental concept
║ of "approach" itself. This amplified technique allows you
║ to influence not just physical objects, but abstract
║ concepts, emotional states, probability streams, and even
║ temporal flows. You could make unlikely beneficial events
║ more likely to occur by causing probability lines to
║ converge toward favorable outcomes...
║
║ ► YES - Transform to "Primordial Convergence" forever
║ ► NO - Continue developing standard Blue technique
╚═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
There was no hesitation. His philosophy was absolute: always accept power. Concealment was a matter of control, not refusal.
YES.
The transformation was subtle to any outside observer, but to Ryouta, it was a paradigm shift. He felt his understanding of the Limitless technique deepen exponentially. He didn't just know how to use Blue; he understood why it worked. He perceived the mathematical and conceptual reality that Satoru's Six Eyes could only see as energy flow.
The next day, during their private training, Satoru proudly showed him a new trick. He'd managed to sustain a Blue vortex long enough to pull a small toy car across the floor.
"Your turn!" Satoru challenged, grinning.
Ryouta took a deep breath. This was his first test of control. He activated Primordial Convergence, but he didn't use its conceptual power. He deliberately constrained it, forcing it to act only on the physical level. He didn't make the toy car "approach" him; he simply created a standard attractive force. But with the perfect efficiency granted by his Transcendence-level mastery, the vortex was flawless. It was stable, silent, and precise.
The toy car didn't just get dragged across the floor; it glided through the air in a perfect, smooth arc and landed gently in his outstretched hand.
Satoru's jaw dropped. "Whoa. That was… smooth."
"You were using too much energy," Ryouta said, another lie wrapped in truth. "You have to make it more efficient."
He spent the next hour "teaching" Satoru what he had learned, carefully breaking down the technique into principles that a standard Six Eyes user could understand. He was using his primordial knowledge to accelerate his brother's growth, solidifying his role as the quiet, insightful twin who helped the brilliant one shine even brighter. It was the perfect cover. No one would suspect that his "insights" were the product of a technique mastery that surpassed anyone alive.
He was a Grandmaster teaching a prodigy, all while pretending to be a fellow student.
As they grew, so did the gap between his hidden reality and his perceived one. At age six, they both mastered Red. Ryouta amplified it to Primordial Divergence in secret, giving him authority over the concept of "separation." When they sparred, he would use it at a minuscule output, making his defensive maneuvers seem preternaturally gifted but not impossible. He would "separate" the force of Satoru's attack from its momentum, causing Satoru's punches to feel strangely weak just before impact.
Satoru, frustrated but thrilled by the challenge, would push himself harder, developing his own techniques to overcome Ryouta's "tricky" style. The rivalry was a fire that forged them both, but only Ryouta knew that he was the one secretly stoking the flames, always staying just one step ahead in understanding, while appearing to be one step behind in raw power.
He accepted every amplification. Physical Enhancement became Primordial Embodiment, a conceptual state of physical perfection he kept suppressed under a veneer of "natural athleticism." Barrier Techniques became Primordial Boundaries, allowing him to create separations that were conceptually absolute. He was accumulating a pantheon of godlike abilities, all hidden behind the quiet smile of a boy who seemed content to live in his brother's shadow.
His philosophy of decisive action was tested when he was seven. A mission to exorcise a Grade 1 curse near their estate went wrong. Their instructor was injured, and the curse, a grotesque thing of rot and envy, cornered a terrified Satoru.
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through Ryouta for the first time since his reincarnation. All his training, all his concealment, was for this—to protect his brother.
He didn't hesitate. He didn't weigh the consequences of revealing his power. His only thought was protect Satoru.
The curse lunged. Ryouta moved. He didn't use a flashy technique. He used Primordial Divergence. He didn't attack the curse; he simply separated the concept of "life" from its physical form.
For a split second, the monster hung in the air, its malevolent energy signature still blazing. Then, its form dissolved into dust, its energy dissipated into nothingness, and its existence was utterly and completely erased. It didn't die. It was rendered a contradiction, a thing that had existed but was now conceptually impossible.
The injured instructor stared, his mind unable to process what he had just witnessed. Satoru, his Six Eyes wide, saw something even more profound. He hadn't seen a technique; he'd seen a fundamental law of reality being rewritten.
Ryouta walked over to his brother, his expression calm, his heart pounding. "Are you okay?"
Satoru just nodded, speechless.
Later, the instructor would report that Ryouta had used an "unknown and incredibly efficient" cursed technique. It would be noted in the clan records, another entry in the growing file of the "mysterious twin." But no one, not even Satoru, could grasp the true nature of what had happened.
That night, lying in their beds, Satoru spoke from across the darkened room.
"Ryouta?"
"Yeah?"
"Today… what you did… I've never seen anything like it. The Six Eyes couldn't even analyze it properly. It was like… you told it to stop existing, and it listened."
Ryouta remained silent for a long moment, choosing his words with infinite care.
"You were in danger," he said finally. "So I ended the danger."
It was a simple statement, but it carried the weight of an unbreakable promise. Satoru seemed to understand the unspoken part—that Ryouta's power, whatever its true nature, was tethered to him.
"You're hiding something," Satoru said, not as an accusation, but as a quiet statement of fact. "Something big."
"We all have our secrets," Ryouta replied softly.
"Okay," Satoru said, and the simple acceptance was a gift. "But one day, you have to fight me for real. No holding back. I want to see what it is you're hiding so carefully."
Ryouta smiled in the darkness. "I'd like that."
The rivalry had just entered a new, more dangerous, and infinitely more exciting phase. Satoru now knew there was an ocean hidden beneath the lake. And Ryouta, the monster in the shadows, felt the first stirrings of a blood-boiling anticipation for the day he could finally let his brother see the true, terrifying, primordial depths.