The concept of a "day off" at Jujutsu High was a rare and precious thing. It meant no grueling training with Yaga, no dense lectures on the semiotics of cursed seals, and no assigned missions to exorcise the grotesque byproducts of human negativity. For Satoru, it was a license for unadulterated chaos.
"Arcade!" he declared at breakfast, slamming his hands on the table. "I demand a rematch, Geto! And you, Shoko, you're going down in Street Fighter this time!"
Geto, ever the voice of reason, sighed. "We were just in Shibuya. Perhaps we could do something more… enriching?"
"Like what? Visiting a temple?" Satoru scoffed. "We live in one."
"I was thinking a museum," Geto said primly.
Shoko, who was half-asleep over her bowl of rice, mumbled, "I'd rather dissect a cursed corpse than go to a museum."
Ryouta, quietly eating his breakfast, listened to their banter, a small, genuine smile on his face. These were the moments he cherished, the slices of normalcy that felt more valuable than any of his primordial powers. "There's a district in Yanaka," he interjected softly. "It's old. Full of traditional shops, cemeteries, and stray cats. It's quiet."
Satoru's face lit up. "Old means there might be old curses! Quiet means we can be loud! And cats!" He pointed at Ryouta. "See? This is why you're the brains of this outfit, Ryo. Yanaka it is!"
An hour later, they were wandering through the narrow, sloping streets of the Yanaka Ginza shopping district. The air smelled of roasted sweet potatoes and old wood. Unlike the frantic energy of Shibuya, this place had a gentle, sleepy rhythm. Satoru, true to his word, was a beacon of noise, marveling at everything, buying strange snacks from street vendors, and trying to pet every cat that crossed his path (most of whom, sensing his chaotic energy, wisely kept their distance).
Geto seemed to enjoy the historical atmosphere, while Shoko looked surprisingly content, her usual bored expression softened by the warm sun and the lack of any immediate danger. Ryouta walked slightly behind the group, his Veil of Unbeing active on a low setting. He wasn't invisible, but he was forgettable, allowing him to observe without being observed.
His Primordial Six Eyes were taking in the district's unique energy. He could perceive the faint, lingering cursed energy of generations of residents, a tapestry of joy, sorrow, and daily life. He could feel the profound peace emanating from the nearby Yanaka Cemetery, a place where death was accepted and respected, leaving little room for curses to form. It was a pleasant, soothing data stream, a stark contrast to the jagged, aggressive energy of more modern parts of the city.
"Hey, look at that!" Satoru pointed to a small, dilapidated shrine nestled between two shops, its wooden gate worn and faded. A single, weak talisman was peeling off its main post.
"It's a minor deity shrine," Geto explained, ever the scholar. "Probably for a local god of commerce or something equally mundane."
But Ryouta felt something else. A small, but distinctly malicious, knot of cursed energy was coalescing inside. It was weak, barely a Grade 3, born from the frustration of the shopkeepers' recent poor sales. Before Yaga would have even bothered sending a sorcerer, but for them, it was an impromptu test.
"I'll handle it," Satoru said, his grin turning predatory. He was about to step forward when a figure from a side street intercepted him.
He was a man in his late twenties, dressed in the formal attire of a jujutsu sorcerer, but his uniform was from a lesser, auxiliary clan allied with the Gojo. He looked nervous and resentful at the same time. "G-Gojo-sama," he stammered, bowing stiffly. "Please, allow me. This is my assigned territory."
Satoru shrugged. "Be my guest."
The sorcerer, eager to prove himself in front of the Gojo prodigies, moved to exorcise the curse. His technique was clumsy. He summoned a pair of shikigami, two mangy-looking dogs made of cursed energy, and sent them into the shrine. There was a flurry of yelping and crashing, and a moment later, the man emerged, sweating but triumphant, the curse dispelled but the shrine's interior a wreck.
He turned to them, expecting praise. Satoru just looked unimpressed. Geto offered a polite, but hollow, "Well done."
The man's face fell, his pride giving way to a bitter resentment that Ryouta could perceive as a sour, curdling of his cursed energy. "Of course, for prodigies like you, this is nothing," he muttered, just loud enough to be heard. "Must be nice, being born with everything." He gave them another stiff bow and quickly retreated.
The cheerful atmosphere of their day off was instantly punctured.
"What's his problem?" Satoru grumbled.
"He's envious," Geto said, his expression troubled. "Our existence, our power… it invalidates his hard work. In his eyes, we didn't earn it."
"We train harder than anyone!" Satoru protested.
"That's not what he sees," Geto replied. "He just sees the name. The inherent talent."
Ryouta remained silent, but the incident had triggered a deep, familiar monologue in his mind. This is the rotten core of the jujutsu world. The clan system, the obsession with inherited techniques. It breeds this kind of resentment. It's this system that will crush people like Maki Zenin. It's this inherent inequality that will fuel Geto's breakdown. He sees the "monkeys" as the source of curses, but the jujutsu world itself is just as broken. It creates its own kind of poison.
He looked at Satoru, who was trying to shake off the unpleasant encounter by chasing a particularly fluffy cat. And he's at the very top of it all. The pressure on him isn't just to be strong. It's to be a symbol, a living god. He's a kid who loves video games and sweet foods, and they want him to be a pillar that holds up their entire rotten system. No wonder he becomes so arrogant. It's a defense mechanism. The weight of his brother's future settled on him again, heavy and cold.
Their day off soured, they returned to the school. Ryouta, needing to process the day's events, retreated to a secluded training ground—a small, artificial cave system designed to test sensory deprivation skills. It was pitch black and silent, a perfect place to turn his perception inward.
He sat in the center of the largest cavern and focused on his Primordial Six Eyes. He had mastered their basic perceptive abilities, but he knew there was more. He began to push his senses, not outward to scan the world, but inward, into the very nature of cursed energy itself. He tried to perceive not just its flow, but its memory, the echoes it left behind.
It was like trying to hear a sound that had already faded. But he pushed, guided by his transcendent understanding of jujutsu. And then, something shifted. The black-golden panel of the system appeared in his mind, responding to his efforts.
╔═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
║ ◇ PRIMORDIAL SYSTEM ◇
║
║ [TECHNIQUE EVOLVED: Six Eyes - Psychometry]
║ [CURRENT MASTERY LEVEL: NOVICE]
║
║ [10X PRIMORDIAL AMPLIFICATION AVAILABLE]
║
║ AMPLIFIED FORM: "PRIMORDIAL ECHO LOCATION"
║ [MASTERY LEVEL UPON AMPLIFICATION: TRANSCENDENCE]
║
║ Primordial Echo Location transcends simple psychometry.
║ It grants the ability to perceive the "ghosts" of past
║ events by reading the residual imprint left on an area's
║ cursed energy. You can witness echoes of powerful
║ techniques, intense emotions, and significant actions. At
║ Transcendence level, you can even perceive the "voids"
║ left by entities that defy cursed energy, such as users
║ of Heavenly Restriction. You can effectively "see" where
║ they have been, tracking their movements through the
║ negative space they leave in the world's energy field.
║
║ ► YES - Transform to "Primordial Echo Location" forever
║ ► NO - Continue developing standard psychometry
╚═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
Ryouta's breath caught in his throat. This was it. This was the tool he needed. The perfect countermeasure. Toji Fushiguro, the Sorcerer Killer, was a ghost in the jujutsu world, completely invisible due to his Heavenly Restriction which left him with zero cursed energy. He was undetectable. But this… this amplification didn't look for his presence. It looked for his absence. It allowed him to track the hole Toji left in reality.
This is my scalpel, he thought, a thrill of cold, strategic certainty running through him.
YES.
He felt his perception of the cave change. It was no longer just a dark, empty space. It was a library of echoes. He could suddenly "see" a faint, shimmering afterimage of Yaga-sensei constructing the cave years ago. He could perceive the ghostly trails of hundreds of training sessions, the echoes of techniques fired and barriers raised. The past was no longer gone; it was a faint, translucent layer over the present.
He stood up and walked out of the cave, his mind racing. He had to test it. He went to the main training ground where Satoru and Geto had their explosive spars. He activated his new sense. The air was thick with the spectral afterimages of their power. He could see the brilliant blue ghost of a Blue vortex and the vibrant red echo of a Red blast, overlaying each other in a silent, ghostly reenactment of their battles.
Then, his mind clicked into strategic overdrive. The Star Plasma Vessel mission is next year. Toji will be hired. He will hunt them. He is the unseen variable, the ghost that not even the Six Eyes can detect. But with this, I can see his shadow. I can track the void he leaves behind. I won't be able to engage him directly—he's too fast, too strong, and I need to maintain my cover. But I can be a radar. I can predict his ambush points. I can subtly alter their path, create diversions, lead them away from his kill zones.
He had a plan. A dangerous, delicate plan that relied on him manipulating his friends without them ever knowing. It was a heavy burden, the weight of their lives resting on his secret knowledge and his secret powers.
That night, he found Satoru in their private dojo, long after curfew. His brother was standing in the center of the room, his eyes closed, his face beaded with sweat. He was trying to master the Reverse Cursed Technique, the instruction of "collide, don't multiply" echoing in his mind. He was failing. The streams of negative energy he was pulling into his head kept repelling each other, causing painful feedback that made him wince.
Ryouta didn't say a word. He walked to the edge of the dojo and sat down, his presence a quiet anchor in the large, empty room. He activated his Primordial Flow Weaving, not to project a feeling, but to create an aura of perfect, absolute stability. He smoothed out the ambient cursed energy in the room, removing any stray fluctuations that might be interfering with Satoru's delicate work. He was creating a perfect laboratory environment for his brother's experiment.
After another ten minutes of failed attempts, Satoru let out a frustrated yell and slumped to the floor. "I can't do it," he gasped, his voice raw. "It's impossible." He looked at Ryouta, his usual confidence completely gone, replaced by a raw vulnerability that was startling to see. "I feel like I've hit a wall. For the first time in my life, I feel like there's a level of power I just… can't reach." The unspoken fear was clear: What if I'm not strong enough?
Ryouta stood up and walked over, his footsteps silent on the wooden floor. He sat down in front of his brother, their knees almost touching. He didn't offer advice or encouragement. He just looked at him, his silver-gold eyes filled with a quiet, unshakable faith.
"You said you'd land a clean hit on me one day," Ryouta said softly.
Satoru looked up, confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Everything," Ryouta replied. "I am still waiting. You are the strongest. You just haven't realized it yet." He put a hand on his brother's shoulder, his touch firm and grounding. "This wall you've hit? It's not your limit. It's the starting line for the next race. Now, stop thinking. Stop trying. Just… feel. And know that you are not doing it alone."
The words, simple and direct, seemed to cut through Satoru's frustration. He looked at his brother, at the absolute, unwavering belief in his eyes. It was a belief more powerful than any technique. It was the belief of his other half, his shadow, his anchor. He wasn't just Gojo Satoru, the prodigy. He was Satoru, Ryouta's brother. And in that moment, he felt that that was a far more powerful title.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried again. He didn't force it. He just felt. He felt the two streams of negative energy, and he felt his brother's calm, stable presence beside him, a silent promise that he was not alone in the dark.
And for a fraction of a second, in the center of his mind, the two streams touched. A tiny, brilliant spark of golden light flared into existence before vanishing. It was infinitesimally small, but it was real.
Satoru's eyes snapped open, a gasp escaping his lips. He looked at Ryouta, a wild, incredulous grin spreading across his face.
"I… I felt it," he whispered.
Ryouta's responding smile was small, but it held the weight of a world saved, a future rewritten. "I told you," he said. "Now, do it again."
The race against time had begun. And for the first time, Ryouta felt like they might actually have a chance to win.