The retreat from Okinawa was a frantic, desperate blur. Ryouta's use of his condensed Domain had bought them only seconds, a precious, fleeting window to escape. Satoru, his mind still reeling from the impossible sight of Toji Fushiguro on his knees, had grabbed his twin and used Blue to pull them back to where Geto was frantically herding a terrified Riko and a pale-faced Shoko. There were no words, only the shared, panicked understanding in their eyes. They fled, leaving the pristine beach and the kneeling Sorcerer Killer behind, the paradise now a haunted memory of their first true defeat.
They didn't go back to the hotel. They didn't contact their handlers. Ryouta, his head throbbing and blood still trickling from his nose from the strain of his technique, had given a single, raspy command: "Jujutsu High. It's the only place with enough barriers to slow him down."
Now, they were huddled in one of the school's many fortified safe rooms, a windowless cube of concrete and layered talismans deep beneath the main campus. The silence inside was thick and suffocating, a stark contrast to the violent chaos of the beach. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind a chilling cocktail of fear, exhaustion, and disbelief.
Satoru, who had never known a moment of true vulnerability in his life, was pacing the small room like a caged tiger. His usual boundless energy had curdled into a tense, volatile frustration. His Infinity, which he had so proudly worn as an impenetrable shield, had been pierced as if it were paper. His most powerful techniques had been brushed aside. He, Gojo Satoru, the strongest, had been utterly and completely overwhelmed. The foundation of his entire worldview had been shattered.
Geto sat on a bench, his head in his hands. He was trying to process the sheer, brutal efficiency of their attacker. His Cursed Spirit Manipulation, a technique that gave him an army at his fingertips, had been useless. Toji had moved through his curses like a phantom, their attacks unable to find purchase. He had always believed that numbers and strategy could overcome raw power, but Toji was something else entirely. He was a force that defied conventional jujutsu wisdom.
Shoko was attending to Ryouta, her face a mask of professional calm that didn't quite hide the tremor in her hands. She pressed a cool cloth to his nose, her Reverse Cursed Technique a gentle, warm glow that slowly knit the broken blood vessels back together. "You're an idiot," she said, her voice low and tight. "Whatever that was… it almost tore your brain apart from the inside out. Your cursed energy pathways are a mess."
Ryouta just nodded, his body wracked with a deep, aching exhaustion. He had revealed far too much. The "kneel" command was an act of desperation, a flagrant display of primordial authority that had shredded the veil of his concealment. He had saved them, for now, but he had painted a massive, glowing target on his own back.
Riko and her attendant, Misato, were huddled in a corner, wrapped in blankets, their faces pale with shock. The reality of their situation, the fact that there were monsters in the world that even the "strongest" sorcerers could barely survive, had settled in with crushing weight.
Finally, Satoru stopped pacing. He turned to Ryouta, his blue eyes, stripped of all their usual arrogance, filled with a raw, desperate need for answers. "What was that?" he demanded, his voice hoarse. "Who was that man? And what did you do to him?"
Ryouta met his gaze. The time for half-truths was over. "His name is Toji Fushiguro," Ryouta said, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of authority. "He's a former member of the Zenin clan, known as the Sorcerer Killer. He has a Heavenly Restriction that grants him superhuman physical abilities in exchange for zero cursed energy. He's invisible to the Six Eyes. The weapons he carries are Special Grade cursed tools that can nullify any technique."
The room fell silent as the information sank in. A sorcerer with no cursed energy. An assassin who couldn't be detected. It was a contradiction, a nightmare that defied everything they had been taught.
"And you?" Satoru pressed, his voice barely a whisper. "That thing you did… making him kneel. That wasn't a technique."
Ryouta hesitated, the weight of his greatest secret pressing down on him. He couldn't tell them about his past life, about the system. But he had to give them something. "It's… the other side of the Limitless," he said, crafting a careful lie that was wrapped in a deeper truth. "You manipulate the infinity that exists. I manipulate the concepts that allow infinity to exist in the first place." He looked at Satoru, his silver-gold eyes pleading for understanding. "It's not a power I can use freely. The backlash is… severe."
It was enough. It was an explanation that, while impossible, fit into the framework of their world. It explained his quietness, his reluctance to fight. His power wasn't for combat; it was a final, self-destructive trump card.
Satoru stared at his twin, a storm of emotions swirling in his eyes: awe, fear, and a profound, aching guilt. His entire life, he had believed he was the one protecting his quiet, reserved brother. The truth was the opposite. Ryouta had been carrying this impossible burden, this self-destructive power, all along, and had been using it to silently protect him.
"You're an idiot," Satoru said again, his voice thick. He walked over and pulled his brother into a rough, clumsy embrace, a gesture so uncharacteristic it stunned everyone in the room. "You should have told me."
"You weren't ready to hear it," Ryouta whispered, leaning his head against his brother's shoulder, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. "Maybe you still aren't."
They stayed like that for a long moment, two brothers clinging to each other in the face of a world that had suddenly become infinitely more dangerous. The arrogance was gone from Satoru, replaced by a grim, cold determination. The quiet observer was gone from Ryouta, replaced by a weary, burdened strategist.
Geto watched them, his own internal conflict raging. He had just witnessed the absolute pinnacle of jujutsu, the divine power of the Gojo twins, brought to its knees by a single "monkey" with no cursed energy. His entire philosophy, the belief in the inherent superiority of sorcerers, was cracking at its foundation. If a non-sorcerer could be this powerful, what did that say about the world? What did that say about their so-called duty to protect the weak?
The next few hours were spent in a tense, focused planning session. The carefree teenagers were gone, replaced by battle-hardened soldiers.
"He'll be back," Geto said, his voice firm, taking charge of the tactical situation. "He knows our objective is to get Riko to Master Tengen's domain at the base of Jujutsu High. He knows the merger is supposed to happen tomorrow at noon. He'll hit us again before then."
"We can't fight him head-on," Ryouta stated, his voice still weak but his mind sharp. "His skills are a hard counter to ours. Satoru's Infinity is useless against the Inverted Spear of Heaven. Geto's curses are too slow and can't pin him down. My… ability is not something I can use again so soon."
"So we run?" Satoru asked, the idea leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
"No," Ryouta said. "We change the game. He's a hunter. He's expecting us to act like prey, to hunker down and defend. So we do the opposite. We go on the offensive."
He laid out a new plan. They would return Riko to the school, but they would do so openly, brazenly. They would walk through the front gates as if they hadn't a care in the world. It would be a taunt, an invitation. Satoru, the strongest, would be the bait. Geto and the school's other sorcerers would set up a multi-layered ambush, using barriers and shikigami to restrict Toji's movement.
"And you?" Shoko asked, looking at Ryouta. "What's your role?"
"I'm the ghost," Ryouta said, his eyes dark. "I'm the only one who can track him. I'll stay off the board, hidden, using my Veil of Unbeing. I will be their eyes, feeding them his location and movements. I will be the unseen variable in his plan."
It was a terrifyingly risky strategy, relying on Satoru to survive a direct confrontation long enough for the trap to spring. But it was the only plan they had.
Late that night, long after the others had retired to get what little rest they could, Ryouta retreated into the depths of his own mind. He needed more. The power he had was immense, but it was too esoteric, too conceptual. He needed something more direct, something he could use in a fluid, high-speed battle without revealing the true nature of his abilities.
He entered his hidden mental dojo and called up the system. He looked at the list of techniques he had learned but had not yet amplified. His gaze fell on one he had been developing in secret, a variant of the Gojo clan's martial arts that incorporated pinpoint applications of cursed energy.
╔═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
║ ◇ PRIMORDIAL SYSTEM ◇
║
║ [TECHNIQUE LEARNED: Cursed Flow Combat]
║ [CURRENT MASTERY LEVEL: EXPERT]
║
║ [10X PRIMORDIAL AMPLIFICATION AVAILABLE]
║
║ AMPLIFIED FORM: "PRIMORDIAL KINETICS"
║ [MASTERY LEVEL UPON AMPLIFICATION: TRANSCENDENCE]
║
║ Primordial Kinetics allows you to manipulate the conceptual
║ properties of motion itself. You can "steal" momentum from
║ an incoming attack, adding it to your own. You can
║ "separate" the impact of a blow from its force, striking
║ with devastating power that leaves no physical mark. You
║ can create fields where the concept of "acceleration" is
║ amplified, allowing for bursts of impossible speed. It
║ is not a martial art; it is a conceptual dance with the
║ very laws of physics.
║
║ ► YES - Transform to "Primordial Kinetics" forever
║ ► NO - Continue developing standard Cursed Flow Combat
║ [WARNING: THIS TECHNIQUE REQUIRES IMMENSE PRECISION.
║ MISUSE CAN RESULT IN CONCEPTUAL SELF-INJURY.]
╚═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
Ryouta didn't hesitate. This was the tool he needed. A way to fight Toji on his own terms, in the realm of physical combat, but using rules that only Ryouta could understand. It was a power he could use subtly, a touch here, a sidestep there, that would appear as simple, uncanny skill rather than primordial authority.
[YES]
He felt the new knowledge, the new perception of motion and force, flood his mind. He stood up and began to move. He threw a punch, and as his fist flew, he used his new ability to "separate" the concept of "air resistance" from his arm. His fist sliced through the air with a silent, sonic boom. He took a step, and as he did, he "stole" the potential momentum from a training dummy across the room, his body lurching forward with a burst of speed that felt like teleportation.
It was perfect. It was a power he could hide in plain sight.
The first rays of dawn were filtering into the safe room when Satoru found him. Ryouta was sitting on the floor, a tray of untouched breakfast beside him. He was playing on his handheld console, his fingers moving with calm precision. It was a scene of such mundane normalcy that it felt utterly surreal after the events of the previous day.
"Playing games?" Satoru asked, his voice laced with disbelief. "Now?"
"Clearing my head," Ryouta replied, not looking up from the screen. He was playing a simple puzzle game, a small slice of his old life, a way to anchor his mind before the coming storm.
Satoru sat down beside him, watching the screen for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said, the words sounding foreign and difficult in his mouth.
Ryouta paused the game and turned to look at him. "For what?"
"For being an arrogant idiot," Satoru said, his gaze fixed on the floor. "For not listening. For making you… do that." The memory of his brother forcing the monster to its knees, blood streaming from his nose, was burned into his mind.
"You're my brother, Satoru," Ryouta said, his voice soft. "There's nothing to be sorry for. My power exists to protect you. That's its only purpose."
"But it hurts you," Satoru said, his voice tight. "Using it… it almost killed you."
"A price I'm willing to pay," Ryouta said simply. He unpaused his game, the cheerful 8-bit music a strange counterpoint to their conversation. "Just do me a favor."
"What?"
"When you face him again… don't try to win," Ryouta said, his eyes still on the screen. "Just survive. Survive long enough for the trap to spring. Survive long enough for me to do my part. And survive long enough to have your breakthrough. The Reverse Cursed Technique. That's the key. That's how you win."
Satoru looked at his twin, at the impossible, infuriating calm of him, playing a video game on the eve of what would likely be the fight of their lives. And he felt a surge of something he hadn't felt since he was a child: absolute, unconditional trust.
"Okay, Ryo," he said, a small, genuine smile returning to his face for the first time since the attack. "I'll survive."
"I know you will," Ryouta said, finally looking up from his game, his silver-gold eyes meeting his brother's blue ones. "After all," he added, a flicker of his own quiet humor showing through, "you still owe me a rematch in Street Fighter."
In the face of their impending doom, it was a moment of absurdity, a moment of normalcy, a moment of brotherhood. And it was exactly what they both needed. The sun was rising on the final day of their mission. The board was set. The pieces were in motion. And the Sorcerer Killer was coming.