Ryouta sat alone in his apartment at 3 AM, the city lights casting long shadows across his face. To anyone observing, he would appear to be in meditation. But his mind was a storm of calculation, running through scenarios that stretched years into the future.
They think this is about exposing corruption, he thought, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. They think I'm a naive idealist trying to reform a broken system. Even Satoru. Even Geto. They see only Layer One.
The truth was far more complex. The corruption exposure was real, yes—but it was also a tool. A mechanism to achieve multiple objectives simultaneously, each one feeding into the next like falling dominoes arranged over decades.
Layer One: Expose the higher-ups' corruption, force accountability. This was what everyone believed he was doing. It was true, but incomplete.
Layer Two: Destabilize the existing power structure enough to create opportunities for genuine reform. This was what Yaga and the coalition believed was his deeper goal. Still not the whole picture.
Layer Three: Force the clans into a position where they'd have to accept Satoru and himself as independent powers, untouchable by traditional authority. Create a new paradigm where strength, not bloodline politics, determined influence. This was closer to the truth, but still not complete.
Layer Four: Engineer a situation where Geto's philosophical crisis would be resolved through action rather than ideology. Give him enemies he could fight without compromising his morals. Redirect his anger toward legitimate targets. This was something only Ryouta fully understood—he was saving his friend not just from the system, but from himself.
Layer Five: The real objective. Create the exact conditions necessary for Ryouta to transcend human limitations entirely. The conflict, the stress, the constant pushing of boundaries—it was all designed to force his body and soul to the breaking point where evolution became necessary for survival. Every battle, every scheme, every risk was simultaneously moving pieces on a chessboard and forging him into something beyond human.
Layer Six: The true endgame that even Ryouta couldn't fully articulate yet. Something about the nature of the jujutsu world itself, about curses and humanity, about the cycle of suffering that perpetuated both. He had fragments of understanding, glimpses of a solution that would take decades to implement. But the foundation was being laid now, in these crucial years.
The assassination attempts weren't a complication. They were expected. Desired, even. Every attack was data—information about the higher-ups' capabilities, their desperation, their methods. And more importantly, every attack was a crucible. A forge in which Ryouta would test the limits of his current form and push beyond them.
Soon, he thought, his silver-gold eyes gleaming in the darkness. Very soon, I'll need to take the next step. The foundation is almost complete.
The second wave of assassins hit three locations simultaneously at 4:17 AM. Ryouta's Primordial Omniscience detected them the moment they crossed into Tokyo's cursed energy boundary—twelve voids, moving with military precision toward Satoru's apartment, Geto's residence, and Jujutsu High where Shoko was on overnight medical duty.
But this time, they were ready. This time, Ryouta had prepared a response.
He activated a communication technique he'd been developing in secret—a modification of his omniscient awareness that allowed him to project his consciousness directly into the minds of his allies. Not telepathy, exactly, but a form of shared perception.
Satoru. Three approaching from the west. Curse user with explosion technique, two with binding cursed tools. East stairwell is clear for counterattack.
Geto. Four targets. They have anti-curse techniques, specifically designed to counter your manipulation. Roof access is your advantage. Force them into vertical combat.
Shoko. Five converging on medical wing. Yaga has been alerted. Lockdown protocols active. Maintain defensive position. Help is coming.
The precision of his coordination was inhuman. He wasn't just detecting threats—he was orchestrating the entire defensive response like a conductor leading an orchestra. Every piece moving according to a score only he could hear.
Satoru's apartment became a killzone. The assassins entered expecting to find a sleeping target. Instead, they found the strongest sorcerer of the modern age, fully awake and deeply annoyed at having his sleep interrupted. His Infinity was active, but he didn't rely on it. Instead, he used the information Ryouta provided to position himself perfectly, turning their ambush into a counter-ambush. Blue pulled them into clustered positions. Red blasted them through walls. It was over in thirty seconds.
Geto's battle was more complex. The anti-curse techniques forced him to be creative, using his cursed spirits not as direct weapons but as environmental hazards. He collapsed portions of his building, forcing the assassins to choose between defending against falling debris or attacking him. The choice was fatal—those who defended were crushed, those who attacked were swarmed by curses emerging from the rubble.
At Jujutsu High, Yaga's cursed puppets formed an impenetrable wall around the medical wing. The assassins found themselves fighting not just cursed constructs, but an instructor who had forgotten more about combat than they'd ever learn. Shoko didn't have to lift a finger.
Within six minutes, the second wave was neutralized. Not killed—Ryouta had specifically instructed non-lethal takedowns when possible. Dead assassins told no tales, but broken, terrified ones who'd been utterly outmaneuvered would spread word of exactly how badly this plan had failed.
Let the higher-ups know, Ryouta thought as he monitored the aftermath through his omniscient awareness. Let them understand that we're not just strong. We're prepared. We're coordinated. We're untouchable.
It was a message written in the language of overwhelming competence. And it served Layer Three perfectly—establishing them as a force that couldn't be eliminated quietly.
But the constant battles, the stress of maintaining his omniscient awareness across vast distances, the strain of coordinating multiple combatants simultaneously—it was taking a toll. Ryouta could feel it in his body, the way his cursed energy pathways ached after extended use of his primordial techniques. His human vessel was approaching its limits.
Which was exactly according to plan.
He'd been researching this for over two years, since shortly after the Star Plasma Vessel mission. He'd studied ancient texts on cursed energy circulation, medical records of sorcerers who'd pushed themselves too far, biological samples from curses that could regenerate indefinitely. He'd synthesized it all into a theory: what if cursed energy could be used not just as power, but as an evolutionary catalyst?
The technique he developed was called "Continuous Adaptive Restructuring." At its core, it was deceptively simple—a constant, low-level circulation of cursed energy through every cell of his body, optimizing and strengthening them at a pace too slow to detect but profound in its cumulative effect. His cells would learn to process cursed energy more efficiently. His neural pathways would expand to handle more complex calculations. His very DNA would slowly rewrite itself to accommodate greater power.
It had taken eighteen months of careful experimentation, testing on himself in ways that would have horrified Shoko if she'd known. Failed attempts that left him bedridden for days. Adjustments measured in microscopic changes to cursed energy frequency. But tonight, with his body stressed to its limits from coordinating the defense, the technique finally stabilized.
He sat in his meditation pose, and for the first time, felt his entire body humming in perfect harmony. Every cell synchronized, every cursed energy pathway optimized, every biological system working in concert toward a single goal: evolution.
The sensation was indescribable. It felt like his body was singing, like he was touching something fundamental about existence itself. This was the technique that would allow him to transcend human limitations. Not quickly—it would take years, perhaps decades. But inevitably.
He had mastered Continuous Adaptive Restructuring. And the system, as always, was watching.
╔═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
║ ◇ PRIMORDIAL SYSTEM ◇
║
║ [TECHNIQUE MASTERED: Continuous Adaptive Restructuring]
║ [CURRENT MASTERY LEVEL: EXPERT]
║
║ [10X PRIMORDIAL AMPLIFICATION AVAILABLE]
║
║ AMPLIFIED FORM: "PRIMORDIAL ASCENSION"
║
║ Primordial Ascension transforms biological evolution
║ into an autonomous, perpetual process. Your lifeform will
║ continuously transcend its current limitations, adapting
║ and strengthening without ceiling or end. This is not
║ merely enhancement—it is the path to divinity itself.
║
║ Effects:
║ • Infinite cursed energy capacity expansion
║ • Continuous physical and mental enhancement
║ • Gradual immunity to all forms of damage
║ • Unlimited lifespan as evolution continues
║ • Eventually allows unlimited primordial amplifications
║
║ Note: Process occurs over years/decades. Cannot be rushed.
║ Changes are irreversible and will fundamentally alter
║ the nature of your existence.
║
║ ► YES - Transform to "Primordial Ascension" forever
║ ► NO - Continue developing standard technique
╚═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
Ryouta stared at the panel, though his expression betrayed none of the triumph he felt. This was it. This was the cornerstone of Layer Five—the mechanism that would allow him to eventually contain enough power to reshape the jujutsu world itself.
The warning about irreversible changes meant nothing to him. He'd transcended humanity the moment he'd been reborn with memories of another life. This was simply making his exterior match his interior—making his form match his function.
There was no hesitation. No doubt.
[YES]
The transformation began immediately. It wasn't painful—it was transcendent. He could feel his cells beginning to rewrite themselves at a fundamental level, his cursed energy pathways expanding and optimizing, his consciousness touching something vast and incomprehensible. The process was slow, glacially so, but it was absolute.
In six months, he would be noticeably stronger. In two years, he would surpass the limits of normal sorcerers. In five years, he would be something genuinely inhuman. In twenty years...
He smiled. In twenty years, he would be a god. And the jujutsu world, with all its corruption and suffering, would be his to reshape.
The third wave came at dawn, and this time, Ryouta decided to demonstrate exactly what they were up against. He didn't coordinate from a distance. He went to the battlefield himself.
Ten assassins had been sent to eliminate Mai Zenin—their employers apparently having learned she was feeding information to the coalition. They'd surrounded her safe house, barriers preventing escape, cursed techniques ready to level the building.
Ryouta appeared in the center of their formation, his Veil of Unbeing dropping like a curtain being pulled back. The assassins barely had time to register his presence before he moved.
But this wasn't a fight. It was a lesson.
His Primordial Omniscience meant he perceived not just their positions, but their intentions before they formed them. His Primordial Kinetics allowed him to move through space in ways that violated conventional physics. His Internal Disruption let him disable them without leaving a mark.
To the assassins, it must have seemed like reality itself had turned against them. Their techniques fizzled before activation. Their bodies moved in directions they hadn't intended. Their perception of time and space became unreliable. And through it all, Ryouta moved like a ghost, touching each one precisely once.
Within ninety seconds, all ten were unconscious, their cursed energy pathways temporarily disrupted. Not killed. Not permanently damaged. Just... defeated. Completely. Utterly. With an efficiency that suggested he could have done it in half the time if he'd been trying.
Mai emerged from her safe house, staring at the scene with wide eyes. "How...?"
"Tell your contacts in the Zenin clan what you saw here," Ryouta said calmly, his voice carrying none of the otherworldly power he'd just displayed. "Tell them exactly how effortless it was. Make sure the description is accurate."
"Why?" Mai asked, still processing what she'd witnessed.
"Because I want them to understand," Ryouta replied, his silver-gold eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her take an involuntary step back. "I want the higher-ups to know that this conflict is already over. They just haven't realized it yet."
It was a message, delivered through demonstration. And it served multiple layers of his plan—establishing absolute superiority (Layer Three), creating psychological pressure on the clans (Layer Two), and forcing them to reconsider the cost-benefit analysis of continuing their attacks (Layer One).
But more importantly, it had given Ryouta combat data on how his newly ascended body performed. The improvement was already noticeable—his reaction time was faster, his cursed energy control more precise. And this was just the beginning. Day by day, hour by hour, he was becoming something more.
Two days later, sitting with Satoru on their rooftop, his brother finally asked the question that had been building.
"What's your endgame, Ryo?"
Ryouta turned to look at him, considering how much to reveal. Satoru was brilliant in combat, but strategy on this scale wasn't his strength. Still, he deserved something approaching the truth.
"You know how you asked me once if we were doing the right thing?" Ryouta said carefully. "Taking on the establishment?"
"Yeah," Satoru replied, sensing the weight of whatever was coming.
"The thing is, reforming the system was never the real goal," Ryouta admitted. "It's a step. A necessary one, but just a step. The real goal is to create a world where people like Nanako and Mimiko never need saving in the first place. Where the system doesn't create the problems we have to solve."
"That's..." Satoru paused, processing. "That's going to take years. Decades, maybe."
"Yes," Ryouta agreed. "Which is why everything we're doing now is foundation-building. The corruption exposure, the coalition, the demonstration of power—it's all setting up the conditions needed for real, lasting change. Change that will outlive us."
"Outlive us?" Satoru laughed. "We're eighteen, Ryo. We've got plenty of time."
You have no idea how much time I'm planning for, Ryouta thought but didn't say. His Primordial Ascension would give him centuries if needed. But Satoru didn't need to know that. Not yet.
"The point is," Ryouta continued, "every move we make now has to be done with the long-term in mind. We're not just winning battles. We're positioning pieces for a game that will continue long after this immediate conflict ends."
Satoru was quiet for a long moment, then bumped his fist against Ryouta's shoulder in their familiar gesture. "I don't understand half of what goes on in that scary brain of yours. But I trust you. Whatever the plan is, I'm in."
"I know," Ryouta said, and he meant it. Satoru's unwavering trust was both his greatest asset and his heaviest burden. "That's why it'll work."
That night, alone in his meditation chamber, Ryouta mapped out the next fifteen years in his mind. The corruption exposure would climax within months—that was Layer One and Two, the visible game. Layer Three would take three to five years, establishing new power dynamics. Layer Four, saving Geto, was ongoing and would require constant attention for at least a decade.
But Layer Five—his own evolution—and Layer Six—the true transformation of jujutsu society—those would take decades. And now, with Primordial Ascension active, he had those decades. His body would grow stronger as his plans matured. By the time the Shibuya Incident would have occurred in the original timeline, he would be so far beyond his current capabilities that even he couldn't fully predict what he'd be capable of.
The Culling Game. The merger. Kenjaku's schemes. He had advance knowledge of threats that wouldn't manifest for years, and now he had the time and power to prepare for them properly.
He was playing a game on a timescale that would make Aizen Sosuke proud. And every piece was falling into place exactly as calculated.
In the darkness of his chamber, Ryouta Gojo smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was the smile of a chess master who'd just realized his opponent had fallen into a trap set thirty moves ago.
The jujutsu world thought it was dealing with a rebellious student. It had no idea it was facing an architect who'd been building toward this moment since the day he was reborn.
And by the time they realized the truth, it would be far too late to stop him.