The dressing room reeked of hairspray, the lights so white they stung. Gaio was sprawled on the couch, long legs lazily propped up. A document dangled in his hand, its edges already curled from his grip.
Two people stood across from him.
Nanami Kento, suited up, blonde hair combed perfectly, his face set in that standard professional frown, brows knitted like he was braced for a mess.
Next to him, Zen'in Maki was a total contrast. Holding her breath, her usual don't-mess-with-me vibe was gone. Her eyes, behind glasses, were glued to Gaio, shining like charged LEDs. Her fingers nervously twisted the hem of her Jujutsu High uniform, her face suspiciously red—like a hardcore fan whose brain short-circuited meeting their idol.
Gaio glanced at the document, a so-called "olive branch" from the jujutsu higher-ups, and smirked without much humor, not even lifting his eyes.
"The jujutsu higher-ups sent you to recruit me?" he asked the air.
"Yes," Nanami replied flatly, all business, voice steady as if he just wanted to get this over with. "They want to team up to take on Geto Suguru."
Gaio let out a scoff, not hiding the mockery in his eyes. With a flick of his wrist, the document arced through the air and slapped onto the makeup table, pages scattering.
"Not interested." Three words, cold and blunt.
Nanami wasn't fazed—almost gave a tiny nod, like: Annoying task done, great.
Gaio stood, stretching big, joints popping loudly. He turned to Maki, his face flipping to a warm, celebrity-charm smile, completely ignoring Nanami. "Since you're here," he said lightly, "stick around for the concert."
Before they could reply, he was already heading to the wall, grabbing his sleek electric guitar and slinging the strap over his shoulder in one smooth move.
He pushed the door open, leaving the dressing room's harsh light behind. The hallway outside was dim, but the faint roar from the stage ahead—tens of thousands of hyped-up screams—was growing clearer.
Gaio didn't stop, moving like a panther toward its prey, straight for the clash of darkness and light.
The heavy curtain ripped open!
A tsunami of screams swallowed him: "Nero—!!!"
Blinding spotlights sliced down like swords, pinning him center stage.
Gaio, guitar slung on his back, flashed his signature wild grin, owning everything.
No banter! His fingers ripped across the strings!
Zing—!!!
A sharp, explosive note blasted like thunder, crushing all noise! Then came heart-pounding drum slams, bass growling, shaking the floor!
The venue's lights erupted! White, red, blue beams churned wild, slicing through the sea of crazed, twisted faces below. Giant speakers spewed deafening sound waves, like invisible fists pummeling everyone!
Gaio was the storm's eye! He whipped his head, sweat spraying in the glare. Fingers blurred on the fretboard—sliding, hammering, strumming—unleashing a brutal metal riff like a hurricane!
On the huge screen, his sharp profile glowed under the lights, sweat rolling down his jaw, eyes like blades, smirk wickedly in control.
A dark, explosive intro flowed out. Gaio leaned into the mic, his piercing, high voice tearing through—singing the Jujutsu Kaisen OP from his past life, Kaikai Kitan:
Reality or illusion, the nature of man,
Bluster, imagery, beyond human,
Like a monster in the night,
Born equal, carrying fate's light.
His voice yanked tens of thousands into a weird, spiraling loop!
Cast out darkness, banish the night,
When the curtain falls, it's time to fight.
Clashing in circles, a relentless war,
Toss empty words out the door!
The chorus exploded! Gaio's voice soared like lightning ripping the sky!
Guitar waves stacked, drums pounding like doomsday rain! The whole arena's air vibrated!
The crowd lost it! Like a wheat field in a storm, they headbanged, jumped, roared!
Arms raised, swaying like a wild forest under trippy lights. "Nero! Nero! Nero!" chants surged higher!
Onstage, Gaio's voice climbed, every note hitting souls like a sledgehammer.
Nanami's frown deepened, eyes locked on the radiant Gaio, those lyrics looping in his head.
He knew the jujutsu world's darkness wasn't so easily swept away. Curses clung like rot, feeding on human negativity, while sorcerers slogged through endless chains in the gloom.
Nanami sighed, thinking: This Gaio, acting all carefree, but slipping the jujutsu world's reality into his music. Wonder how many of these hyped-up fans actually get it.
Maki, though? Total fangirl meltdown. Her eyes never left Gaio, hands flailing like she'd lost control, screaming hoarse, pouring out every bit of her passion.
Right now, she was not the cool-headed Maki—just another fan drowning in idol vibes.
Nanami lifted his hand, phone screen's cold light hitting his face.
He almost reported the song's weirdness to the higher-ups, finger hovering over the call button.
But then he pictured the fallout: endless analysis, meetings that dragged on, maybe more thorny missions, trapped in an overtime loop. Exhaustion hit hard.
He grimaced, muttered "Forget it," and stuffed the phone back in his pocket.
In this wild concert chaos, he didn't want to deal with jujutsu world crap. Just wanted a fleeting break, however short.
Meguro Ward, next to Shibuya.
Streets that should've been bustling were dead quiet. Residents had been cleared out under the official excuse of a "gas pipeline emergency check," leaving empty shops and locked windows.
Wind rustled, kicking up stray fliers.
By the riverbank, pink-haired Itadori Yuji stood out. He was by the murky water, hands raised, clapping hard.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
The sharp sound cut through the silence.
The river churned like it was boiling! Dozens of twisted, stinking cursed spirits roared up from the water, claws out, lunging for the boy on shore!
Itadori's eyes sharpened, feet springing, dodging the first wave with a nimble leap back.
"This way!" he growled, spinning without hesitation and sprinting toward a nearby abandoned tunnel entrance!
Behind him, the cursed spirits chased like hyenas smelling blood, howling and closing in.
At the tunnel's shadowy mouth, a tall figure stood calm—Choso.
Itadori led the curse mob into the tunnel area, then slammed to a stop, turning to face them.
Choso moved. Hands sealed, blood-red curse power surged solid!
"Piercing Blood!"
A wild crimson blood arrow shot out!
The frontmost curses didn't even get to scream—pierced clean through!
The rest got skewered one by one.
Itadori seized the chance, rocketing into the chaotic curse mob like a cannonball!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Heavy fists slammed with brutal force, each hit paired with a curse's wail fading out.
He and Choso synced perfectly—one clearing wide, one sniping precise—moves clean and ruthless, scary efficient.
Under a minute, dozens of curses dissolved into black smoke, leaving just the tunnel's stench and faint curse residue.
"Done!" Itadori shook out his fists, but his face stayed heavy, no trace of relief.
Choso nodded, calm. "Next spot?"
"Yeah, head to—" Itadori started, then froze.
A voice cut in overhead, abrupt. "Huh, Megumi's not here."
Both snapped their heads up.
On the highway guardrail above the tunnel, a figure had appeared out of nowhere.
Golden blonde hair popped in the dim light, head swiveling like he was checking for something.
"Tch, am I the first one here?" he muttered to himself.
Itadori and Choso tensed instantly, muscles coiled, dropping into defense mode!
The move finally caught the blonde guy's eye. He looked down, cold gaze sweeping over like they were roadside pebbles.
"What were you two doing?" His tone was flat but laced with icy disdain. "Making all that noise, scared nobody'd notice?"
Itadori frowned. "Run?"
The blonde guy scoffed, like he'd heard the dumbest joke. "Ha? You don't even know?"
Choso stepped forward, half-shielding Itadori, voice low. "Itadori, the higher-ups issued a death sentence on you. They say it's because you lost Gojo Satoru's protection."
"What?!" Itadori's pupils shrank, hit by a wave of absurd disbelief, speechless for a second.
Right then!
A low, raspy, flat voice—like an ice pick at their napes—came out of nowhere behind them:
"Hm? ...Not alone?"
Buzz—!
A massive curse power wave slammed over Itadori and Choso! Their hair stood on end, muscles locking like they were frozen!
They whipped around!
Less than ten steps behind, a man stood silent. Sunken eyes, heavy dark circles, radiating deathly stillness.
A long, narrow cloth bag slung over his shoulder, its outline sharp and ominous.
His cold eyes locked on Itadori Yuji.