The familiar voice on the phone carried an extra lilt of mischievous delight, the kind that comes when someone is clearly up to no good.
"Yaga-sensei, I need your help with a few things."
"Go ahead."
Yaga Masamichi held a thick stack of flyers for cram schools in one hand, flipping through them one by one. Not a nationally renowned top-tier tutor — pass. Not taught by graduates from elite universities — pass. Not one-on-one with fully closed-off management — pass.
"I need Getou's family home address, his parents' phone numbers, and the name of the hospital where his parents usually go for their regular check-ups."
"You're just planning a birthday for him, so why do you need the hospital's address?"
Yaga's eyes suddenly brightened as he landed on a flyer advertising private tutoring sessions led by a professor from the University of Tokyo.
"To look into his allergy history and make sure there's no risk of drug allergies."
"?" Yaga snapped back to attention, finally registering that Akiya had just said something rather bizarre.
"Is your wife there with you right now?" Asou Akiya asked. When he received a quick "no," he instantly switched to full spoiled-child mode, clearly trying to derail any further questioning.
But this time Yaga Masamichi sobered up the moment the subject turned to Geto Satoru's family.
"Getou specifically told us not to disturb his parents. I can't break the promise I made to him."
Of course Asou Akiya knew. He knew very well. Yet that knowledge would not stop what he was about to do next.
Everything — the success or failure of mending this broken family — hinged on this single move.
Even if Getou ended up hating him for it, even if he despised him for meddling in things that were none of his business, Akiya would not complain in the slightest. He would simply step back and widen the distance between them again. If they could remain friends, that would be wonderful luck. If they could not… it was fine. In fact, it might even be safer for everyone involved.
Asou Akiya pushed down the sour ache blooming inside his chest and spoke firmly.
"Please rest assured. I will bear every consequence myself."
Asou Akiya continued, voice steady.
"Your promise carries great weight, Sensei, but there are some matters I believe outweigh even the most solemn of promises."
Asou Akiya said, almost in a whisper,
"Dad… Getou's family rift has to be mended."
Yaga Masamichi remained completely silent while he listened. He let Akiya lay out, point by point, the way Getou Suguru deliberately avoided any mention of his family at school, the subtle yet unmistakable behaviors that revealed the abyss-like estrangement lying between ordinary parents and a child who had become a jujutsu sorcerer.
Half an hour later, two messages arrived on the phone of the anxiously waiting Asou Akiya.
[Here's his home address and phone number. Use them well.]
[I'll take responsibility for the consequences. You don't need to. I'll go to the hospital myself and confirm the allergy history for the Getou couple.]
Asou Akiya pressed the phone tightly against his chest.
"Thank you."
A sorcerer who still held fast to justice and refused to be bound by rigid convention — that was exactly the kind of hope this world still needed, the kind that would reach down and carefully pull pests away from tender young sprouts so they could grow unhindered.
He stood alone in that spot and let a small, quiet laugh escape him. For a moment he could almost see it: every strand of malice that had coiled so tightly around Getou Suguru being painstakingly unraveled, thread by thread, until only the pure, untouched soul beneath was left exposed. Then he thought of the extraordinarily difficult conversation that awaited him when he finally faced Getou's parents, and the smile vanished from his face.
"I already staked everything long ago."
"If the stakes aren't heavy enough, then I will simply raise them myself. I allow only success. Failure is not permitted."
He brought his four fingers together, thumb folding inward, and touched the tips lightly to his forehead. The gesture felt less like an oath and more like a quiet rallying of his own soul.
He turned inward, searching the depths of himself for the upward-rising strength he would need.
"I, Asou Akiya."
"Stake everything I have to convince Getou's parents to join us together for the birthday celebration on February 3rd."
In 2004, Amano Akira began serializing the manga Katekyo Hitman Reborn! in Weekly Shonen Jump.
Even now, so many years later, Asou Akiya could still recall the protagonist's name clearly — Sawada Tsunayoshi, nicknamed "No-Good Tsuna."
From the moment a highly capable home tutor named Reborn arrived at the Sawada household, Tsunayoshi's utterly ordinary life underwent a qualitative, irreversible transformation.
Reborn would fire special bullets called "Dying Will Bullets" straight into Tsunayoshi's forehead.
The instant the bullet struck, the boy would cast aside every trace of shame, forget the weight of his pride entirely, and remember only the desperate, burning resolve to accomplish what had to be done — no matter the cost.
Compared to death itself, so many of the difficult things in this world suddenly seemed far less insurmountable.
"If I fail to do this — "
"Then I will imitate Sawada Tsunayoshi exactly: strip naked, run straight to the person I love most, and confess everything in front of everyone!"
Inside the boys' dormitory of Tokyo Jujutsu High, five folded formal robes lay neatly on the desk. Asou Akiya finished pronouncing his vow aloud, and the next second he could no longer hold it in — he burst into uncontrollable laughter, doubled over by how absurdly dramatic he sounded imitating a shonen protagonist's oath.
In 2005 he had no real sweetheart.
The only "person he loved most" was an illusion, a paper-thin fantasy, an unreachable figure separated from him by the unbridgeable distance of time.
Which meant the true meaning behind his words was stark and simple:
[If I cannot succeed, then I will go and die.]
This vow was spoken deliberately for Tengen to hear, a calculated move to lower the ancient being's guard toward him just a little.
He was only a student, after all.
Was it not perfectly normal for a student to act a little foolish and ridiculous once in a while?
Inside the Tombs of the Star Palace, Tengen found herself once again having her centuries-old impressions of Tokyo Jujutsu High students thoroughly overturned. In a thousand years, even this ancient entity had never encountered such a bizarre specimen shaped by the modern era. "Asou Akiya, is this really how a jujutsu sorcerer's Binding Vow is supposed to be used?"
Tengen sounded genuinely astonished. "Sawada Tsunayoshi? Running naked to confess his love? Is there truly someone that unhinged in the world?"
The old fossil of the jujutsu world was familiar with anime and had glimpsed oddly dressed cosplayers here and there, yet she had genuinely never read a manga in her life.
Both were shut-ins who had lived for a millennium, and yet the Merlin Ambrosius of Fate/Grand Order had managed to become a professional online swindler, while the Tengen of Jujutsu Kaisen still had not bothered to bring internet access into the Tombs of the Star Palace. Not even a single computer existed within these walls.
Those who remained frozen in the past, unable to accept anything born of the new age, had already let their lives rot beyond salvage.
Meanwhile, at a company in the city, Getou Suguru's father — in the middle of his workday — received an incoming call.
"Good day to you, Mr. Getou."
"You are…?"
"I would like to speak with you about Suguru's situation. The meeting place is the 'Kuon' teahouse near your company."
"Your voice sounds young. Do you know Suguru-kun? Were you his classmate from middle school, or perhaps from Jujutsu High? Unfortunately I cannot leave work to meet with a junior like yourself during office hours. Let us arrange it for another day."
Getou's father declined the conversation politely, speaking from the position of an elder addressing someone much younger.
However, Getou's father had gravely underestimated the cunning tactics of modern-day telephone scams. After his initial probing had already given Asou Akiya a clear read on the man's character, Akiya swiftly changed his tone and approach.
"I'm terribly sorry for the misunderstanding. I am a special liaison officer from the police department. Your son is currently involved in a fraud investigation. From this moment onward, everything you say is being recorded. Please consider your words carefully. To avoid any further confusion or complications, I strongly suggest you come directly to the local police station. I will meet you there. Please come as quickly as you can."
With a sharp "pa," Asou Akiya ended the call and immediately set off toward the nearest police station.
As it happened, jujutsu sorcerers were frequent visitors at police stations across the country. The higher-ups were well aware of their existence and role. All Asou Akiya needed to do was flash his student identification card, proving he was still an active "Semi-Grade 2 sorcerer," and everything was smoothly arranged.
He had deliberately chosen the police station as the meeting place to deliver an unmistakable show of force right from the start.
What about the Elders?
The only elder he acknowledged as such was Yaga Masamichi. Everyone else would be dealt with according to how much respect — or performance — the situation demanded.
At the Getou household, Getou's mother — busy with housework — received an incoming call.
Her husband's voice came through, tight and hurried. "I'm waiting for you at the 'Kuon' teahouse near my company. Come quickly. Don't tell Suguru anything. Just say you're going out to meet your friends for a gathering."
Getou's mother instantly caught the undercurrent of "something has gone wrong." Her heart jolted with alarm, but years of adult responsibility kicked in immediately. She forced her voice and demeanor to remain perfectly ordinary. She finished washing her hands at the sink, wiped away the water droplets, untied her apron, walked into the living room, climbed the stairs, and stopped outside the door of the study where Getou Suguru was reading.
"Suguru, I'm heading out to meet my friends for a little get-together. I'll be back a bit later. If you get hungry, there's food I prepared for you in the refrigerator. Make sure to heat it up before you eat — don't eat anything cold."
A mother's reminders were always long-winded and, to most teenagers, mildly irritating.
Yet even while absorbed in his book, Getou Suguru answered with patient courtesy. "Please don't worry. Go enjoy your gathering with peace of mind. I'll take proper care of my three daily meals."
Inwardly he thought: With my cursed energy and physical constitution, I could eat nothing but cold food for the rest of my life and never once get an upset stomach.
And so, Getou's mother picked up her handbag — the one already containing a substantial amount of cash — and slipped out of the house without drawing her son's attention.
She stepped into the upscale teahouse. A hostess approached at once and inquired politely whether she had a reservation. The young woman studied her face for a moment, then — with the gentle tact Kyoto service demanded — explained that the owner was an old-fashioned Kyoto native.
The rule at such venerable establishments was clear and unchanging: they did not accept first-time strangers. Reputation traveled only by word of mouth. New guests could enter solely if introduced and accompanied by a long-standing regular from the neighborhood.
"I understand. One moment, please." Getou's mother fumbled hurriedly for her phone, intending to call her husband.
Just then, a set of light, confident footsteps approached from deeper within the teahouse.
"She is my guest. She has an appointment." The voice belonged to a young man, bright with self-assurance. It reminded Getou's mother of her own son during his high school days. She looked up — and found herself facing a strikingly handsome black-haired boy dressed in a black school uniform strikingly similar to the one Suguru wore.
"Aunt Getou, please come in." The black-haired boy stepped forward to greet her, then — with warm naturalness — slipped his arm through hers and guided her inside.
"You are Suguru's classmate?" Getou's mother ventured.
"Yes." The boy answered with a gentle smile, casually dropping the name that carried weight in jujutsu circles. "The owner of this place owes a small favor to someone I know. And since the shop is conveniently close to Mr. Getou's company, I borrowed the venue for today. If the hospitality falls short in any way, I hope you will forgive me."
"It is already more than enough." Getou's mother felt the knot of anxiety in her chest loosen slightly. As they walked, she noticed the Zen rock garden that lined the corridor — carefully raked white gravel, sparse stones, and withered branches arranged with deliberate restraint.
Though modest in size, the teahouse possessed every essential refinement. The miniature garden landscape spoke unmistakably of the refined Kyoto sensibility.
They reached the finest private room.
Getou's father had been waiting there for some time. He sat gazing out at the desolate, mournful branches beyond the window, his expression layered with conflicting emotions too tangled to name.
When his wife finally entered, the couple was reunited. Only then did the conversation — interrupted earlier — resume in earnest.
Asou Akiya sat directly across from them. He did not kneel in the traditional seiza posture favored by most Japanese. Instead he folded his legs casually beneath him in a cross-legged seat, spine straight, bearing dignified yet relaxed — carrying an effortless breadth and freedom that set him subtly apart from those accustomed to rigid formality.
"Feel free to drink whatever you like, eat whatever you like. Treat this place as your own home."
When Asou Akiya spoke those words, his tone carried the warm, familiar cadence of someone from the old countryside — the kind of casual hospitality that belonged to family gatherings long ago.
"..."
"..." Getou's parents exchanged a silent glance. Getou's mother leaned forward slightly and asked in a low voice for the full story of what had happened. In response she received only a heavy sigh from the boy.
"We wronged Suguru," Getou's father said quietly. He had received a higher education and placed deep trust in the authority of police institutions. Earlier, Asou Akiya had arranged for him to sit alone in a quiet room at the station, where he had been shown several documentary recordings of jujutsu sorcerers performing exorcisms on curses. Those images had overturned his entire worldview in a matter of minutes. He suddenly remembered the "abnormal" behaviors from his son's childhood — and realized that Suguru had truly been seeing demons and malevolent spirits all along, not merely lost in delusions or fabricating lies born from hallucinations.
"What do you mean we wronged him? Isn't he just staying at home like always?" Getou's mother asked, a faint tremor of fear creeping into her voice.
The sudden phone call summoning them here, the unexpectedly refined and expensive setting, the unfamiliar yet strikingly composed black-haired boy wearing a school uniform so similar to the one her son owned — every detail seemed to whisper that this meeting carried far greater weight than anything they had imagined.
"This world contains creatures that cannot be seen by the naked eye — beings invisible to cameras, much like the yokais and demons from ancient myths and legends. The official term for them is 'cursed spirits.' Children who can see cursed spirits from a young age possess a rare innate talent. They receive invitations to attend jujutsu schools, where they undergo systematic training and, in time, become full-fledged jujutsu sorcerers tasked with exorcising those cursed spirits…"
As Mr. Getou continued to explain these things in greater detail to his wife, Asou Akiya remained silent. His gaze sharpened slightly. Right before his eyes, low-grade cursed spirits known as Fly Heads — manifestations of raw "fear" — began to sprout from the bodies of the couple seated across from him.
Compared to Grade 4 or Grade 3 cursed spirits, these freshly born, utterly insignificant Fly Heads were minuscule. They posed no real threat to human life.
Most jujutsu sorcerers would not even bother exorcising Fly Heads when they saw them. The things appeared in such overwhelming numbers, spawning every single moment of every single day.
And yet — they were enormous.
To ordinary people a fly might seem trivial and small, but a Fly Head bore the exact grotesque shape of an enlarged fly: hideous compound eyes staring wide open, perched motionless on a human body, ceaselessly drawing in the person's negative emotions as though they were nourishment.
Asou Akiya could not help but recall a scene from the original story — the day seventeen-year-old Getou Suguru, hands already stained with the blood of an entire village he had massacred, returned home to face his parents.
This innocent couple had once held the faint possibility of softening Suguru's heart, of pulling him back from the edge.
The moment those Fly Heads appeared…
Getou Suguru's despair became absolute and irreversible.
His parents instinctively feared that their son had become "abnormal."
To an ordinary person, simply living was already a crime. Ordinary people gave birth to cursed spirits. Ordinary people were the root cause, the true murderers, behind every jujutsu sorcerer's death…
A cascade of extreme thoughts, compounded by the unbearable pain of never being understood, had shoved Getou Suguru straight into the abyss of a self-appointed martyr.
When an avalanche finally thunders down the mountain, not a single snowflake can claim innocence. {1}
Asou Akiya recognized that his own thinking carried a certain bias. Between acquaintances and strangers, everyone naturally leaned toward protecting the people they knew.
And besides — this was Getou Suguru they were talking about.
The Getou Suguru who had saved countless lives, who had swallowed cursed spirit orbs one after another, who had been driven to the brink of madness by the overwhelming taste and the crushing weight of his own sense of justice.
Asou Akiya lifted his teacup with steady hands.
"You two raised a truly kind-hearted child. I raise this cup of tea to you both."
Getou's parents accepted the toast with the calm assurance of people who felt they had done nothing wrong.
Asou Akiya disregarded the usual Japanese custom of sipping tea slowly and politely. He drained the entire cup in one long, unbroken swallow, then calmly poured himself another.
He refused to give the couple even the slightest opening to wield the authority of elders over a younger person.
"This second cup of tea I raise to Getou Suguru himself. To grow up in a family where he could never truly be understood, yet never once turn to hatred toward society, never once voice resentment over the rift in his home, and still strive so diligently to mature at school — that is no small feat."
Asou Akiya offered them a gentle smile.
"Please drink this one in my place."
Suguru, all your resentment, all your pain — I can see every last thread of it clearly. The only pity is that you never grew a mouth large enough to speak it aloud.
"Once you have finished drinking, we can continue our discussion about Suguru's situation. There is plenty of time. I intend to spend the entire day here chatting with you both at leisure."
Asou Akiya had no intention of letting them leave anytime soon. He completely ignored Mr. Getou's earlier mention of needing to return to work, his gaze deep and unreadable. He made no move to exorcise the Fly Heads still hovering above the couple's heads.
He wanted to measure exactly how powerful his words could prove to be.
The human heart was impossible to predict with certainty. Once negative emotions began to breed and multiply, were not Fly Heads the most accurate and honest measuring tool of all?
Asou Akiya placed the lives of both sides upon the scales in his heart.
One end held himself. The other end held Getou's parents. If the conversation could conclude peacefully, the scales would return to perfect balance once more.
Otherwise — they had better be careful. He might very well lose his mind too.
That set of five formal robes lay waiting back in his dormitory room, carrying its own inherent blessing — a quiet aura that let one see through the illusions of the mortal world.
The absolute disregard for life and death radiating from Asou Akiya pressed down heavily upon Getou's parents, pinning them in place.
From the very beginning of their talk he had seized complete control. He ignored social hierarchy. He ignored inconvenience. He ignored every ounce of pressure that ordinary people usually felt in such situations. The cursed energy of a Semi-Grade 2 sorcerer locked onto them like an invisible vise, suffocating any attempt at resistance.
Sweat poured ceaselessly from the foreheads of Getou's parents. No matter how often they wiped it away, fresh beads immediately replaced the old ones, leaving dark wet marks on the tatami mats beneath them.
When the hostess returned to refill their tea and bring light refreshments, she could not help but feel a jolt of surprise at the scene.
Yet under the thick, oppressive atmosphere that filled the room she merely bowed deeply, lowered her head, and retreated without a word — pointedly avoiding the desperate, pleading glances the couple cast in her direction.
She smiled with perfect professional detachment as the thought crossed her mind.
[This is a private high-end room meant for confidential discussions. As long as no one dies, no one will call the police for you.]
[Still… the air in there feels so stifling. Is it just my imagination?]
A sudden shiver ran through her body. Some deep instinct urged her to stay far away from that particular room — the same primal fear humans feel when danger draws near.
The conversation continued without pause.
Asou Akiya posed several questions in calm succession.
"How has Suguru's appetite been during the summer months, from childhood up to now?"
"After Suguru awakened his powers, how many times did you take him to the hospital?"
"Did he ever cry while trying to explain himself to you?"
"Does he have even one friend he can speak his true feelings to?"
"Please do not make such pained expressions. You two are his parents. I am merely asking about Suguru's everyday life as his friend."
As the conversation deepened, Asou Akiya watched the Fly Heads grow larger — swelling, thriving, feeding vigorously — and a sharp sense of irony twisted inside him.
This was the world as seen through the eyes of a jujutsu sorcerer: everywhere covered in filth beyond cleansing.
The old saying among sorcerers that they could generally only accept another sorcerer as a life partner, was not always spoken in jest.
"I have one final question."
"Do you want to know what truly lies in Suguru's heart?"
"Does he care about you at all? Is he a bad child who lies without remorse, or a good child who has simply sealed his inner world away?"
Asou Akiya pressed a single finger lightly against his own lips. "I have an event planned for Suguru's birthday. It requires two people to play the part of the deceased. I believe the two of you would be perfect for the role. Please do not rush to refuse. Have either of you begun to feel dizzy or lightheaded?"
When they nodded — faces pale, breaths shallow — Asou Akiya smiled.
"I can see the cursed spirits hovering right above your heads."
He carried himself with the enigmatic poise of an onmyōji from some classic Japanese drama — gently waving an invisible bat-wing fan, peering straight through the veil of fate to point out truths to the bewildered couple before him.
Faced with cursed spirits they could not see, anyone would feel terror rise in their chest.
"What? Cursed spirits?!" Getou's parents shot to their feet in an instant, scrambling toward what they instinctively believed to be safer corners of the room. Their hands flew repeatedly to their own heads, frantically patting and searching as though they might dislodge something invisible clinging there.
In the grip of primal fear toward the unknown, they heard the young man's voice — still gentle, still refined, still perfectly composed — cut through the chaos.
"Think carefully now. What answer is it that I want from you?"
...
Think carefully now. What fate is it that the two of you truly desire?
——
Asou Akiya: No, please stop imagining it. You really do not want to see me running naked through the streets.
—
TL Note:
{1} The line "When an avalanche finally thunders down the mountain, not a single snowflake can claim innocence" is a variation on a saying most commonly phrased as "No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible" or "Each snowflake in an avalanche pleads not guilty."
Its core meaning is this: In any large-scale disaster, tragedy, moral collapse, or destructive outcome caused by the accumulation of many small individual actions — or inactions — no single participant can truly declare themselves blameless or innocent. Each tiny contribution, like one snowflake, seems harmless and insignificant on its own. Yet when enough of them gather under the right conditions, they trigger an unstoppable catastrophe. The individuals involved often feel detached from the final result — "I was just one person," "My part was too small to matter," "I didn't intend the harm" — but the avalanche would not have happened without every single one of them.