The room felt quieter after that.
Not empty—just steadied, like something turbulent had passed through and left the air rearranged in its wake. Izuna stood with the others near the center of the room, attention fixed on Yaga, who had reclaimed his place with the unhurried certainty of someone used to being listened to.
"Yes," Yaga said at last, answering the question Izuna had asked earlier. "You all see them."
Izuna tilted his head slightly.
"They're called curses."
The word landed without weight. Not dramatic. Not ominous. Just a name, offered plainly, as it had always existed whether Izuna knew it or not.
Yaga continued, voice even. "Curses are born from people. From negative emotions—fear, resentment, regret, grief. Wherever humans gather, curses follow. Most people can't see them. Some can. Fewer still can do anything about them."
Izuna listened closely, eyes steady, taking it in piece by piece. The explanation didn't overwhelm him. If anything, it seemed to settle something that had been loosely drifting in his mind for years.
"So… sorcerers," Izuna said slowly, testing the word. "That's what you call people who can see them?"
"And fight them," Yaga replied. "And survive them."
Izuna nodded once.
"Oh," he said. "That makes sense."
The simplicity of the response drew a glance from Shoko, curiosity flickering across her face. Geto watched him more closely now, too, something thoughtful working behind his calm expression.
Izuna hesitated, then spoke again.
"There was one," he said. "A few years ago. In an alley. It tried to grab me."
Yaga didn't react. He didn't need to ask for details.
"Grade Four," he said after a moment. "Low-level. Barely a threat."
Izuna blinked. "Really?"
"Yes."
Izuna considered that, replaying the memory witha new context. The confusion. The sudden instinct to disappear. The way the thing had fled was more startled than angry.
"Huh," he said quietly. "That explains a lot."
No fear surfaced in his voice. No anger. Just understanding finally clicks into place.
Yaga watched him for a second longer, then gave a short nod, as if confirming something only he could see.
Around them, the room seemed to relax—not because the danger was gone, but because it had finally been named.
Curses.Sorcerers.
The world hadn't changed.
Izuna had just learned what it was called.
Yaga continued without ceremony, as if this was simply the next logical piece to put in place.
"Every sorcerer is born with a cursed technique," he said. "You don't choose it. You don't train into it. It's something you inherit the moment you exist."
Izuna's brow furrowed slightly—not in confusion, but concentration.
"Everyone has one?" he asked.
"Every sorcerer," Yaga corrected. "Some are simple. Some are complex. Some are useless in combat. Others define entire bloodlines."
He paused, glancing at Gojo just long enough for the point to land.
"They're unique," Yaga continued. "Even techniques that appear similar operate differently. No two are the same."
Izuna nodded slowly, absorbing it. That explained a lot—why what he did had always felt instinctive rather than learned. Why his body had reacted before his mind ever caught up.
"So it's not something you turn on," Izuna said. "It's just… there."
"Yes," Yaga replied. "Training is about control. Understanding. Learning what your technique does—and more importantly, what it doesn't."
Izuna hummed thoughtfully. "That would've been helpful to know earlier."
Shoko let out a quiet breath that might've been a laugh.
Across the room, Gojo had finally lowered his arm, though his hand still flexed occasionally, fingers curling and uncurling like he expected resistance to reappear if he wasn't careful. His head was angled slightly away now, attention split—half on Yaga's explanation, half on his own thoughts.
Geto drifted closer to him, voice low.
"…You alright?" he asked.
Gojo didn't answer right away.
His gaze flicked briefly toward Izuna, then back to his hand. He leaned in just enough that no one else would hear.
"That shouldn't be possible," he said quietly.
Geto didn't pretend to understand. "What shouldn't?"
"Anything bypassing Infinity," Gojo replied. His voice had lost its edge—no arrogance, no humor. Just certainty colliding with something it couldn't reconcile. "It doesn't stop things. It makes them never arrive."
Geto watched him carefully. "And he did."
Gojo nodded once. "Like it wasn't even there."
Geto went quiet.
That wasn't fear in his expression. It was a calculation. Filing the moment away, not for now—but for later.
Meanwhile, Yaga finished his explanation, tone steady and grounded.
"This is a school," he said. "You'll learn how to fight. You'll learn how to survive. You'll learn when not to use your technique at all."
Izuna looked around the room again—at the candles, the pillars, the people who now felt less like strangers and more like variables he could finally name.
"And the curses?" he asked. "They're… everywhere?"
"Yes," Yaga said. "Which is why we exist."
Izuna nodded, satisfied.
"Okay," he said. "That makes sense, too."
It was a small thing—but it landed.
Because for the first time since he could remember, the world wasn't just something he endured.
It was something he could understand.
Yaga checked the time without looking at anything.
"That's enough for today," he said. "The school year officially begins tomorrow."
The words carried weight—not because they were ominous, but because they were final. A line drawn cleanly between before and after.
"For now," Yaga continued, "you're free. Get to know each other. Settle in." His gaze shifted to Izuna. "Your things will already be in your room."
Izuna nodded. "Okay."
Yaga turned toward the others. "Show him where the dorms are."
He paused, just long enough for something else to land.
"And Miyamura," he added, tone unchanged, "you'll be taking the room near the vending machine."
For half a second, the room was quiet.
Then—
"No," Gojo said immediately, voice cracking with theatrical despair. "No, no, no—that's not fair."
He clasped his hands together, face tilting dramatically upward. "I've been asking for that room. For months."
Shoko rolled her eyes. "You've been whining about that room."
"Advocating," Gojo corrected. "Politely."
Geto sighed. "You were yelling."
Izuna blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intensity of the reaction. He glanced between them, then back at Yaga.
"Oh," he said. "That's a big deal?"
Gojo turned to him instantly, hope flaring. "Yes."
Izuna considered that for exactly one second.
"You can have it if you want," he said. "I don't really mind."
The room stilled again—this time for an entirely different reason.
Gojo froze mid-gesture.
"…Wait," he said. "Really?"
Izuna nodded. "Yeah. You do you, man." He shrugged lightly. "Just make sure all your stuff's out of your old room, please."
Geto stared.
Shoko blinked.
Gojo's mouth opened, then closed.
"…Huh."
He straightened slowly, suspicion flickering across his face like he was waiting for the punchline. "You're serious."
"Mm-hm."
Gojo squinted at him. "You're weird."
"Probably," Izuna agreed.
And just like that, Gojo grinned again—wide and unrestrained, the kind that meant he'd decided something important. "I like you."
Geto muttered, "That was fast."
Yaga gave Izuna a brief, assessing look—then nodded once, as if approving a choice that hadn't needed permission.
"Good," he said. "Then that's settled."
With that, he turned away; the conversation closed.
Gojo didn't waste a second.
He was already halfway to the door, hand on the frame as he flung it open and let fresh air spill into the room. Sunlight flooded in, breaking the heavy warmth of candles and wood.
"Alright," he called over his shoulder. "C'mon. Let's get out of this suffocating room."
He stepped into the courtyard, voice already carrying. "Dorm tour! Hurry up before I change my mind!"
Shoko grabbed her jacket. Geto followed, shaking his head.
Izuna lingered for just a moment longer, glancing once around the room that had introduced him to a world he finally had words for.
Then he turned and followed them out.
Tomorrow could wait.
Today was for people.