Jujutsu High, Training Dojo.
BOOM!!!
With a merciless kick from Satoru Gojo, Megumi Fushiguro spiraled uncontrollably through the air. He hit the mats hard, tumbling several times before finally skidding to a halt near the edge of the arena.
"Cough... cough..."
Megumi hacked, struggling to find his footing through the haze of pain. He looked up, only to see Satoru casually waving his hand.
"Let's call it a day~"
The dismissive, almost breezy attitude sparked a sudden, sharp flare of irritation in Megumi's chest.
"Gojo-sensei, I can still go! Please... take this seriously. Give me something real!"
Satoru stopped mid-stride. He scratched his white hair with a frustrated sigh, then turned back, his expression uncharacteristically grave. "Megumi... do you even know what it means to go 'all out'?"
"Eh?" Megumi blinked, the wind taken out of his sails.
Satoru slid his sunglasses down, his blue eyes peering over the rims with a weight that felt like a physical pressure.
"I respect your moral compass, I really do. But your attitude toward combat is fundamentally flawed."
"Whenever you face a powerful enemy, your first thought is always the same: 'At worst, I'll just sacrifice myself.' You've never once truly envisioned yourself winning. You've never imagined yourself standing atop the mountain of your enemies."
"If you keep going like this, forget me—you won't even reach Nanami's level."
Satoru walked over and crouched down in front of Megumi, locking eyes with him.
"True 'resolve' isn't the will to die. 'Giving your life' and 'risking your life' are two completely different things."
"Be a little more greedy, Megumi Fushiguro!"
Flick!
Satoru's finger snapped against Megumi's forehead, the sharp pain acting like a switch being flipped in the boy's mind.
A Hidden Underground Sanctum
Kenjaku's brow furrowed. "Still no word on the last two?"
Jogo shook his head, his single eye glowing dimly. "Nothing. Is it possible the school found a way to destroy them in secret?"
"Impossible!"
Kenjaku's voice was sharp. "Ryomen Sukuna exists on a different plane of being altogether. There is nothing in the modern jujutsu world capable of destroying his fingers."
"Not even Souma Gojo?"
Kenjaku shook his head. "It's not a matter of raw power. The fingers house Sukuna's soul. Unless one possesses a soul more dominant than his, they cannot be unmade."
He let out a long, weary sigh. "Fine. We can't wait forever. Eighteen fingers... that should be more than enough."
"Let us go. It is time to awaken the legend... the King of Curses!"
Kenjaku, Uraume, and the three Disaster Curses gathered in the heart of the secret laboratory. After weeks of careful cultivation, the Cursed Womb: Daiten had reached maturity, its vessel refined to accommodate the King's soul.
With a sharp strike, Kenjaku shattered the incubation vat. The body of the Daiten slid out amidst a flood of nutrient fluid. After draping a robe over the pale form, Kenjaku began to feed the eighteen fingers into its mouth, one by one.
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted.
A suffocating, heavy aura flooded the room, like a drop of black ink tainting a bowl of clear water. It didn't just fill the space; it dominated it.
The Daiten's body slowly rose. Dark, jagged markings began to etch themselves across its skin like living tattoos. Sharp, obsidian claws sprouted from its fingertips.
Then, the eyes snapped open.
In that instant, a deluge of negative emotion hit the room like a tidal wave. Absolute malice. Absolute bloodlust. Absolute evil.
Even the Disaster Curses, beings born from human hatred and fear, found themselves trembling under the sheer weight of that presence.
"Heh... hehehe... HAHAHAHA!"
A manic, rasping laugh echoed through the vault, sounding like a demon crawling out of the deepest pit of hell.
The King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna, was officially reborn.
"I knew it!"
"The light... the air... nothing beats the feeling of a physical body!"
"Where are the people? Where are the women?"
"Kill them. Kill them all!"
"I'll crush the women and children one by one, like the maggots they are!"
Sukuna laughed with a terrifying joy, his eyes glowing a predatory red. His left hand shot out with blinding speed, seizing Uraume by the throat.
"A woman? Is this a woman?"
Uraume gasped, struggling against the iron grip while flaring their own cursed energy in a desperate signal. "Lord Sukuna... it's me!"
Sukuna paused, his gaze focusing. He slowly lowered them. "Ah. Uraume."
His eyes then drifted to Kenjaku and the three curses standing behind him. He grinned, baring rows of sharp teeth. "Kenjaku. It's been a thousand years, hasn't it?"
Kenjaku nodded. "It has. A thousand years is quite a—"
"Shut it!"
Sukuna cut him off without a shred of ceremony. "I have no interest in reminiscing about the past."
Unlike Kenjaku, who had lived through the millennium by jumping from body to body, Sukuna's soul had been locked in a static, frozen state within his fingers. He had spent ten centuries in a void of boredom. Now that he was back, he wanted only one thing: to bathe in the blood of the living.
Kenjaku smiled faintly, sensing the King's intent. "Sukuna, this era is not like the one you remember. This age has produced something new."
"A 'Strongest' has appeared."
"Hah?"
Sukuna froze, then erupted into a fit of mocking laughter. "Hahahahaha!"
"The 'Strongest'? You mean some commoner born in an era without me?"
Jogo, unable to remain silent, chimed in. "Are you joking?! Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto are monsters in their own right, and as for Souma Gojo—"
SHING!
"Eh?"
Jogo stared in frozen disbelief as his body was instantly diced into pieces. His head, the only intact part left, bounced across the floor like a ball.
He hadn't seen it. He hadn't even sensed a movement. One moment he was speaking, and the next, he was scrap.
This... is the King of Curses?
Terror filled Jogo's remaining eye, a familiar, crushing sense of helplessness he hadn't felt since his encounter with Satoru.
"Jogo!"
Hanami and Mahito scrambled to catch his head. Fortunately, as a curse, Jogo could regenerate so long as his core remained, and he'd already had practice being a decapitated head thanks to Satoru.
Sukuna looked at the three of them, his face void of emotion. "When I am speaking, insects do not interrupt. You will crawl into your corner and remain silent. That is enough."
Kenjaku wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. Sukuna was every bit as volatile as Souma Gojo. Fortunately, the Binding Vow they had signed a thousand years ago protected him—for now.
"Actually, Jogo has a point," Kenjaku said, pulling out a dossier of collected intel. "This era is fundamentally different from the Heian period."
"Souma Gojo, Satoru Gojo, and Suguru Geto. These three possess power that eclipses any sorcerer from the last ten centuries."
"Especially Souma Gojo. When facing him, one feels a shift in the very hierarchy of life... much like the feeling of facing you."
At the mention of Souma, Sukuna's interest flickered. He glanced at the documents, then casually tore them into confetti.
"Interesting. But that is all it is."
"Before me, he is nothing more than a challenger."
"Now then... I'm going out to have some fun."
Sukuna lunged out of the underground space, soaring into the night sky. He looked down at the sprawling, neon-lit metropolis of Tokyo, a jagged, bloodthirsty smile carving across his face.
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