Shigemo Haruta's body began to twist.
Bones, height, even the very planes of his face warped.
The deformation continued until a completely different man opened his eyes.
I knew that face.
"You are…?"
An air of exhaustion clung to him.
Purple shadows hung beneath his eyes.
Recognizing me, Choso asked in a voice and gaze lifted straight from the anime.
"Nice to meet you. I woke you because I need the power of you and your brothers."
"My power? From the old Jujutsu texts?"
"Not the texts—me. You could see and hear while you were still a [Cursed Object], so you've grasped the situation, right?"
"More or less."
Choso nodded slowly.
At least he wasn't hostile.
I met his eyes and laid out the circumstances.
I really felt I could bring him onto my side.
Kamo Noritoshi—Kenjaku—the man who created the Death Painting Wombs, is dead.
I also know roughly where his brother, Itadori, is.
Help for his siblings and revenge on their parents' murderer—he had plenty of reasons to listen.
When I finished, Choso spoke.
I'd left Itadori out of the explanation for now.
"I understand. Bottom line, you want me to guard an acquaintance because that Mahito could strike at any time."
"Yes. Will you accept?"
"I owe you for reincarnating us. I should repay that debt."
"Thank you. Then let me finish awakening your brothers."
I slipped the second and third Death Painting Wombs into the mouths of the remaining Curse Users.
It felt like touching living flesh.
The sensation of tinkering with life itself was chilling.
Still, I treated it with respect, not revulsion.
I paid silent homage to these siblings who had endured in this state for so long.
—We were fated to fight as four.
The tragic narrative I'd seen in Jujutsu Kaisen weighed heavily on me.
Even now, a bittersweet taste remained.
Crunch—
As soon as the Wombs were inserted, the other two Curse Users' bodies contorted.
"Mmph!"
Their eyes snapped open.
Having another existence forced onto a living body had to hurt.
It was cruel.
Cruel, yes—but these particular Curse Users deserved no sympathy.
Curse Users are criminals who wield jujutsu.
Some are petty, most are vicious.
I'd seen enough while roaming with Toji—and these men were no exception.
Second brother: Eso.
Third brother: Kechizu.
Both reincarnations succeeded—too well, in fact.
'Exactly like the source material.'
Eso looked normal in front, but a human face bloomed on his back.
Kechizu resembled a cursed spirit, his torso split by a gaping maw.
Choso kept his human shape—why not the others?
Because their rank as [Cursed Objects] was lower.
"Wow. One of them looks straight-up like a Curse."
"Satoru."
Gojo's casual remark earned Geto's quick rebuke.
Yeah, not the time.
Luckily, Kechizu—or rather, the "Cursed-spirit-looking one"—didn't catch it, and neither did the others.
"Still, if they're going to live in human society, that'll be rough. They can't hide in some dusty archive or only move at night forever."
"True, but…"
"If you're going to reincarnate, you should at least try yakiniku. Maybe hit a café and sample every dessert on the menu."
Gojo's grousing drifted through the air, oddly considerate beneath the snark.
"Geto, I'll leave the hard part to you."
"Huh? Me?"
Geto tilted his head—then snapped his fingers.
He finally caught on.
"Ah. Like when I talked Muta Kokichi over?"
"Exactly. You take Mahito under your wing. It'll be some work, but…"
"It's fine. Helping the downtrodden is worth doing."
The "downtrodden" Geto meant weren't weak in ability—they were trapped by circumstance, unable to break free on their own.
"So all we have to do is bag that Mahito Curse?"
Choso's eyes flashed.
The fierce resolve in them was reassuring.
I nodded to him.
"Yes. Getting motivated?"
"If there's a chance my brothers can live under the sun, I'll gladly help."
"Thank you."
The persuasion had worked; the reincarnations were complete.
My job was done.
All that remained was a place for the three Death Painting brothers—and that, too, was settled.
"Please follow me, all three of you. I've prepared a home where you can stay."
"You even found us lodging? Much appreciated."
The trio, Choso included, rose to their feet.
They didn't speak, but their gratitude was palpable.
"Hmm… I'll just say you strong-armed the Wombs from me, okay?" Gojo mused.
"Sure. And Naoya, you're coming along. We need to talk."
"Me? Why?"
"And the gentleman behind you…"
I finally met the eyes of the man standing behind Naoya.
I'd seen him in the manga.
His [Cursed Technique] implants a phantom eye into a target and forces their movements—that technique had tried to stop Maki and failed, costing him his life.
'He'll survive now.'
Him, the Zenin clan members—many lived because Maki's path had changed.
Of course, he wouldn't know that.
But I felt proud.
Saving a life fated to be lost is deeply satisfying.
"Could you come too, sir?"
"Me? May I ask who you are…?"
The boyish man asked politely—rare manners for a Zenin.
"I'll explain once we're seated. Let's go."
"Ah—yes."
He nodded.
Time to head home.
"Gojo, Geto—thank you. Give my regards to Yaga and Ieiri, please."
"Will do."
"Hurry up and leave. My knees still shake when I look at that woman behind you."
Gojo exaggerated a shiver at Ushi-gozen.
Honestly, it wasn't exaggeration.
For years she'd hammered him half to death; his reaction was justified.
I gave an awkward laugh and turned away.
No regrets, but a twinge of guilt.
Night had fallen.
Choso, Eso, and Kechizu stepped into Kandok's condominium.
Their unit lay one floor beneath Kandok's penthouse—practically next-door neighbors.
"Bro, look. The furniture's all brand-new."
Muscle-bound Eso wandered the suite, murmuring in awe.
Kechizu—cursed-spirit appearance and all—felt the same.
A real home.
The idea that the brothers finally had a place of their own brought tears to their eyes.
"Yeah. Incredible."
Choso's eyes were wet outright.
Conditions or not, the hospitality was genuine.
Honestly, he could have forgotten any "debt for reincarnation," but…
This was impossible to turn down.
And Kandok had promised them a life they could live with dignity.
Only a fool would refuse.
Gojo Satoru.
Geto Suguru.
Zenin Naoya.
The sorcerers around them were no joke.
Especially Gojo Satoru—danger incarnate.
Yet six women even more dangerous lived upstairs.
That scared Choso—but also reassured him.
After all, they were on the same side.
"Any room's fine, right?"
"Huh? We're living separately? I'm okay bunking with my brothers."
Kechizu scratched his head.
A hundred and fifty years—depending only on one another to stave off loneliness.
No wonder he balked at sleeping alone.
Choso and Eso felt the same, though they stayed silent.
Their brotherly bond ran deep.
"All right. We'll start in one room together. If anyone wants space later, we'll move."
"'Kay. Got it."
Kechizu finally smiled.
Gruesome as he looked to outsiders, to his brothers he was just a cheerful kid—nothing more, nothing less.
"If only the other siblings could have joined us…"
Eso's voice turned wistful.
His face clouded over.
Choso and Kechizu nodded, equally somber.
They all thought the same.
The Death Painting Wombs were numbered one through nine.
Only these three lived.
Numbers four through nine were effectively dead—little more than corpses.
Kandok knew and had promised proper funerals.
They would be treated as lives, not objects.
That gesture moved the brothers deeply—and cinched their decision to help Kandok.
Ding-dong. The doorbell echoed through the apartment.
The brothers froze.
"Bro, who…?"
Eso's voice trembled.
They'd been told this could happen, but experiencing it was nerve-racking.
They had modern knowledge, not modern instincts—like villagers new to the city.
"Hold on. Big brother will handle it."
Choso swallowed dryly and walked to the intercom.
No one was supposed to come, but he'd learned how to use it.
Just follow the steps.
'We paid the bills—no deliveries due. If it's a stranger, ignore them.'
Choso focused on the screen.
Kandok.
"Whew—"
Only then did he relax and pick up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Ah, Choso? I stocked the fridge, but you haven't eaten, right? I cooked extra—come share. It's a lot."
The cheerful voice eased his brothers too; they felt like they'd dodged death.
"R-right. Thank you. I'll be right down."
He closed the intercom and headed for the door.
Opening it, he found Kandok holding a warm pot.
"I brought black-bean-sauce rice. Cooking might be awkward, so I mixed it already. Just scoop and eat. You've got dishes, right?"
"O-of course. Thanks. We'll eat well."
Choso accepted the pot—large, heavy, and radiating heat.
"I'll head out, then. Tomorrow I'll drop by and teach you a few recipes."
"Thank you for everything."
His voice was stiff, but sincere—overflowing with gratitude.
Kandok smiled the whole way down the hall.
The spot where he'd stood suddenly felt empty.
"Bro."
Choso shut the door; Eso took the pot.
They'd heard the whole exchange.
"Yeah. Let's eat."
Choso went straight to the table and set out dishes.
Clack.
The lid came off; steam rolled out, rich with soy and roasted onion.
"Wow. Smells great."
Kechizu's eyes sparkled—though the sockets were hollow, his brothers saw the light.
"Ahem! Dig in."
Choso sniffed and sat.
A meal with his brothers—once a distant dream—sat steaming before him, and his nose stung with emotion.
Eso and Kechizu sniffed too, nodding hard.
The food was hot—and delicious.
"Not bad."
"Yeah. Really."
"I love it."
A strange supper, shared by brothers with stranger forms.
None of them would ever forget the taste of that first dish.
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