"I..."
Lying in bed, Kaede tried to sort through his thoughts.
"In the original story, Sukuna's binding vow seemed to be that once he said 'Enchain,' Yuji would hand over the body for one minute, and during that minute Sukuna wouldn't harm anyone...
But... why did Sukuna make that pact in the first place? What exactly was its purpose...?"
Kaede could no longer remember.
That much had been true from the very first day he arrived in the world of jujutsu. Some unknown force had already erased part of his memory.
And more than that... he could not speak of it.
He tried forcing himself to say the contents of Sukuna's pact aloud, but the words jammed in his throat like a bone.
"A binding..." Kaede thought, then instead said:
"I don't know. If Yuji died... then no backup plan would matter anyway. If he's still alive, then maybe it would be better to ask him directly..."
The body on the hospital bed rose and fell faintly, thick bandages soaked through with cold sweat, tightly outlining the muscles still reconstructing underneath.
His dark red eyes stared into the harsh fluorescent light on the ceiling. His voice, hoarse and full of weakness, spread through the cold, empty underground room, unusually clear against the steady drip of saline from the IV bag.
At those words, Gojo Satoru's fingers, resting on the back of his chair, stopped tapping.
He did not answer right away. The black-blindfolded head turned slightly, his attention shifting slowly from the hospital bed to the body lying under a white sheet in the middle of the room.
The suffocating chill of cursed energy that had been pooled in the corners of the room paused, then drew inward a little.
"Yeah... you're right."
Gojo dragged the words out lazily, one shoe scraping softly across the polished floor.
He stood up and casually nudged the rolling stool aside. The tight line of his jaw eased somewhat, replaced by a colder, more purely rational kind of calculation.
"If it were an ordinary special-grade curse, then taking the host down with it would be one thing.
But the King of Curses, who carved arrogance into his very soul, would never willingly go down with some fifteen-year-old kid.
Tearing out the heart looks like cutting off the vessel's life... but in reality, it may just have been an extreme form of negotiation."
He crossed the room on long legs and stopped at the autopsy table, staring through the sheet at the hollow on the left side of Yuji Itadori's chest.
"Death is both an ending and an opportunity for reset. Before the body fully decays, Yuji's soul would have to be facing Sukuna directly inside the innate domain.
To stay alive, or rather, because he had some reason he absolutely needed to come back, Sukuna would have forced Yuji to agree to some unequal binding vow."
A smile with no warmth touched Gojo's mouth. It was the kind of smile only the strongest sorcerer could wear, one that pressed down on the room like a weight.
He had caught the hidden variable in the situation and made his judgment almost instantly.
At that moment, Shoko Ieiri picked up a fresh chart from a nearby rack, the hem of her white coat fluttering softly as she moved.
She walked to the bedside, looked down at the monitor readings, then reached over and adjusted the IV drip to slow it slightly.
"Your vocal cords were scorched by residual cursed energy during the fight. Right now they're only being held together by moisture and cursed energy.
Until the tissue fully heals, it would be best if you keep speaking to a minimum. If you tear them again, there isn't an anesthetic on earth that'll really help."
Shoko wrote down a few numbers on the chart with her cold steel pen, the edge of her gaze flicking toward the bandaged figure on the bed.
"But still, staying calm in that kind of dead end, getting the civilians out, and then holding that monster in place at the last moment... as a doctor, I respect your survival instinct.
As a sorcerer, though, I need to remind you that the way you use your own body as a disposable resource is the same thing as gambling with your lifespan."
Gojo turned back around, both hands slipping into his pockets again.
Looking at the patient lying flat on the bed, unable to even turn his neck without difficulty, his voice returned to that easy, unpredictable rhythm of his, but the weight of what he was saying was massive.
"So, if Yuji is most likely coming back with some kind of binding vow we don't know about, then we can ignore those rotten old men upstairs who are so eager to execute him, at least for now."
Gojo walked to the foot of the bed and looked down at those dark red eyes.
"As for you, your technique, and this body that's practically impossible to kill, scared the hell out of them.
The brass upstairs haven't just stalled your evaluation at semi-Grade 1. They're actually discussing whether to put you on a high-risk surveillance list.
After all, someone who can clash head-on with Sukuna inside a domain and still come out alive? There isn't a second case like that anywhere in the jujutsu world."
"I thought you filed me as Grade 4. Why did it go up?" Kaede asked, genuinely puzzled.
Gojo let out a short laugh.
One hand stayed in his pants pocket, and the relaxed posture he normally wore tightened slightly. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, the hidden gaze behind the black blindfold felt unusually sharp.
"Grade 4?"
He rolled the phrase around on his tongue with open ridicule.
"Sure, my report said Grade 4.
But those rotten old men at the top may be rotten, not blind.
A Grade 4 sorcerer surviving at the edge of Malevolent Shrine and then physically engaging a rampaging Ryomen Sukuna long enough to hold him in place? Do you honestly think they'd accept that kind of fairy tale at face value?"
Gojo started pacing, his shoes landing with steady clicks on the polished floor.
"They're just as afraid of a Heavenly Restriction-type anomaly beyond their control as they are of Yuji as Sukuna's vessel.
An outsider who can become water at will and stand against a special-grade curse inside a domain, if they can't put a collar on you, then the only other option is to classify you as a high-risk target and erase you.
That 'semi-Grade 1' status is just the result of internal compromise. A convenient excuse to officially probe your limits and justify increased surveillance."
Shoko listened from the side, cool and silent, her pen poised to write the last line on the chart.
Then suddenly—
"Hah—!"
A harsh, abrupt gasp tore through the frozen silence of the room, like someone who had been drowning suddenly breaking the surface.
The sound came from the stainless steel autopsy table in the center of the room.
The white sheet covering the body jerked upward violently.
An arm streaked with dried blood shot out from beneath it and clamped onto the edge of the metal table, the knuckles turning white from the force.
The next second, the pink-haired boy yanked off the sheet and sat bolt upright.
He dragged huge gulps of disinfectant-scented cold air into his lungs, his right hand instantly slamming down over the left side of his chest, the place where Sukuna had ripped out his heart and left a lethal cavity.
And now, the skin there was whole. Under his palm, he could clearly feel a strong, living heartbeat.
Clang.
The pen slipped from Shoko Ieiri's hand and struck the metal tray beside her.
The school doctor, who had seen more than enough death for a lifetime, widened her eyes slightly, staring at the boy who had just risen from the dead, all the fatigue that normally lingered at the corners of her eyes blasted away by pure surprise.
"What is this? Are miracles in the morgue buy-one-get-one-free today?"
Gojo turned around. The cold curve of his mouth instantly broke into a blinding, genuine grin.
He strode to the autopsy table without the slightest trace of caution, as if the thing in front of him were the most entertaining toy in the world.
"Well, look at that, Yuji. I knew you weren't going to let that thousand-year-old bastard finish you off that easily."
Yuji Itadori sat on the table, his chest heaving.
He looked around in confusion, his gaze bouncing between the glaring surgical lights, Shoko Ieiri's stunned face, and Gojo Satoru's smile.
"Gojo-sensei? Dr. Ieiri? Huh? Wait... wasn't I dead?"
He clawed at his trademark pink hair, his brain clearly still offline.
But before long, the instinctive awareness of a born animal kicked in, and he noticed movement from the bed beside him.
Yuji whipped his head around and saw the figure lying there, hemmed in by medical equipment.
The second he saw the sheer thickness of the bandages and the blood soaking through them, his own death and resurrection flew clean out of his mind. His clear brown eyes widened instantly with panic and concern.
"Y-you're hurt really badly! Are you okay?! I'm sorry, if I'd taken back control of my body sooner, then—"
He leaned over the edge of the autopsy table, so anxious he didn't even notice he was still half-undressed, his voice overflowing with guilt.