Chapter 53

It had been a few years since he had worn such a body, Kenjaku mused to himself. He. Pronouns always became an awkward matter whenever he switched genders, a strange but familiar quirk of his existence.

The differences were more than skin-deep. Beyond texture and tone, each body carried its own peculiarities—height, proportion, balance, and even the subtleties of perception. This new form was no exception, and yet, acclimating to it required only hours. Pre-familiarity with it as well as so many lifetimes of swapping vessels ensured he had long since discarded any lingering memory of his original face. Perhaps he had always been a brain, never truly tethered to any particular flesh. The thought curled his lips into a quiet, knowing chuckle.

Uraume shot him a frown, her disapproval clear, but he simply waved her off. His musings were his own, private and distant. She didn't care much for him—an indifference he understood well. The frozen star's interest and loyalty were reserved for only one being, and it certainly wasn't him. But Kenjaku didn't mind. He never needed to be the center of anyone's world.

He took another sip of his tea, and to the outside world, it seemed like they were just two women on a coffee date. At least, as long as someone only gave them a passing glance. Unlike Kenjaku's more modern attire, Uraume was dressed in white and red monk robes, which drew the attention of anyone who looked more closely.

Kenjaku let his eyes linger on her, observing with boredom. Even as they sat and waited, the woman was still plotting, looking for ways to expedite an already pre-arranged plan. Her cup of tea sat forgotten in front of her, and her fingers tapped the table in anticipation. The first phase of their plan had come to fruition. Even though it had taken a thousand years, luck, and chance to find that particular man, they had finally accomplished their goal.

However, the subsequent phases of the plan were built on much shakier grounds, forcing him to plan countermeasures.

His phone rang—such a novel thing. Even though he had watched and contributed to their growth, humanity was always entertaining. It was a pity they had begun to stagnate, to plateau, necessitating his plans. A plan ultimately designed to fuel and alleviate his boredom.

He picked up the phone and put it to his ear. "How was it?" he asked.

"Just like you said," the bland voice replied, then continued. "He incarnated and took over the body, but was suppressed by the child." Yuji Itadori... his son. Oh, what fun. The child was shaping up just as they wanted.

"And the strange weather?" Kenjaku got back on topic. They had all felt it, after all. That was half the reason Uraume was such an anxious mess, fearing something had happened to her precious lord.

"Unknown. I'll head to the area where I believe the phenomenon originated."

"Hmmm, I wouldn't advise that. It would be a shame to lose you." It was hard to find professional rogue curse users. For the most part, this era was filled with foolish curse users, none of whom seemed to have an IQ over a hundred. No wonder half of them were hiding, and the other half were dying at the Gojo's hands. With his part said, he ended the call and turned to the side, hit by the full brunt of Uraume's attention.

The woman had her face pressed close to his, her eyes so near he could pluck one out if he wished. Instead, he grinned and gently pushed his partner back.

"How was it? How is he? Did my lord like the new body? What nex—"

"That's enough, Uraume," he chided gently with a smile. "Everything is going according to plan." He had been forced to drag her along to this meeting instead of leaving her with the other disaster curses. If left alone, she would have undoubtedly found her way to the school for a glimpse of her lord.

The door to the fine establishment opened, and the waiter looked around but saw no one enter, then refocused instead on serving another customer.

But Kenjaku and Uraume saw him. He looked like an adult, but Kenjaku knew he was young—months at least, a year at most. He was also the most human-looking curse Kenjaku had ever seen, which was another curiosity that drew him to the curse. Light blue hair paired with bright blue and gray mismatched eyes, along with stitches along his body. Yes, if humans could see curses regularly, Mahito would have been the closest to living among them. How ironic—Mahito, a name meaning "true human."

A curse born from the concentrated hate and fear of humanity, with a touch of something else. It was going to grow fast. The curse spotted them and waved with a guileless smile as it walked over. Kenjaku returned the smile and wave; after all, if he was going to make use of the curse's technique—especially without Suguru Geto's body—he would need to gain the curse's complete trust and cooperation.

"I didn't expect to see or hear from you again so soon," he admitted as Mahito came to a stop in front of the duo and took a seat. The first time he had approached the curse, he had been waved off. The curse hadn't been interested in him in particular—perhaps it would've been different if he possessed that spiteful sorcerer's corpse and its affinity for cursed spirits endeared him to the young curse—unfortunately, he had been forced to make do.

Letting the curse go with plans to approach again, he had been surprised to be the one getting reached out to.

"Ah, let's just say I've had a change of heart," Mahito replied with a grin, but Kenjaku's keen eye caught the slight tremor in his voice. Something had rattled the curse—fear lingered just beneath the surface. No matter. "You mentioned something about a group of disaster curses with a mission to change things. Where do I sign up?"

Kenjaku smiled and began to respond, but his words caught in his throat as something tore through him. His body seized, and he doubled over, hands shooting out to grip the table, stopping just short of crashing his head into it. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps as he struggled to contain the violent surge of cursed energy.

What in the world… He couldn't hear Uraume, her voice drowned out by the roaring in his ears.

It took him a second to place it, but when he finally did, a frown crept onto his face. A binding vow had been broken. It was a sensation he had never felt before, but considering how mild the repercussions had been on him, it was clear he hadn't been the one to break the vow.

His mind raced, combing through the hundreds of binding vows he had crafted over the centuries. It took minutes to pinpoint the specific one, and when he did, his frown deepened into a scowl, followed by a soft, pained chuckle. He had expected some form of retribution, but not this soon, and certainly not with such precision.

"Talk to me, you slippery bastard! What happened to my lord?" Uraume shook him aggressively, but he sighed in response. Of course, the single-minded hag thought everything had to do with Sukuna.

He placed his palm on her face and pushed her back again. "This has nothing to do with him, but I think I may have miscalculated by the slightest margin," he admitted with a wry grin, leaning back into his seat. The confused duo of incarnated sorcerer and curse stared at him as he relaxed into the chair.

He lied.

It was hardly a slight miscalculation, the forced incarnation could hardly be called slight when it changed things. But it didn't disrupt his ultimate goals. In fact, he relished the unique thrill of what had just happened.

Change—spontaneous, shocking, unpredictable—this was what he sought and he welcomed it with a growing smile, his pulse quickening at the thought. Even the unexpected could be molded into something useful, something fascinating.

Kenjaku leaned back further into his seat, allowing the rush of excitement to settle into something far more somber. He turned to the white haired woman that stared at him with a weird look on her face.

"Uraume-san. You might have to expedite your search for it soon."

...

Satoru floated hundreds of meters above Jujutsu High, a place that was more than just a school. It was a refuge, a sanctuary, and a testament to the storied history of jujutsu sorcerers. But most importantly, it was a fortress—or at least, it was supposed to be. Until Geto tore through it like a blender.

Unfortunately for Satoru, his old friend had been singularly focused on his objectives. That was a shame because, had he cared to, it wouldn't have taken the other Special Grade sorcerer more than ten minutes to clear out the enclave of higher-ups.

Satoru sighed and began to slowly drift down, the breeze shifting his hair while his piercing blue eyes scanned the landscape below. Thinking of Geto always left him feeling complicated. No body had been found, despite how hard he had searched. Yet considering Geto had been at the epicenter of his own suicide technique, it wasn't much of a surprise. Even if it hurt to admit it, there was no changing the truth.

Geto was dead. That was the thought echoing in his mind as his feet touched the ground. He had landed some distance away from the higher-ups' enclave for two simple reasons: there were fewer things he enjoyed than making those old foggies wait, and he wasn't in any particular rush to head back to the clan. Jiki was with Yuji, which meant that if the pink-haired brat somehow lost control, Jiki could handle it, and Yuji was enough of a handful that he should be able to distract Jiki from darker thoughts and worries.

If it had been a fully-powered Sukuna, Satoru might have been the slightest bit concerned. But it wasn't, so he shrugged away the thought and continued along the familiar path, past newly cobbled roads and fresh sprouts replacing the greenery caught up in the attack.

Months had passed, and they had mostly recovered. The school was operational—at least, it would have been if half the students weren't still away. Jiki's pet project, Emi, was still deep in the Tomb of the Sky Corridor, but Satoru expected her to surface soon. The old sorcerer was lucky that Jiki was too busy with Aiko and tracking down Kenjaku, or he would've torn his way down there already.

Kinji had been suspended, and Kiara had run off with him. Panda was dead, and Toge was still in mourning. That left the sole student, Maki. Satoru had spotted her earlier, training alone in another room. What little cursed energy she had fluctuated as she trained with those gates that had suddenly become all the rage.

Last he'd heard, even the Kamo clan had begun experimenting with the technique, while the Zenin had slowed down their efforts after losing an entire squad of their Hei. He smirked at the thought—perhaps that had been warning enough.

Unfortunately for him, Satoru reached the red-colored doors of the enclave faster than he wished. He let out another sigh before pushing the door open and stepping into the dimly lit room. An oppressive atmosphere weighed heavily in the air, while an all-too-familiar set of seal-etched sliding frames concealed the circle of elders—the self-proclaimed authorities of the Jujutsu world. Politicians all in all.

Their faces remained hidden behind the sliding frames, but Satoru could feel their disapproval, like a physical force pressing down on him. He responded to it with an amused smirk, hands casually tucked into his pockets. Despite the tension, he exuded his usual air of nonchalance, standing there in his casual clothes, a stark contrast to the elders in their no doubt traditional robes. There was, however, a sharper edge to his demeanor today, something darker lurking beneath his playful smile.

One of the higher-ups, voice raspy but filled with authority, broke the silence. "Gojo... your insubordination grows tiresome. This meeting was not called for your amusement."

"Oh, believe me," Satoru replied, eyes half-lidded, "I'm not here for fun. I wouldn't waste my time with your particular band of sorcerers if I were." His tone was light, but the jab landed sharply.

"We tire of your insolence!" a woman snapped, her voice sharp. "You and your cousin. As if that was not enough, we get reports of a vessel, and an even more curious report—that he still draws breath. Why? You must know the boy's fate is to be executed. Ryomen Sukuna is a threat that cannot simply be ignored."

Satoru's smile didn't fade, but the amusement in his eyes shifted to something far more dangerous. Without a word, he took a step forward, closing the distance between himself and the woman who had spoken.

Another step, then another, until he was standing right in front of her sliding frame, inches away. His very presence seemed to fill the room, suffocating, commanding, and conveyed his appreciation for them bringing Jiki into this and he dared them to speak further about him.

The silence that filled the room made it clear, as he could hear the owner of the voice gulp behind her flimsy protection.

A moment later, he turned to face the rest, his hands still in his pockets, and spoke calmly. "You don't even know the kid's name, do you? It's Yuji Itadori. That's the name of the boy you're so eager to kill off. Typical." His tone remained casual, but each word hit with the weight of a hammer.

"Satoru," another elder interjected, his voice slow and measured, "We derive no joy from this execution, but it must be done to preserve the peace we live in. You know this. It's not the first time you've had to deal with a vessel."

Satoru let out a dark chuckle that silenced the elder. They just had to remind him of the things he'd done in the name of protecting their fragile world, to ensure his little cousin didn't become another pawn in their game. True, this wasn't the first time he'd been forced to put down a vessel, but this time, it was different. The vessel was young—far too young—and for the first time, it was a perfect vessel.

"You're really that scared, aren't you?" he asked, his voice low and filled with disdain. "Even more than Jorogumo's release."

His words lingered in the air, suffocating the room in their weight. The elders remained silent, their hidden faces betraying nothing, but Satoru knew. Their fear was palpable, and that, more than anything, was what drove them. Fear of the unknown, fear of the future, and fear of the change Yuji represented.

"'This is not about fear, bra—Gojo." Another elder cut in, their annoyance barely restrained by caution. "This is about control. Sukuna is not a threat to be reasoned with. You know as well as we do that he is not the kind of threat sorcerers of this era can face. You know his history as well as we do. The boy is a ticking time bomb."

Satoru paused, leaning in slightly, his smirk fading. Despite his feelings about the group of old men, it couldn't be denied that Ryomen Sukuna was indeed a threat. But he wasn't just going to back down. They had shifted from assertive to trying to convince him, so he was going to throw them a bone as well.

"Killing Yuji won't solve your problem. If you execute him now, what do you think will happen to Sukuna? You all know as well as I do that you'll just be pushing the problem further into the future—a future where I won't be present."

"Then we will seal him once more!" the old woman shot back, slamming her hand on the table behind the sliding frame. "We have techniques—"

Satoru tilted his head, allowing his glasses to drop slightly as he focused his gaze on her, shutting her up. "You said it yourself; modern Jujutsu isn't enough to seal Sukuna," Satoru interrupted, his voice calm but sharp as a blade. "Not now, and most likely not in the future either. So, I'm going to make you an offer."

He slowly turned, allowing them to feel the weight of his intent. He silently thanked his little genius for showing him the technique. "Unlike your haphazard plan to kill the boy, I'll do you one better. The boy has proven he can suppress Sukuna better than any vessel before him in centuries. A perfect vessel." He came to a stop, facing the woman once more with his hands in his pockets. "So, here's the deal: you keep Yuji alive, I keep Yuji alive. I'll feed him Sukuna's fingers, slowly, and by the time he's consumed all twenty fingers, I'll execute him."

He ended the speech with a shrug, omitting the part where, with any luck, the boy would take in only a finger a year, living long enough for this batch of elders to die naturally.

He felt their apprehension, but the fact that they hadn't immediately shut down the idea meant they saw its value and were too scared to bluntly disagree. So, he continued. "You don't trust the kid? Fine. Trust me. I'll make sure Sukuna stays sealed."

A long silence followed, the elders exchanging glances. It was clear they were weighing their options.

Finally, the elder with the calm, measured tone spoke again. "Why do you protect him so fiercely, Gojo? He is not even one of your students yet. He is simply a vessel for disaster. Are you really so confident you can control Sukuna forever?"

Satoru chuckled softly. "Control Sukuna? No, I'm not an idiot. But I trust the kid, and I trust myself. More importantly, I believe in people—something you've all forgotten."

Another elder scoffed, the first time this particular one had spoken, drawing Satoru's attention. "You speak of belief as though it is enough. Idealism will not save us."

Satoru's expression darkened, his tone turning cold. "No. What won't save you is your cowardice." He replied bluntly, more bluntly than he had ever had to before now, and judging by the harsh intake of breath he could hear, they knew his patience was wearing thin.

"You cling to the past, to old rules and outdated traditions because it is what you know. It is easier than facing the future. Yuji Itadori is a part of that future. If you kill him now, you're not just executing one boy—you're killing the potential to change things."

The elders sat in silence, weighing his words. Finally, the elder with the calm tone sighed. "You gamble too much, Satoru."

"Maybe." Satoru's smile returned, bright and confident. "But I'm the strongest for a reason, and is that not the privilege of the strong."

The elder woman's voice cut through the room again, though softer now. "And what if you're wrong? What if the boy falls to Sukuna?"

Satoru turned toward her, his smile fading slightly. "Then I'll handle it." His voice was firm, unwavering.

"And if you're not around—if you're on some mission on the other end of the world—what happens?"

This time, Satoru's smile grew wider, all teeth. "That's where Jiki comes in."

Another long silence followed. They might not like Jiki any more than they liked Satoru, but they couldn't deny that his cousin was the strongest sorcerer after him on the mainland right now. And once Jiki had his domain expansion figured out? The thought sent a tingle of anticipation down Satoru's spine. Maybe then, he'd have to truly fight for his position as the strongest sorcerer.

Yet one voice refused to be cowed and stuttered out "But, but, what if for some reason Jiki is not available either."

Satoru turned to look at where the voice came from in amusement and he replied it's owner. "What if the sun fell from the sky? What if the earth's core cooled? What if the moon drew to a halt?"

He felt more than he saw the bewildered look on the owner's face so he continued. "This is why you do not truly care for the future, you're too scared of the present. But it doesn't matter. I have contingencies in place to handle whatever may fall into place, so let it be."

Finally, the lead elder sighed once more. "We will stay his execution... for now. But know this, Gojo Satoru—should you fail, whatever death and devastation occurs will be on your hands."

Satoru's grin returned, and he gave a mock salute. "Understood. See ya!"

With the session over, he turned on his heel and left the room with the same casual stride he had entered. Now for a more difficult task... finding an ice cream shop so he could reward Jiki for babysitting Yuji for him. It was a good thing they both loved vanilla ice cream.