Tokyo Calling

My lungs burned, my muscles screamed in protest, but I pushed through the final reps. It wasn't elegant, not by a long shot, but it was done. The kettlebell clattered to the floor, and I slumped beside it, my chest heaving.

[Congratulations. Daily Quest Complete.]

True to its word, a wave of restorative energy pulsed through me. The stabbing exhaustion that had threatened to consume me moments ago faded, replaced by a deep, satisfying hum in my muscles. Yesterday, I had been a walking disaster. Today, I felt...capable.

A glance at my phone confirmed that it was 9:47 am. Gojo would be here to collect me soon. He'd said to start packing for Tokyo... but what did one even pack for a life as a jujutsu sorcerer?

I pushed myself to my feet. Packing and maybe a decent breakfast – those were the priorities for now. The rest... well, I'd figure that out as I went.

I took a quick shower, more out of habit than necessity thanks to the system's magic, and washed away the residual sweat. Stepping in front of the closet, I frowned. What the hell does a jujutsu sorcerer wear on a casual day? In the end, simplicity won. Black t-shirt, jeans, and some simple jewelry. I'd definitely need to do some shopping in Tokyo.

Packing was a chaotic whirlwind. Clothes were unceremoniously stuffed into a duffel bag. My few personal items – the notepad and my phone charger – found their way on top, more as an afterthought than anything else.

I hesitated for a long moment over the dusty photo frame. My fingers traced the outlines of smiles that were no longer anything but memories of this body's past. After a moment's contemplation, the photo disappeared into the depths of my bag.

Back in the living room, my makeshift 'gym' was haphazardly tossed back into the box. Hopefully, I wouldn't need to carry it far.

The kitchen was a testament to bachelorhood and questionable takeout choices. A few sad packets of instant noodles and some leftovers that smelled like they were going bad. Sighing, I unearthed a protein bar from a forgotten corner and chased it with a glass of water. Gourmet it was not, but it would keep me running until I could track down something resembling a real meal.

With the sound of tires on gravel growing louder outside, a flash of regret pricked at me. Chie... the girl from the equipment shop. Damn, I should've gotten her number. Oh well, there would be plenty of women in Tokyo.

Shouldering my duffel bag and grabbing the box, I stepped out of the apartment, locking the door behind me. It wasn't much, but it had been home. A glance back brought a feeling of finality. This small, lonely space was all I had known of Kaito's life. Now, it was time to begin mine.

Heading downstairs, I was greeted by the sight of not one, but two cars parked side-by-side. One, a sleek black luxury sedan that screamed old money. The other, a more practical-looking SUV, seemed more in line with someone like...

"Hey, Murakami! You ready to go?" a boisterous voice boomed from beside the black car. There stood Itadori, his pink hair catching the morning sunlight. His grin seemed infectious, even from a distance.

"Uh, yeah, I think so?"

Beside Itadori, Gojo materialized, his blindfold replaced with a pair of black sunglasses that seemed to reflect the sky. He flashed a dazzling smile.

"Excellent! We've been waiting," he declared.

"Actually, Gojo-sensei," Itadori piped up, scratching the back of his head, "We just got here ourselves."

"Ah," Gojo chuckled. "Well, even better. No need to rush perfection, after all." He gestured towards the practical-looking SUV. "Ijichi took care of transporting your things to the school, Murakami. Just toss them in the back there."

Heaving my belongings into the back, I exchanged a quick glance with Itadori. His usual boisterousness was tempered by a flicker of nervous energy, mirroring my own feelings. At least we were in this together.

With a final nod to Ijichi, I climbed into the passenger seat of Gojo's car. This was it. No turning back now.

As Gojo steered the car onto the highway, Itadori's chatter and the low hum of the engine provided a strange sort of comfort.

"So... seeing as you're here," I started, "I guess you managed to control that curse? Sukuna, was it?"

Itadori's smile wavered slightly, a trace of something darker flickering in his eyes. "Yeah," he managed a nod, his tone subdued. "But it's...complicated. The higher-ups, they decided my best shot at keeping Sukuna down is… well, I'm gonna eat all twenty of his fingers."

"That's some diet." I choked out, incredulity lacing my words.

"And then..." His voice trailed off, looking away tostaring out the window at the scenery flashing by.

"And then..?"

"And then get executed."

"WHAT?!" The exclamation tore from my throat before I could stop it. "Executed?!" The absurdity of it all washed over me, mingled with a surge of anger on Itadori's behalf.

Itadori shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze fixed firmly on the passing landscape. "Look," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I didn't ask for any of this. But Sukuna..." He trailed off, then took a deep breath. "Apparently he's dangerous. Really dangerous. The higher-ups want him gone, for good. And if that's what it takes..."

His words seemed to hang in the air, the weight of them settling heavily between us. It was an unbelievable plan - a horrifying gamble with Itadori's life hanging in the balance. Was this really how sorcerers handled threats? And, more importantly, was there anything I could do to help? Before I could find the words, though, Gojo's voice broke the oppressive silence.

"Don't worry about a thing, you two," he chirped, flashing a grin that seemed entirely too carefree for the gravity of the situation. "We'll work it out. Besides, there are other things to focus on. That immense cursed energy of yours, Murakami... we've got a lot of work to do."

"Speaking of cursed energy…" I willed the system to reveal itself.

Mentally, I commanded, "System, open status screen."

Almost immediately, the familiar blue screen flickered into existence in front of me. I scanned the information quickly, a frown furrowing my brow.

[Name: Kaito Murakami

Title: None

Grade: 4

Level: 1 (785/2000 XP)

Techniques:

Enhanced Development (MAX)

Phantom Threads (Lvl 1)

Attributes:

Strength: C+

Agility: B+

Endurance: C+

Vitality: C

Sense: C+

Curse Energy: SSS+

Cursed Energy Control: D

Attribute Points: 6

Inventory:

Guide to Cursed Energy Control]

My initial frown of confusion shifted to a subtle smile as a subtle pulse emanated from the Strength and Endurance sections of my status screen. They were now C+.

"Hey, System," I thought, focusing my mind inward. "Can you give me a rundown on how these attribute levels work?"

[Certainly,] the System responded. [Your attributes are ranked on a scale from F to SSS+, with each level representing a significant increase in power. To advance from one level to the next, you must either gain it from hard work or spend attribute points, which you earn through leveling up and completing quests.]

[However, the cost of upgrading an attribute increases exponentially with each subsequent level. For example, going from F to D- might cost 5 attribute points, while going from D- to D could cost 10. The higher the level, the more points it will require.]

[Additionally, when you reach a new letter grade (e.g., moving from D+ to C-), the cost resets but at a higher base than before. So, while D to D+ might cost 15 points, D+ to C- would cost 30, and so on.]

I nodded, the information sinking in. "So, it's not just a linear progression. The gaps between letters are more significant than the +/- variations."

[Precisely,] the System confirmed. [Think of it like this: the difference between an F and a D- is notable, but the difference between a B+ and an A- is massive. And the gap between an S and an SS is like the difference between a regular human and an Olympic athlete.]

The comparison struck a chord. It made sense that higher levels required exponentially greater effort.

As we left Sendai's sprawling suburbs behind, the landscape morphed into a tapestry of rolling hills and vibrantly green rice paddies. Gojo's playful commentary provided a soundtrack to the journey, a stark contrast to the subdued mood between Itadori and me.

The sleek sedan sped past quaint villages and bustling towns. Each glimpse offered a microcosm of Japanese life: farmers tending their crops, groups of chattering school children, old women gossiping beneath the shade of a sprawling cherry blossom tree.

Hours passed in a blur of quiet contemplation. Gojo's chatter trailed off as he, too, seemed to sense our nervousness. The first skyscrapers of Tokyo pierced the horizon, their towering presence signaling the abrupt transition from rural tranquility to urban chaos. As Gojo expertly navigated through traffic, a nervous energy crackled through the car.

The cityscape opened up to reveal a sprawling metropolitan labyrinth – a maze of gleaming skyscrapers, flashing neon lights, and rivers of humanity flowing endlessly through its streets. Itadori and I exchanged wide-eyed stares. The sheer scale of Tokyo, the sheer pulse of its energy, was overwhelming.

The car suddenly veered away from the flow of traffic into a maze of narrow side streets. The skyscrapers dwindled, replaced by quieter neighborhoods. Homes, shops, and parks flew by in a blur as Gojo maneuvered the car with an almost reckless abandon.

Just when I thought we were lost, the road began to climb sharply. We left the urban sprawl behind, ascending a winding mountain road bordered by dense forest. The setting sun painted the world in hues of orange and red, creating long shadows that danced eerily across the pavement.

The road wound its way up the mountainside for what felt like ages. As we gained altitude, I asked, "This is deep in the mountains... Are we still in Tokyo?"

Gojo chuckled, "Welcome to the outskirts of Tokyo," he explained. "The city sprawls far wider than most people realize."

Itadori shifted in his seat, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and unease. "And this school... where's Fushiguro?"

"He's getting treated by a sorcerer," Gojo replied, "At the moment, he's fast asleep."

"Welcome home, boys!" Gojo declared with a theatrical flourish as we pulled up to an imposing, traditional Japanese-style compound. "Well, temporary home, at least."

He hopped out of the car, his unyielding energy seemingly at odds with the tranquil mountain setting. "Behold," he announced, gesturing grandly, "Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical College! Your new humble abode."

The compound radiated an aura of history and subdued power. Its wooden gates slid open to reveal a serene courtyard filled with blooming cherry trees. A series of austere-looking buildings flanked the central gardens, their clean lines a sharp contrast to the wilderness beyond. In the fading afternoon light, the atmosphere was a curious mixture of serenity and concealed energy.

We ascended a series of stone steps towards the compound. With each step, the imposing structure seemed to grow in scale, the quiet of the mountainside pressing in around us.

"Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical College," Gojo began, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "It's one of only two jujutsu educational facilities. Serves as a pretty effective cover story, by the way – a private religious school. Many jujutsu sorcerers continue to use it even after graduation, making it a pillar of the jujutsu world. Not just for education, but for support and mediation after missions."

"Missions?" I echoed, "Do we get paid for doing them?"

Gojo let out a hearty laugh. "Of course!" he exclaimed. "Though the pay depends on the mission's difficulty. The more dangerous the curse, the higher the reward." He flashed a grin.

The concept of getting paid to fight monsters sounded interesting. As we reached the top of the stone steps, Gojo turned back.

"Anyway, you two are gonna have an interview with the principal," he announced. "Screw this up, and he could turn you down for admission just like that."

"What?!" Itadori sputtered. "You mean, immediate execution?"

Before I could answer, a voice cut through the air. "What's this? So you're not the boss?"

Whirling around, my eyes fell upon the most bizarre sight yet – a mouth on Itadori's cheek! "The fu-" was all I managed before the mouth continued its tirade.

"Any hierarchy not based on strength is worthless!" it declared, its tone full of malice.

Itadori slapped his cheek and gave a wry smile. "Sorry about that. Sometimes he just does that."

Gojo's expression was a mix of curiosity and amusement. "What an amusing body you have now," he chuckled.

"That's one way to put it," I muttered under my breath.

Suddenly, the mouth shifted, now appearing on Itadori's hand. "Once I make this brat's body my own, you'll be the first one I'll kill," it threatened.

"It's an honor to be targeted by Sukuna himself," Gojo retorted.

Itadori slapped his hand, then looked at Gojo with genuine bewilderment. "This guy... is he really that famous?"

"Ryomen Sukuna," he began, "is an imaginary fierce god with four arms and two faces. But, he actually used to be human about 1000 years ago. In the golden age of jujutsu, sorcerers gathered all their might to challenge him, and failed. Crowned with the title of Sukuna, he couldn't be destroyed. Even in death, he exists as a cursed object. Without a doubt, he is the King of Curses."

"So, who's stronger, him or you?" Itadori blurted out.

Gojo pondered the question. "If Sukuna gained all of his power, he might cause me trouble," he admitted nonchalantly.

"But would you lose?" I pressed.

"Nah, I'd win," he declared with absolute certainty.

With that, he turned on his heel and motioned for us to follow. We entered a dark building, the eerie silence only broken by the rhythmic tapping of our footsteps on the wooden floors.