Brotherhood

Shoko stood before a grave, the cold December wind whipping through her hair as snowflakes settled on her white coat. Maki approached, her eyes fixed on the tombstone that read "Hiro Miller."

"I still can't believe he's gone," Maki said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Shoko nodded, her eyes never leaving the engraved name. "Honestly, I kept expecting him to just... get up. He was so talented, you know?" A wistful smile played across her lips, memories of Hiro's incredible abilities flashing through her mind.

Maki couldn't help but smile in return, though it was tinged with sadness. "Yeah, but I guess even he couldn't beat death in the end."

"It's been a week," Shoko murmured, her breath visible in the frigid air.

Maki nodded silently, her hands shoved deep into her pockets to ward off the chill. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken grief and lingering disbelief.

Their somber reverie was interrupted by the crunching of snow underfoot. Kokichi approached, his brow furrowed with concern. "Have either of you seen Yuta?" he asked, glancing between the two women.

Maki shrugged, her shoulders rising and falling beneath her thick winter coat. "Probably training with Itadori, I'd guess."

Kokichi ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his voice. "I can't help feeling guilty, you know? We put all that pressure on Hiro, and now we're doing the same thing to Okkotsu."

Maki's eyes hardened, a fierce determination burning within them. "This time, we'll all fight together."

Kokichi's expression darkened, memories of their recent defeat weighing heavily on him. "We tried that last time too, remember? After Hiro... after he died. We all rushed in, and well..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Shoko took a long drag from her cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the dim winter light. "It's a damn shame about Higuruma and Choso," she said, exhaling a plume of smoke that quickly dissipated in the cold air.

Kokichi nodded grimly. "And that was when Sukuna was weakened by Hiro. Now that he's had time to recover..." He left the implication hanging, the gravity of their situation all too apparent.

Maki's jaw clenched, her hands balling into fists within her pockets. "We don't have a choice. There are fewer and fewer players left in the culling game, and it's only a matter of time before Kenjaku assimilates Tengen with humanity."

Shoko flicked ash from her cigarette, her brow furrowed in confusion. "I never really understood why he wants to do that in the first place."

Kokichi sighed, his breath forming a small cloud in front of him. "Kenjaku plans to assimilate Tengen with all the non-human sorcerers, probably just in Japan. He'll create an immensely powerful creature."

"But why?" Shoko pressed, her scientific mind struggling to grasp the purpose behind such an action.

Kokichi shrugged, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation. "Kenjaku can be very pragmatic, but he can also be incredibly simple. Sometimes, I think he just wants to see what will happen."

Shoko's gaze drifted back to Hiro's grave, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I just... I don't want to lose anyone else," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "Although, I feel like I've already lost everything."

The three stood in silence, the weight of their losses and the enormity of the challenges ahead pressing down upon them. The gentle fall of snow continued, slowly blanketing the cemetery in a pristine white shroud.

Meanwhile, in a lavish mansion across the city, a very different scene was unfolding. Kenjaku stood in a well-appointed kitchen, humming softly to himself as he carefully flipped an omelet in a pan. The sizzle of eggs and the aroma of cooking filled the air, creating an almost surreal domestic atmosphere in the midst of their dire circumstances.

Uraume burst into the kitchen, her face contorted with anger. "Hey!" she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the peaceful ambiance. "You know I'm the only one allowed to feed Lord Sukuna!"

Kenjaku turned to face her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Actually, Sukuna prefers my cooking," he said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the rise he was getting out of her.

Uraume's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't you ever get tired of lying?" she hissed, her hands clenching at her sides.

In response, Kenjaku simply stuck out his tongue and shrugged, his nonchalant attitude a stark contrast to Uraume's fury. "This is for our dear Ritsu Miller, actually," he said, turning his attention back to the omelet.

Uraume's anger gave way to curiosity. "Is he still down there?" she asked, her voice losing some of its edge.

Kenjaku nodded, carefully sliding the omelet onto a plate. "Still waiting," he confirmed, his tone unreadable.

Deep in the mansion's basement, Ritsu Miller sat motionless, his usually impeccable appearance now disheveled. His pale skin seemed almost translucent in the dim light, and his typically well-groomed hair fell in messy strands across his forehead. His cold, unblinking gaze was fixed on a specific point in the room, unwavering in its intensity.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs broke the eerie silence. Kenjaku descended, carrying a tray of food. "Don't you plan on eating?" he asked, his voice light and casual, as if he were addressing a houseguest rather than a prisoner.

Without shifting his gaze, Ritsu responded, his voice flat and emotionless. "Are you bored? It's unusual to see you cooking."

Kenjaku chuckled, setting the tray down on a nearby table. "What are you talking about? I'm a man of many talents."

Finally, Ritsu turned his head to look at Kenjaku. The cursed spirit couldn't suppress a shiver at the intensity of that gaze. "You know," Kenjaku said, forcing a lighthearted tone, "that look of yours gives me the creeps. It's like you never blink."

"I don't," Ritsu replied simply, his voice devoid of any emotion.

Kenjaku walked towards the object of Ritsu's fixation – the motionless body of Hiro Miller. "Is your dear brother still sleeping?" he asked, a hint of mockery in his voice.

Ritsu's expression remained impassive as he spoke. "Although I managed to repair the damage and revive him, his body underwent extreme stress. It's normal for him to have been asleep for a week, but he should wake up soon."

A smile spread across Kenjaku's face, curiosity glinting in his eyes. "Could you explain your technique to me again? I feel like I still don't quite understand it."

Ritsu's cold gaze remained fixed on Hiro's motionless body as he spoke, his voice tinged with a mixture of exasperation and resignation. "How many times do I have to explain my technique to you?" he asked, his fingers drumming lightly against his thigh.

Kenjaku, leaning casually against the wall, shrugged his shoulders with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Honestly, I'm just bored," he admitted, a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Ritsu let out a deep sigh, his chest rising and falling slowly as he gathered his thoughts. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, pushing back the stray strands that had fallen across his forehead. "Fine," he conceded, his voice taking on a more explanatory tone. "My cursed technique is called 'Technique Theft.' My cursed ritual allows me to steal someone else's technique and enhance it. However, the technique I currently possess is replaced by the new one I steal."

Kenjaku nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the information. "For example," Ritsu continued, his gaze flickering briefly to Kenjaku before returning to Hiro, "when Sukuna defeated Hiro, I entered the headquarters with the technique I had already stolen – the one I used to manipulate Gojo and Hiro's minds. I rendered everyone unconscious for a few minutes, then stole Shoko Leiri's technique. In return, she received my mind manipulation technique. We essentially exchanged abilities."

Kenjaku's eyebrows raised slightly, a look of intrigue crossing his face. "So it's not really stealing, then? It's more like an exchange."

Ritsu shook his head, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "Technically, it is stealing," he insisted, his fingers curling into loose fists at his sides. "The first technique I took wasn't exchanged because I didn't have one to begin with."

"Interesting," Kenjaku mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "And what was that first technique you stole?"

Ritsu's expression darkened slightly, a shadow passing over his pale features. "My father's mind manipulation technique. The one I currently possess."

Kenjaku nodded slowly, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "I see. And how exactly did you save Hiro? Walk me through it again."

Ritsu's gaze softened almost imperceptibly as it fell upon his brother's still form. "We simply followed the plan we had devised," he explained, his voice taking on a more clinical tone. "I took Shoko Leiri's power and enhanced it, which allowed me to repair Hiro's body. Then, I performed CPR to revive him. After that, I switched techniques with Shoko again and re-entered everyone's minds, making them believe that Hiro had died."

A flicker of something – perhaps regret or guilt – passed across Ritsu's face as he continued. "They buried the body of your son, Choso, thinking it was Hiro Miller's corpse."

Ritsu's hands clenched into tight fists, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. "Although Hiro was gravely injured, if he hadn't concentrated all his cursed energy before that final cut, it would have been impossible to save him," he said, his voice tight with barely contained anger. "That idiot Sukuna went too far."

From a dark corner of the room, Sukuna's voice cut through the tension, low and gravelly. The King of Curses was sprawled on the floor in his four-armed form, his eyes glinting dangerously in the dim light. "You know," he drawled, a hint of annoyance in his tone, "that brat was ridiculously strong. I didn't have any other choice."

Kenjaku's lips curled into a smile, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Indeed," he agreed, nodding slightly. "We hadn't anticipated Hiro being quite so powerful."

Sukuna shifted, his multiple arms folding across his chest as he spoke. "It's not that he was so strong in terms of raw cursed energy," he clarified, a begrudging note of respect in his voice. "He has less than Okkotsu and Gojo. But his intelligence... that's what made him truly formidable. That's why he managed to learn several techniques in less than a year and devise such intricate plans. And those eyes of his..." Sukuna trailed off, a hint of frustration coloring his words. "It's no wonder he pushed me to my limits."

Ritsu's expression softened slightly at Sukuna's words, a flicker of pride passing across his features. "I told you, didn't I?" he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of admiration and sadness. "Hiro is a prodigy. The greatest weapon the Miller clan has ever produced. They were grooming him to kill Gojo Satoru and become the strongest clan."

Kenjaku's eyes lit up with interest, a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Tell us your story, Ritsu," he prompted, leaning forward slightly. "I'd love to hear it again."

Ritsu's brow furrowed slightly, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice. "You already know my story," he pointed out, his gaze flickering between Kenjaku and Sukuna.

Kenjaku shrugged, his smile widening. "Yes, but Sukuna doesn't," he replied, gesturing towards the King of Curses.

Sukuna grunted, his multiple arms shifting restlessly. "I don't want to hear it," he grumbled, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Ritsu sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he resigned himself to retelling his tale. "Fine, I'll tell it," he conceded, his voice taking on a more measured tone as he began his narrative.

"I used to live in New York with my father, Takahiro, and my younger brother, Hiro," Ritsu began, his eyes taking on a distant look as he recalled his past. "The Miller clan was a family with significant political influence, but within the world of sorcery, we were a clan with little power. It was thanks to our grandfather and his remarkable technique of resurrecting the dead that the Miller clan managed to make a name for itself in the Jujutsu world."

Ritsu's voice grew softer, a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone. "However, they wanted more. This generation – our generation – was dubbed the 'golden generation,' and it showed great promise. First, I was born with the technique to steal cursed rituals. Then came my cousin Hanzo, with his ability to adapt. Finally, there was Hiro."

A small, sad smile tugged at the corners of Ritsu's mouth as he continued. "Initially, they didn't have high expectations for Hiro. His lightning technique didn't seem particularly impressive at first. But when he turned ten, everything changed. His eyes, his rapid learning, his intelligence – he was already stronger than most of the clan. Hanzo may have had a better ritual, but Hiro had far more skill and potential."

Kenjaku interjected, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Why didn't you simply steal Gojo's technique? Didn't the Miller clan consider that option?"

Before Ritsu could respond, Sukuna's gravelly voice cut through the air. "Even if he had Gojo's technique enhanced, it wouldn't be the same," the King of Curses explained, a hint of grudging respect in his tone. "It's not all about brute force. Technique and mastery play a crucial role."

Ritsu nodded in agreement, adding, "Besides, at that time, we weren't sure if it would work on Gojo Satoru. His Six Eyes and Limitless technique were... unique, to say the least."

Kenjaku waved his hand dismissively, eager to hear more. "Go on, go on," he urged, his eyes fixed on Ritsu with rapt attention.

Ritsu's expression darkened as he continued his tale, his voice taking on a harder edge. "When the Miller clan realized Hiro's true potential, they subjected him to hellish training. I remember seeing Hiro break his bones more times than I can count." His fists clenched at the memory, knuckles turning white with suppressed anger.

"That's when I made my decision," Ritsu said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I stole my father's technique – mind manipulation. I made everyone believe that Hanzo had more potential than Hiro. But there was a problem: they knew about my technique. They would eventually realize something was wrong and conclude that I had manipulated them all."

Ritsu's eyes took on a haunted look as he continued. "So I went further. I manipulated their memories to believe that my father never had a cursed ritual and that I had never existed. No one in this world, apart from you two, knows that I exist."

Kenjaku's eyes widened slightly, a mixture of admiration and curiosity dancing in their depths. "You love your brother that much?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of disbelief. "Enough to bring him to this point?"

Sukuna stirred in his corner, his multiple arms shifting restlessly. "What are you talking about?" he growled, his curiosity piqued despite his earlier disinterest.

Ritsu's gaze returned to Hiro's still form, his voice soft but firm as he replied. "It was the only way," he explained, a hint of sadness creeping into his tone. "Even if Hiro had defeated Sukuna, he wouldn't have been free. He would have remained under the orders of the higher-ups, treated as a weapon by someone else."

Kenjaku's lips curled into a sly smile. "But you know we want Hiro as a weapon too, don't you?" he pointed out, his voice laced with amusement.

Ritsu nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving his brother's face. "I know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But he'll be a one-shot weapon. After that, he'll be free."

A heavy silence fell over the room as Ritsu's words hung in the air. Sukuna shifted uncomfortably, his multiple arms folding and unfolding as he processed the information. Kenjaku's eyes gleamed with a mixture of curiosity and calculation, his mind already racing with possibilities.

The oppressive silence that had settled over the dimly lit basement was suddenly shattered by Sukuna's gravelly voice. The King of Curses shifted his massive form, his multiple arms unfolding as he leaned forward, red eyes gleaming with curiosity and a hint of impatience.

"You still haven't told me what you're planning," Sukuna growled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air. "What's this about a one-shot weapon?"

Kenjaku's lips curled into a sly smile, his eyes dancing with amusement and a touch of mischief. He stepped forward, his movements fluid and graceful, like a predator circling its prey.

"Well," Kenjaku began, his voice smooth and controlled, "you know I can assimilate Tengen with humanity at any moment, don't you?"

Sukuna nodded slowly, his multiple eyes narrowing as he processed this information. The tension in the room seemed to thicken, the air growing heavy with unspoken possibilities.

Kenjaku continued, his voice taking on a dreamy, almost wistful quality. "And from that, a mysterious creature will emerge. I want—no, I need to see the pinnacle of sorcery face off against it. Be it Hiro, Gojo, or you." His eyes locked onto Sukuna's, a challenge glinting in their depths. "But you wouldn't want to do it, or rather, you wouldn't do it knowing that I want you to."

A low chuckle rumbled from Sukuna's chest, a sound filled with dark amusement. "You know me well," he admitted, a hint of grudging respect in his tone.

Kenjaku's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed just a touch too sharp. "And Gojo, well, you currently possess his body, so that leaves only Hiro."

Ritsu, who had been silently observing the exchange, spoke up. His voice was soft but filled with unwavering conviction. "And I trust that Hiro will be able to defeat that creature and finally be free."

Sukuna exhaled heavily, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl. His multiple arms shifted restlessly as he spoke, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and mild frustration. "I really don't understand you people," he grumbled. After a moment's pause, he added, "Well, it sounds interesting. But how will you convince Hiro?"

Kenjaku's eyebrows rose slightly, a look of surprise and amusement crossing his face. "You're more talkative than usual, King of Curses," he observed, his tone light and teasing.

Sukuna shrugged his massive shoulders, the movement causing shadows to dance across the walls. "I'm bored," he admitted gruffly. "Besides, being inside that Itadori brat's body, I got used to conversations."

Ritsu's cold eyes flickered between Sukuna and Kenjaku, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. "It's obvious, isn't it?" he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I'll manipulate Hiro's mind to make him believe he's on our side."

A slow, predatory grin spread across Kenjaku's face, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "And thanks to that," he added, his voice filled with dark satisfaction, "Hiro will kill the remaining participants in the Culling Game, including his group of friends."

As if on cue, a rustling sound came from the bed where Hiro lay. The young sorcerer began to stir, his movements slow and groggy. He sat up, his golden hair tousled and sticking up in all directions. A wide yawn escaped his lips as he stretched his arms above his head, his muscles tensing and relaxing with the motion.

Ritsu's voice cut through the silence, a mixture of relief and carefully controlled emotion coloring his words. "Finally awake, brother?"

There was a moment of tense silence as they all waited, watching Hiro closely to see if his memories had indeed been altered. The air in the room seemed to grow thicker, charged with anticipation and unspoken questions.

Hiro blinked slowly, his eyes focusing on Ritsu. His voice was slightly hoarse from disuse as he asked, "Ritsu, how long was I asleep?"

Kenjaku stepped forward, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "About a week, sleeping beauty," he quipped, his tone light and teasing.

Hiro's gaze shifted to Kenjaku, a look of mild surprise crossing his features. "Really?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly. "You should have woken me up, Kenjaku."

Kenjaku's smile widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You know how I am," he replied with a casual shrug. "I don't like to bother people."

Sukuna's multiple eyes narrowed as he studied Hiro intently. His gravelly voice cut through the air, tinged with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "Kid, do you really not remember anything?"

A look of confusion passed over Hiro's face. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine bewilderment.

Ritsu quickly interjected, his voice smooth and reassuring. "Don't mind him," he said, shooting a warning glance at Sukuna. "You know how he gets when he's bored."

Hiro nodded slowly, still looking slightly puzzled. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching once more. His voice was filled with determination as he asked, "Alright, what do I need to do now?"

Kenjaku stepped closer, his eyes scanning Hiro's face with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, his voice softening slightly. "Don't you want to rest a bit more?"

Hiro shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I've rested enough," he replied, his voice firm and resolute.

Kenjaku's lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Well then," he said, his voice taking on a more business-like tone, "enter all the colonies and kill all the participants."

Hiro nodded, his expression serious. "Alright," he agreed, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration. "It might take some time, though."

Sukuna stirred in his corner, his multiple arms shifting restlessly. His gravelly voice filled the room once more, tinged with a hint of impatience. "Couldn't you just throw a purple lightning bolt and blow up the city?"

Ritsu moved closer to Sukuna, his voice dropping to a whisper as he explained, "Actually, he doesn't know or remember how to perform those techniques. Being too complex, I couldn't maintain them with his memories."

Kenjaku let out a small sigh, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face before being quickly replaced by his usual calculating expression. "Well, whatever," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Hiro, go have fun."

A slow smile spread across Hiro's face, his eyes glinting with anticipation. "Just give me some time," he replied, his voice filled with quiet confidence.

Kenjaku's eyes widened slightly as if suddenly remembering something important. "Oh, by the way," he added, his tone casual but his eyes sharp, "since your heart stopped, you're considered dead for the game. If you want to participate again, you'll need to re-enter."

Hiro nodded, his smile widening as he absorbed this information. Without another word, he turned and strode towards the door, his movements fluid and purposeful.

As the door closed behind Hiro, a heavy silence settled over the room. Kenjaku, Ritsu, and Sukuna exchanged glances, each lost in their own thoughts about the events that were about to unfold.

The scene shifted, the dim basement fading away to be replaced by the soft morning light filtering through the windows of Tokyo Jujutsu High. In one of the dormitory rooms, Maki Zenin stirred slowly, her eyelids fluttering open as consciousness gradually returned.

She sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around her waist as she raised a hand to rub the sleep from her eyes. Her fingers brushed against her short hair, the texture a constant reminder of all she had been through. Her gaze drifted to the shelf across the room, where a framed photograph stood out among the clutter of books and trinkets.

The photo captured a moment from the previous Christmas – Maki and Hiro, their faces flushed with cold and laughter, snowflakes caught in their hair. A heavy sigh escaped Maki's lips as she stared at the image, memories of happier times washing over her.

The quiet moment was abruptly shattered by a sharp knock at the door. Before Maki could respond, it swung open to reveal Kokichi, his face pale and his eyes wide with urgency.

"Bad news," he blurted out, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to speak.

Maki's brow furrowed, irritation flashing in her eyes. "And it couldn't wait until I got up?" she grumbled, her voice still rough with sleep.

Kokichi shook his head vigorously, his usually neat hair disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. "This morning, I checked the player board, and..." he trailed off, his voice catching in his throat.

"And?" Maki prompted, her irritation giving way to curiosity and a growing sense of unease.

Kokichi took a deep breath, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "There's a new player," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The alias is 'Golden Lightning'. During the night, they wiped out an entire colony. Now they're in Tokyo."

Maki's eyes widened, her mind racing as she processed this information. "Who could it be?" she mused aloud, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Someone with a cursed object, maybe?"

Kokichi shrugged, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. "No idea," he admitted. "Maybe it's Sukuna?"

Maki shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I doubt it," she said, her voice firm. "That alias doesn't sound like something he'd use." She stood up, stretching her arms above her head as she made her decision. "Whatever the case, we need to investigate. Let's gather the others and head out."

As Maki began to move around the room, gathering her clothes and equipment, a sense of determination settled over her. The loss of Hiro still weighed heavily on her heart, but she pushed the pain aside, focusing on the task at hand. Whatever this new threat was, they would face it together, just as they always had.