1 - Death, joke, life

**Dying is unpleasant. When the heart stopped beating and no longer pumped blood through the body, it became terribly cold and lonely. Gojo Satoru experienced this feeling for the second time. His head was fuzzy, his ears roared, and he felt nothing below his stomach except for hellish pain. Even his legendary six eyes saw only deepening darkness.

 Sukuna. The strongest sorcerer of the modern age heard the ancient monster say something, but he could only discern a cloying self-satisfaction in his tone. The nauseating feeling of defeat gripped Gojo, making him feel a childish resentment, not towards the King of Curses, but towards himself. He had every chance, every opportunity, if only... If only he hadn't hesitated then.

 Seeing how badly Ryomen Sukuna had been battered by his Purple technique, the strongest sorcerer of the new era plunged headfirst into the triumph of the moment. At first glance, there was nothing to worry about; the King of Curses' cursed energy reserves were depleted, and even what remained was not moving through his body as it should. Then came Sukuna's instant Cleave, but it was far from normal—it was abnormal. While his head was still relatively fresh, Satoru realized that this variation of the King of Curses' technique cut not just matter, but the very "world," including the barrier of Infinity that Gojo used for his own protection, and then him as well.

 The most disgusting part was that this attack hit not only the sorcerer's body but also his soul. Satoru felt too vividly that trying to do something with Reverse Cursed Technique was simply pointless—it would be useless. Not to mention that even with an intact soul, which was unlikely to be possible to heal in principle, regenerating the lower half of his body would hardly be achievable for Gojo. Even for him, this seemed absurd and impossible; after all, he wasn't a cursed spirit capable of such feats, but merely a man, albeit a very powerful one.

 Just like after the first memorable encounter with the monster in the guise of an ordinary man, Toji Fushiguro, right before the end, a remarkable light dawned in the darkening world of the dying. That time, Gojo Satoru reached enlightenment and realized how to convert ordinary negative cursed energy into positive reverse energy, which allowed him to heal his mortal wounds in seconds. But now, there was nothing like that. In this body, with all his talent and native cursed technique, the strongest sorcerer of the modern era had reached the peak of his potential. There was nowhere left to grow, no saving grace to cling to in order to save his life.

 After the light came darkness. It seemed he even saw familiar faces from the past, his best friend with whom he could talk... It seemed Toji Fushiguro was there, standing alone like a white crow. All the figures who had influenced the brash and somewhat naive sixteen-year-old Satoru. Until that cursed day of Riko Amanai's death, things were okay. Not bad...

 "Maybe it's not so bad now either..." Gojo would have smiled after these weak thoughts if he had the strength.

 Death.

 The most powerful and prominent sorcerer of this era is now dead. He does not breathe, move, or think. He is dead. The scene of the fading unique six eyes made the King of Curses smile even wider. The holder of this special gift died today; now, it will take a long time for a new bearer of the six eyes to appear. If, by then, the Gojo clan hasn't ceased to exist altogether.

 Adjusting the American flag-colored bandana on his head, Kenjaku squinted, trying to get a better look at the person standing in front of him: a strange outfit reminiscent of a "villain of the week" costume for Batman, a silly-looking face, and a smug grin. The strangest thing was receiving a whole bunch of surprises from this person—the cursed spirits from Fumihiko Takaba's Spiral wouldn't touch him after he called himself a "cartoon character," and now—new clothing elements that weren't in Kenjaku's wardrobe at all.

 "Huh?" No longer feeling the previous bandana and some even vulgar-tinted glasses on him, the true, most disgusting sorcerer in history was slightly taken aback.

 "Hey, I just started reading Naruto!" The comic grinned overly wide, blurting out something strange and out of place.

 "Naruto? Seriously?" Skepticism reflected on Kenjaku's face as he snorted.

 It seemed he caught the essence of this comedian's cursed technique, and thus now he, Kenjaku, would foolishly cosplay some character from the mentioned manga? Or would he be hit by the famous Rasengan? So many assumptions, being around this Fumihiko was already akin to fun.

 "Imagine if Gojo-san were there!" Takaba made a weird thoughtful face and struck a sage's thinking pose.

 "No, Satoru Gojo is already dead." Kenjaku dismissed the comedian's words with a kind of outward contempt. "You can't do anything about it."

 "Don't ruin the joke, stupid monk!" Fumihiko snapped, his face twisted in anger as he raised his fist.

 The previous "joke" no longer seemed funny to him, which meant the technique no longer worked. But before that, he was confident it was funny, and that could only have one consequence—Takaba's cursed technique, "Comedian," had successfully worked!

 For the white-haired man, everything happened instantly—the darkness enveloped him in its cold and at the same time warm embrace, gradually stealing, and then completely taking away all the pain caused by the mortal wound, as well as all the emotions, memories, personality... All these concepts were no longer important. At least they shouldn't have been.

 For the past ten seconds, Gojo had been staring in shock at a dull gray stone in front of him. Due to the playful cool breeze, a swarm of goosebumps ran across his skin, birds sang their flowing tune somewhere in the distance, and the morning spring sun slightly warmed his head. Surrealism. Satoru lost track of time, not knowing what to feel or how to react—the situation was entirely unusual, he had no such experience. Here he was, dead, and now alive—the boundary between these two events seemed non-existent.

 Absurd.

 Frowning, he lowered his head and looked at his hands that belonged to him. Small but rather rough and already calloused. Nonsense, not only were his hands about twice as large, but they were also not even close to being so "peasant-like." Childish and accustomed to hard work hands. Was there a class of physical labor among ordinary people that could strain even a relatively weak and inept sorcerer? Definitely not; even in small quantities, cursed energy elevated those capable of controlling it to an unattainable level for the ordinary.

 Slowly standing up while still examining his new body, the former sorcerer still looked utterly confused. "Cursed energy... I see nothing. Where is it?"

 At any other time in his past body, Gojo Satoru could have analyzed the whole situation in a few seconds, but now, having a young and weak body, he thought unforgivably slowly. Moreover, the very six eyes he had from birth were no longer with him, the gift that, even among other cursed energy users, elevated him to a completely different level of capabilities and talent. Without these eyes, the world seemed so strange—blurry, unclear, gray, and devoid of the sharpness of colors spread in the air of negative energy. By the way, he couldn't feel its "taste" now either.

 Slowly and unhurriedly, still mesmerized, he began to survey the surroundings. At a certain point, a certain clarity began to appear in his gaze, but it was still too little. He found it strange to feel so weak, unprotected, and small. As if he had returned to childhood, but all his genetic superiority had been treacherously taken away. What about the surroundings, he couldn't even feel his own cursed energy!