It started with a shiver, then a fracture, and a pulse
The protective seals surrounding Jujutsu High—etched by generations of Kyoto and Tokyo's greatest—wavered as if they had been inhaled at once. An unnatural wind swept across the courtyards, causing the lanterns to flicker, and the paper talismans to peel from walls
In the practice yard, Panda sat upright, fur bristling, his easygoing nature dulled by instinct. Across from him, Inumaki Toge froze mid-stretch, one hand pressed to his throat. He didn't speak—but his fingers twitched, spelling danger
A massive, unending presence had made itself known
In the mountains just outside Tokyo Jujutsu High, a thunderclap of cursed energy detonated without sound. It wasn't loud, or bright. It was felt. Every leaf, stone, and shrine in the region shuddered. Birds scattered, and the trees leaned away
On the rooftop of the school, Gojo Satoru stilled
He didn't move at first. His blindfold shifted faintly in the gust, and then he whispered, "…That's new"
In an instant, he vanished—his technique folding the world, collapsing space like origami
—In the forest—
He reappeared above a deep gouge in the trees, the clearing scorched and broken, rocks molten and red, sand turned to glass from heat, and the very air dense with static. It was like stepping into the breath of a God
Then he saw the source
A boy—maybe thirteen?—lay slumped at the crater's center, unconscious. His skin was burnt across his torso, dark and cracked. One arm and one leg were simply gone, charred at the edges. Despite the carnage of his body, he breathed, slowly, and steadily
And from him, cursed energy poured out like a tidal wave
Gojo's Six Eyes lit up as he scanned him. The energy wasn't wild. It was dense. It didn't scream or snarl like curses usually did—it watched. Like a giant eye behind a curtain, unblinking and endless
He dropped lightly into the crater, the boy's cursed energy washing over him in thick, viscous pulses. He crouched beside him, lifted one eyelid gently
'Red, dotted eyes', Gojo frowned, "you're not a curse, but you're not just a kid either"
He reached out and hoisted the boy's limp form over his shoulder with effortless care. The heat rising off him was enough to sear weaker sorcerers, but Gojo's limitless kept him safe, "Shoko's gonna want to see you"
With that, the strongest sorcerer in the world vanished once more, taking with him a mystery wrapped in blood, and potential
—————————x
By the time Gojo stepped into the infirmary, Shoko was already standing, having felt the massive amounts of cursed energy
Then she saw the boy. Blood-covered; torso scorched black; an arm and leg missing. Still— the cursed energy rolling off his ruined body made her instinctively step back
Gojo laid him down on the reinforced cot
"He's not dead?", she asked, moving closer, and adapting a clinical approach
"Barely", Gojo replied
Shoko's eyes narrowed as she reached for surgical tailsmen, her voice tight, "I'll see what I can do"
Gojo turned, already walking out, "The higher-ups will be calling soon", he said, "they'll have felt it too, and they'll want answers"
Shoko slimply nodded, hands already hovering over the boy's body, glowing with Reverse Cursed Technique
Gojo paused briefly at the threshold, and then vanished
Shoko looked down at the boy who glowed faintly like a dying star, "…What are you?"
————————-x
The six-eyes user, leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching as Shoko adjusted a new diagnostic talisman around Marek's chest. Every cursed technique she utilized had to be reinforced threefold. Every reading came back too high, too dense, and too fast
Finally, she sat back in her chair, took a deep breath, "his cursed energy pool is a bottomless pit. It doesn't flicker, it builds", she tapped out a cigarette, "its' annoying"
Gojo faintly smiled and removed his blindfold again. His six eyes shimmered, scanning every microscopic current of cursed energy twisting inside the boy's form
"Yuta's reserves surpass mine", Gojo said flatly, "but this boy… his cursed energy eclipses even Yuta's. It's not just vast—it's staggering", Gojo continued, "I ran his readings against historical records from the Kyoto archives and Sugawara clan vault. No one's ever logged energy output like this. Not even among ancient sorcerers. This kid—"
He gestured toward the bed, "—might be the single largest cursed energy reservoir in human history", then he added as an afterthought, "if he is human"
Shoko exhaled slowly, "is he?"
"Six eyes, say so"
Shoko picked up the clipboard, eyes scanning the lingering vitals still pulsing across the monitors. Her voice was calm, but edged with fascination, "when I was repairing him—his tissues were already healing, reconstructing themselves without guidance", she flipped a page, tapping a line of data, "and when I applied Reverse Cursed Technique, his body didn't just accept it—it pulled it in. Actively. Like it was waiting for it. Dead tissue sloughed off. Burned skin rebuilt itself in seconds"
Gojo's brows lifted, "like he was built to survive anything"
"Exactly", she said, "it's not just high cursed energy. His body adapts to it"
She looked down at Marek again, "I don't know what he is, but he's not like us"
A sharp beeping broke the silence. Gojo's communicator flashed red and he tapped it
A message from the higher-ups displayed in clean, cruel characters:
Execute the boy immediately. Containment is no longer viable
Gojo stared at the screen, and then tapped it off
Shoko asked without ever looking at the message, accustomed to the way the higher-ups always moved, "You're not going to do it"
"No," Gojo said, smiling, "I'm curious"
—————————————-x
The gentle silence came first. Then came sensation; both sharp and blooming
Marek's eyes opened slowly, he winced as his vision adjusted to the light, noticing his sharingan still pulling in energy, he quickly deactivated it
Once he was in the right state of mind, he realized his right arm was back, and his leg—whole
His torso, once charred and torn open by Wotan's final spell, was unmarred now. The skin was smooth, tender, tinted with the blush of freshly-healed flesh
Marek flexed his right hand, bound tightly in rope. His fingers moved with uncanny precision—smooth, fluid, without a trace of stiffness. Not even the faintest tremor betrayed the fact that this limb had once been lost
Marek sat still, running silent diagnostics
Something within him had changed—no, ascended. He could feel every fiber of muscle, every tendon, every nerve firing in perfect unity. The old resistance, the friction between thought and motion, was gone. In its place was harmony. His body no longer lagged behind his will—it answered instantly, instinctively, as if his very skin had learned to think. He felt cut from clarity
His body was healed, more than healed—it felt like a fresh blade, honed and reborn—but his stamina still lagged behind, spent in the fire and blood of a world he no longer stood in
'Too tired, from all that healing', he thought, ' I need a good meal, and a long sleep'
He had crossed a threshold. Pain had dragged him to its edge, and when Death came calling, he didn't yield—he shattered the line and stepped through
He deeply exhaled, content
Finally, he took notice of his captivity and surrounding
Soft, golden lanterns circled him in symmetrical patterns, their glow bouncing off polished stones and hundreds of talismans clinging to the walls like old memories. Each strip fluttered faintly, whispering in a language of curses and containment. He was tied to a wooden chair, thick white ropes braided like temple seals, crackling under the strain of his body's cursed energy as if they were about to unravel just from touching him
The room was narrow but tall, tapering like a chimney that fed into heaven. It was quiet, too quiet. Even the hum of his own cursed energy felt muffled, restrained by layers of wards that pressed into his skull and sternum
Marek didn't move. He only stared at the walls around him, "a box of prayers", he murmured, "or a coffin dressed like a shrine"
The ropes creaked again—thick cords of jute pulsing faintly with barrier inscriptions. They strained, groaning with quiet protest as Marek shifted slightly in the high-backed chair
He catalogued every detail—exit points, cursed threads, spiritual insulation, and a thin layer of pressure in the air
Then it clicked
He'd seen something like this before. Years ago. On fan sites, and comment threads
'Jujutsu Kaisen'
He didn't know the plot, not in detail. He had never read the manga, never watched the show. But the names had filtered through—
Saturo Gojo
Yuuji Itadori
Megumi Fushiguro
Ryomen Sukuna
He exhaled again, slow and even
'Of course I'd end up in a shonen world'
And then—he felt it. The room didn't change. There was no sound. But Marek felt the shift in pressure. Someone was here
He turned his head slowly, to see Gojo Saturo standing in the room
No door had opened. No talisman had shifted, but the man was there, one hand in his pocket, the other tossing a candy wrapper up into the air, with a casual flick
Marek stared
The blindfold. The smirk. The towering, effortless confidence that came not from arrogance—but ownership, 'So that's Gojo'
Gojo tilted his head, "you're awake", he said brightly, "and you're glaring. That's a great start to our friendship"
Marek said nothing
Gojo stepped closer, not with menace, but with maddening levity, "you've been unconscious for a few days. Big flashy entrance, huge cursed energy explosion, terrifying the elders… very dramatic stuff"
He stopped a few feet away, eyes hidden behind fabric but still far too knowing
"You're lucky we got to you first", Gojo added, and this time, there was something serious beneath the grin, "the higher-ups want answers"
His tone flattened, "or they want you dead"
Marek didn't waver as countless thoughts rushed through his mind, yet one took precedent, 'I need to escape'
Gojo's smile widened, but there was something sharper beneath it now—a gleam that didn't quite reach his previous levity. He reached into the folds of his jacket and pulled out a small crinkling paper bag, "want a mochi?", he asked, as if they weren't discussing Marek's potential execution, "sweet red bean. A little chewy, but hey—way better than fear"
Marek's eyes tracked the motion of the bag, but his expression remained stone
Gojo took a bite himself and twirled on his heel, pacing a slow, lazy circle around the seal room, "y'know", he began, talking through a mouthful, "they told me to execute you. Boom. Clean and done. Unknown boy purged"
He stopped, glancing over his shoulder, "but I asked for something different"
He pointed with the half-eaten mochi, "now they want obedience. It's' the only other language they trust"
Gojo's tone changed, just slightly. He let the silence stretch before continuing, "they've offered you a path out. Binding vows, a promise sealed by cursed energy. Simple."
He spun lightly on one heel, then casually swept his hands down his coat, brushing away imaginary dust, "you break it, and your cursed energy turns on you. Your soul fractures, and you die. Or worse, depending on the complexity"
He smiled wide, cheerful again, "So! Your options: One, accept the vows, play by the rules. Maybe learn a few tricks, and most importantly—stay alive. Or two…"
Gojo's grin thinned, "…well, I already told you what the higher-ups want if you say no"
Silence filled the room
The talismans lining the chamber fluttered slightly, responding to the sudden shift in atmosphere. Marek's head dipped, shadow falling across his face. He didn't meet Gojo's eyes—but his fingers twitched against the ropes. Slowly, they curled
Then, in a voice soft as a breath and twice as lethal: "F**k you"
The room exploded, not with cursed energy—but with fire. It was a detonation
Flames surged outward like a living organism, devouring talismans, ropes, and the air itself. The reinforced walls screamed, ancient seals cracked as heat rolled in waves. Smoke churned with golden embers, and the chamber became an inferno
Gojo had already moved out of the exploded room, and he now hovered midair, floating above the molten chaos like a man watching fireworks. His blindfold fluttered in the heat-blast, a lock of pale hair drifting across his forehead, "…okay", he said with a grin, "noted"
'That wasn't cursed energy'
Below Marek, the chair was gone, and the ropes reduced to ash
In the center of the fire, Marek stood—free
The courtyard behind Jujutsu High cracked with tension. Trees bent against the mounting cursed pressure, leaves shredding in midair, caught between two forces vast enough to warp the sky
Gojo stood calmly, blindfold off, blue eyes blazing. Across from him, was the mystery boy
The air snapped as Marek launched forward
There was no hesitation, and no wasted breath. Just sheer motion—body twisting mid-leap, foot lashing out at Gojo's head like a scythe
Gojo didn't move. Not an inch
Crack!
The moment Marek's foot closed the distance—space itself pushed back. Marek's leg recoiled mid-swing, as if striking an invisible wall. The force was enough to flip him backwards mid-air, but he landed cleanly on a ground below, body crouched like a predator
'Untouchable', Marek's eyes narrowed
Gojo adjusted his collar lazily, "Huh. You're fast"
Marek moved again—low this time, hugging the broken contours of floating debris, with fire dancing in his palm. This time, he let the fire loose. No feint. No flourish. Just raw power
He swept his arm forward like a blade, and from it surged a torrent—pure combustion, white-hot and screaming. The flame warped the air as it carved through the sky, aiming not just at Gojo's form, but the space around him, hoping to burn through the fabric of whatever barrier kept him untouchable
It hit—gloriously
Flame bloomed outward in a roaring sunburst, engulfing Gojo in a sphere of searing heat. The temperature spiked instantly. Trees in the distance curled and blackened. Insects hiding in the nearby wards combusted in silence. The ground cracked
But at the center of the inferno— Gojo hovered, completely unharmed
Not a thread of his clothing was singed. The smile on his face hadn't even flickered, the fire twisted around him like a tide unwilling to touch the shore
"That's hot," he commented, voice light, "impressive"
Marek's teeth clenched. The flames began to ebb, drawn back to his fingers. He rolled his shoulders once, already plotting a new approach, 'There's no contact. The world's bending around him. A field. No—something more fundamental. A technique that warps distance itself'
Gojo finally moved. Teleporting right next to Marek, he raised one hand, palm open—and flicked Marek away with a single thought. The blow didn't hit, but space did
BOOM!
Marek's body twisted violently as air pressure around him folded inward and hurled him like a cannonball across the sky. He tore through a training post, then a pagoda wall, then slammed into the side of the school's outer armory, crashing through reinforced steel like it was paper
KRRAK-THOOM!
The armory buckled on impact. Scrolls and cursed tools scattered everywhere, some still glowing with old protections. Marek's body crumpled in the center of the wreckage, dust rising around him
Gojo closed the distance with a shimmer, aiming a snap kick at Marek's ribs. The boy suddenly twisted low, sliding on one leg and planting a dagger into the stone, using it as a pivot point. Fire curled from his free hand, a cone of focused flame surged toward the sorcerer
Gojo grinned, "nice", the flame curled harmlessly around him once again, but it was merely a distraction. Marek was already moving, flickering out of sight, landing behind Gojo with two kunai, he stole from the armory, coated in cursed energy
Gojo pivoted sharply—one strike deflected with the edge of his foot, the other intercepted mid-motion as he drove a heel into the attacking wrist, sending it skidding back through the air
Yet his smirk faded slightly when Marek vanished again
Dozens of Mareks appeared instead, flickering in and out of the battlefield. Gojo swept the field with a gesture—and unleashed a spatial collapse. The illusions shattered. The real Marek appeared midair, flipping backwards, his crow swarm bursting into life around him
Before the attack arrived, the world wavered
Gojo blinked—and the courtyard was gone. Instead… he stood in a field under a golden sky. The sun was warm, and ahead of him—on a bench beneath a peach tree; sat two people
Shoko. Laughing
Geto. Whole again
"…Geto?", Gojo whispered, stepping forward. The grass bent beneath his feet
They looked at him, and smiled
"Finally taking a break?", Shoko asked
"I brought food", Geto smirked, "some of that green mochi too"
Gojo felt something deep in his chest crack
But then—
The grass breathed. The sun flickered like a dying bulb
Gojo turned slowly, noticing cursed dolls standing over his body protectively
His body remembered it now: the momentary lapse. His mind still played in the fantasy. The illusion had bypassed his six eyes by making him feel safe
Gojo gasped, coughing hard—his hand rising instinctively to his neck. He touched his skin. Faint prints. Human
"You good?"
The voice was familiar
Masamichi Yaga landed beside him in a blur, arms folded, wooden talismans shifting across his sleeves
Gojo coughed once more, then pointed to his neck, "you tell me"
"The boy had you pinned, and was trying to pluck your eyes out before my cursed dolls attacked"
Yaga followed his gaze—
The courtyard was a warzone
Hundreds of cursed dolls—wooden, cloth, metal, stitched from sweat and memory—had poured in from all angles. Each one surged with autonomous aggression, cursed energy thick as molasses. But it wasn't the numbers that held Yaga in silence
It was the boy in the center
A doll lunged at his throat. He ducked, body folding in half, and swept its legs with an inside crescent kick. The cursed puppet crashed into another mid-lunge, both shattering in a tangle of limbs
Another charged
Marek pivoted on his heel, leapt, and planted a knee into its chest—while simultaneously catching a third doll's punch with a spinning parry, redirecting the arm and slamming an elbow into its socket
His feet never stopped moving, like a dancer forged in war
Gojo squinted. "That's… that's not just taijutsu"
"No", Yaga said lowly, "that's lethal efficiency. Every joint's used twice. Every step is a counter. He doesn't move unless it's to kill"
Marek blurred forward, grabbing a cursed blade from a torn doll and using it mid-air—throwing it into another's eye socket before backflipping into a roundhouse that broke three heads in one arc
Marek jumped onto the rooftops, and ran full-tilt across tiled domes, the dolls leaping behind like rabid dogs. He spun mid-stride, landing a spinning low kick that sent splinters of wood flying. He leapt sideways, hands catching a clothesline and using it to launch himself into a diving elbow that crushed a doll's skull
A puppet swung two scythes toward him—he bent backward into a perfect arch, let the blades pass, then kicked straight up, driving his heel into its chin. Another approached—he caught it, used it as a mid-air springboard, and hurled it into a trio approaching from the rear
A koi pond burst as he dropkicked a cursed doll into its depths, spinning into a twin elbow strike that crushed two more. Gravel exploded. Tiles split
At last—
Marek stood alone, and the cursed dolls lay broken around him, like a graveyard of puppets
Gojo exhaled, "what… is he?"
Yaga didn't speak for a moment
Gojo stared at the battlefield, "no cursed technique. No Domain"
Yaga added, "just hands"
Gojo whistled, "tactical genius, with adaptive footwork. That kid's like a living battlefield AI, from those sci-fi movies"
The last few talismans on Yaga's belt began to vibrate—more dolls were coming
Twice as many
The dolls didn't stumble, they surged—glowing talismans seared into their limbs, movements crisp and calculated, eyes burning with cursed command
Twenty yards away
Ten
Marek inhaled
His breath steamed in the cold, the air trembling with the quiet before impact
His spine arched. His chest expanded. His eyes shimmered red. The chi in him spiraled—drawn to his core like wind to a storm
He exhaled
The world ignited
FWOOM
A tsunami of fire exploded from his mouth—wide as a floodgate, burning gold and red, and alive with fury. The heat melted stone. Trees caught fire just by proximity. The courtyard lit up like a sun and cracked open
The dolls didn't escape. They didn't have time
They simply burned
One by one, mid-lunge, mid-step, mid-flight—reduced to ash in the blink of an eye
The pond evaporated. The garden withered, and the rooftops split apart as heat warped the tiles. Smoke howled into the sky, casting the entire campus in red glow
Gojo, watched with lips parted slightly
Yaga muttered, stunned, "He has Fire technique?"
"No", Gojo whispered, "he's using a different energy to ignite his fire"
"DIFFERENT ENERGY?", Yaga questioned
"Yeah, and you can't inform the higher-ups. I'm taking him under my wing"
In the inferno's center, Marek stood, barely winded
The flames died slowly, its' embers floating like dead leaves
The battlefield… was finally silent
That's when Gojo landed softly
Marek turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow in question
Gojo chuckled, "They were never going to beat you. That much was obvious"
Gojo stepped closer, hands still in his pockets, but the weight in the air shifted—not oppressive, or confrontational
"I'm not here to fight you again", he said finally, "you've already proved your point—loudly. I came to offer something else"
He looked past Marek, at the wreckage, at the blackened trail of the boy's fire, at the subtle way cursed energy leaked from him like a wounded God
"You've got more cursed energy than anyone I've ever seen", Gojo said softly, "More than Yuta, more than me, more than anyone in recorded history"
A pause
"But you use it like a drunk swings a sword. Your control is garbage. Your flow is trash. You're burning ocean currents to throw pebbles"
Marek flinched slightly, despite himself
Gojo stepped closer, "you're strong," he continued, "terrifyingly so. But you're not refined"
"Stay", Gojo offered, tone serious now, "let me train you. Let me teach you how to use what you have without wasting it. Because right now?"
He gestured to Marek's leaking aura, "you're a flood without direction. Your cursed energy scares people. The higher-ups want you dead, and curse users would either want to claim you or destroy you"
Gojo smirked, but there was no real amusement in it, "my presence will keep them away. I'll ask the higher-ups to back off"
Marek contemplated the offer, 'I can still feel my soul tethered to the world I came from— waiting to snap back. All I can do now is wait. And if I need a teacher… who better than one of the main characters?'
Then—finally—Marek's head dipped, just a fraction, "okay. I'll learn from you"
————————-x
The sliding door opened with a low creak
Dust moated in the late afternoon light. The room was small—barely enough space for a narrow bed, a low wooden desk, a single dresser and a window that looked out onto the distant trees
A single dresser, a bed and a desk
Marek stepped inside, his shadow stretching long behind him. There was a faint scent of camphor in the air, like something meant to keep spirits at bay
He stared for a moment, and then moved to the bed and sat
The frame groaned under his weight, as if even it wasn't used to being used
He let his fingers trail across the bedding, and his eyes drifted to the empty shelves above the desk
He breathed in, slow and quiet
Marek lay flat on the bed, one arm behind his head, the other resting against his chest
He let his eyes close, and thoughts of Fiona, flooded his mind
He hadn't even heard her voice. Just seen her face, from Lawrence's shattered mind. Small hands, and silver hair
She wouldn't be allowed to grow, but would rather be shaped
His jaw clenched
He hadn't saved her yet. He didn't even know where she was, but he would find her
Because that's what older brothers do
————————————x
The council chamber of the higher-ups was always the same: muted shadows, ink-brushed walls, and the thin rice-paper screens that separated speaker from power
Five voices echoed beyond them, cold and controlled. Anonymous in presence, yet steeped in judgment
"He is too dangerous"
"He arrived without record. Without allegiance, and without permission"
"His energy alone could topple cities. This child is not a sorcerer, he is a disaster"
Gojo stood with his arms loose at his sides, blindfold still tucked up onto his forehead
"I'm taking responsibility", he said simply
"You do not have the authority—"
"I do"
Silence followed. Even the paper walls seemed to shiver
Gojo stepped closer, his tone light but laced with quiet authority, "his name is Marek Gojo, and his innate technique is Black Bird Manipulation"
He let the words settle, then added, "a technique rooted in surveillance, misdirection, and swarm intelligence—subtle, precise, and devastating in the right hands. It's not some anomaly", his eyes narrowed behind the blindfold, "It's a Gojo clan treasure"
"He is unregistered. Unproven. You have no right to speak for him—"
Gojo Saturo's voice cut in, cool and absolute, "He harbors a Gojo clan technique. That makes him my clan's concern, not yours"
The paper screens rustled faintly in the silence that followed
"You don't get to make decisions about clan matters", Gojo continued, "not with my name on them, and especially not with his technique"
His smile curled, sharp as a blade, "so unless you're planning to challenge the Gojo clan's sovereignty… I suggest you back off"
Gojo turned and walked from the chamber, the screens didn't flutter again, because there was no response
——————————-x
Kenjaku's eyes opened—Suguru Geto's eyes, no longer his own
He sat in stillness on the worn floor, hair braided loosely behind him, sleeves spilling down. Across the courtyard, frost spread outward in gentle pulses from a slender person seated atop a broken statue
Uraume
A curse spirit flew to Kenjaku with a note tied to its' body
"A name", Kenjaku murmured, eyes half-lidded in thought, "Marek Gojo"
Uraume tilted her head, "A child?"
"Eleven", Kenjaku confirmed, "he was unregistered; hidden, likely. Tied to the Gojo clan. His innate technique is Black Bird Manipulation"
A beat of silence passed
"His cursed energy levels are… impressive", Kenjaku admitted with a dismissive wave of his hand, "historically unmatched, actually. The highest ever recorded. Larger than Sukuna's"
Uraume's gaze sharpened, "A threat?"
Kenjaku smiled thinly, "No. His technique is minor—fitting for a boy his age"
He turned fully toward the maps of Tokyo and Shibuya behind him, "Marek Gojo is barely a hindrance. Let the boy fly. The sky still belongs to us"