The gardens of Jujutsu High were quiet in the late afternoon. Golden light streamed through the boughs of ancient trees, their bark marked by talismans. Small stone lanterns lined the gravel paths, flickering faintly even though the sun hadn't quite set. The wind was soft, rustling the leaves in low, whispering tones
Gojo Satoru walked with his hands in his pockets, blindfold back on, humming a nonsense tune as his arms swayed in long arcs
Next to him, walking with a casual grace, was Marek
He was taking in the entire estate, the carved statues at the garden's edge. The embedded characters etched in the stepping stones. The soft layer of spiritual pressure blanketing the air like dew. It was all information, and Marek drank it in
"So", Gojo broke the silence, "you're eleven?"
Marek glanced at him,"yeah", he said flatly
"Wow", Gojo grinned wide, "that's adorable"
Marek didn't respond
"I mean, come on", Gojo twirled dramatically, arms stretched wide, "most first-years are, like, fifteen. You show up, shatter a few seals, nearly roast me alive, dropkick a cursed doll into a koi pond, and look like you haven't hit puberty"
Marek's eye twitched
Gojo leaned closer, mock-whispering, "tell me the truth. Were you made in a lab? You're like a baby sorcerer with a kill count"
"No. I was born to two sadists", Marek replied
Gojo blinked, "wait, what?"
Marek didn't elaborate
They walked for a moment longer, the path curving into a covered bridge over a gently bubbling stream
Gojo tilted his head, "so, your eyes. The red ones"
Marek's eyes flicked across the yard in a smooth, practiced sweep. He didn't move his head, but his gaze carved through his surroundings like a blade, searching for watchers, listening for breath that wasn't his or Gojo's
And suddenly ———
There was no gust of wind, just its' absence. Marek felt it happen, how the sound of the trees rustling vanished, and the buzz of insects disappeared. The heartbeat of the world felt dimmed, like a radio being slowly tuned to static
"What did you do?"
Gojo didn't answer immediately. His fingers remained half-curled in the air, posture casual; his cursed energy had always impossibly precise. It didn't pulse outward, or ripple
"This is Limitless", he said, giddy, "I've expanded the space between us and everything"
Gojo gestured vaguely behind him, "I made it so that every sound wave that tries to leave our conversation slows. Infinitely. It doesn't stop. It just never reaches the outside world"
He looked at Marek now, directly, "no one's listening"
'How overpowered is he?', Marek thought, before finally answering Gojo's previous question
"They enhance perception", Marek informed, "I can see energy, predict movement, and cast layered illusions"
Gojo stopped walking, "you can see cursed energy….in detail?"
Marek gave a small nod, "In detail. I see any energy, I can use"
Gojo gave a low whistle, "that's gonna make teaching you so much easier"
He resumed walking, clearly satisfied
"You're officially part of the Gojo clan now", he added breezily, as though it were no big deal, "we did the paperwork this morning. My name, your name, all the fancy stamps. Very ceremonial. I would've invited you, but you were asleep"
Marek gave him a flat look, but Gojo ignored it
"Your technique—Black Bird Manipulation—it's historically ours", Gojo continued, "a bunch of our clan's support users were trained in it. Really subtle stuff. Surveillance, misdirection, barrier reinforcement, intel relays. They were mostly assigned to protect baby Six Eyes users before they got strong enough to not die immediately"
He tilted his head, studying Marek, "you'd have made a really terrifying bodyguard. I'm kinda glad you're not older"
Marek grunted softly, he didn't laugh but he secretly found Gojo amusing
Gojo's voice dipped—casually serious, "but I noticed something else during our little skirmish…", he looked over his shoulder, "you used a different kind of energy to light your fire"
Marek didn't blink,"yeah"
Gojo waited, but Marek said nothing else
Gojo sighed, flailing an arm as if to say 'kids these days',"fine, keep your secrets, but listen up"
They stopped before a long corridor of torii gates, leading into the western wing of the school
"You're gonna be trained by me—Satoru Gojo, strongest sorcerer alive. That's a privilege, and a nightmare. You'll cry blood and beg for mercy, but you'll be amazing"
He pointed dramatically at Marek's chest, "from now on, you are forbidden from using fire, and illusions trick. Or whatever weird ninja voodoo you've got in that edgy little head of yours"
Marek stared at him, confused, "why?"
Gojo grinned, "because people get one technique, maybe two; and that too is historically rare. You show off three, and the higher-ups will put your head on a block just to study your corpse"
A beat passed
"Also", he added, "I want you to reach Special Grade status using cursed energy alone. No cheats"
"Okay", Marek muttered
They walked on, past rows of training dummies and old wooden plaques etched with the names of past students
"I've already got a training plan", Gojo declared, "people you can learn from, tomes you can read and surviving whatever I decide to throw at you. And mochi, lots of mochi"
They stopped before a large circle drawn in Japanese characters
Gojo followed his gaze, "you'll master cursed energy and its' flow first. Black Bird Manipulation, then advanced cursed constructs, and if we have time", Gojo smirked, "how to kick me in the face"
"I already did"
"You did, but not without that weird illusion magic. So it doesn't count"
Marek exhaled, the smallest curve forming at the corner of his lips
Gojo saw it, "you're too young to be enrolled here," he said, with that same lazy ease,"but welcome to Jujutsu High anyway"
He stepped past Marek, hands in his pockets, "I've already filed the paperwork for your grade one evaluation", he added, like he was talking about ordering takeout. "Technically, you're not eligible, put I pulled some strings. They gave me a hard time, of course. Asked about your curse technique, your lineage, your history—"
Gojo turned his head slightly, just enough to flash a grin over his shoulder, "—I didn't give them any answers"
Gojo faced forward again, "five months," he said, dragging the words out like a game show host unveiling a prize, "that's how long you've got"
Marek asked, "to do what?"
"To get evaluated as a First Grade Sorcerer," Gojo declared, spreading his arms like he was introducing a musical number
Marek blinked, then laughed at Gojo's constant ridiculousness
Gojo reached into his coat and pulled something from an inside pocket, a pair of black sunglasses
Worn. Slightly scuffed at the hinges. The kind that belonged in a nineties action movie. The lenses were impossibly black, "you can't use your red eyes during fights, but they're alright for training purposes. With these you'll be able to spy the flow of cursed energy when others' use their techniques, all without them ever finding out"
Marek didn't say anything at first, reaching for the glasses and holding them in both hands, feeling the smooth curve of the frames, the slight wobble at the hinge where they'd been bent and re-bent over years of wear. They were light. Nothing cursed; no energy humming at the seams. Just plastic and glass, faded along the edges from sun and time
Gojo was already halfway across the field again, "these were mine. First year. You know, from the awkward teenage God years. Now, they're yours"
Marek looked down at the sunglasses, and he didn't know what to do with them. Not because he didn't like them: he did. He didn't know what to do because he didn't remember how to receive something like this. It had been years. Years since anyone had handed him something that wasn't a weapon, an order, a file, a mission, or a warning
No trap beneath it. No test. Just a gift; and it hurt in a way nothing else could
His fingers closed gently around the frame, careful not to grip too tight. He brought them up, hesitating only a second before sliding them over his eyes
The world darkened. The fit was snug
He turned his face toward the rising sun and it didn't sting
His voice came quiet, almost too quiet to catch, "thank you"
Gojo didn't turn around, but he raised a hand over his shoulder and waved once, "don't mention it"
For the first time in a long while, Marek felt like maybe—just maybe—he'd landed somewhere he could build himself, in peace
—————————-x
The Jujutsu High library was quiet, like incense—still, fragrant with the weight of time. Marek wandered the rows in a soft yellow hoodie with the sunburst Helios logo on the back. A cursed doll dozed on his shoulder, tiny snores puffing from its mouth
'Punches me, if cursed energy is not flowing through it', Marek recalled, 'Gojo has some weird training ideas'
He paused in the historical section, a book now open in his hand. The kanji was old, some characters barely legible, but Marek wasn't reading for beauty—he was reading for something else
'The Heian Period', his mind whispered
It was the first time he had encountered the name in a world that felt both alien and familiar. His memories of names like Sukuna, Gojo, Megumi—they were all from internet blogs and internet trivia
But this? This was real. The book spoke of a time soaked in blood and blackened by curses. Of a man named Ryomen Sukuna, a two-faced demon that devoured lands and kings with equal hunger. They called him a calamity. A god of slaughter
Marek's fingers tightened on the pages
'So, this is the threat'
The cursed doll stirred on his shoulder and stretched like a cat, then immediately went back to sleep. Marek closed the book with a soft thud
—————————-x
The kitchen at Jujutsu High was humble—worn counters, old steel fixtures, and cabinets that creaked when opened—but it was quiet, warm, and most importantly, empty. Marek stood at the stove, barefoot and relaxed, still wearing the yellow Helios hoodie slightly too large for him. The sleeves swallowed half his hands. His cursed doll dozed lazily on his shoulder, its tiny fist curled against Marek's jawline like a cat paw
He stirred the pan with practiced motion, flipping vegetables in butter and soy sauce, then cracking eggs into a simmering broth. Steam curled upward, kissing his cheeks red. There was no tension in his posture—no paranoia, no edge. Just a boy cooking
Footsteps approached, and the the sliding door rattled
A 'Panda' stepped into the kitchen with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball. Behind him came Toge Inumaki, hand casually tucked in his hoodie pocket, sleepy eyes scanning the place
Marek looked up briefly, stunned, "you're a panda"
"I am the talking panda", Panda confirmed, climbing into a chair too small for him, "and you're the kid who nuked a training field yesterday"
Toge sniffed the air, "Salmon"
"Close", Marek replied, tilting the pan, "Butter-soy miso ramen, topped with bok choy and soft eggs"
Toge's eyes brightened,"tuna mayo"
Marek half-smiled, 'what a weirdo'
"So", Marek said, standing across from them, "what's your deal? Are you, like, a cursed spirit? A mutation? A science project?"
Suddenly the food sizzled, and Marek served three bowls, having already made extra to store for later. The cursed doll on his shoulder shifted but didn't wake, cheek pressed into Marek's neck. Marek barely noticed it
Panda, took a serving, slurped his noodles dramatically before answering, "I'm a talking panda"
"That's not an answer"
"It's the best one", Panda grinned, then leaned forward, "I was created by Principal Yaga. A cursed corpse, but I've got thoughts, feelings, dreams. I like watching movies. I hate bitter melon. I think humans overcomplicate dating"
Toge, mouth full, simply murmured, "Bonito flakes"
For a while, there was only the sound of eating
Eventually, Panda leaned back, tail twitching against the floor, "So, we've been meaning to ask. You're Gojo's new 'project' or whatever—what's your deal?"
Marek paused, then tapped the doll still dozing on his shoulder, "Project is a strong word. I'd say… probation with food privileges"
Panda snorted, "fair. You know anything about how our world works?"
"I'm learning", Marek sighted, "bits and pieces. The history. Clan names. Gojo's instructions have been…dramatic"
Toge pointed at Marek, then made a circling motion with his fingers, "tuna mayo?"
Panda translated, "he's asking what you've figured out"
Marek turned to them, arms crossed loosely, "Three great clans. Zenin. Kamo. Gojo"
"Blegh", Panda muttered, "Zenin. All ego and dead traditions. Kamo's worse. The original Noritoshi Kamo experimented with a curse and a pregnant woman—made the Death Womb Paintings"
Marek stiffened
"Yeah", Panda said, "Gross, right? The guy was evil incarnate. His whole thing was mixing cursed spirits with humans to make cursed wombs that could survive birth"
"Seasoned miso", Toge muttered with a shudder
Marek stared at his food, "that's monstrous"
"Yep", Panda agreed, "anyways Gojo clan? We're lucky Gojo is who he is. Strongest guy alive, can take on the jujutsu world by himself. Bit of a pain in the ass"
"Scallions", Toge added, eyeing Marek
Marek raised an eyebrow, "Gojo's…that strong?"
Panda laughed, "he's a walking singularity. Six Eyes plus Limitless Technique, is a famed combination"
The three ate in a comfortable silence for a while longer before Marek asked Toge, "What about you?"
"Rice ball clan", Toge said with a grin
Panda translated again, "he's from the Inumaki clan. Their technique's cursed speech. If he says something with intent, it becomes a command. It's dangerous and that's why he sticks to ingredients. Safer that way"
Panda leaned over the table, "okay. I gotta ask—what's with the creepy doll?"
Marek glanced at it. Still asleep
"It hits me if I stop circulating cursed energy through it"
——————————-x
The hallway outside the infirmary smelled faintly of antiseptic, and old rain
Marek stood at the door for a beat longer than he needed to, his fingers drumming once against the takeout container, and wooden chopsticks
He knocked twice and pushed the door open
Dr. Shoko Ieiri looked up from behind her desk, already halfway through a medical incident form, her handwriting loose and slanted as if she were racing against the clock—or the urge to throw it out and start over. A half-smoked cigarette balanced on the rim of a cracked ashtray beside her elbow, the faint scent of nicotine blending with antiseptic and cold tea
Marek stepped in without replying, holding out the container, "for you"
She blinked, "did Gojo bribe you into this?"
"No"
"Blackmail?"
"No"
"You're not injured, right?"
"Not currently"
That earned a short laugh. Shoko set her pen down and leaned back in her chair, taking the container with one eyebrow arched, "thanks", she said, pulling the lid back and letting the scent escape, "smells homemade. Is this an apology for surviving my care?"
"It's gratitude", Marek said, stepping closer, "For healing me. I didn't get say thank you"
Shoko gave a small, sideways smile, "don't worry about it. It's my job to keep the reckless ones alive"
Her gaze lingered on him a beat longer, then drifted up to the sunglasses, "those aren't yours"
Marek hesitated, "They were Gojo's"
She smiled again—this one softer, a little tired around the eyes, "huh. He held onto those longer than he's held onto most relationships"
"Looks good on you", she added, popping a piece of the vegetable into her mouth with chopsticks, "weirdly fitting. Like a passing of the torch… if Gojo had the emotional range to actually call it that"
They sat in silence for a moment. The hum of the overhead lights settled into the quiet like a third presence in the room
Marek studied the container of food between them. Shoko took another bite and leaned back, boot resting on the bottom rung of her chair. A breeze tapped the window behind her, soft and hollow
Then Marek spoke, "do you like working here?"
She snorted mid-chew and almost dropped a radish, "God, no"
Marek blinked
She gestured around vaguely with her chopsticks, "you mean do I enjoy patching up half-dead teenagers who think 'strategy' means yelling their strongest technique first and hoping it works? Watching fifteen-year-olds get sent into cursed zones because the higher-ups think trauma builds character?"
He opened his mouth, but she wasn't done
"Love being underfunded, under-appreciated, and overexposed to spiritual nerve damage"
She took another bite. Chewed, swallowed, and then shrugged, "I like being useful. I like that I can help people live"
Marek considered her for a moment, "you have an interesting definition of job satisfaction"
"I have a doctorate in disappointment and bad coping mechanisms"
"How do you do it?"
Shoko blinked at Marek's question
"Do what?"
"Reverse cursed technique"
"Ah", she set her food down, lifted both hands and wiggled her fingers. "First, you gotta—", she began rotating her wrists slowly, like she was kneading invisible dough in zero gravity, "then you take all the bad energy and you swirl it like soup—", she made a shlorp noise with her mouth. "—shhhp-fzzt! And you concentrate it, and then bam," she slapped her own shoulder, "you've healed"
There was a silence
Marek blinked once behind the sunglasses, "that was the worst explanation I've ever heard"
"I've never been able to explain it well"
Unexpectedly, he asked, "can I watch you work?"
She raised a brow, "what, right now?"
"Whenever you're healing"
"You think it'll help?", she tapped her nail against the side of her desk, "I can't promise you'll understand anything"
"I don't need to. Just need a starting point"
Shoko studied him for a moment, then sighed, and pointed toward the chair besides a medical bed, "alright, kid. Sit tight. I've got a sorcerer coming with a torn arm and a curse burn across his face. It won't be pretty"
"I'm not here for pretty"
"Good", she said, standing up and cracking her neck, "because reverse cursed technique is basically spiritual plumbing and emergency sorcery jammed together with duct tape"
Marek sat silent, as behind the old sunglasses—his eyes began to spin
——————x
The car ride was quiet at first. Marek had been in the jujutsu world for over a week now
Kiyotaka Ijichi drove with the grim efficiency of a man who'd resigned himself to lifelong awkward silences. His grip on the wheel was practiced but tight, and his eyes flicked between the rearview mirror and the road like he expected to be judged for breathing too loudly
The console embedded in the dashboard pulsed with the glowing blue seal of Jujutsu Tech. Beside it, a file folder rested on the passenger seat, pristine and unopened. Marek could guess the contents without looking
Mission: Grade One curse
Location: Kanagawa outskirts
Target site: A graffiti-covered love hotel nestled between forgotten roads and abandoned vending machines
In the back seat, Marek sat with his arms folded, legs still, wearing Gojo's old sunglasses and a hood zipped up high against his throat. The car's slight vibrations buzzed through the floor into his boots. Beside him sat Takuma Ino—chatty, upbeat, and, unfortunately, not equipped with an off-switch
"So, anyway", Ino said, gesturing animatedly despite the lack of space, "my theory is that reverse cursed technique doesn't actually reverse the energy, it just forces the soul to respond to something it thinks is positive—like a placebo effect, but, you know, violent"
Marek blinked once, 'that makes no sense'
Ijichi sighed audibly
Ino kept going, "I mean, c'mon, curses don't think in binaries, right? Good-bad, positive-negative? It's all how we interpret energy, so maybe healing is just… lying to your cursed energy until it behaves", Ino leaned closer, "did you get all that?"
Marek slowly turned his head, "no"
Ino beamed, "Awesome, you're listening"
Ijichi cleared his throat, voice dry, "we're three minutes out. Sir Gojo, you've been briefed?"
"Yeah", Marek replied
"Want the details?", Ino asked
"No"
Into shrugged, "I'll give them anyways"
Ijichi groaned into the steering wheel
"The hotel's called the Marunouchi Rose", Ino explained, "closed five years ago after the original owner, uh… committed some pretty unforgivable crimes. Lured college girls under the pretense of safety, then—"
Marek's jaw tensed
Ino saw the change in Marek's posture. Sobering slightly, he continued with less enthusiasm, "the guy got caught. Imprisoned. Died a year later under, let's say, unfortunate circumstances. But the building stuck around. People remembered, and talked. Posted stories online, y'know, urban legends, and whispers. The collective hatred toward him and what he did saw the birth of a nasty curse"
Ijichi spoke up, voice clipped, "we have confirmation of a cursed spirit born from that collective malice. Grade One classification. Active for two days now. One exorcist dead, and one civilian reported missing"
Marek asked, "who found the exorcist's body?"
"There was no body"
The car dipped slightly as they turned off the main road, tires crunching on gravel. Ahead, the trees thinned, and the first glimpse of the hotel emerged between the branches
The Marunouchi Rose had once been painted pink. Faded remnants of cheap romance peeled from the walls in curled strips. A rusted neon sign hung crooked above the entrance, half-lit, buzzing faintly like a dying insect
Beneath the rotting plastic and crumbling tiles, the building throbbed. Cursed energy clung to the walls like mildew. Thick and rotten. It stained the very air
Ijichi parked without a word, engine idling. No one moved at first. Then Marek opened the door and stepped out. The air hit him like static—prickling, low, and sour
Ino joined him, "you feel that?"
Marek nodded, "the building's angry"
"Hmm", Ino confirmed, checking his cuffs
Marek looked up at the crooked sign, lenses of his sunglasses catching the buzzing pink glow
A Grade One curse. His first jujutsu fight
He adjusted his sleeves and cracked his knuckles once, a sound barely audible over the buzz of cursed air
Ino rolled his shoulders, "you ready?"
Marek's voice steeled, "I am"
Together, they walked toward the doors—past rot, past memory, into the heart of something horrible
The door creaked open with a noise like something breathing through broken teeth. The Marunouchi Rose exhaled rot
Inside, the air was heavier. The kind of thick that clung to skin, coated the lungs, whispered things just below the range of hearing. The hallway stretched into dim red shadows, stained wallpaper curling like dead skin
Ino took point, his cursed energy faintly visible in the gloom, and Marek followed
He didn't speak. He just watched the lines of the space, and the tension in the walls. The way the corners twisted wrong—a geometry born from human cruelty
They moved past shattered vending machines and a front desk still littered with dust-covered keychains. Room numbers, plastic hearts, and dead moths
Then they heard it. A voice. Muffled, choked, low and wet
"Stop moving… come back"
They turned the corner, and the hallway bent. The architecture twisted inward, and at the center of it stood the Grade One curse
Its skin was mottled, stretched, and stained with lipstick and handprints—other people's hands. Its head bent wrong, too far left, and the air around it pulsed with the sound of whispers layered over screams
Ino didn't hesitate. He dropped into a low stance, cursed energy flaring, "contact," he called, "engaging", and he launched forward—gold-light fist slamming into the curse with enough force to blast it into the wall
Marek didn't move. He simply watched—silent, still—as he'd been told to. Gojo's instructions echoed in his mind, clear and sharp before the mission: "Observe first. Engage only when you understand what you're up against"
The fight spiraled across the floor, Ino weaving between clawed limbs and splitting walls with every strike. The curse howled. Blood—black and wrong; splattered the ceiling. Furniture snapped
Marek noticed then; that they weren't alone. From the far wall, something peeled itself free
A second spirit; smaller, paler, and crying. It wasn't like the Grade One, which was grinning
It whispered, "Stop… don't look at me… you're all the same…please let me go"
It was the shape of a broken girl, no older than twenty. Hair matted, and wrist bent at the wrong angle. Face torn down one side, like someone had tried to remove it, or maybe hide it
And it was moving toward Ino: fast
Marek didn't think. He simply moved. The hallway blinked—and Marek slammed into the vengeful spirit from the side, dragging it into another room with the force of a hurricane. They crashed through a bedframe, splinters flying in all directions as rotted wood exploded beneath them
The spirit shrieked—an awful, weeping noise—and attacked. She was fast. Too fast
Claws raked past his ear, so close they took the hood off his jacket. Her teeth snapped toward his throat, but Marek had fought monsters before
He dropped low—below her lunge—one hand sliding across the broken floor to anchor his turn. His right arm wrapped around her extended claw. He twisted hard
Her wrist snapped with a sickening crunch, and before she could scream, his heel swept under her stance and took her legs out from under her
They hit the ground again—him on top, straddling her torso in a locked mount. He drove his knee into her ribs. Breaking what moved, pinning what resisted, but she was a spirit, not bone and blood. Her body folded unnaturally beneath him—arms bending in wrong directions—and she pushed off the ground with sudden, explosive cursed energy
Marek flew back, but caught himself mid-roll. He landed in a crouch, palms skimming the ground
The spirit lunged, and he stepped into her attack
His right shoulder passed just under her swipe. His left arm shot up to trap her elbow. He pressed it into his own shoulder, body turning like a door hinge
Crack
Her upper arm bent inward. She screeched, but his hand was already rising. One palm strike to the throat, and another to the solar plexus. Then a pivot—he ducked behind her back, hooked his arm around her neck, and leapt
They flipped
He landed behind her—dragging her body with him—feet slamming into the floor in a perfect judo throw reversal
She writhed, and screamed, but Marek didn't stop
His fists moved in a rhythm. A language of violence spoken in joint locks and crushing blows. Her claw came at his head, and he ducked, and fired a quick side-kick to her knee—precise, cursed-energy reinforced, a clean pop and buckle. She dropped to one knee
He circled her like a hawk. Eyes never blinking
She lunged once again, and he waited. Once she was close, he sidestepped—and hooked her arm mid-strike, pulled her by the same arm, twisted her midair, and threw her into the far wall; the plaster exploded
Her body distorted—twisting up like a broken marionette, crushing through the wall, and into the floor with enough force to crater the wood
Before she could move again, Marek was on her; his knee pinned into her chest, and his right hand raised
He stopped
Her face—— Her face had shifted. Not monstrous, or fanged. "You didn't save me", she sobbed
Just a girl. Just scared victim. This wasn't just a curse. It wasn't some twisted thing born from superstition or collective fear
This was a person. A human soul, once
A girl
Someone who had died here—alone, terrified, broken—and had never left. The place had swallowed her last breath, stained her final moments with blood and silence, and the world, cruel as it was, had turned her pain into something monstrous. She hadn't become a curse, she had become a vengeful spirit
Trapped, and warped, not because she was evil—but because no one had come in time
Now, all she knew how to do was scream
'An innocent victim', Marek froze
Only for a second, and that hesitation cost him. The claw came, and raked across his abdomen—deep. Blood poured hot and fast from beneath his ribs.
He gasped, and his vision tilted; but his hand snapped out anyway—- stopping her attack
He clenched his jaw narrow, "I'm sorry"
Marek brought his palm down on her head—hard. Once
Her head cracked apart, and the vengeful spirit died
Marek stood, swaying. Purple blood soaking his side
Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Ino, burst through the door, panting, arms singed and stained, "curse is dead—Marek—!"
Marek's head tilted toward Ino, sweat dripping down his chin. His hoodie torn, hand clutching his side, blood dripping from his abdomen
"She was a victim", he whispered
———————————x
Marek leaned against Ino, half-walking, half-dragging his feet as they emerged from the Marunouchi Rose
The morning light stung
Even through Gojo's old sunglasses, the sudden brightness hit like judgment. The air outside was cooler than the stench inside, but Marek barely felt it. His hoodie hung in tatters, crimson leaking steadily from his side. Every breath scraped fire through his ribs
The curtain dissolved, and the cursed energy bled out in waves as the building groaned. The crooked neon sign above the door fizzled once, then died. Nothing supernatural remained
Ino's shoulder was slick with Marek's blood
"You're not passing out, right?"
"No", Marek rasped
"Good. I'm bad at carrying people"
Kiyotaka Ijichi jogged up from the parked car, brows knit in concern. He caught Marek's other side, sliding an arm beneath his free shoulder
"Kami", he muttered, "what did you fight in there?"
"A vengeful spirit", Marek replied
Ijichi guided him toward the trunk. The car's back was already lowered into a mobile med-sled position, "lie down. Now."
"I'm fine," Marek complained
"You are not fine", Ijichi snapped, voice sharper than usual, "that's a deep puncture. Full penetration. The claw might've hit your liver—if not, then the muscle alone is—hell, just sit"
Marek relented, sliding into the trunk of the vehicle with a hiss. Ijichi peeled open Marek's jacket and cursed under his breath
The tear stretched across Marek's side, jagged, angry, and deep. Blood soaked the hem of his undershirt and pooled into the car
Ijichi moved quickly, pulling antiseptic gauze and binding tape from the side compartment, "this will hurt"
"Already does"
Ijichi pressed the gauze in one motion
Marek arched
"Sorry", Ijichi said without sounding sorry, "that has to stay tight. We'll get you to Shoko. Immediately"
He began wrapping the bandage diagonally across Marek's torso, hands fast, precise, and rehearsed
Ino stood nearby, "I can't believe you solo'd a vengeful spirit like that," he muttered, before trailing off
Marek's eyes narrowed, 'something's wrong'
"Get down!" he barked, just as the sound of a knife slicing through air caught his attention
Ijichi threw his body over Marek as a cursed kunai embedded itself into the car wall inches from Marek's neck
Four shadows landed from the tree line. Assassins
Black uniforms. Cursed energy signatures barely visible—suppressed, but not hidden
One split off—straight for Ino
The other three surged toward Marek and Ijichi
Ino cursed, spinning to meet the his attacker with a raised forearm. Steel met cursed brass knuckles as the two collided, fists slamming together with a thunderous crack. Ino didn't look back, "Protect him!", he shouted instead
Ijichi gritted his teeth, and took out a hidden blade of his own, but a sword had already embedded itself into his chest
Marek's eyes went wide, "No!"
The word ripped out of his throat, raw and loud. It echoed off the trees like thunder
He lunged forward, faster than thought, hands grabbing Ijichi by the collar and dragged him back—just as the assassin pulled his sword out of the manager. Marek leapt over the car, twisting mid-air, crashing behind the parked car with Ijichi's limp body pressed against his chest
Marek didn't hear the fight Ino was having on the far end of the lot. Didn't see the other assassins closing in. All he saw was Ijichi's face—ashen, eyes fluttering, blood pooling too fast from the gash beneath his ribs
"No. No. No—"
His hand fumbled
"I don't know how to save you", Marek whispered, voice cracking
Ijichi's breath was fading. Chest hitching
Too fast
"Come on", Marek snarled, "come on"
He slammed his hand onto Ijichi's chest
"Heal—"
Nothing happened
So he forced it
He grabbed the energy trying to spill from the wound—his cursed energy, raw and negative—and dragged it inward. Pulled it down into his core
'Remember how Shoko's energy flowed', he thought, 'its' a clash'
He didn't know how; but he felt it
He forced the energy to bend—twist—coil and clash into itself
And then—like snapping a bone into place— A new energy sparked from his hand, slow at first. Warm, and bright
Marek cried out as the energy surged through his fingers into Ijichi's body
Tissue knit beneath his palm. Bone shuddered. The bleeding slowed, and then stopped
Ijichi coughed hard, gasping—and sucked in air like a drowning man breaking surface
Marek slumped forward in relief, but he didn't stop, till the man was completely healed
"Okay", he rasped, "my turn"
The cursed energy flared once more, and positive energy surged through his body
Light filled his wound—not visible light, but pressure, the heat of energy mending
Marek groaned as muscle pulled together, skin sealed, and nerves reconnected
"You're not supposed to know how to do that", a voice interrupted
Marek looked up, and saw an assassin stood atop the car—tall, lean, shirt open to reveal tattoos carved with ink across his chest. One hand held a curved blade dipped in something that hissed as it met air. His eyes gleamed with violent curiosity
"You aren't supposed to know", he growled, "I can"
And then he rose, just as the assassin leapt down. The assassin's cursed blade came in a low arc, but Marek had already stepped into the swing—a blur of motion—and drove his fist straight into the assassin's throat
There was a wet crunch, and the man gagged, stumbling back
Marek didn't let him breathe. He followed up with a forward elbow to the bridge of the nose, then twisted low, swept the legs, and spiked the man head-first into the dirt with a palm slam
The impact cracked the earth, and the body bounced once
Then Marek grabbed him by the neck—and ripped. Blood sprayed hot across his arms as the man's spine came free with a sickening schlck of snapping ligaments
The body dropped, and Marek held the dead man's curved spinal column like a rosary of death
"KIBA!", a woman's cry tore through the surroundings as the other two assassins attacked
They came from both sides—one high, one low
He stepped forward, not back. He welcomed the kill zone
The high attacker slashed downward, but Marek shifted, letting the blade skim the edge of his shoulder.
And then he moved. Not with speed—but alignment
A perfect rotation of his hips. A surge of cursed energy timed not a moment before, not a moment after—but at the exact point of contact
0.000001 seconds
That was all it took: It was everything
His fist connected with the lower assassin's jaw just as the cursed energy detonated inside it—within the microsecond, not after
The world cracked
Black Flash
Cursed energy surged violently from Marek's hand, rippling in black lightning. The very air distorted around the blow. Sound cracked in on itself, and the space trembled
The assassin's body bent like paper—launched backward into the side of the car with such force that the frame bent inwards like tinfoil. Glass exploded in every direction. The ground shook. The impact didn't just break bone—it collapsed structure
The silence that followed was unreal; even the wind paused
Marek stood still, arm extended, his fist trembling slightly, yet all he felt was the synchrony
For one moment, the cursed energy inside him didn't resist. It didn't require thought or struggle or willpower: It just was
Marek inhaled sharply
It was like the universe had folded towards him. Like gravity had bent in his direction, and for a heartbeat, he was the axis of everything
Marek understood, because for one second, he didn't feel human; he felt inevitable
The female assassin stumbled in mid-attack, eyes wide. She looked between Marek and her teammate's limp body now buried half inside the crumpled vehicle
"You—" she whispered
Marek turned to face her fully, "I'm not supposed to know how to do that, either", he said coldly
"Too bad, I don't care"
"Don't kill her", Ijichi voice came, as the man rose from where he lay, "we need her for questioning"
Marek closed the distance, and his hand shot forward, she grabbed Marek's wrist in desperation, and screamed, "Boil Over!"
Pain detonated inside Marek's arm like a lightning strike—inside the muscle. His blood heated instantly, searing through his veins. It was like magma had erupted beneath his skin. His vision blurred, and he felt his heart twitch
She was boiling his blood
Marek twisted out of her grip—skin already blistering where her fingers had seared his wrist. In the same breath, he batted her hand aside and stepped in close. His fingers snapped forward, striking just beneath her jaw—precise, and deliberate
The effect was immediate, as her body seized, cursed energy sputtering mid-flare. For a heartbeat, she hovered on the edge of resistance, and then collapsed —— limp, and unconscious
"Thank you", Ijichi said, before producing a bag from the broken car, and then proceeding to bind the woman in ropes
'Bondage in his car', Marek thought
"Every manager is provided with essential gear. This is standard procedure", Ijichi muttered, deducing Marek's silence accurately
Marek walked back to the wrecked car, boots crunching glass. The side still smoked from where the assassin's body had slammed into it under the force of the Black Flash
He pressed one hand to the dented steel breathed, and then proceeded to heal himself with another surge of positive energy
"That all of them?", Ino's voice cut through the silence
Marek turned his head, as Takuma Ino strode into view from the tree line, shirt torn across the chest, three shallow cuts bleeding through the fabric. One ran down his forearm, and two other on his left bicep. He moved with a limp
"Yours?", The sorcerer asked, jerking a thumb toward the collapsed woman
Marek gave a single nod
"My guy's about twenty feet back that way, in a crater. Breathing, and with a broken nose. Don't think he'll be fighting anytime soon"
Ijichi stood up, "I'll tie him up. Can you watch her?"
Ino gave a sharp nod, "with pleasure"
Ino crouched beside the unconscious assassin, checking her pulse with one hand and brushing his matted hair out of his face with the other. The late morning light filtered through the trees now, soft and pale
He glanced over at boy, "I'm glad I got sent out with you, Marek. Really. You're hell of a sorcerer"
Marek looked over, one brow raised slightly behind Gojo's old sunglasses
Ino tilted his head, "don't get all weird, and say something. I'm just saying—you're good"
A long pause followed
Then, finally, Marek relented, "You're a good sorcerer too"
Ino's grin widened, "look at us, having a moment. Might start crying"
"Please don't"
"I make no promises"
——————————x
The light filtering through the wide windows of the faculty room was soft—too soft for the weight of the conversation unfolding within
Gojo stood beside the glass, arms crossed, in his casual clothes and his new sunglasses lowered slightly as he stared out across the training grounds of Jujutsu High. Birds circled lazily in the distance. The wind moved through the trees like a thought half-spoken
Behind him, Principal Masamichi Yaga leaned back in his reinforced chair, thick arms folded over his chest, expression unreadable
"The full report just came in," Yaga said, his voice quieter than usual, "Black Flash. Reverse Cursed Technique"
Yaga reached over, picked up the report lying on his desk—creased slightly at the corners from how many times he'd read it—and flipped it open again, like he might find something different the fifth time
He didn't
"Marek's been here", he said slowly, "one week"
Gojo gave a nod, one hand rubbing absently at his jaw
"I've had prodigies at this school before", Yaga continued, "You. Geto. Kinji Hakari. Even Okkotsu Yuta"
He looked up from the page, "but this boy… what he's done isn't prodigious. It's unnatural"
Gojo smiled, "I know"
"Most students—hell, most sorcerers—take years to feel cursed energy properly, but never once land a black flash or utilize reverse cursed technique"
"And Black Flash?", Yaga said, "you can't teach that"
"No one can", Gojo replied, gleeful, "It's luck. For a split second, the universe listens to you. It's a moment of perfection"
Yaga stood slowly and crossed the room, standing beside his former student
"And he hit it after seven days", he murmured
Gojo tilted his head,"the assassins?"
Yaga didn't answer at first. He returned to his desk, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a small folder bound with three black wax seals. The Jujutsu Headquarters crest was stamped into the cover, perfectly centered, perfectly cold
He tossed it onto the desk
"They're dead", he said, "died in captivity. One by poison, one by heart rupture"
"Of course", Gojo muttered, "Headquarters say anything?"
Yaga snorted, a low, gravelly sound, "they 'found no evidence' of any registered clans contracting them. No bounty. No internal record. Just ghosts, conveniently unaffiliated"
Gojo raised a brow, "And you believe that?"
"No", Yaga folded his hands, "I reached out to my contacts. It was the Kamo Clan. They are afraid the Gojo Clan has grown too powerful with the addition of Gojo Marek"
"So they send assassins?", he asked, "before the boy even puts on a uniform"
"Even if we pin this on the Kamo Clan after acquiring evidence, they'll deny it", Yaga informed, "chalk up the entire incident to some disgruntled curse users. Just another rogue group trying to kill a promising Jujutsu child before they get too powerful"
"How's Marek?", Yaga asked instead
"He's surprisingly alright. I've given him access to the Gojo archives at our estate, and he's staying there to study barrier techniques, creation of cursed tools and talisman"
"He might reach it", Yaga rubbed his forehead, trying to push away an incoming headache unsuccessfully
Gojo turned slightly
"The pinnacle", Yaga looked up, "its' like the child's coded to be among the strongest"
Gojo grinned, "I've already been waiting for him to catch up"