To all my fellow countrymen from before the crossing: hello.
I have arrived in a new world, a new country, and become a boy who has lost both his parents.
I am sorry.
Truly, I am so very sorry. My spirit has already fallen into a state of utter loss of control.
Look at me in the mirror—I am smiling.
That reckless, utterly ordinary, pitifully weak creature who nevertheless dares to crawl toward the demonic lair of the jujutsu world… that is me.
Asou Akiya.
January 10, 2004. Yokohama City, Japan.
In Japan, an orphan not yet fourteen years of age has only two paths ahead: a foster family or the children's welfare institution. Under the strict supervision of the Child Guidance Center, a black-haired boy who had lost his parents not long ago rejected every single qualified foster home. Using the desire to keep his own family name as his reason, he chose without the slightest hesitation to enter the local children's welfare facility.
When all the paperwork was finally complete, the black-haired boy named Asou Akiya began his new life.
Today was his birthday.
Fourteen years old.
The welfare institution had no private rooms. He was assigned to a four-person male dormitory. The other three roommates were all minors as well: the oldest sixteen, the youngest twelve. Each remained in the institution for different reasons—some because their parents had failed them, some because their bodies were broken, some because they had suffered domestic violence.
The moment the reliable adults departed, the black-haired boy immediately felt the naked, unmistakable isolation.
He was excluded from the start.
They hated the health and wholeness of his body.
They envied the striking difference of his appearance.
Thus was born a deformed little society of minors.
This is why so many children who have lost their guardians fear the welfare institution above all else.
[As expected.]
The black-haired boy had foreseen this scene entirely. Not a single flicker of emotion crossed his face. Carrying the small cake in his hands, he walked in silence, aloof and withdrawn, into the bathroom. He shut the door, opened the little cake box in that cramped space, and placed it on the washstand. The cake came with only one candle and no lighter, so there was no way to light it.
Through the door, he could still hear his three roommates suddenly whispering about his background.
One week ago, on a weekend, a supernatural incident had occurred in the apartment building where the three members of the Asou family lived. The official report called it a gas explosion. He had been extraordinarily lucky—one of the very few survivors in the entire building.
Yes, extraordinarily lucky. He had survived completely intact, without losing an arm or a leg.
Asou Akiya pressed his palms together before the little cake. The gloom he had worn for the outside world slowly melted from his face.
"Happy birthday, Asou Akiya."
"May every single year from this day forward be spent in joy."
In the mirror.
As though blessed by his own words, the black-haired boy lifted his gaze to the glass. He pushed the disheveled bangs back from his forehead, revealing a smooth, full brow. On cheeks still carrying a trace of baby fat, a smile blossomed that seemed utterly detached from the material world—his lips curved high and radiant.
In that instant, it was as if an unlit birthday candle had ignited within those pure, pitch-black pupils!
That face revealed the beauty of a soul finally freed from its chains.
So dazzling it hurt to behold.
This single frame could have slotted seamlessly into any horror film without the slightest sense of dissonance. After all, from the perspective of human relationships, the Asou couple had never abused their son; Asou Akiya had no reason to feel joy at the loss of his parents.
There could be no doubt: this body had already been claimed by a different soul. The new soul, touching an unknown world for the first time, could no longer contain its wild laughter.
He had transmigrated!
He had encountered the greatest miracle of his life!
Parents dead, a face so beautiful it rivaled Dazai Osamu from the Bungo Stray Dogs tales—this was the perfect starting point!
Long, long ago he had understood one thing: he had lived in an ordinary reality where only the fantasies inside his skull could grant his soul a moment of lightness. Being ordinary was not wrong. A peaceful era that obeyed laws was not wrong. The one who was wrong was him—the one who yearned to cross into another world. That was what his parents had called "escapism." Yet that desperate longing to live even once for himself had accumulated drop by drop, like water wearing through stone, devouring his heart in long shadows.
Only those who crossed space and time, only those who lost every single tether in a single morning, were granted the chance to sever all the chains of the world!
Ah—he no longer had to bow to the will of society, no longer had to do work he hated, no longer had to hide his sexual orientation, no longer had to bear the responsibilities his parents had imposed in the name of "love," no longer had to live step-by-step as the "normal person" society approved of.
This sensation of freedom and exhilaration was so intense it set his blood on fire!
This terror of leaving the safe "tracks" and hurtling toward the "unknown" fascinated him beyond measure!
"I'm sorry. Your experience is indeed tragic, but to me—"
"Using the words of Gojo Satoru at sixteen—"
"Right now, I simply find this world purely, utterly delightful."
Asou Akiya sliced into the birthday cake, letting the sweetness bloom across his tongue as his soul seized the body's memories with overwhelming, triumphant authority.
Ever since waking in the hospital, he had observed every shift in his emotions and found no trace of a second will. Either his soul had devoured the original, or that fragile thing had already scattered into nothingness. Whichever the truth, Asou Akiya felt not the slightest tremor in the self he had rebuilt; he would spare no pity for the death of the original owner.
This was a war for survival. There could be no carelessness. He was not soft-hearted, especially not in a world where supernatural events truly existed. In the original's hazy memories, the shadow of "yokai" had flickered; the gas explosion had been nothing more than the official lie.
In the space of a few breaths, he set three modest goals within his heart.
First: change schools and start attending classes again.
Second: gather information about the city, collect urban legends, and investigate the hidden truths of this world.
Third: earn enough money to completely renovate the children's welfare institution—then raze this dormitory room, inside and out, until not a single trace remained.
In this life, he had no intention of being adopted by another family. To minimize new bonds was his creed. Until he understood the precise degree of danger in this world, treating every person as an "irrelevant NPC" was the only rational choice.
The welfare institution readily supported his desire to transfer schools. For one thing, Asou Akiya had never been a poor student; he possessed the ability to test into high school. For another, a new environment would help him escape the shadow of tragedy and begin life anew. Until the new term began in April, he had nowhere else to go, so he remained within the institution, reviewing textbooks and solidifying his knowledge. During that time, he received the housing compensation from the gas explosion and the relief funds granted to orphans.
Asou Akiya counted his entire fortune: one outdated flip phone from the previous owner, a SIM card, a bank card, a reissued Japanese health insurance card. As a middle-school student living frugally, it was enough to carry him through university.
In his idle hours he wandered Yokohama several times by day. The passers-by looked perfectly ordinary—no rainbow hair colors, only black and shades of brown. He made a point of visiting landmark buildings and bookstores, confirming that the local specialties did not include a certain Port Mafia. A mixture of relief and faint disappointment colored his expression.
The bookstore shelves held works by Japan's most familiar authors, alongside famous manga such as Yu Yu Hakusho, Hunter × Hunter, Bleach, and Naruto. Perhaps in 2013, Bungo Stray Dogs would appear and spark another wave of otaku enthusiastically recommending real-world literature back to the mundane masses.
[This is good.]
[The closer the two worlds' trajectories align, the easier it becomes to spot the critical divergences.]
Thinking of the face in the mirror, he no longer had to worry about resembling a dangerous character. In high spirits, he bought a roll of bandages and, in the privacy of the bathroom, wrapped half his face. Then he let his expression collapse, eyes going vacant, and nodded in satisfaction. Inside, he judged: "Exactly like a bandage-wrapped, corpse-looking Dazai."
Black hair, black eyes. The real Dazai Osamu had brown hair and kite-colored eyes. Even a passing resemblance was proof enough of breathtaking beauty.
Beyond that, he harbored no delusions of possessing Dazai's ability.
The heavens did not drop pies on waiting heads.
Asou Akiya was excited, yet perfectly calm. He was no naïve fool fresh out of school; the memories of his previous life contained the full social experience of an ordinary, mentally sound adult who had lived to twenty-nine. Though he had received no system or golden finger upon transmigrating, a mutation had occurred: he could recall every detail of both his own life and the original owner's. As some sort of price—or perhaps a flaw in the soul itself—he had forgotten the faces and names of all the family and friends from his old world.
At night, Asou Akiya sat on the upper bunk, single-handedly reversing the isolation directed at him.
He studied diligently. The Japan geography book and world atlas in his hands grew creased within days. After lights-out, he continued reading beneath the blanket, using the glow of his newly purchased phone to browse Japanese schools, wearing the earnest expression of a boy concerned for his future studies.
In truth, he was conducting a meticulous secondary-world screening.
No Namimori-chō.
No Karakura Town.
No Mikazuki-chō.
No Ninja Prefecture.
No Fuyuki City.
No Gotham…
No Black Main Academy.
No PK Academy.
No Academy City.
No Kunugigaoka Junior High.
No Tōtsuki Academy.
No Ouran High School.
No Hope's Peak Academy.
No Uei University…
Safety rating skyrocketing.
Asou Akiya stared intently at the flip-phone's dim screen, thumb pressing the old-fashioned keys to scroll.
He kept scrolling and scrolling until—
Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College
His finger froze.
The moment the school's name appeared, Asou Akiya's heart skipped a beat. According to the webpage, it was a private religious institution located in the suburbs of Tokyo, with no public enrollment channel.
Silently, he snapped the phone shut, pulled the blanket over his head, and laughed without a sound.
So it was you after all.
This was the world of Jujutsu Kaisen.
How utterly, deliriously perfect, a world he adored, brimming with hot blood, brutal battles, and every element that shattered the dull veneer of reality and tore peace to shreds.
Sleep was destined to elude him tonight. The black-haired boy tossed and turned beneath the thin blanket, eyes wide in the dark. The worldview of Jujutsu Kaisen harbored one truly horrifying premise: ordinary people neither knew of cursed spirits nor could see them, yet their negative emotions pooled together like sewage, coagulating into curses. Those curses took form as cursed spirits, brimming with malice toward humanity. Only sorcerers, those who could perceive the spirits, were capable of exorcising them. Every year in Japan alone, more than ten thousand lives were claimed by curses. Across the entire globe, no country birthed as many cursed spirits as Japan.
Without question, the most dangerous nation on earth was Japan.
The most perilous city in Japan was Tokyo.
The deadliest occupation in Tokyo was jujutsu sorcerer.
Their mortality rate remained catastrophically high; they were the nameless, unsung heroes lurking behind society's polished façade.
Ordinary people were pitiful, coexisting with monsters they could not see.
Jujutsu sorcerers were even more pitiful, locked in ceaseless war against monsters they could see, until death finally claimed them.
Yet as Asou Akiya mulled over these grim truths, he, who belonged firmly among those blind to cursed spirits, felt no tremor of fear in the depths of his heart. An inexplicable certainty settled over him: his lifespan would surely outlast any sorcerer currently on mission. Surviving this one night posed no difficulty at all.
He thought to himself:
[So this is the legendary game of "who has it worse."]