Chapter Sixty-Three: Geto Suguru
I will begin by talking about myself. I am Geto Suguru. The person who wants to purify all humans for the sake of keeping shamans alive.
The words echoed in his mind like a mantra he had repeated so many times they had lost all meaning—but he kept saying them anyway, because if he stopped, he might have to face the silence underneath.
This noble work. This is what I believe.
Belief. Such a funny thing. So solid when you're standing on it. So hollow when you fall through.
How could it not be? I save many people from the existence of disgusting creatures. I am forced to consume them just for the chance to become stronger.
The taste of curses still lingered on his tongue—ash and rot and the concentrated misery of human beings. A million tiny deaths, swallowed one by one.
And all of that for the sake of saving people who are nothing more than monkeys capable of speaking like humans.
Monkeys. The word was a comfort and a curse. It simplified things. It also made him the zookeeper of a species he despised.
Therefore, I began my plan. I was ready to make this plan succeed.
Ready. Prepared. Certain. All the things he had been before that day in Tokyo.
But there are always many obstacles that prevent a man from completing his originally successful mission.
Obstacles. They came in many forms. Sometimes they looked like students with too much potential. Sometimes they looked like friends who had become enemies. Sometimes they looked like hope.
While I was about to curse Rika, Yuta Okkotsu intervened. In addition to that strange-eyed young man. They prevented me from doing that.
Those eyes. He still saw them sometimes when he closed his own—red and spinning, promising power he couldn't understand.
I used everything I had. I was even ready to die. But I did not succeed.
Failure: a dish best served cold, with a side of existential dread and a garnish of "what now?"
Yuta Okkotsu managed to stop my Uzumaki. And in the end, I was defeated.
Uzumaki. Spiraling death. All those curses he had consumed, all that power, undone by a boy who had barely learned to control his own energy.
Beside me was rubble. My body was completely shattered. I could barely maintain consciousness.
The rubble pressed against his broken body—sharp edges, concrete dust, the remains of a battle he had been so sure he would win.
I remembered that man who killed Riko. I felt intense anger.
That man. Toji. The one with no cursed energy who had destroyed everything. The one whose ghost still haunted every failure.
For the first time, I wanted to become a curse. To take revenge on these people. On anyone who prevented me from achieving my ultimate goal.
Revenge: the last refuge of the powerless. When you can't move forward, you look back. When you can't build, you burn.
But no use. My body could not move. I was about to watch my end.
The end. It looked surprisingly ordinary—just another piece of rubble in just another destroyed building in just another city that would rebuild and forget.
But at that moment, something pierced the rocks from below.
Crack. The sound was sharp and sudden—stone splitting, concrete breaking, something forcing its way up from beneath.
Then, in front of me, appeared a creature. It looked like a tree. It had no face.
The creature rose slowly—branches twisting, roots reaching, a wooden horror emerging from the earth like a nightmare planted long ago and finally blooming.
It was clear that this creature was a curse.
Curse. Yes. Definitely. The energy coming from it was unmistakable—dark, dense, completely inhuman.
But at that moment, I could not move. I did not know how this curse came. Because it was not one of the curses I controlled.
Unknown variable. The worst kind. The kind that got you killed.
"You need to lose consciousness."
The voice was feminine. Soft. Almost gentle. Completely wrong for the situation.
The voice was feminine. Before it released a kind of pink gas that was thrown at my face.
The gas floated toward him—pink and pretty, like cotton candy at a festival, like something children would chase with sticky fingers.
At that moment, I felt my head become empty. After I inhaled the gas.
Empty. The word didn't capture it. It was more like someone had opened a door in his mind and let all the thoughts wander out, one by one, until nothing was left.
---
When I regained consciousness, I found myself in another place.
Consciousness returned slowly—first sound (waves crashing), then smell (salt and sea), then sight (too bright, too open, too wrong).
I was tied with some kind of talismans. So I could not move.
The talismans glowed faintly—paper wrapped around his wrists, his ankles, his chest—each one a small sun of binding energy.
I felt cursed energy. But I could not use it.
The energy was there—he could feel it inside him, waiting, wanting—but when he tried to reach for it, something pushed back. Something blocked.
That was strange. Because it required a high-level barrier user to manipulate cursed energy like this.
High-level. Top-tier. The kind of skill that took decades to develop. The kind of skill that shouldn't exist in whoever had kidnapped him.
Who could it be? Was I kidnapped? Or did the Jujutsu Council capture me?
The Council. Those bureaucratic bastards. They would love to have him—their favorite terrorist, neatly packaged and delivered.
But that was impossible. How could they control a curse like that?
The tree creature. The faceless thing. It had moved with purpose. It had spoken. It had acted like something with intelligence.
It was definitely intelligent. This meant it was either first grade. Or there was someone who could control curses like I do.
First grade curses didn't usually have that much intelligence. Special grade curses did. Special grade curses were problems. Big ones.
Either of these two was something dangerous.
Dangerous: the word rolled around in his mind, examining itself, finding no comfort.
But it doesn't matter.
Nothing matters. The thought slipped in like smoke through a cracked window—thin, poisonous, impossible to fully remove.
I was feeling hope slip away little by little. So there was nothing I could do.
Hope: a leaky bucket. No matter how much you poured in, it eventually all drained out, leaving only the wet stain of disappointment.
I couldn't even defeat someone who had only learned about cursed energy for six months.
Six months. Yuta Okkotsu had been a shaman for six months. And he had won. The math was simple and devastating.
How could I pretend to be strong after this?
Pretend. That's all it had ever been, really. Pretending to be strong. Pretending to have answers. Pretending that genocide was a reasonable response to grief.
I think Gojo will mock me if we meet again.
Gojo. His face appeared in Geto's mind—those blindfolded eyes that saw everything, that smile that never reached anything, that friendship that had become a wound.
I laughed quietly, imagining his smile as he mocked me.
The laugh was small—just a breath, really—but it hurt. Laughing with broken ribs always did.
I wonder what he's doing there now. Is he looking for me? Or does he think I'm dead?
Dead. The thought should have been sad. Instead, it was just... empty. Like everything else.
It doesn't matter. He never understands what it means to be a weak person.
Weak. The word had followed Geto his whole life. Weak compared to Gojo. Weak compared to his ideals. Weak compared to the weight of his choices.
He alone managed to defeat Toji. While I couldn't do anything to him.
Toji. The name still burned. The man with no cursed energy who had destroyed everything Geto loved. The man Gojo had killed in moments.
He completely crushed me at that time. Riko died only because I was weak.
Riko. Her face swam up from memory—young, hopeful, trusting. Dead because Geto wasn't strong enough to protect her. Dead because weakness had consequences.
The anger inside me exploded when I imagined that.
The explosion was internal—a pressure building, building, building until something had to give.
Returning in time to that moment in my thoughts made me stop thinking about surrender. It returned some hope to me.
Hope: back again, like an unwanted relative who kept showing up at family gatherings despite everyone's clear desire for them to stay home.
Not that kind of hope that comes from saving people. But from revenge.
Revenge: the cleaner kind of motivation. Simpler. Purer. Less complicated by things like morality and the inherent worth of human life.
I want revenge on those ordinary people. Those who live their lives safely while shamans are endangered protecting them. For no reason.
No reason at all. Just duty. Just tradition. Just the way things had always been done.
We are the superior entities. We can manipulate cursed energy. Why must we protect these creatures?
The question hung in the air of his mind—unanswered, unanswerable, the kind of question that had started wars and ended friendships and destroyed everything Geto had once believed in.
---
While I was unaware, someone entered the place where I was.
The door didn't creak. That was the first thing Geto noticed. Whoever it was moved silently, deliberately, like someone who knew exactly where they were going and why.
In a short moment, while I was drowning in these thoughts, I managed to feel their cursed energy as they entered.
The energy was strange—familiar in some ways, completely alien in others. Like hearing a language you'd studied but never spoken.
I said, in a state of intense anger:
"Who are you, you bastard? And why did you restrain me like this?"
His voice came out rough—throat dry, vocal cords protesting, anger making everything worse.
No sound came out. I waited a full minute. But there was no answer.
The silence stretched—long, uncomfortable, filled with the sound of waves and his own breathing and nothing else.
I was sure they were trying to test my patience. And unfortunately, I did not have the patience they wanted to test.
Patience: another thing Gojo had in abundance. Another way his friend was better than him.
I tried to release cursed energy. But again, these barriers around me hindered my vision and the flow of cursed energy.
The barriers pressed against him—invisible walls that pushed back every time he tried to gather energy, like trying to fill a bucket underwater.
I could not gather enough cursed energy to activate my technique. Or even release enough power to break the barrier manually.
Manual. Physical. The kind of strength he had never relied on because he had never needed to. Until now.
Therefore, after half an hour of trying, while angry and waiting for them to say something, I finally stopped.
Thirty minutes of failure. Thirty minutes of straining against nothing. Thirty minutes of realizing how completely powerless he really was.
I sighed and said:
"You don't seem to be trying to kill me. If you wanted that, you would have done it long ago."
The words tasted like surrender—bitter, unwanted, but undeniable.
I am helpless at this moment. With these barriers, there was no way to free myself.
Helpless: the word had never applied to Geto before. He was always the one with power, with plans, with answers. Now he was just... a man. Tied up. Waiting.
In addition, there was no need for me to be healed. I had fractures. I don't master Reverse Cursed Technique.
Reverse Cursed Technique. The thing Gojo could do without thinking. The thing Geto had never been able to learn. Another way his friend was better.
Nevertheless, I feel my body is in good condition. This means they either used Reverse Cursed Technique or they have a special healing method.
Healing. Someone had fixed him. Someone had taken his broken body and made it whole again. The question was why.
In either case, they only needed to kill me. My imprisonment here means they want to use me for something.
Use. The word was a key turning in a lock. It opened a door in Geto's mind—a door labeled "negotiation" that he had forgotten existed.
Therefore, it's better to know what this thing is that they need from me. Because certainly, if they could get it while I was unconscious, that means they don't need my agreement.
Agreement. Consent. Willing participation. They wanted something he had to give freely.
My survival at this moment means that this bastard certainly needs me to agree to what they want.
The realization was oddly comforting. If they needed him to agree, they couldn't force him. If they couldn't force him, he had leverage. If he had leverage, he wasn't completely helpless.
Therefore, after I said that, I heard movement sounds.
Swish. Swish. Swish. The sound of someone moving around the room—left, right, left again—like they were pacing, thinking, deciding.
It sounded like someone moving around the room. Left and right. For another minute.
The pacing continued—steady, rhythmic, the footsteps of someone who had all the time in the world and knew it.
Before they said, in a feminine voice:
"You're right. I need something from you."
The voice was calm. Almost bored. Like this was just another conversation in just another day of kidnapping just another terrorist.
Finally, they started talking. What were the things they wanted? I did not hesitate. I asked:
"What do you want, you?"
A direct question. Simple. No point in games when you're tied up on what might be an island.
The person I assumed was a woman hummed after hearing this.
Hmm. The sound was thoughtful—considering, evaluating, the kind of noise people made when deciding how much to reveal.
Several moments passed before she said:
"To satisfy my curiosity."
Curiosity. Of all the things Geto had expected—power, money, information—curiosity was not on the list.
I stopped thinking for a fraction of a second. I didn't understand the meaning of these words she said.
Curiosity. What kind of person kidnaps someone to satisfy curiosity? The kind of person Geto needed to understand very quickly.
But certainly, I was not unfamiliar with the words of crazy people. After all, I was one of the crazy people who wanted to eliminate all ordinary humans.
Crazy: another word that had changed meaning over time. Once it meant "mentally ill." Now it meant "has goals others don't understand."
Therefore, after seconds of analysis, deduction, and conclusion:
"You're curious. And you brought me here. This means I can help you satisfy your curiosity. Right?"
Logical. Clean. The kind of reasoning that worked even when tied up and helpless.
She clapped.
Clap. Clap. The sound was sharp—applause for a correct answer, appreciation for a mind that worked the way she wanted it to.
It seemed she agreed with my words. Before she said in an excited voice:
"That's good. You seem smart enough to hear what I want to give you."
Give. Not ask. Give. Interesting word choice.
Interesting, I said to myself. She didn't say her request. She said she would give me something.
The reversal was unexpected. Usually, people who kidnapped you wanted things from you. They didn't offer things to you.
I wonder what this thing is. I decided to ask her, saying:
"What is the thing you want to give me?"
Direct. Again. No point in dancing around when you're lying on a beach chair in someone else's Domain Expansion.
I heard her laugh.
The laugh was light—almost girlish—completely wrong for someone who commanded multiple special grade curses.
"Isn't that obvious? Revenge. And power."
Revenge. Power. The two things Geto wanted most in the world. Wrapped in a bow and handed to him by a stranger.
Neither of us spoke for a minute.
The silence was different this time—charged, electric, full of possibilities.
While deep inside me, I began to laugh crazily.
The laughter was silent—just a shaking of shoulders, a widening of eyes, the kind of laughter that came from places too deep for sound.
But I didn't know if she knew I was laughing or not. But I decided to tell her, releasing a cold laugh:
"Giving me power? I hate people who think I'll take power from them like that. I don't ask for power. I want to obtain it. And if I want it, I'll obtain it myself."
The words came out cold—colder than he intended, but true. So true. The truest thing he had said in years.
All sounds in the place suddenly stopped.
The waves seemed to pause mid-crash. The wind held its breath. Even the curses standing nearby seemed to freeze.
The woman, apparently, was silent.
Silent and still. A statue with red eyes and surgical scars and something like approval flickering in her gaze.
I didn't know what she was doing. But I felt, in one way or another, that she was happy with my answer.
Happy. Pleased. Satisfied. The emotions radiated from her like heat from a fire.
To the extent that she seemed to be vibrating.
Vibrating—just slightly, just enough to notice, the kind of movement that came from barely contained excitement.
I didn't know why I knew that. I just felt it. That's what I could deduce at this moment.
Intuition. The thing that kept you alive when logic failed. The thing Geto had learned to trust, even when it made no sense.
"I see."
The words were soft. Almost reverent.
I heard a cracking sound.
Crack. The barriers around him shattered—paper tearing, energy dissipating, bindings falling away like old skin.
Then I felt myself able to control cursed energy again. The barrier around me was destroyed.
Freedom. It came suddenly—the energy rushing back, the techniques becoming available again, the weight of helplessness lifting.
Then I stood up in a place that looked like an island.
Island. Yes. Definitely. Sand beneath his feet, sea around him, sky above. An island created by someone's Domain Expansion.
I looked around and found many comfortable chairs. The same kind people used for relaxing and sunbathing.
Beach chairs. The kind with adjustable backs and little umbrellas for drinks. Completely absurd in the context of being kidnapped by curses.
In addition to sand and the sea on the other side.
The waves continued their eternal rhythm—crash, hiss, retreat. Crash, hiss, retreat. A soundtrack for insanity.
Now I understood why I heard the sound of waves earlier. It seemed I wasn't imagining being at sea. So I avoided that conclusion.
Reality: stranger than imagination. At least in imagination, things made sense.
But none of this mattered. The people around me were what mattered.
Six figures. Six sources of cursed energy. Six problems to evaluate.
First, there was a young man with no hair. Long blue hair. In addition to a sadistic smile.
His smile said "I enjoy pain"—other people's pain, specifically. The kind of smile that made you check where the exits were.
And there was a person whose head looked like a volcano. With one eye.
Volcano head. Literally. Craters and all. Geto had seen many curses, but this was a new one.
And the curse that brought me here. Finally, there was a woman with short hair and red eyes. On her head, there were marks resembling a surgical procedure. Extending from the beginning of the right side to the left side. And certainly, there were scratches on it.
Surgical scars. Like someone had opened her skull and done something inside. The sight made Geto's own head ache in sympathy.
In addition, there was another girl with white hair and purple eyes. She was looking at me calmly.
Calmly. Coldly. The kind of calm that came from knowing she could kill you whenever she wanted.
There was a cold feeling coming from her.
Cold. Not hostile—just cold. Like winter. Like death. Like something that had stopped caring long ago.
The two girls were human. While it was clear that the four—especially volcano head and the young man, in addition to the tree curse that took a humanoid form made of trees, in addition to the crab-bodied, octopus-headed man—were all curses.
Four curses. Two humans. One Geto. Interesting math.
This is what I quickly concluded.
Quickly. Efficiently. The mind of a survivor, cataloging threats and opportunities in the same breath.
I smiled as I looked at the woman with black hair and distinctive red eyes. I pointed at her:
"Why are you silent now? It seems you've surrounded me well. Is this Domain Expansion?"
Domain Expansion. The ultimate technique. The thing that separated the strong from the truly terrifying.
This area—I felt the cursed energy contained in this place. Certainly not a normal area. But Domain Expansion.
The energy was everywhere—in the sand, the sea, the sky, the chairs. All of it belonged to someone. All of it could be weaponized.
And if my guess was correct, one of these six people in this place put me here.
The crab-bodied one. The octopus-headed one. The one who hadn't spoken yet.
And if my guess was almost correct, it would be that curse with the crab body and octopus head.
Dagon. She had called him Dagon. The name meant nothing to Geto, but the power behind it meant everything.
I smiled at her before pointing at the black-haired woman who was silent. But it was clear she was enjoying herself.
Enjoying. Yes. Her smile was the smile of someone at a party, not someone interrogating a prisoner.
Her happy smile suggested she had found something interesting. It seemed her curiosity was real.
Curious people were dangerous. They asked questions. They poked things. They didn't care what happened when the poking revealed something terrible.
In the end, she seemed like the type of person who loved discovering everything. Who possessed high curiosity.
A kindred spirit, in a way. Geto understood curiosity. He just didn't usually kidnap people to satisfy it.
"You're right. You're in Domain Expansion. I think our friend Dagon is the one to thank for that."
Dagon. So the octopus-crab thing had a name. Good to know.
She pointed at the curse with the octopus head. He moved his head slightly and was satisfied with just that.
The head movement was minimal—just a tilt, really—but it acknowledged the introduction. Confirmed the name. Made the connection.
Before she returned to looking at me, saying:
"You seem to be in good condition. And you don't seem to want to destroy everything. So I removed the barriers. In the end, consider my restraining you just a precautionary measure."
Precautionary. Like wearing a seatbelt. Like locking your door at night. Like tying up a special grade curse before having a conversation.
Precautionary measure.
The words were so absurd, so completely inadequate for the situation, that Geto laughed.
I laughed at this word. It seems I really needed a lot of precautionary measures.
He did. He absolutely did. If their positions were reversed, he would have used even more.
I agreed with her words and said:
"You're right. You need a lot of precautionary measures."
The agreement was genuine. Professional respect, even. She had done exactly what he would have done.
I didn't seem angry. But I was certainly ready to fight.
Ready: muscles loose, energy gathered, mind focused. The calm before violence.
"So, if you're done with these silly things you wanted to do with me, I think I need to leave this party. As you know, I'm a busy person."
Busy. Genocide didn't plan itself.
I didn't say that as if I didn't know she certainly knew me. She knew me. If she wanted to kidnap me.
She knew him. She had to. You don't kidnap random people and offer them revenge and power.
---
The atmosphere was quiet on the island.
Quiet. Too quiet. Even the waves seemed to be holding their breath.
Before Geto's cursed energy surged for moments.
The surge was involuntary—a response to tension, to uncertainty, to the feeling of being surrounded by unknowns.
But none of the people exposed to this energy flinched.
Not one. They stood there—curses and humans alike—completely unaffected by the killing intent of a special grade shaman.
They were all strong enough to withstand this aura.
Strong. All of them. The weakest person here was probably Geto himself. The realization was humbling.
Finally, the black-haired woman spoke again:
"No need to be hostile. In the end, I brought you here to explain things to you."
Explain. Like a teacher. Like a tour guide. Like someone showing a new student around on the first day of school.
Then she pointed at the people one by one.
Her hand moved—pointing, identifying, categorizing.
The one with the volcano head was Jogo.
Jogo. The name settled into Geto's memory alongside the image of volcanic features and one burning eye.
The young man who looked human was named Mahito.
Mahito. The sadistic smile made more sense now. Names had power. So did knowing them.
She pointed at the tree curse that took the form of a faceless man. Its name was Hanami.
Hanami. The faceless one. The one who had brought him here. The one who had released pink gas into his face.
The one with the crab body and octopus head was named Dagon.
Dagon. The owner of this Domain. The one who could reshape reality at will.
After that, she pointed at the white-haired girl. Her name was Uraimi.
Uraimi. The cold one. The human-looking one. The one whose presence felt like winter.
And finally, she pointed at herself. A smile appeared—a cunning smile.
Cunning. Calculating. The smile of someone who had already won and was just waiting for you to realize it.
"You can call me Itadori Kaori. Or... well... Kenjaku."
Kenjaku. The name meant nothing to Geto. But the pause before it meant everything. Like she was deciding whether to show her real face.
After that, she pointed at the chairs. She went to one of them and sat comfortably. Lying back without concern.
Her body relaxed into the chair—completely at ease, completely unafraid, completely in control.
While the others did the same thing. But with their own steps.
Jogo sat stiffly, like volcanoes weren't designed for relaxation. Mahito sprawled like a cat. Hanami stood beside a chair rather than sitting. Dagon arranged himself carefully, crab body and chair not naturally compatible. Uraimi sat gracefully, cold perfection even in repose.
Then she pointed at the seat beside her and said:
"How about we take a sunbath before we start our business, Geto Suguru?"
Sunbath. On a beach. In a Domain Expansion. Surrounded by curses. After being kidnapped. Sure. Why not.
Normal people certainly wouldn't do that.
Normal people would be screaming. Normal people would be fighting. Normal people would be doing anything except accepting a sunbath invitation from their kidnapper.
But for Geto, who had become strangely interested in this woman and this party, he went and sat on the chair. He lay back before looking at the atmosphere and saying, smiling:
"I'd be happy to hear your deal."
Happy. The word surprised him. But it was true. He was happy. Or something like happiness. Interest, at least. Curiosity. The first real feeling he'd had since waking up tied up.
The threatening aura disappeared little by little as he grabbed a drink beside his chair and sipped it slowly.
The drink was cold—condensation forming on the glass, ice cubes clinking—clink, clink, clink—as he tilted it toward his lips.
Enjoying the sunlight touching his body.
The sun was warm—familiar, comfortable, the same sun that had shone on him as a child, as a student, as a friend of Gojo Satoru, as a terrorist planning genocide. The same sun, still shining, still warm, still indifferent to everything humans did beneath it.
──────────────────────
END OF CHAPTER
──────────────────────
Sorry, friends, for the delay in posting the chapter, but I'm fasting these days for the holy month of Ramadan. I hope you all stay well during this blessed month.Don't forget to comment, friends! I really love reading your comments, in addition to writing reviews. (Regarding the Power Stones feature, push the narration to activate the cursed reverse technique.)