The next day. Inside a mixed-use commercial building along the Ome Kaido avenue in Shinjuku.
Hayashi Ichiro woke up naturally. Blinking away the sleep, he checked his phone and smiled at the glorious bank deposit notification lighting up his screen. In high spirits, he got out of bed, washed up, threw together a quick breakfast, and stepped out onto his balcony to bask in the morning sun while watching the bustling street below.
After finishing his late breakfast, he tidied up, got dressed, and headed downstairs.
Straddling his motorcycle, he rode straight to the East Exit of Shinjuku Station. He parked and strolled over to the public message board. Scanning the chaotic scribbles, he specifically looked for job requests starting with the letters "XYZ". Whenever he spotted one, he whipped out his phone and snapped a picture of the contact details.
With his daily routine out of the way, Ichiro checked his watch. Deciding he had plenty of time to kill, he cruised around the streets on his bike before finally pulling up to his favorite local bakery.
"Good afternoon, Ichiro-san! One signature butter roll, right?"
"Spot on. One butter roll and a bottle of milk. You know me too well, Kaori-chan."
"Well, you do come in at this exact time every single day to order the exact same thing."
"True enough," Ichiro chuckled. He leaned against the counter, studying her face. "You look a little out of it today, Kaori-chan. Trouble sleeping lately?"
"You can tell, huh?" The cashier rolled her left shoulder with a wince, though she still managed a bright, energetic smile. "It is probably just the workload getting to me. I am so exhausted by the time I get home, but then my brain refuses to shut off when I hit the pillow. Do not worry about me, Ichiro-san. I will bounce back!"
"If you are feeling that stiff, you should really go see a doctor," Ichiro offered sympathetically. "Or, you know, you could always ask me for help. My consultation fee is very reasonable... just one month of free butter rolls."
"Oh my, how incredibly generous of you, Ichiro-san. I think I will stick with the hospital."
Ichiro laughed, thoroughly enjoying their familiar banter. He accepted the freshly baked, piping hot butter roll and the cold milk, then found a quiet seat by the window to watch the crowds outside.
However, out of the corner of his eye, he kept glancing back at the cashier. More specifically, he was staring at her left shoulder.
Perched right there was a grotesque, insect-like monster about the size of an adult human's arm. Yet, the cheerful cashier was completely oblivious to its existence.
It was an unregistered Cursed Spirit. A Flyhead.
These were low-level curses born from humanity's collective annoyance and disgust toward pests like locusts, flies, and mosquitoes. They posed practically zero lethal threat to humans. Instead, they survived by passively absorbing the trace amounts of Cursed Energy emitted by regular people. The side effects for the host were merely chronic lethargy, stiffness, and fatigue.
Ichiro could see the ugly little bugger because he was a Jujutsu Sorcerer.
For someone in his line of work, a Flyhead was the equivalent of a dust bunny. Anyone with an ounce of Cursed Energy could squash it without breaking a sweat.
It had been exactly three months since Ichiro inexplicably woke up in the wildly dangerous world of Jujutsu Kaisen. His initial luck had been absolutely terrible, but the universe had thrown him a bone in the form of an innate Cursed Technique: Polar Reversal.
Relying on his new technique and the physical boosts of being a Sorcerer, he quickly secured a legal identity in Kabukicho, fully adopting the local customs and changing his name to Hayashi Ichiro. He opened up the "Ichiro Agency" on Ome Kaido, taking on jobs under the guise of a private detective. In reality, he operated as a City Hunter, an invisible sweeper taking out the trash in Shinjuku's seedy underbelly.
His grand master plan was incredibly simple. He wanted to hustle hard, stockpile as much yen as humanly possible, find a highly competent stockbroker, and dump all his earnings into the market. Then, right before October 31st rolled around, he would liquidate every single asset, pack his bags, and flee to some remote, sunny island on the other side of the planet.
There was absolutely no way in hell he was going to stick around to fight Ryomen Sukuna, the ancient King of Curses, in some apocalyptic relay race alongside the protagonist squad.
Pondering his foolproof retirement plan, Ichiro finished off his butter roll. He looked over at Kaori, who was rubbing her sore shoulder again. He figured he might as well go order another pastry to go, and casually swat that Flyhead away while he was at it.
Ding-dong!
"Welcome!" Kaori called out cheerfully as the door chimed.
Seeing a new customer walk in, Ichiro paused and settled back into his chair.
The newcomer was dressed in a crisp, classic salaryman suit. He had neatly parted blonde hair and stood roughly the same height as Ichiro. However, the heavy, dark circles under his eyes screamed of a soul thoroughly crushed by Japan's notorious overtime culture.
His name was Nanami Kento.
Just like Ichiro, he was a Jujutsu Sorcerer. The key difference was that Ichiro was a rogue, unregistered wildcard sneaking around Tokyo, while Nanami was an elite, classically trained Sorcerer who had actually graduated from Tokyo Jujutsu High, one of the only two legitimate Sorcerer educational institutions in the country.
Recognizing Nanami as a regular, Kaori set a fresh baguette sandwich on the counter. But seeing the man's deeply haggard face, her customer-service smile softened into genuine concern.
"Are you doing alright? Have you been sleeping properly?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Nanami replied, his voice a deep, exhausted rumble. "You look incredibly fatigued."
"You noticed too, huh? Ichiro-san over there just told me the exact same thing."
Nanami followed her gaze to the window seat. Ichiro offered a polite, casual wave in greeting.
Nanami smoothly withdrew his gaze. Despite being a Grade 1 Sorcerer, he did not sense any hostile or abnormal Cursed Energy from the overly friendly man by the window. He instantly categorized Ichiro as just another ordinary civilian, exactly like the cashier.
Faced with Kaori's gentle concern, Nanami suddenly felt a rare, overwhelming urge to vent. Completely ignoring the fact that Ichiro was sitting right there, he began to casually summarize the crushing futility of his corporate existence.
"My job consists of wealthy people handing me their money, and my sole purpose is to make those wealthy people even wealthier. That is essentially it..."
Sitting by the window, Ichiro listened to Nanami's existential crisis. A slow, amused smirk crept onto his face.
Just moments ago, he had been stressing over where to find a reliable stockbroker to multiply his escape funds. And now, the universe had practically gift-wrapped a top-tier financial advisor and dropped him right in his lap! Plus, considering the guy's current mental state, Ichiro figured he could probably negotiate a killer discount on the commission fees.
"...Could you please take one step forward?"
Back at the counter, Nanami abruptly stopped his depressing monologue and issued a strange request to the profoundly confused cashier.
Trusting him, Kaori took a step closer to the register.
Nanami raised his right hand and casually swiped the air near her left shoulder.
Through the reflection in the window glass, Ichiro watched the bloated Flyhead shatter into nothingness under Nanami's precise movement.
The instant the curse was exorcised, the heavy, suffocating exhaustion weighing Kaori down vanished without a trace.
Nanami offered a few brief words of advice regarding her health, picked up his baguette sandwich, and walked out the door.
It took Kaori a few seconds to process the sudden, miraculous lightness in her body. Realizing her chronic pain was completely gone, she scrambled out from behind the counter, ran to the front door, and shouted a heartfelt "Thank you!" to Nanami's retreating back.
Seeing his golden opportunity walking away, Ichiro grabbed his jacket and bolted out of the bakery, quickly catching up to the blonde Sorcerer's brisk pace.
"Hey pal, hold on a second!"
On the sidewalk, Nanami had just pulled out his phone. He was staring at a specific name in his contacts: Gojo Satoru. He was right on the verge of hitting the call button when he heard the voice behind him.
Ichiro, peeking over the man's shoulder, also caught a clear glimpse of that infamous name on the screen.
Nanami lowered his phone and turned around, his expression completely blank.
"Can I help you?"
"Hello there!" Ichiro flashed a million-watt smile. "My name is Hayashi Ichiro. Here is my business card. You can just call me Ichiro. I was eavesdropping in the bakery just now and heard you talking about your line of work. You are a stockbroker, right? I was wondering if you might be interested in taking on a private investment commission?"