The mist from the evaporated sea gradually began to recede.
By the time Hasegumo reached Nagasawa's side, she had already stowed the Gatling gun back into her oversized backpack. All that remained were heaps of Cursed Residue, thick and swirling, refusing to dissipate.
"You finished on your end, too?" Nagasawa asked instinctively. She was still coming down from the adrenaline high of sending Dagon into oblivion with a single belt of ammunition.
Hasegumo didn't answer with words. Instead, he reached out and gently wiped a smudge of grime from her cheek.
Though her heart was fluttering, Nagasawa maintained her heroic, composed facade. Then, realizing something, she looked down. The dark-green blood she had inevitably splattered with while exorcising the curse had vanished without a trace.
"That's… actually quite considerate of you."
"Yo, yo, yo If it isn't Kumo-sama" A playful, mocking voice rang out, instantly shattering the rising heat between the two. Without even turning around, Hasegumo knew Satoru Gojo had arrived.
"For someone with a teleportation ability as convenient as yours, you sure make a habit of being the last one to show up." Hasegumo's retort immediately stalled Gojo's intended teasing. He pointed toward Panda and Maki nearby. "If the two of us hadn't happened to be here, were you planning on just watching them die from outside?"
"This time… thanks." Gojo performed a classic feat of 'Sichuan Opera face-changing,' his expression shifting instantly from playful to dead serious. "The person who cast that Curtain was highly skilled; it was specifically designed to keep me out. Do you have any intel?"
Knowing Hasegumo, Gojo wasn't sure if his friend had even considered the concept of "leaving a witness for interrogation," so he was mostly pinning his hopes on luck.
During the time Hasegumo and Nagasawa had slipped away, Gojo had noticed an alarming number of high-grade sorcerers dying because their mission ranks didn't match the actual curse grades. Meanwhile, he had been run ragged like a beast of burden, teleporting across the country to put out fires. Though he had no hard evidence, he could sense that an anomaly was brewing.
"It seems a group of intelligent Special Grades banded together with some plan to rule the world or something," Hasegumo replied.
"But the strongest ones were the two I just took out." Hasegumo's tone was casual, as if he were discussing what he'd had for lunch. Internally, however, he felt like a double agent in a spy thriller. After years of friendship, he knew Gojo wouldn't currently agree with his ultimate vision.
Suguru Geto had been a staunch believer in the total extinction of curses; Hasegumo never even considered revealing his true goal to him.
Gojo, on the other hand, had been a rebel since his school days. There was a chance he could be won over to Hasegumo's side eventually. But currently, the "higher-ups" were working Gojo to the bone like a plow horse.
If anyone more radical were in Gojo's shoes, the higher-ups would have already "found their way to death," as they say in certain cultivation novels. Or, if it were someone with less of a sense of responsibility, they would have simply thrown in the towel and quit.
Gojo sat right in the middle. He wasn't radical enough to revolt, yet his sense of responsibility was too strong to let go.
Some believed his worldview was no different from the traditionalists, arguing that his arrogance was merely a byproduct of overwhelming power—that while he seemed to clash with the higher-ups, his actions still upheld their status quo.
But Gojo had his own dissatisfactions. Whenever he wanted to change things, invisible hands called "relationships" and "bonds" held him back. He had recognized his own heart and accepted his weakness: he didn't want to see friends turn into enemies, and he didn't want to be the executioner who started a war.
Even if he had the power to do it—even if he could harden his heart—he chose to hope. He chose to believe that by fostering the "fresh blood" of the next generation, he could bring about change naturally.
Relying on others means there's no future, but at least we're still friends, Hasegumo thought, glancing at his old pal. Even though Gojo possessed the power to upend the entire Jujutsu world, he was destined not to walk the same path. Everyone has their own philosophy, and that isn't something words alone can change.
"The Jujutsu world seems a bit unstable lately. Let's end the vacation here." Hasegumo turned back to Nagasawa. The girl—well, no longer a girl. A young woman? A bride-to-be? In any case, Nagasawa nodded, silent and lost in thought.
"Satoru, the two of us need another month of leave."
"Huh?" Gojo, who was still calculating how to track the remnants of the cursed spirits, was caught off guard by the non-sequitur. "What for?"
"We're going back to my hometown to get married." Hasegumo dropped the ultimate "death flag" without a second thought. He glanced at Nagasawa, saw her expression remained calm (though perhaps a bit pleased), and felt a surge of secret joy. He reached out, took her hand in his, and prepared to make a grand exit.
Seeing them about to vanish after dropping such a bombshell, Gojo finally snapped out of it. As they walked away, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "When's the wedding?!"
"Secret! Don't worry about it!" Hasegumo waved his left hand over his shoulder without looking back. "We'll be back to work once it's over!"
"Gojo-sensei~" It was basic politeness for the "kids" not to interrupt while the adults were talking. Once Hasegumo was gone, Panda finally dared to step forward, nudging Gojo in the ribs with his elbow. "When are you getting married?"
"Err…" Who would I even marry? Shoko? Utahime? They both hate my guts. Wait, why are they the first two I thought of? I clearly only love 2D girls. If I had to pick, it would be between Ayaka Kamisato and the Raiden Shogun… but doesn't Japan have laws against bigamy?
Gojo's world-class "trash-tier man" thoughts flickered for only an instant before he realized his dignity as a teacher was at stake.
Noticing Maki staring at him like he was literal garbage—likely due to the delusional expression he'd worn while fantasizing—Gojo quickly fixed his face. He gave Panda a sharp flick to the forehead. "Marriage is about meeting the right person at the right time. You can't force it."
"Besides, I have all of you cute students. If I got married, I wouldn't have as much time to look after you. Sensei would miss you too much!" He left them with that "cool" line, clapped his hands, and vanished.
Using the Infinity to teleport, he began picking up the students scattered throughout the forest one by one.
"This doesn't look like Jujutsu High…" The last one he picked up was his resident fangirl, Kasumi Miwa. Why was she last?
Well, humans always look for something to validate their worth, and Gojo was no exception. He had worked tirelessly for years, risking his life (mostly) to exorcise curses and maintain world peace. Aside from the occasional bout of laziness, he was essentially the "Model Worker" of the Jujutsu world.
The tragedy was that no one ever really validated him.
Because he was the "Strongest," everything he did was seen as a given. Hasegumo, Geto, and Shoko were the same. Even Masamichi Yaga, the man who should have been the first to acknowledge him, was no exception.
Yaga was a decent teacher—upright, knowledgeable, and capable of instilling the right values. But he had forgotten that back then, no matter how strong Gojo was, he was still just a seventeen-year-old boy. He could save others regardless of the danger; he could face death without fear; he could keep his technique active for over forty-eight hours without sleep to protect an innocent girl before even mastering the Reverse Cursed Technique.
But late at night, he would talk to himself in the mirror. He would feel sorrow at the ugliness of humanity. He would doubt if the endless cycle of exorcising curses actually meant anything.
Doing the same thing for over a decade is incredibly difficult. Just as an author might want to slack off after writing for two months, Gojo had felt the same. Yet, he persevered because of everyone's expectations and the weight of the title "The Strongest." Fortunately, he wasn't the "Strongest" anymore—Hasegumo had taken that pressure off him.
As for Yaga's philosophy? To sum it up: With great power comes great responsibility. You know how it is.
In short, Gojo carried too much and received too little recognition, making the last decade an exhausting ordeal.
Anyway, having finally run into a genuine fan, Gojo indulged his own psychological needs. He acted the part of the reliable senior, giving Miwa advice and granting her requests—autographs, hugs… okay, no 'fan-service' of that level; Miwa was a respectable young lady, after all.
After their long chat, he brought a red-faced Miwa to a new location. She looked around to see high walls and a massive stadium, though the stands were empty. The Tokyo students were already there. Miwa felt like she'd seen this place before. She looked down, and the white lines on the ground gave her the answer.
Gojo was going to make up for his own lost youth with a Jujutsu Baseball Tournament.
Of course, this had been cleared with Utahime. "Everyone! Because of outside interference, all the previous scores and rules for this Exchange Event are null and void!"
"In their place…" Gojo clapped his hands to draw everyone's attention. "We're having a Superpower Baseball Tournament!"
"Yes, sir!" The Kyoto students had already heard from Aoi Todo about what happened in the forest, so they weren't surprised by the change. They still held enough respect for Gojo, the (former) strongest.
Gojo was very careful about his image while a fan was present, so Miwa hadn't yet seen through his true nature; she was still basking in the excitement of meeting her idol.
"I wonder what that Special Grade's technique actually was?" Yuta was still lamenting Mahito. Because Hasegumo had killed Mahito so cleanly that not even residue remained, Yuta couldn't fulfill the conditions for his Copy technique. It was a shame; what man wouldn't want the ability to reshape his own body at will?
Maki was still grumbling about Gojo's unreliability, while Panda and Toge Inumaki were busy gossiping about Hasegumo's upcoming wedding.
Elsewhere…
"Those idiots… they're all dead?"
Kenjaku, hiding on the perimeter, had been monitoring the situation. He didn't need to risk himself; by using a high-level application of Cursed Speech, he could control low-level curses to act as his eyes and ears from a distance.
He had seen Gojo fail to enter the Curtain. He had seen Hasegumo lead Nagasawa out of the forest.
Though he suspected the three disasters and the newborn curse were gone, he still harbored a bit of delusional hope. It's like being on a bus with a sudden, sharp stomach cramp. You hold it in for three stops, and just as you're about to get off, you can't take it anymore. You start to wonder: Is it a gamble? Maybe it's just a fart? Unfortunately, you usually lose that gamble. Kenjaku was no exception.
"A bunch of fools…" Seeing the residue left by Dagon, Kenjaku felt a deep mental fatigue. He really wanted to find a hot spring and soak his brain for a while.
But he was Kenjaku. He quickly composed himself and began plotting a new evil scheme.
"Converge!"
Using Cursed Speech, Kenjaku gathered Dagon's residual energy into a ball and sealed it in a specialized container. He continued to stroll toward the center of the forest. As a sorcerer who had survived for a thousand years, patience was his greatest virtue.
"Luckily, I had the foresight to keep the Meteorite technology. I hope they aren't this stupid in their next lives."
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