Contrary to the somber mood that hung heavily over the gathered mourners, the sun was bright and the sky was clear. The serenity of the day felt like a cruel joke, a stark contrast to the sorrow that hung heavy and covered those dressed in black.
Jiki glanced briefly at the surprising form of Yuta and the dark-skinned foreigner who had fought Satoru during the Parade. The teen was supposed to have left by now. But he supposed Yuta was here to pay his respects first.
Jiki shifted his gaze to Panda's body, lying in a simple yet dignified casket. The flowers surrounding him seemed almost too vibrant, their colors stark against the overwhelming grief that weighed heavily on everyone present.
Panda wasn't the only one being buried today; in war, losses were inevitable. But those other losses meant nothing to him. Jiki's attention was fixed on the beloved black-and-white cursed puppet lying in the coffin ahead.
Panda had been laid to rest facing upward, his fur, meticulously groomed for the final time, catching the sunlight with a soft shimmer. It was a small blessing that the devastating attack, which had shattered his body and core, had mostly struck his back, leaving it concealed.
They all stood in a solemn circle as they stared down upon Panda's still form, their faces etched with varying levels of sorrow, grief, and respect.
Clad in black like the rest of the mourners, this was not the first time Jiki would be burying a comrade. He had grown disillusioned with the act. Having buried friends and families on a monthly basis back in his past life, he should have felt nothing while staring into the casket of the cursed puppet.
Yet he found he couldn't take his eyes off Panda's glassy eyes and slightly ajar mouth that showed off his fangs. He remembered how those same features twisted into their perpetual look of joy and glee.
Despite his appearance as a cursed puppet and his form as a talking panda, Panda had been the most human among them. He was always quick with a smile or a comforting grin, and his hugs—those magnificent, warm embraces—were something Jiki had seen Maki and Toge melt into, their sadness fading away in seconds. But that warmth was now gone forever. With his death, their class had lost something irreplaceable. They had lost their heart.
As he stared at the still form in the coffin, his Sharingan spun in their sockets and etched the dead body of a friend into his brain. One more mistake that should have been avoided. One more death on his hands.
It suddenly struck him why Panda's death felt so raw and fresh. Unlike most funerals, Panda hadn't been cremated. This was more than a simple farewell; it was a statement, a display of intent. The one responsible was the towering figure standing at the head of the casket, clad in black, with a pair of glasses somehow even darker shielding his eyes.
Masamichi Yaga, Principal of Jujutsu High, a Grade One Sorcerer, and the creator of Panda, stood at the head of the grave. His usual confident demeanor was replaced with a solemn air. Then he began to speak, his voice was steady but heavy with emotion. "Contrary to what some may have believed, Panda was not just a cursed puppet," he said, his voice thick as he continued to gaze down at the open casket.
"He was my son, and I loved him just as much as all of you did. His loss is... devastating." Yaga continued, his voice shaking for a second. "To be killed by what they call sheer bad luck..." He let out a bark of laughter, the only hint that he didn't truly believe the words he was saying. "It shows the capriciousness of the personal curse every sorcerer faces. Panda is dead, but his will lives on. I want you to remember him—not as he is now, but as he was. The best of us all."
With those final words, the gruff man ended his short speech by gently placing a flower over Panda's chest.
Silence followed those words as everyone stood still, lost in their thoughts. Unique memories of Panda's laughter and his infectious joy filled the minds of those present. Every shared moment, every curse exorcised, flooded back as a sharp reminder of what they had lost.
That stillness was broken by Toge, stepping out of the crowd. Flower in his tight grip, one he finally relaxed the moment he got in front of the coffin. Then he placed it on his dead friend before moving away without a word. Like a dam that had been opened, Yuta followed behind, openly sobbing as he walked toward the casket, then Maki behind him with tears running down her face despite not letting out a single cry, and Shoko's somber form.
The ceremony continued, with each person stepping forward to lay a flower on the still form in the casket as a final gesture of farewell. The sun continued to shine brightly as if mocking their grief with its relentless cheerfulness.
As the last flower was placed, the mourners stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Jiki felt something drop on his neck. He reached out to touch it before another drop landed on his outstretched arm, and he finally understood what was happening.
He looked up at the rapidly darkening clouds, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. Not even the heavens could conceal the loss that came with Panda's passing. No, the sky finally gave in, opening up and weeping the hardest of all.
….
"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" he barked out, before lashing out with an anger-infused blow at the wall beside him. Hanami's grip on him faltered, and he fell headfirst to the floor.
The sensation of still-healing burnt flesh rubbing raw against the ground sent another wave of agony through him, and all he could do was mutter another curse. "That damn bastard." He found himself losing control of his emotions in a way he had never expected.
It had all been going to plan. Everything, a script he had been writing for more than three hundred years. Things had been coming into place. Like pieces of a puzzle finally fitting in.
The man who broke the cycle of fate. The boy conveniently born with the technique to fuel his plans. He had made and discarded many plans, but this had been his finest yet. What happened? What changed? He could not say, but something unknown had caused this—a poke in the wheel of his carefully curated plans.
He forced himself back to his feet as his cursed energy worked overtime to shift from negative to positive, and he felt his injuries start healing again. But it was a slow and agonizing process that ensured he would be left with devastating scars that he would never truly recover from.
He had gotten this body with the express purpose of gaining an inside view into jujutsu society, and it had worked. He could have easily slipped past their defenses and whoever they had guarding Geto after the man had been killed in a carefully crafted attack.
Yet he had not expected the man to be spiteful. Spiteful enough to drop a meteor on their heads. Not for the first time since the sky fell, he regretted not stepping in when Geto had subjugated the volcano-headed curse spirit. Instead, he had stayed back in amusement, content to let it play out. What did that get him? Only now did he truly realize how powerful the curse spirit had been.
Now he was left with nothing but ashes in his mouth, a body that had been rendered useless, and an identity that might have been burnt. Yuta Okkotsu had been there. Considering his rapid onset of bad luck, the boy might have seen his face and could probably name him as well.
He forced himself to his feet and began to hobble forward, while Hanami followed behind him. The curse had been reticent since they survived the attack, and that had only been due to its presence. It had sent them so deep into the earth and at such speed that if its burrowing technique had been the slightest bit slower, they would have been dead. That was the power of the supreme art of a creature focused on the primal ability of destruction.
Another hobbled, pain-infused step led him further into the passage, but he harnessed that pain as he began to think. He was a schemer and a planner. Despite this poke to his plans, he would not be denied his entertainment—his desire to see something new, something interesting.
No, the last spiteful act of the deceased man would not be the end of his carefully laid plans. It was simply an obstacle that he had to overcome, as he had overcome the Circle of the Six Eyes and the Plasma Vessels. His painfully taken steps finally led him to a door. He turned the handle and stepped into a room that would have made the original owner of the body he wore balk.
The room was a state-of-the-art facility, cold and clinical. The walls were lined with gleaming metal and advanced equipment, humming softly with power. The floor was spotless, reflecting the harsh white lights overhead. The air was cool, almost frigid, a stark contrast to the raw heat and pain he suffered with every breath.
He continued to drag himself through the facility. His presence, his bloody and dirtied robes were a smear that stained the clinical environment.
At the far end of the room lay a state-of-the-art cryogenic pod housing a body. No, he wasn't finished yet. It was too early to deem the plan useless. He might have missed out on Geto's body, but that slippery curse was still out there. He only had to find a way to convince it instead of simply brute forcing it.
He paused in front of the pod, gently caressing its surface as It's screen flashed to life, the cryogenic pod's mechanisms whirring softly. He stared at the lifeless form inside, a smile crossing his face. She was a beautiful woman with short black hair, her fine features obscured behind frosted glass, yet the scar on her forehead was prominent. He had not lived for so long by being rigid and inflexible. This was not the first time unforeseen complications had arisen. He would adapt, as he always had, and continue his pursuit of the ultimate entertainment.
But first, perhaps he had been too greedy, wanting to have his cake and eat it too. Yet, his curiosity remained insatiable. He sought something new, something truly novel, and Gojo Jiki seemed to be the closest thing to that. Those eyes of his that shook and upturned the world. Kenjaku felt a burning need to see what the boy was truly capable of, and for that, he needed to push to see just how far the Gojo would go.
A smile crept on his face as he began to scheme once more.
…
Panda's burial had been a sobering thing. Instead of allowing himself to sink into that mire of sadness and other feelings that were better left untouched, he stood up and put on a matching pair of black hakama and kimono as he slipped out of his room.
Walking through the hallways of Jujutsu High, he could feel the change that came with the aftermath of the Night Parade of a Thousand Demons. There was a palpable sense of morality in the air now, he noticed, as he watched the few sorcerers that still trusted Master Tengen's barrier. Sorcerers were known to die while fighting curses, but not on a scale like this, and somewhere in the depths of their minds, they knew something had changed.
Something had taken advantage of all their fear, hate, and death and had been brought to life.
He walked through the passages, mirroring Emi's path from just days ago. His attention was drawn to a door; he almost passed it by but stopped after a moment's hesitation and knocked. There was no answer, so he stretched his senses and noted the lack of a heartbeat coming from the other side of the room.
That meant Megumi was not in today. The Fushiguro had been settling in and adapting to the school and new environment better than he expected. The new session had not begun, but Megumi had already been undertaking missions and assignments. So far, he had been tasked with a partner. Mostly Satoru or Nanami, but in a few weeks, he should be going for his first solo mission.
The missions served a dual goal; the first was to show some level of loyalty and subservience to the higher-ups. The second was to get a rough idea of where he stood grade-wise. His ability to use the Ten Shadows Technique put him as a potential special grade, but so far, the boy had not shown if he held that spark.
Jiki had gone to the clan's most restricted libraries after an offhand mention of the Ten Shadows Technique and the monster it held by Satoru. A shikigami that was so powerful, it had most likely killed a wielder of the Six Eyes and Limitless centuries past. A shikigami that, judging by some loose translations, had once been treated like a god in a religion on this same continent. Mahoraga.
So far, the boy had stuck to using five shikigamis, and Jiki was certain he was already a prospective Grade Two or even Grade One sorcerer. The Zenin had found out about him, and only his father's barely hidden presence, accompanied by Satoru and Jiki's support, stayed their hands so far.
Although his actions hadn't won him any new allies within the clan—in fact, it seemed to have only fueled their anger and resentment/ The lack of insight into the Zenin clan's internal affairs was frustrating. However, he was accustomed to working with such disadvantages. As he cast his gaze toward the cherry blossom tree where he usually sat, he noticed seven cursed spirits in the form of crows perched along its branches. Leading them was the very crow he had taken control of. He had no idea how it had multiplied, but it was another question to pose to Satoru once he found him.
He passed another room, Emi's, and his placid expression shifted slightly as a frown formed. His erstwhile student was still missing. He could sense her cursed energy sometimes. Flickering and shifting, yet whenever he attempted to follow it, it disappeared before he could.
Disappeared into passageways he could not see and hardly follow, yet he knew where they led. Down. Down to the tomb of the sky corridor and perhaps even further down. That road had been closed off to him since he stepped foot here. The only exception was when Toji had been down there; its erstwhile master had opened the way and allowed him to face the sorcerer killer.
Master Tengen. It was only the vague assurance of Satoru on the few times he was able to see him that stopped him from breaking his way through heedless of the immortal sorcerer's feelings. Yet even with that, if he didn't hear from the girl in the next few days…
Which left Maki and Toge. The Inumaki scion had refused to return since he departed for his clan. The only brief meeting was a glance at him at the funeral. Toge knew something. Something Jiki didn't know. Something he kept to himself, and that something was eating him up from the inside.
However, Jiki could do nothing more until he met with the other boy. This left Maki, the reluctant Zenin. She had sent word that she would be arriving today, which was fortunate for the Zenin clan. Jiki had been prepared to storm the place if he received no further news from his classmate.
Satoru would have accompanied him, but the older man was preoccupied with a complex web of responsibilities: hunting the individual and curse responsible for Geto's death, mourning Geto in his own way, and continuing with his own missions. Jiki had been barred from most of the missions Satoru undertook. Despite his capabilities, the higher-ups had consistently rejected his involvement, citing his status as a student. But he understood the real reason he was held so close. After Geto's rampage, they needed one of their weapons close by.
Toji Fushiguro was the most promising solution to lighten the burden on Satoru, and Jiki increasingly saw the appeal of this approach. However, Satoru had rejected the idea. The sorcerer killer seemed to serve his purpose better as a hidden blade. Without a body to confirm his death, the tales of Toji's death were a barely disguised lie. Nobody truly believed, yet they were not willing to call him out on it to his face.
Instead, they had come down harder on Jiki, scrutinizing him with even greater caution. He found it oddly amusing that, in his past life, he had been the ideal shinobi—subservient to the Hokage and elders, loyal and trustworthy enough to slaughter his own clan for the village's sake.
Yet in this life, he couldn't care less. The jujutsu society was not the Hidden Leaf, and he had learned his lessons the last time. He didn't realize how far he had walked or how far his legs had carried him as he was stuck in his thoughts until the sound of footsteps reached his ears, accompanied by a shout.
"Jiki-san!"
He raised his head on the spot, his eyes widening the slightest as he recognized the voice. The brown-haired girl stood beneath the red torii gates that signified the entrance into the school with a wide smile and waved at him vigorously as she dragged a bag that looked to be three times her weight behind her.
"Nobara," he replied softly as the girl abandoned the bag and ran to slam herself against him. He spun with the movement, twirling them on the spot and bleeding her momentum before coming to rest once more.
"It's been years," Jiki noted with melancholy as he dropped her back to the floor. She skipped a step back and looked up at him with a smile. The little girl he had met years ago had grown. Her head barely met his shoulders, but whatever she lacked in height, she made up for in sheer personality.
"I told Grandma that I wanted to come earlier, but she refused. Can you believe that?! Anyway, I convinced Fumi to move to the city with me, and I'm going to visit her soon—" The girl continued to speak at such a rapid pace that Jiki was forced to raise a brow, impressed at her ability to keep talking without taking a single breath. Slowly, he felt a true smile slip onto his face.
His first since hearing about Panda's death.
Their reunion was cut short as the patter of another set of footsteps climbing up the stairs drew his attention once more, revealing Maki. She was dressed in her regular pair of matching blue jujutsu high uniforms, but her hair had been cut short, now barely reaching her ears.
The amber-eyed girl cleared the last step with a harshness in her features that let him know all was not well as she came to a stop as she met them. Her hips were cocked to the side as she rested a hand on the hilt of the Soul Splitter blade. The moment she saw Jiki, her scowl smoothed out and the barest traces of a smile began to form on her face. Something about her appearance nudged Nobara wrong because she was the first person to break the silence.
"Who is the hussy?" Nobara asked, and for a second Jiki was stunned. Too stunned to speak as he was suddenly reminded of how brash the brown-haired girl could be.
The words drew Maki's gaze to Nobara for the first time, her sharp amber eyes narrowing slightly as they locked onto the younger girl. Jiki watched intently, noting the rapid shift in Maki's expression—surprise, amusement, and finally, a mischievous glint that made the corner of her mouth twitch upward. Her eyes darted to the matching pair of blue and blue that Nobara wore. It was so quick that only Jiki's Sharingan could catch the full spectrum of emotion. He knew exactly what was coming.
Jiki had barely shifted to the side before Maki disappeared in a blur of motion, reappearing behind Nobara so fast the younger girl had no time to react. With a swift and playful bop, Maki's fist connected with the crown of Nobara's head, sending her crumpling to the ground in a dazed heap. Maki's voice boomed out in a mock-heroic roar as Nobara winced.
"Semi-Grade One Sorcerer, Maki. Also known as your senpai, you brat!"
Nobara lay on the ground, rubbing her head and glaring up at Maki, the initial shock giving way to something like grudging respect. Jiki noted the fleeting vulnerability in Maki's eyes as she looked down at Nobara before she turned back to him, her expression quickly smoothing into something more controlled.
"Maki, how have you been?" Jiki asked, his tone deliberately gentle.
Maki's smile faltered just a touch before she caught herself, Panda's absence lingered like a wound still too fresh to heal. "...Very good," she replied, the words almost brittle, but she managed to steady herself with a shaky smile. "You actually sounded concerned there," she added, arching a brow in challenge.
Jiki met her gaze without flinching, his expression as impassive as ever. "I've been practicing."
For a moment, the air between them was thick. Till Maki finally broke the tension with a snort, the sound oddly comforting in its familiarity. A smile tugged at Jiki's lips, barely there but enough to be noticed.
"Gojo Jiki has found humor. Curses and unregistered sorcerers beware!" Maki teased, her eyes dancing with a rare spark of amusement that had been absent for too long.
He let her jibe wash over him, but the warmth it brought lingered. He found solace in Maki's presence, in the way her sharp edges softened just enough around him. Judging by the slight uptick in her smile, she felt the same.
A prickling sensation on the back of his neck drew his attention back to Nobara, who was now getting to her feet with a new determination in her eyes. She dusted herself off, the sting of Maki's attack already forgotten in favor of her growing admiration.
"So, are you busy, Jiki?" Nobara asked, her voice laced with a casualness that didn't quite hide her eagerness.
He gave the question some thought, calculating the time left until his next obligation. As he looked up at the sky, he gauged that nightfall was still a couple of hours away, leaving him free for the evening. "Not exactly," he answered finally, his tone measured.
Nobara's face lit up as she latched onto his arm, her excitement infectious as she began to tug him away. "Then come and show me around the city. You promised you would, remember?"
He did remember, but he wasn't about to let her off that easily. "I will as soon as you take your bags inside," he countered, his attempt to slow her down half-hearted at best.
"I'm sure Maki-senpai wouldn't mind watching them for me," Nobara shot back with a cheeky grin, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Maki, who rolled her eyes but nodded.
"Fine, fine. We're going to be in the same dorm anyway, so I'll do you one better," Maki said with a smirk, lifting Nobara's heavy luggage with a single hand as if it weighed nothing. Nobara's eyes widened in awe, her respect for Maki growing by the second.
As they walked away, Jiki couldn't help but feel a small sense of normalcy creeping back in. It was a brief respite from the dark aftermath of the Parade. The city awaited them, a place where, if only for a little while, they could pretend to be just like any other teenagers, exploring and laughing together. For tonight, at least, they were simply teenagers.