Chapter Text
2006. Kyoto Prefectural Arena.
The time had came around once again for the annual Sister-School Goodwill Event — the so-called friendly competition between the two branches of Jujutsu High: Tokyo and Kyoto
After a long year of training and exorcising cursed spirits, the students from the two campuses once again test (or show off) their strength in the competition. Which led to turn the tradition into a long-term rivalry, one that grew stronger as each summer passed by.
Still, tension was nothing for him.
With a smirk on his lips, Satoru Gojo, a second-year from Tokyo Jujutsu High proudly struts in the traditional-styled looking arena, his eyes squinting under his black sunglasses. The wooden floors shining beneath the paper lanterns hung above.
He takes notice of the pitiful attempt at designing in his opinion and playfully glances at his friend.
Geto Suguru, also a second-year, follows behind him with a measured pace. Avoiding eye contact to stop his friend from mentioning anything.
"They really outdid themselves this time," A woman's dry voice is heard through the loud cheers from behind them, Shoko Ieri, the third of their trio says, voice laced with amusement.
Gojo laughs at this, almost too loudly that it catches the Kyoto students' attention.
He wasn't being a jerk, he wasn't even being arrogant. He was just too loud, too proud, and damn aware that he had every right to do so.
Last year, Kyoto was painfully crushed in the final match, and the first-year Gojo Satoru still hasn't forgotten about it.
"Well," he starts, playing with his sunglasses with a grin, "at least they designed the venue before they lost, right?"
At that, Geto shakes his head with an unknowing smirk playing on his lips while Shoko stipples a laugh.
"Gojo."
The commanding voice of their teacher, Misamichi Yaga, is heard through the crowd— catching the attention of the trio who tries not to laugh.
"Behave," Yaga says, crossing his arms. "Please try not to provoke them before the event even starts?"
Behind him, Nanami Kento and Yuu Haibara— both first-year students, walk in the arena and sit beside their upperclassmen, ignoring Gojo who seemed to enjoy striking Yaga's nerve.
"No promises," Gojo shrugs before the loud gong and the trumpets are heard throughout the arena.
What an entrance for a team about to lose, he thinks as a smirk tugs on his lips, seeing the banners fluttering.
"Now entering the arena — Kyoto Jujutsu High!"
From the gate at the other side of the arena, figures emerge beneath the glow of the paper lanterns. The students who were the epitome of discipline, full of composure and poise, the complete opposite of the Tokyo students.
At the front walks Arata Kamo (Third Year), their captain. His uniform is immaculate, posture razor-straight, every motion measured. His cursed energy hums— balanced, deliberate, and refined, the mark of the Kamo Clan’s Blood Manipulation, honed through years of rigorous control. His mere presence silences the crowd.
To his right moves Hana Zen’in (Second Year), a young woman with flowing green hair that sways like a blade in the wind. She’s a swordswoman of the Zen’in clan, her katana resting lightly at her hip. Her eyes narrow as she scans the Tokyo students— cold, calculated, and sharp.
She exhales in faint disdain.
“Is that Gojo Satoru?” she mutters under her breath.
On Arata’s left, Akihiro Tsukumo (Third Year) strides forward with an easy smile — one that never reaches his eyes. His cursed energy crackles faintly with the distortion of space; the rumored inheritor of a partial Spatial Folding Technique, though its instability keeps him from mastery.
He glances toward Hana, amusement flickering.
“It sure is,” he replies, voice smooth but distant.
Following behind them, Haru Takizawa (Second Year) and Aya Kirishima (Second Year) walk side by side. Haru’s right arm glows faintly with a talisman etched into his skin— a sign of his Puppet Shell Technique, capable of channeling his consciousness into inanimate bodies.
Beside him, Aya grips the sheath of her blade, her Mirror Edge Technique shimmering faintly along the steel. She’s quiet, reserved, every step aligned with the steady rhythm of Kyoto’s pride.
Together, the five stand as the embodiment of Kyoto Jujutsu High’s legacy— calm, formidable, and perfectly composed beneath the amber lantern light.
"Kyoto’s all style as usual,” Gojo snarls, leaning toward Geto as the team assembled on the opposite side of the arena. “All that formation and still no fun.”
Geto chuckled. “You just call anything that isn’t chaos ‘boring.’”
The Kyoto team stopped in perfect unison. Gakuganji followed behind them, black robes sweeping the floor, his younger face still hardened by discipline. He raised a hand— and the crowd hushed instantly.
“The students of Kyoto Jujutsu High,” he announced, his voice echoing through cursed amplification. “The pride of our school and the bearers of tradition.”
Gojo exaggeratedly clapped once. “Wow. Even their introductions are long.”
Before Yaga could elbow him quiet, a murmur spread through the stands.
Time seemed to stop as the spectators all turned their heads to the new face approaching from the Kyoto gate— moving slower than the rest.
A girl.
Her uniform was complete and crisp, long black hair with her hints of blue at the ends. She walked beside five of her upperclassmen calmly, scanning the crowd with a hint of anxiousness in her fingertips that she concealed well.
"Oh, who is that?" Shoko leans forward, interest piqued.
Yaga tilts his head, "Did they add another first year?" he frowns.
The announcer's voice rings out through the arena: "And last, Kyoto's newest participant, Hoshizuki Amane."
Her name echoed throughout the arena before cheers erupted from the Kyoto spectators.
"Huh," Gojo smirks as his gaze fixates on the newcomer.
As if she felt his stare, her violet eyes met his through his blindfold— unwavering.
Their gaze didn't break.
Infinity met time.
And neither looked away.