Chapter Text
Kyoto Jujutsu High, Meeting Room.
The dim glow of candlelight casts long shadows across the higher-ups' chamber, painting Gakuganji's aged face in light and darkness.
“Regardless of anyone’s feelings, the reports are correct. Utahime Iori is not just a compatible vessel; she is a Star Plasma Vessel of unprecedented potential.” One voice says.
Gakuganji remained standing still, his fingers relaxed over the top of his cane. “You’re certain?”
A woman's voice called out this time. “Her body would not just slow Tengen’s deterioration and reset it back to how it was after the Riko Amai incident. It could reset her entirely, a fresh vessel, untainted by time, as if she had never aged a day since the Nara Period. She would just have a new face, a new voice compared to then."
A beat of silence. Then, a third voice.
“The assimilation must happen as soon as possible; we don’t know how long it will take until Tengen is incapable of assimilating with her.”
“And with Satoru Gojo away from Tokyo and away from Tengen, we have the perfect opportunity.”
Gakuganji exhales slowly. After the Shibuya Incident and the quick unsealing of Gojo, then the rapid deaths of Kenjaku and Sukuna, he began to think things could go back to normal. But clearly not.
“And if she refuses?” Gakuganji asks.
“She won’t be given a choice.”
--- --- ---
Kyoto Jujutsu High- Classroom 2-A
Utahime’s voice carries softly over the quiet classroom, her fingers tracing over the chalkboard as she reviews the intricacies of barrier techniques.
“Now, if we consider the way that barriers-”
The door slides open sharply, cutting her off.
Utahime turns, her words dying in her throat as Gakuganji steps inside, flanked by Usami, Mei Mei and a dozen sorcerers in white robes and black face wrappings.
“Utahime Iori.” Gakuganji says, voice strong. “You are to come with us immediately.”
Utahime's grip on her chalk tightens. “What is this?”
Mei Mei moves first, dashing forward and snatching Utahime’s wrist, forcing the chalk out of her hand. “Nothing personal.”
The classroom erupts.
Kokichi was on his feet in an instant. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Miwa’s hand flies to her sword, only for two sorcerers to draw theirs.
“Iori-Sensei!” Miwa shouts.
Utahime’s eyes flickered between them, then back to the gathering of sorcerers. “You can’t just-”
Gakuganji’s cane strikes the floor. “Take her away, and confiscate all their phones and cursed tools.”
The masked sorcerers nod, quickly stripping Miwa of her katana and Kokichi of any of his puppet devices.
“This is bullshit.” Kokichi spits, voice laced with venom as a masked sorcerer shoves him back.
Miwa’s hands trembled, her usual demeanour shattered. “Sensei… what’s happening?”
Utahime’s lips part, but before she could answer, Usami stepped forward, roughly pushing her forward with a gloved hand.
“Move.” He says gruffly.
With one last glance at her students, wide-eyed, furious, helpless, Utahime was dragged from the room.
The door slams shut behind them.
Silence.
“We’re getting her back, one way or another.” Kokichi hisses.
“But how? They took everything.” Miwa whispers, voice wavering.
“Not everything.” Kokichi quietly replies.
His fingers delve into a hidden pocket on his jacket, and he pulls out a single, tiny, cursed puppet: a small Mechamaru radio.
“I’ll call Gojo.”
--- --- ---
Rural Training Grounds, somewhere in Gunma Prefecture.
The sun beats down on the open field, where Gojo lounges lazily on a boulder, watching Yuji, Hana, Megumi and Nobara run laps. His grin is in place, blindfold layered over his eyes as he takes a swig from a ridiculously sweet canned drink.
“C’mon, Fushiguro, you’re falling behind!” Yuji calls out.
Megumi exhales sharply. “I’m aware.”
Hana grins. “You’re even slower than me!”
Nobara laughs. “You hear that, Fushiguro? Hana’s faster than you.”
“She’s hovering, that doesn’t count.” Megumi grumbles.
Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
Gojo’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He fishes it out with one hand, still sipping his drink. The caller ID flashes- Kokichi Muta.
His grin falters. The Kyoto Students never call.
In an instant, the drink is discarded. Gojo answers.
“Muta.”
A pause.
The students slow to a stop, sensing the shift in the air.
Gojo’s fingers tighten around the phone. His usual carefree expression is gone, replaced with something cold.
“Understood.”
He hangs up.
Yuji steps forward. “Gojo-sensei? What’s-”
“Pack up.” Gojo’s voice is eerily calm. “Now.”
Megumi’s eyes narrow. “What happened?”
Gojo doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pulls up another contact, Yuta Okkotsu, and lifts the phone back to his ear.
“Yuta, get over to Gunma. I need you to escort the first years to the Gojo Estate. Get everyone else off-site, too.”
A gust of wind hides the rest of the conversation from the First Years.
Gojo pockets the phone. The students stare at him.
Nobara crosses her arms. “You gonna explain, or are we just supposed to-”
“Utahime’s been taken.”
Silence.
“By who?” Hana speaks up.
Gojo’s lips curl into a frown. “The higher-ups.”
Then, without another word, he vanishes.
--- --- ---
Tokyo Jujutsu High, Classroom 2-A.
Yuta quietly flips through a book, his fingers tracing the pages absentmindedly. Beside him, Maki leans back in her chair, arms crossed, while Panda dozes off on his desk. Toge sits quietly, writing something down.
Then.
BZZT.
Yuta’s phone vibrates. He pulls it out, glancing at the screen.
Satoru Gojo.
He tilts his head.
Maki notices instantly. “Who is it?”
Yuta answers the phone. He listens, his expression hardening with every word Gojo speaks on the other end.”
“... Understood.”
He hangs up.
Panda stirs, blinking groggily. “Huh? What’s going-”
“We need to leave.” Maki stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor.
Toge’s eyes narrow.
Yuta’s voice drops, barely above a whisper. “They took Utahime-sensei.”
Kusukabe finally looks up from the magazine he’d been flicking through, standing up. “Where are you all going?”
Yuta turns to him, and Kusukabe freezes.
There’s something dangerous in Yuta’s gaze.
“Did you know?” Yuta asks, voice eerily calm as his hand grips the hilt of his sheathed katana.
Kusukabe’s jaw clenches as his fingers hover over the hilt of his blade. His phone buzzes on the desk. He glances at it, then back at Yuta.
Maki has already drawn the Split Soul Katana.
Kusukabe exales sharply.
They know.
And he knows he can’t stop them.
“... Get out of here.” He mutters, sitting back down.
The students head out of the room, door slamming shut behind them.
Kusukabe looks at his phone, the message staring back at him.
“Do not let them leave.”
He curses under his breath.