After Todo Aoi left, Principal Gakuganji Yoshinobu gave a few instructions and departed.
Five remained, still hashing out plans.
"What do we do?" Kasumi Miwa asked, voice tinged with worry. "Maybe we should drop it. This plan might not work—I'd like to live a few more years…"
"So, what's the deal with this Hayashi guy? Why's everyone so hung up on him?" Nishimiya Momozaka said softly, sitting on the floor, broom propped against her. Her bare, pale feet dangled playfully.
"He's a massive pain, that's for sure," Mai Zenin said gravely. For this match, Hayashi was the biggest hurdle.
Compared to Tokyo School's other first- and second-years, they seemed trivial now.
"Mai, you seem to know a lot about this Hayashi. Care to share, now that Todo's gone?" Noritoshi Kamo had clocked Todo's vibe earlier—shutting Mai down about Hayashi. It piqued his interest.
"My intel's spotty, but Hayashi's definitely a mystery. I underestimated him before. I can dig up more on him later," Mechamaru said in his robotic monotone.
"No need for 'later,'" Mai sighed, glancing at Noritoshi. "It's not that I won't tell you—it's that I can't. Todo wouldn't let it slide, and neither would Hayashi."
That kind of strength, that mysterious reversed cursed technique—she'd never heard of or seen anything like it. Some things were better left unsaid.
Holding back from her own team was also about not tipping off the enemy.
"Fine, then don't," Noritoshi said, gazing outside, a flicker of annoyance with Mai brewing. "But Yuji Itadori still needs to go. As a direct Kamo, I can't ignore it."
"Hey, there you are."
Todo Aoi's voice cut through. Hayashi stood by a big tree, not turning. "What're you doing here now? We're on opposite sides. And why not get Ieiri-sensei to fix your mouth?"
"Camps don't matter to me… Wait, you didn't sneak off and heal your mouth behind my back, did you?" Todo's eyes widened. "Hold up—you've got reversed cursed technique. Why not use it?"
"I'm not that good. My specialty isn't healing stuff like this. For that, Ieiri-sensei's your bet," Hayashi said, pointing at his mask. "I'm still wearing this, see? What's up—fishing for intel?"
"Not interested in that. Play however you want. With you here, the outcome's set," Todo said, strolling closer, unfazed.
"Spit it out," Hayashi snapped. His mood was tangled—no time to mess around with Todo.
Soon, he'd face the enemy. This fight might be a deathmatch.
Whittling down their forces now could buy time for prep later. If they didn't hold this line, only Gojo could handle Mahito's crew.
"Takada's guest-starring on a walking show soon. I want you to watch with me," Todo said. Fighting bored him—what mattered was a man's taste and stance on women.
The exchange event? Just a dull sideshow. Take it or leave it.
"How long?" Hayashi asked.
"About an hour. She's a guest, not a contestant, so decent screen time, but…" Todo trailed off.
"Todo, can't we watch the recording? An hour's too long," Hayashi cut in.
"What, you looking down on me too?" Todo bristled.
"Noon's match time. An hour in, it'll already have started," Hayashi pointed out.
"Then half an hour now, half recorded after," Todo countered.
"Look, did you even hear what I told you before? Didn't you have nightmares? I said the danger might hit this time—everything I warned you about," Hayashi pressed.
"I know. But Gojo's here, both principals too—no need to freak out. I'll tip off Kyoto when it starts," Todo said.
Hayashi checked the time—almost 11. "Hurry up then."
"No problem!" Todo grinned.
They tuned into Takada's guest spot.
Time flew. Half an hour gone in a blink, Todo reveling in it.
Eyes glued to the screen, stars in his gaze, face soft and gentle.
A side outsiders never saw—just his temper and icy demeanor.
With that scar over his eye, he didn't look friendly. Stare at a kid long enough, and they'd cry.
Yet here, with his idol, he radiated warmth—image flipped upside down.
Who'd guess a beast like him wore Takada-patterned boxers? Peak chuunibyou vibes.
In the monitoring room, Gojo Satoru and Utahime sat front-row. Just them.
Utahime lounged in a cushy seat, tea in hand, staring blankly at the cup. "So, what's your point?"
Gojo studied her flat expression. Years in, he knew her well. "Why're you mad?"
"I'm not," Utahime said, shooting him a side-eye.
Gojo nodded, lifting his tea. "Fair. I didn't do anything."
Utahime puffed her cheeks. She'd built tolerance to Gojo, but his obliviousness still got under her skin.
Gojo's face turned serious, voice leveling out. "Someone in Jujutsu High's colluding with curse users—or cursed spirits."
Utahime's expression shifted. "No way. Curse users, maybe, but cursed spirits?!"
"Special-grades keep popping up—understanding speech, teaming up, moving with intent. Maybe they think it's just curse users. I need you to check Kyoto's side, Gogeji," Gojo said.
"Plus, watch yourself lately. Things are dicey."
"What if I'm the mole?" Utahime asked, sweat beading faintly, rattled by his words.
Gojo laughed, waving it off. "Nah, Gogeji's too weak for that—no guts either."
Whoosh—
Crash~
Utahime's cup flew at Gojo, stopping short—smacking an invisible wall. Green tea splashed everywhere, pooling on the floor.
Gojo blinked, glancing at Utahime's face and the mess. "Scary… Hysteria's not a good look~"
"I'm the senior here, damn it!" Utahime roared.
Gojo cracked up. He knew her—mole material? Not with that temper. No chance.