Let's rewind a few minutes. Inside the juvenile detention center, at the center of a drained indoor swimming pool.
BOOM!
Like a small missile striking the earth, a deafening roar echoed as a cone-shaped blast cratered the pool floor.
Instantly, debris scattered and dust choked the air. Through the dim light, two figures were sent flying backward.
A closer look revealed them to be Fushiguro Megumi and Itadori Yuji.
Fushiguro managed to adjust mid-air, landing on his feet and skidding to a halt. Itadori, however, fared much worse, tumbling end over end for a dozen meters before finally sliding to a stop.
His left hand, from the forearm down, wrist included, was completely gone. The cut was clean and smooth, as if sliced by a laser. He'd used torn strips of his own clothing to crudely tourniquet the stump, trying to stem the bleeding.
Their enemy, meanwhile, was... humanoid, if only just. Two arms, two legs, a head perched atop shoulders – the basic structure was there.
But from the neck up, it was purely monstrous, utterly transformed into a Cursed Spirit. Above a gaping crimson maw, there was no nose. Four eyes dotted bulbous, black protrusions, like grotesque loofahs, that extended back from its forehead resembling thick dreadlocks.
Hideous, but undeniably powerful.
At least, far too powerful for the current Itadori and Fushiguro. They were hopelessly outmatched. Even if they hadn't fallen yet, defeat – likely fatal – seemed inevitable.
Especially with Itadori having lost a hand, even maintaining basic balance was a struggle. This handicap effectively meant Fushiguro was trying to fight a Special Grade Cursed Spirit while protecting someone severely wounded.
No, this wasn't even a fight. It was more like a cat toying with mice.
The Special Grade Cursed Spirit's mocking gestures made that perfectly clear.
"Hey, Sukuna!" Itadori roared. "Didn't you say if I die, you die too?! Hurry up and do something!"
'I refuse~' Sukuna's voice echoed in his mind. 'Even if you croak, I've still got 18 other parts of my soul out there. Besides, this vessel I can't even control properly is seriously pissing me off. If you force a swap now, I'll kill that brat next to you first.'
"I won't let you!"
'Heh, figured as much. Well, good luck then. Keep getting distracted talking to me, and your little friend there really is going to die~'
The voice faded. Itadori took a deep breath, settling back into a fighting stance, his lips barely moving.
"Fushiguro."
"Yeah?"
"I've got a plan. I'll hold this thing off. You grab Nobara and get out of here. Once you're clear, give me a signal."
"What? Are you kidding? Even together, we can barely hold on! If you stay here alone..."
"Yeah... I know. So... please. I'm counting on you."
...
...
"...Got it."
After a moment's silence, Fushiguro gave a slight nod. He turned his back on the fight and sprinted away.
...
A few minutes later. Reduced to little more than a punching bag, Itadori sat slumped against the pool wall, barely conscious. His vision blurred, reflecting the approaching figure of the Special Grade Cursed Spirit. Behind him, the thick concrete wall was deeply cratered in a spiderweb pattern, centered right where he sat.
In addition to the left hand lost earlier, all five fingers on his right hand had been sheared off at the base. Countless bruises and cuts covered his body, and the blood trickling from his mouth spoke of internal injuries.
This time, he was truly dying.
But maybe the old saying was true: there's always a way out, even from desperation's door.
Awoooo—
A long, mournful wolf howl pierced the barriers, seeming to echo across time and space into the indoor pool, stirring the last flicker of consciousness in the dying Itadori.
He recognized that sound. It was Fushiguro's Ten Shadows Technique—Lucky... no, wait, Gyokuken.
Fushiguro having Gyokuken howl like that could only mean one thing: they had made it out safely. That was the signal!
In that case...
A faint smile touched Itadori's bleeding lips. Relief washed over him as he slowly closed his eyes.
His consciousness submerged. Black markings writhed across his face. When the eyes snapped open again, they belonged to someone else.
The King of Curses from a millennium past—Ryomen Sukuna.
"Hmph~ To think the brat actually managed to hang on this long. How irritating."
He let out a breath, easily pushing himself up from the cratered wall. Under the influence of Cursed Energy, his injuries healed in moments, even the blood vanishing as if it had never been there.
Ryomen Sukuna stretched, cracked his neck, and considered for a moment. Then, he casually beckoned to the Special Grade Cursed Spirit, which had halted nearby, sensing the sudden shift in danger, its expression one of wary confusion.
"Come on," Sukuna smirked. "Let's go hunt down that other little brat and kill—"
BOOM!!!
Before he could finish, the ceiling above exploded inwards. The tremendous noise completely drowned out the rest of his words.
Both Sukuna and the Cursed Spirit instinctively looked up in surprise. Crimson light from the setting sun streamed through the massive hole ripped in the roof.
Bathed in a golden spiritual pressure, a figure stood ramrod straight atop the pile of debris directly beneath the opening. They appeared to be holding someone else in their arms.
"Alright~! We're here, we're here! See? Flying is definitely faster than running, huh?"
"Er... yeah..."
Although physically unharmed, when Busujima Saeko was set down from Hanakain Fubuki's arms, her legs felt undeniably stiff as she found her footing.
It was fast, incredibly so, but the method of travel was... extreme. Like being strapped to a jet fighter. Is this the power of a Special Grade?
"You alright?"
Noticing the swordswoman's slightly tense expression, Hanakain Fubuki tilted his head.
"I made sure to slow down considerably," he said, "like, uh... like a dandelion seed drifting gently. Normally, we'd have been here in an instant."
He seemed quite pleased with the analogy.
Busujima Saeko: ...
"Okay, okay, priorities! So, where's this Special Grade Cursed Spirit?"
Gently patting the girl's shoulder, Hanakain Fubuki peered down from the rubble heap.
His gaze locked with those of Ryomen Sukuna and the Finger Bearer, who were both looking up.
Hmm~
"So," Hanakain Fubuki asked curiously, "which one of you is it? Or are you both the target?"
Honestly, they both looked pretty pathetic. The little baldy maybe even slightly more so. Still, better safe than sorry – hitting the wrong target would be awkward.
"Strictly speaking, it's both," Busujima Saeko stated.
The instant she saw Ryomen Sukuna, she was on high alert. Her sword bag dropped silently to the floor, and a gleaming silver katana appeared in her hands.
"That's Ryomen Sukuna. He's currently controlling the officially designated vessel, a Jujutsu High second-year named Itadori Yuji."
"Officially designated vessel? Ah, okay, I think I get the picture..."
Hanakain Fubuki gave a small nod, indicating he understood the gist of it.
However, just as he was about to delegate the execution duties, Ryomen Sukuna, inhabiting Itadori's body, could restrain himself no longer.
"This presence... An Onmyoji!"
Like floodgates bursting open, unpleasant memories from a thousand years ago surged back.
He clenched his right fist, concentrating immense Cursed Energy – enough to obliterate a Special Grade instantly – gritted his teeth, and launched himself upwards, aiming a punch straight at Hanakain Fubuki's face.
The entire sequence unfolded in mere hundredths of a second. Even Busujima Saeko couldn't react in time.
And then—
The fist, charged with terrifying Cursed Energy, was stopped dead. Effortlessly blocked by a single, unassuming finger, now devoid of its golden aura.
A full-power strike. Blocked completely, without yielding an inch.
Hanakain Fubuki clicked his tongue.
"Whoa there, buddy. What's with the instant aggression? You got issues?"
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