Chapter 2 – Maki Zenin
The next day.
The midday sun was blazing. Dressed in a black kimono, Tatsuro knelt and bowed three times in front of his parents' grave. Around him stood nearby neighbors, all dressed in black suits, silently mourning.
After the moment of silence, they approached him one by one, offering words of encouragement like, "You're the man of the house now. Be strong."
Looking at these neighbors—most of whom he barely knew—Tatsuro couldn't understand it. Why were they expressing such deep sorrow for strangers?
Was it empathy?
Maybe his past self held resentment toward his parents. No, it was more like pure loathing. Or perhaps, as a med student, he'd become desensitized to death. Maybe deep down, he didn't even believe they were his real parents—he couldn't summon true sadness, only watched everything like an outsider.
This world was full of threats. He still didn't know where in the Jujutsu Kaisen timeline he had arrived. Most of the plot details were fuzzy in his mind. But as long as he stuck with an invincible guy like Gojo Satoru, he wouldn't die.
Being indifferent to death was one thing. Actually wanting to die was another. No one truly wants to die when they're living just fine.
Once the funeral ended, the crowd slowly dispersed.
Tatsuro looked at the gravestones, took a deep breath, and gently traced the engraved names with his fingers. He whispered, "I'm grateful to have had parents like you. I'll cherish this body well. Let's take a photo to remember this moment."
He pulled out his phone, snapped a selfie with the black-and-white gravestone portraits, backed up the file, then took off the black kimono, folded it neatly, and placed it at the base of the tombstone.
He called Gojo. "I'm done here. Can you come pick me up? Thanks."
"That fast?" Gojo replied, lounging on a sofa with two reports in hand. After glancing at both, he set them on the table and continued, "I thought you'd stay for two or three days… You're really…"
The two files were for Tatsuro and another student—Yuta Okkotsu.
Back on the roadside bench, Tatsuro sat quietly, observing the passing pedestrians. Some were accompanied by bizarre-looking curses.
One looked like a newborn child, with two black eyes that glowed red. It clung to a man's neck, repeating in a chilling voice:
"Father… daddy… papa…"
Another looked like a centipede, but with a human woman's head. It coiled tightly around a man, whispering venomously:
"If I die, you're coming with me… You can't escape… can't… can't…"
One curse resembled a kitten, perched calmly atop a woman's head. Its black tail swayed lazily, seemingly matching its mood.
"So these are curses, huh…"
Tatsuro thought back to his body's original memories. Most were shattered fragments, like broken glass, but the past two years were still fairly intact.
He'd been an ordinary high school student—utterly average. Mediocre grades. Below-average athleticism. His looks were passable, and he gave off a carefree, roguish vibe.
Basically, a try-hard poser.
Someone like that wouldn't normally catch Gojo Satoru's attention, even if awakened under extreme stress. So why did he?
He clearly remembered killing the curse last night. Time had suddenly slowed, a strange energy surged in his eyes, and previously invisible curses became visible.
Driven by grief and rage, the curse's movements appeared ridiculously slow—every motion full of holes.
Red cursed energy had enveloped his body on its own. Then, it was over. The curse died inexplicably. He blacked out.
All signs pointed to his eyes.
Tatsuro looked at his reflection in his phone. His black pupils looked normal, but he could feel something unfamiliar stirring within him.
He recognized it as cursed energy.
Last night, after Gojo left, he tried manipulating it—but failed. It felt thick, sluggish, and unresponsive. Like wading through mud.
"Hey, you the new transfer student?"
A bold, straightforward female voice called out.
Tatsuro looked up. A girl in a black uniform approached, green hair tied in a ponytail. She held her phone, glancing between it and him, comparing his appearance.
"If this is Jujutsu High, then yeah. I'm Tatsuro."
"I'm Maki Zenin. I came to get you. Honestly, first impression? Pretty underwhelming."
Maki Zenin, huh…
So the timeline was the year before Yuta Okkotsu enrolled—the prequel period.
Looking at the girl with pink glasses, Tatsuro grinned and extended a hand.
"If I'm that weak, then please protect me for free. I really am powerless."
"…"
Maki stared at his bold honesty, unsure how to respond. Gojo had told her clearly: this guy had real potential. She was supposed to test his strength.
But… he admitted defeat that easily?
Tatsuro didn't care what she thought. His top priority now was clinging to a strong ally. This world was dangerous—no backing meant certain death.
Someone like Maki was the perfect "big leg" to latch onto.
"Ahem." Maki cleared her throat. "Follow me. I'll take you to Jujutsu High."
"Got it!"
As they walked, Tatsuro asked, "You seem pretty tall. How old are you?"
"Fifteen."
"Fifteen, huh? You're developing well. What do you usually eat?"
"Fast food."
"Fast food? Why not cook for yourself?"
"Too much trouble. You sure ask a lot of questions!"
"Just concerned about your health. Too much fast food's bad. Want me to be your head chef? Only 50,000 yen a month. Real bargain!"
Tatsuro was pulling out the skills from his past life.
"…"
Maki sighed. "Bargain my ass. You wanna get hit, just say so."
Tatsuro waved it off. "Seriously, I'm like a three-star chef. That barely covers ingredients. I'm barely making anything."
Just as he finished, Maki stopped walking. Her brown eyes locked onto him, fists slowly tightening.
"Hey, I'm just saying. Let's not waste those pretty eyes. I care about your health," Tatsuro said as he backed away.
He knew he was useless in a fight. He was a med student—trained to heal, not hurt. And in truth, he really was trash…
He had no illusions about his own strength.
Maki sighed again, pulling a 5,000-yen bill from her pocket and handing it to him.
"Buy something good with this. If it sucks, you're dead."
"Oh, if it sucks, feel free to beat me up," Tatsuro grinned, pocketing the bill, his eyes gleaming with pride as if saying:
Trust me. My cooking's fire.
Hey, this might be his future side hustle. Cooking could be way more lucrative than jujutsu. All he needed was ingredients!
One person, 50,000 yen. Two people, 100,000. Three? 150,000. Who needs cursed techniques when you can run a five-star kitchen?
Not a bad start at all.