Chapter 7:
The Gap Between the Strongest
The Crimson Eyes of the Zenin
August 2007.
The sun was scorching. The sound of cicadas was deafening, a relentless buzzing that grated on the nerves.
Tokyo Jujutsu High.
Since the life-or-death battle with Toji Fushiguro, Gojo Satoru had solidified his position. He was no longer just strong; he was becoming a god.
In response, the Cursed Spirits of the world seemed to be undergoing a terrifying evolution, as if to balance the scales.
Gojo Satoru. Geto Suguru. Ieiri Shoko.
It was rare to see the three classmates sitting together these days.
Gojo and Geto were constantly busy—either exorcising curses or on their way to the next mission. Shoko, on the other hand, was now treasured by the Higher-ups. Her ability to use the Reverse Cursed Technique on others was a talent even Gojo couldn't replicate, so she was kept safe at the school, exempt from combat.
"Hey," Shoko mumbled, the lollipop stick bobbing in her mouth. She looked at Gojo, who was sitting cross-legged, floating a few inches off the chair. "Aren't you even a little bit interested in the new Zenin Clan Head? The ten-year-old?"
"That kid's bounty on the black market is skyrocketing. It's several times higher than yours now."
"Hm?"
Gojo paused, twirling his sunglasses. He was slightly taken aback by Shoko's sudden curiosity.
"Interested? Maybe a little," Gojo admitted truthfully. "But the kid stays locked up in the Zenin estate. He never shows his face outside."
"As for the bounty..." Gojo smirked, his tone playful. "A full billion yen. There must be a rival family or a curse user group funneling money into that. It's inflated."
Gojo suddenly spun in mid-air to face Shoko, feigning horror.
"Wait... Shoko! Why are you suddenly interested in a brat?"
"You wouldn't... have awakened some kind of special fetish, would you?"
"A Shota-con?" Gojo gasped, raising his hands dramatically. "That kid is only eleven years old! You beast!"
"No wonder you never confessed to the two handsome guys sitting next to you! So, Shoko, you like them young and innocent, huh?"
Shoko rolled her eyes. She removed the lollipop and spat out one word.
"Scumbag."
She looked at her two friends.
Gojo Satoru, the "Scumbag," was immersed in the precise, automatic control of his Limitless technique. He was constantly running it now, 24/7.
And Geto Suguru...
For some reason, Geto was becoming more taciturn with each passing day. The dark circles under his eyes were heavy, looking like bruises against his pale skin.
As the mediator between the two "Strongest," Shoko had noticed the drift. She had brought up the Zenin topic to break the dull, suffocating atmosphere.
Zenin Mirai. The boy who seized the Clan Head position at age ten. He had been the hot topic of the Jujutsu world for six months. A child ruling a clan of wolves.
"Suguru," Gojo said, dropping the act. "Have you lost weight lately?"
After teasing Shoko, Gojo was about to show some rare concern for his best friend.
Ring— Ring—
The sudden shrill of a phone cut him off.
Gojo answered. "Moshi moshi~"
He listened for a second, then hung up. He looked at his two friends and waved with a grin. "Got a mission! Solo. See you guys later!"
Gojo stood up, pushed his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose, and walked away. He left them with a nonchalant wave, his back turned.
Geto Suguru sat in the shadows of the classroom, avoiding the harsh summer sunlight. He watched Gojo leave.
The Strongest.
Cursed Spirits were like maggots. Endless.
Exorcise. Absorb. Exorcise... Absorb.
The cycle repeated, ad infinitum.
To Geto, the taste of a Cursed Spirit never changed. It tasted like a rag that had been used to wipe up vomit and vomit. Swallowing that filth every day... it was eroding him.
Watching Gojo's departing figure, a complex expression flashed across Geto's face.
We used to be "The Strongest" together.
Now... Satoru has become "The Strongest" alone.
Geto closed his eyes. The cicadas buzzed on, louder than before.
The Zenin Estate.
In front of the massive steel doors of the Disciplinary Pit.
The Zenin sisters, Maki and Mai, stepped into the darkness behind the door. They each carried a heavy wooden lunch box.
ROAR!
Hearing the inhuman screams coming from deep within the earth, Mai flinched. She leaned against her sister's back, trembling.
"It's been more than six months," Maki said, glancing back at her little sister. Her voice was steady, but her grip on the lunch box was tight. "Haven't you gotten used to it yet?"
For the past half-year, the nominal Head of the Zenin Clan had lived deep in this forbidden warehouse.
The task of delivering meals to Mirai was forced upon the twins by their mother.
Born into the Zenin family, even at five years old, the sisters understood their mother's desperate strategy: Get close to the King. Make him tolerate you. It is the only way you will survive.
So, whenever it was time for Mirai to eat, the twins descended into hell.
"A Grade 2 Sorcerer..."
A cold voice echoed up the stairs.
"And you only managed to capture one Grade 2 Cursed Spirit alive?"
Maki and Mai froze on the landing.
"I didn't expect you trash to capture a Special Grade," the voice continued, dripping with disappointment. "But you can't even catch a few of the same level? Is the Hei unit entirely composed of incompetence?"
"Clan Head, I..."
A man's voice, filled with terror, began to speak—and then abruptly stopped with a wet crunch.
Maki and Mai held their breath. They quietly walked down the remaining stairs.
After a moment of darkness, the basement opened up.
Maki's eyes adjusted to the gloom. When she saw the scene, her pupils shrank.
The Hei (Elite Unit).
The strongest sorcerers of the Zenin Clan. Men who used to walk with their heads held high, looking at Maki like she was dirt.
Now, they stood in a line, hands behind their backs, heads bowed so low their chins touched their chests. They looked like naughty children being scolded by a teacher.
And at Mirai's feet...
Two distinct pieces of a corpse lay in a pool of expanding blood. Maki recognized the face. It was a Grade 2 sorcerer she had seen at the training grounds just yesterday.
Mirai stood in the blood, expressionless. He looked bored.
Maki felt a tug on her shirt. She turned to see Mai burying her face in Maki's back, shaking violently.
Maki gently put down her lunch box and hugged Mai.
Of course, Maki realized. I can only see the corpse.
Mai... Mai can see the rest.
To Maki, the basement looked spacious. But to Mai's eyes, the room was a claustrophobic nightmare.
The walls, the ceiling, the floor—everything was crawling with Cursed Spirits. Grotesque remains of curses—brains, internal organs, severed limbs—were piled high in the corners. It was a slaughterhouse of monsters.
And the sorcerers of the Hei unit saw it too.
They didn't feel sorry for their companion lying in the blood. Over the last six months, they had learned the new Clan Head's temperament well.
Success means survival.
Failure means death.
Mirai raised a hand.
The space beside his shoulder warped. A dimensional rift opened.
From the void, a pair of gigantic, withered hands—like the roots of an ancient dead tree—reached out.
The hands scooped up the piles of dismembered Cursed Spirits from the floor. Then, two massive, wooden fingernails pierced the corpse of the sorcerer at Mirai's feet.
The hands dragged everything—curses and human meat alike—back into the void.
Crunch. Gulp. Snap.
The sound of chewing echoed from the dimensional rift. It was wet, loud, and jarring in the silent basement.
Even the Hei sorcerers, hardened killers, shuddered at the sound.
"My pet..." Mirai said, wiping a speck of blood from his cheek. "It doesn't just like Cursed Spirits. It enjoys the taste of powerful sorcerers, too."
Mirai's gaze swept over the remaining elites.
"Next time you don't bring enough food," Mirai whispered, "we can use your flesh to make up the difference."
The Grade 1 sorcerers trembled. Not one of them dared to look him in the eye.
"Get lost."
Mirai waved his hand dismissively.
"A bunch of useless trash. Don't spoil my meal."
To the Hei unit, that insult was the sweetest sound in the world. It meant they could leave.
They bowed hastily, suppressing their relief, and retreated up the stairs as if walking on thin ice, passing the two terrified little girls on their way out.
The sun was scorching. The sound of cicadas was deafening, a relentless buzzing that grated on the nerves.
Tokyo Jujutsu High.
Since the life-or-death battle with Toji Fushiguro, Gojo Satoru had solidified his position. He was no longer just strong; he was becoming a god.
In response, the Cursed Spirits of the world seemed to be undergoing a terrifying evolution, as if to balance the scales.
Gojo Satoru. Geto Suguru. Ieiri Shoko.
It was rare to see the three classmates sitting together these days.
Gojo and Geto were constantly busy—either exorcising curses or on their way to the next mission. Shoko, on the other hand, was now treasured by the Higher-ups. Her ability to use the Reverse Cursed Technique on others was a talent even Gojo couldn't replicate, so she was kept safe at the school, exempt from combat.
"Hey," Shoko mumbled, the lollipop stick bobbing in her mouth. She looked at Gojo, who was sitting cross-legged, floating a few inches off the chair. "Aren't you even a little bit interested in the new Zenin Clan Head? The ten-year-old?"
"That kid's bounty on the black market is skyrocketing. It's several times higher than yours now."
"Hm?"
Gojo paused, twirling his sunglasses. He was slightly taken aback by Shoko's sudden curiosity.
"Interested? Maybe a little," Gojo admitted truthfully. "But the kid stays locked up in the Zenin estate. He never shows his face outside."
"As for the bounty..." Gojo smirked, his tone playful. "A full billion yen. There must be a rival family or a curse user group funneling money into that. It's inflated."
Gojo suddenly spun in mid-air to face Shoko, feigning horror.
"Wait... Shoko! Why are you suddenly interested in a brat?"
"You wouldn't... have awakened some kind of special fetish, would you?"
"A Shota-con?" Gojo gasped, raising his hands dramatically. "That kid is only eleven years old! You beast!"
"No wonder you never confessed to the two handsome guys sitting next to you! So, Shoko, you like them young and innocent, huh?"
Shoko rolled her eyes. She removed the lollipop and spat out one word.
"Scumbag."
She looked at her two friends.
Gojo Satoru, the "Scumbag," was immersed in the precise, automatic control of his Limitless technique. He was constantly running it now, 24/7.
And Geto Suguru...
For some reason, Geto was becoming more taciturn with each passing day. The dark circles under his eyes were heavy, looking like bruises against his pale skin.
As the mediator between the two "Strongest," Shoko had noticed the drift. She had brought up the Zenin topic to break the dull, suffocating atmosphere.
Zenin Mirai. The boy who seized the Clan Head position at age ten. He had been the hot topic of the Jujutsu world for six months. A child ruling a clan of wolves.
"Suguru," Gojo said, dropping the act. "Have you lost weight lately?"
After teasing Shoko, Gojo was about to show some rare concern for his best friend.
Ring— Ring—
The sudden shrill of a phone cut him off.
Gojo answered. "Moshi moshi~"
He listened for a second, then hung up. He looked at his two friends and waved with a grin. "Got a mission! Solo. See you guys later!"
Gojo stood up, pushed his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose, and walked away. He left them with a nonchalant wave, his back turned.
Geto Suguru sat in the shadows of the classroom, avoiding the harsh summer sunlight. He watched Gojo leave.
The Strongest.
Cursed Spirits were like maggots. Endless.
Exorcise. Absorb. Exorcise... Absorb.
The cycle repeated, ad infinitum.
To Geto, the taste of a Cursed Spirit never changed. It tasted like a rag that had been used to wipe up vomit and vomit. Swallowing that filth every day... it was eroding him.
Watching Gojo's departing figure, a complex expression flashed across Geto's face.
We used to be "The Strongest" together.
Now... Satoru has become "The Strongest" alone.
Geto closed his eyes. The cicadas buzzed on, louder than before.
The Zenin Estate.
In front of the massive steel doors of the Disciplinary Pit.
The Zenin sisters, Maki and Mai, stepped into the darkness behind the door. They each carried a heavy wooden lunch box.
ROAR!
Hearing the inhuman screams coming from deep within the earth, Mai flinched. She leaned against her sister's back, trembling.
"It's been more than six months," Maki said, glancing back at her little sister. Her voice was steady, but her grip on the lunch box was tight. "Haven't you gotten used to it yet?"
For the past half-year, the nominal Head of the Zenin Clan had lived deep in this forbidden warehouse.
The task of delivering meals to Mirai was forced upon the twins by their mother.
Born into the Zenin family, even at five years old, the sisters understood their mother's desperate strategy: Get close to the King. Make him tolerate you. It is the only way you will survive.
So, whenever it was time for Mirai to eat, the twins descended into hell.
"A Grade 2 Sorcerer..."
A cold voice echoed up the stairs.
"And you only managed to capture one Grade 2 Cursed Spirit alive?"
Maki and Mai froze on the landing.
"I didn't expect you trash to capture a Special Grade," the voice continued, dripping with disappointment. "But you can't even catch a few of the same level? Is the Hei unit entirely composed of incompetence?"
"Clan Head, I..."
A man's voice, filled with terror, began to speak—and then abruptly stopped with a wet crunch.
Maki and Mai held their breath. They quietly walked down the remaining stairs.
After a moment of darkness, the basement opened up.
Maki's eyes adjusted to the gloom. When she saw the scene, her pupils shrank.
The Hei (Elite Unit).
The strongest sorcerers of the Zenin Clan. Men who used to walk with their heads held high, looking at Maki like she was dirt.
Now, they stood in a line, hands behind their backs, heads bowed so low their chins touched their chests. They looked like naughty children being scolded by a teacher.
And at Mirai's feet...
Two distinct pieces of a corpse lay in a pool of expanding blood. Maki recognized the face. It was a Grade 2 sorcerer she had seen at the training grounds just yesterday.
Mirai stood in the blood, expressionless. He looked bored.
Maki felt a tug on her shirt. She turned to see Mai burying her face in Maki's back, shaking violently.
Maki gently put down her lunch box and hugged Mai.
Of course, Maki realized. I can only see the corpse.
Mai... Mai can see the rest.
To Maki, the basement looked spacious. But to Mai's eyes, the room was a claustrophobic nightmare.
The walls, the ceiling, the floor—everything was crawling with Cursed Spirits. Grotesque remains of curses—brains, internal organs, severed limbs—were piled high in the corners. It was a slaughterhouse of monsters.
And the sorcerers of the Hei unit saw it too.
They didn't feel sorry for their companion lying in the blood. Over the last six months, they had learned the new Clan Head's temperament well.
Success means survival.
Failure means death.
Mirai raised a hand.
The space beside his shoulder warped. A dimensional rift opened.
From the void, a pair of gigantic, withered hands—like the roots of an ancient dead tree—reached out.
The hands scooped up the piles of dismembered Cursed Spirits from the floor. Then, two massive, wooden fingernails pierced the corpse of the sorcerer at Mirai's feet.
The hands dragged everything—curses and human meat alike—back into the void.
Crunch. Gulp. Snap.
The sound of chewing echoed from the dimensional rift. It was wet, loud, and jarring in the silent basement.
Even the Hei sorcerers, hardened killers, shuddered at the sound.
"My pet..." Mirai said, wiping a speck of blood from his cheek. "It doesn't just like Cursed Spirits. It enjoys the taste of powerful sorcerers, too."
Mirai's gaze swept over the remaining elites.
"Next time you don't bring enough food," Mirai whispered, "we can use your flesh to make up the difference."
The Grade 1 sorcerers trembled. Not one of them dared to look him in the eye.
"Get lost."
Mirai waved his hand dismissively.
"A bunch of useless trash. Don't spoil my meal."
To the Hei unit, that insult was the sweetest sound in the world. It meant they could leave.
They bowed hastily, suppressing their relief, and retreated up the stairs as if walking on thin ice, passing the two terrified little girls on their way out.
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