After the others departed for the mainland, Kamo Itsuki remained alone on the stark silence of Jishi Island. His work wasn't finished. He needed to retrieve the core components of the battle barrier: five of Sukuna's fingers.
Kenjaku and Sukuna had long been the twin specters in his personal calculus. Kenjaku, now grievously wounded and vanished into the world's shadows, was a problem deferred. The mission to track strange disappearances was a thin net cast on a vast ocean, but it was better than stillness.
That left Sukuna. The undisputed King of Curses from an age when jujutsu blazed with brutal, competitive fire. Kamo's victory over Gojo had defined a new peak for this era, but it bred no arrogance. He was a star of his time; Sukuna had been the sun of his. In an age of constant, deadly conflict between sorcerers, Sukuna hadn't just survived—he had reigned. That spoke of a combat pragmatism and raw power Kamo could not afford to underestimate. In a true fight to the death, a single misstep against such an opponent would be the last.
The current era's peace was a facade that bred softness. Battling curses was not the same as battling a cunning, supremely powerful sorcerer. In terms of life-or-death dueling experience, the gap between him and the ancient king was likely a chasm.
The only advantage was time. Sukuna was a relic, his power fragmented into twenty fingers. The strategy, therefore, was simple: deny him completeness. Collect and secure the fingers before any adversary could use them for a full resurrection.
Yet, the fingers were phantoms. Scattered across Japan, sealed and hidden with ancient cunning. Jujutsu High's entire collection, amassed over decades, numbered only five—the very five he'd borrowed to power this island's barrier. Storing them at the school was untenable with Tengen's pervasive awareness. They needed to be in a place only he controlled.
He reviewed the records. Each finger had been found by pure, blind chance during unrelated missions. There was no pattern, no map. It was like searching for specific grains of black sand on every beach in the country.
"It seems the only lead is Itadori Yuji," Kamo murmured to the empty island air.
The boy Kenjaku had crafted to be Sukuna's perfect vessel. If there was a thread linking to the scattered fingers, it would be tied to him.
"One person's reach is too limited," he mused, a faint frown creasing his brow. As his responsibilities multiplied—research, containment, preemptive strikes against threats like Sukuna—he felt the acute strain of acting alone.
He needed aides. Not subordinates, but capable lieutenants. Individuals strong enough to face Special-Grade threats and loyal enough to be entrusted with world-shaking secrets.
He mentally cataloged the known sorcerers. None fit. Geto had his own path and burdens. Gojo was a force of nature, not an assistant. The others lacked either the power or the necessary... insulation.
"Since no suitable candidates exist," he concluded, his gaze turning inward, analytical and cold, "I must cultivate them myself."
The idea wasn't new, but now it crystallized from a vague notion into a necessary project. The Cursed Spirit Corpses were a start—tools for Geto, solutions for a systemic manpower shortage. But he needed something more: intelligent, autonomous agents who could operate on his behalf, understand his goals, and execute complex, independent missions. Beings of sufficient power and discernment to hunt for Sukuna's fingers, to monitor the shadows for Kenjaku's return, to manage the countless contingencies a peaceful era blinded others to.
He looked down at his own hands, still faintly humming with the residual energy of the day's battle. The same hands that had dissected cursed spirits, engineered flesh puppets, and warped the rules of space and soul.
If he could engineer consciousness and craft divine-scale shikigami… then creating the perfect assistants was not a fantasy. It was the next logical step.
Jishi Island, his private workshop, would be the cradle. The silence was no longer empty; it was pregnant with purpose. The battle with Gojo was over. The next, far more meticulous project had just begun.
The old adage was right: if you want something done, you often have to do it yourself. Cultivating capable lieutenants had just climbed his priority list, and the success of the Kamo Pill for Geto provided several promising blueprints.
"But that can wait. There's something more pressing," Kamo murmured, his attention shifting to the centerpiece of his sterile lab on Jishi Island.
Resting on a chilled platter was a vial of blood, its color a vibrant, potent crimson. Its origin: Gojo Satoru.
While Gojo currently ranked a half-step behind him, the sheer utility of the Six Eyes and Limitless was undeniable. The Six Eyes' perfect perception and cursed energy analysis would revolutionize his research into barriers and cursed technique theory. Limitless, with its spatial manipulation and instant teleportation, offered logistical and tactical advantages that bordered on the godlike.
The problem had always been access. Gojo rarely bled, and when he did, it was often vaporized in the heat of battle. The Six Eyes, moreover, were not a simple genetic trait but a rare, almost fate-bound constitution, appearing in the Gojo Clan only once every few hundred years.
Previously, Kamo had judged his mastery of Blood Manipulation insufficient to decode such profound gifts from a mere sample. Now, he believed he was ready.
During their duel, while Gojo's mind was fully engaged within the Scarlet Lotus Treasury Domain, Kamo had taken the opportunity. It wasn't theft; he had, in that deep state of mental connection, posed the question directly to Gojo's consciousness. The answer, a gleeful and curious "Sure, why not? Let's see if you can!" had been given. To maintain operational security, that memory, along with the secrets of his technique, was later gently erased.
More valuable than the blood itself were the experiential imprints Kamo had siphoned from Gojo's soul—the visceral, intuitive know-how of wielding the Six Eyes and shaping Infinity. It was the difference between having a key and having the locksmith's muscle memory.
He spent the next several days on Jishi Island in deep, focused integration. The world reshaped itself through the Six Eyes—a flood of data, energy flows, and structural weaknesses laid bare. He practiced the basic principles of Limitless: the gentle push of Blue, the violent repulsion of Red, the foundational layer of Neutral Infinity. He did not, however, set Infinity to a constant, passive state like Gojo. That was Gojo's signature, born of a lifetime of symbiosis with the technique. For Kamo, these were tools to be drawn from a kit, not a second skin. His foundation, his core, would always be the boundless versatility of Blood Manipulation.
When he finally left the island, his plan was clear: find Itadori Yuji, the potential linchpin to locating Sukuna's fingers.
But fate, as it often did, intervened with a sharper priority.
A message arrived, brief and heavy with implication.
The Prison Realm—a true Special Grade Cursed Object—had surfaced.
Its appearance changed everything. A tool capable of sealing even Gojo Satoru was not just a curiosity; it was a catastrophic threat if it fell into the wrong hands. Sukuna's fingers were a long-term strategic concern. The Prison Realm was an immediate, clear, and present danger.
Kamo Itsuki altered his course without a second thought. Itadori Yuji would have to wait. The hunt for the most dangerous cage in the jujutsu world had just begun.