'Considering the total cursed energy output of a single Sukuna finger, combined with this Barrier's energy recycling efficiency...'
Kenjaku's calculations raced through his ancient mind, each variable clicking into place with dreadful precision. His brow furrowed deeper as the inevitable conclusion emerged.
'If Kamo Itsuki gathers all of Sukuna's fingers... could he cover all of Japan?'
The thought struck him like a physical blow.
Memories surfaced—years ago, observing Kamo's quiet collection of the fingers, dismissing it as simple hoarding, preparation against resurrection. He had been wrong. Terribly, catastrophically wrong.
'This plan started long ago. The Barrier today is just a prototype.'
His imagination painted the future: ordinary Cursed Spirits systematically eliminated, Special Grades hunted down one by one by Kamo himself. New spirits would be born, yes—but the balance would shatter irreparably. Cursed Spirits would become nuisances, not threats. Humanity would live free from fear.
Such a world...
"Nonsense!"
The mental roar echoed through his consciousness. His face contorted with visceral rejection.
'A world without killing. Without curses. Without chaos. Boring. Insufferably, unbearably boring!'
Kenjaku had devoted a millennium to a single vision: the optimization of cursed energy. Non-sorcerers, sorcerers, Cursed Spirits—all were merely vessels, expressions of humanity's potential. He had tried to create, to evolve, and failed. Because he himself was constrained by the same limitations.
The answer, he believed, lay in chaos. A state of uncontrollable, flourishing conflict where new possibilities could emerge from destruction. The golden age of jujutsu had been such an era. Kamo Itsuki's world would be its opposite—a sterile garden, meticulously pruned, devoid of wild growth.
'He presumes to control everything. To end the evolution of cursed energy itself.' Kenjaku's resolve hardened like ancient steel. 'His plan must not succeed.'
He had planned patience—waiting for the perfect moment to consume Kanon and regain freedom. But patience was a luxury he could no longer afford.
'First, I need mobility. Independence.' His gaze, hidden within the goldfish form, turned calculating. 'Then, I find the remaining fingers before he does.'
Through Bee Number Three, Kamo Itsuki observed the returning students. One by one, they reached their limits and turned back toward the central safe zone.
'Good. They recognized their boundaries.' He nodded with quiet approval. 'The first lesson is learned.'
He rose, extending his awareness across the entire Beehive Barrier. Dozens of Cursed Spirits remained in their hexagonal prisons—enough to be dangerous to his exhausted students, but trivial to him.
Blood Manipulation: Thousand Killing Spider Spears. *
His cursed energy erupted outward like an invisible tide, flooding every cell of the Barrier simultaneously.
The remaining spirits never saw death coming.
From their own shadows, blood-red spears erupted—each one precisely aimed, each one carrying the weight of absolute finality. The spears pierced through chitin and flesh, through spectral forms and corporeal bodies, through every defense the spirits possessed.
Not a single one screamed. They simply... ceased.
The Barrier hummed, drinking in the sudden flood of released cursed energy, recycling it into the system with mechanical efficiency.
Kamo lowered his hand. The work was done.
Minutes later, he stood before his gathered students. Wounds were healed with efficient application of Reverse Cursed Technique. Exhaustion was noted but not coddled.
A gesture. A flicker of space.
They stood again on Jujutsu High's training ground, the ancient forest of Shirakami-Sanchi replaced by familiar grass and distant buildings.
Behind them, unseen, the Beehive Barrier dissolved. Cursed objects were recovered, stored, archived. The prototype had served its purpose—data collected, students tested, theories validated.
Kamo faced his class, his expression calm but not unkind.
"You're dismissed. Rest. Reflect." He paused, letting his gaze touch each of them in turn. "Tomorrow, we begin properly."
The students dispersed in small groups, conversations already sparking—comparisons of battles, complaints about exhaustion, quiet moments between partners.
Kamo watched them go.
'The pieces are on the board,' he thought. 'Now we see how they grow.'
Above, unseen by any, a single Yin-Yang Butterfly drifted across the sky, its kind multiplying across Japan, searching, always searching.
The hunt for Sukuna's fragments continued. And somewhere in the golden scales of a goldfish Shikigami, an ancient enemy began to move.
Jujutsu High's philosophy was simple: learn by doing. Classroom instruction existed, but the real education happened in the field. Students were expected to take missions—exorcising Cursed Spirits, earning academic credits, and scraping together a modest living allowance in the process.
But even the most driven needed rest.
The entrance exam had been brutal—a full day of intense combat that pushed each student to their limits. Kamo Itsuki had healed their physical wounds, but the mental exhaustion lingered like a shadow. Most of them chose to rest for several days, processing the experience, letting their minds recover.
Only one student was missing from the dormitory common areas the next morning.
In the girls' dormitory, Nanako and Mimiko emerged onto the balcony, arms full of freshly washed laundry. The afternoon sun was warm, perfect for drying clothes.
"Oh, Kanon! Are you going out?"
Nanako spotted their new friend heading toward the gate, dressed in her Jujutsu High uniform and carrying a small bag. Surprise colored her voice.
Kanon paused, turning back with an expression that was equal parts resignation and long-suffering patience. "Yeah. I took a mission. Cursed Spirit exorcism."
Mimiko's brow creased with concern. "Already? You haven't even rested. Don't push yourself too hard."
Kanon's face twisted into a comical grimace. "Believe me, I'd love to rest. But fate has cursed me with a difficult life."
She offered a weak wave and trudged toward the gate, her posture screaming reluctance with every step.
Nanako watched her go, then turned to her sister. "Is she... short on money?"
Mimiko shook her head slowly, equally puzzled. "Doesn't seem like it. Maybe she's just dedicated?"
Outside the gate, Kanon's pace slowed to a crawl.
"Kenjaku," she whined, tilting her head back to address the empty air, "just one more day. One day of rest. Please?"
In her mind, Kenjaku's voice echoed, calm but immovable.
"Complete this mission. Do it well. Then you may rest."
Kanon sighed dramatically. This was her life now—taking orders from her own Shikigami. It wasn't fair. Weren't Shikigami supposed to obey their masters?
But the truth was more complicated.
She had lost her parents young. Kenjaku—Yuanyuan, as she still sometimes thought of him—had been there ever since. Through every fear, every failure, every small victory, he had guided her. Taught her. Pushed her.
He was more than a Shikigami. He was family.
So even when she grumbled, even when she dragged her feet, she ultimately listened. Because Kenjaku had never led her wrong.
"You promise?" she asked, a spark of hope in her voice. "After this mission, I can rest as long as I want?"
"You have my word."
"Three days! At least three days!" She perked up visibly, her stride gaining energy. "I'm going to sleep for three whole days and nights!"
Kenjaku didn't respond. Within the golden fish, his ancient consciousness churned with darker thoughts.
'Rest is a luxury you cannot afford. Not anymore. Not with what's coming.'
He had seen Kamo Itsuki's plan—or enough of it to understand the stakes. The Beehive Barrier. The systematic collection of Sukuna's fingers. The vision of a world without curses.
'If I don't move now, if I don't gather power and information quickly... there may be no chance left at all.'
Kanon skipped ahead, oblivious to the storm within her companion, dreaming of endless sleep and warm blankets.
Kenjaku followed, patient as ever, calculating his next move.
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