December 30, 2018, 11:30 AM. Sakurajima Colony.
When Megumi Fushiguro first heard the rules regarding the 'Key Keeper', he assumed the Key Keeper would desperately gather a massive coalition to defend themselves, ultimately placing all their hopes on the final recipient of the key. That chosen Key Keeper would then carry the combined hopes of the masses to face the King of Cursed Spirits in a final duel.
But the reality of the situation was entirely different.
The jujutsu world was an intensely cruel and unforgiving place. Even though the Dream Migration barriers had significantly bridged the catastrophic gap in power, scaling it down from a staggering 1:10,000 to a slightly less hopeless 1:5,000, the disparity remained incomprehensibly vast.
Once a true apex predator secured the key, it was virtually impossible for anyone else to pry it from their grasp. Take Satoru Gojo, for instance. After he claimed the key, not a single sorcerer even dared to step forward and challenge him. This was because Gojo would effortlessly obliterate any challenger before they could even display a fraction of their strength. Even if they entered the resurrection queue, throwing themselves at him was just a meaningless waste of 100 points.
The Dream Migration had hard limits on how much it could elevate a person's innate talent. To shatter those limits required the intervention of the 'Finite Infinity' wish. The most glaring example of this was the ultimate physical cheat code of the jujutsu world: the 'Six Eyes'. The Gojo clan's Six Eyes were undeniably the eyes of gods and buddhas. If a sorcerer possessed them, even if their base stats were a blank slate, they could effortlessly step into the realm of a Special Grade Sorcerer. Such absolute, peerless treasures could never be purchased with mere points; they could only be realized through 'Finite Infinity'.
While the Dream Migration actively encouraged massive free-for-alls among sorcerers, the unbridgeable chasm between the strong and the weak naturally gave rise to an unspoken rule: the strong fought the strong, and the weak fought the weak. This was the most efficient way to maximize point gains. Of course, finding an opponent who was exactly one or two tiers above or below your own level was the ultimate jackpot.
Whatever the future held, at this very moment in the Sakurajima Colony, no idiot was suicidal enough to provoke Satoru Gojo. And even if some fool tried, the perimeter established by his students and Kento Nanami would crush the disturbance before it even reached him.
This allowed Gojo to spend the final thirty minutes before the decisive battle lounging in a completely destroyed park, catching a rare moment of rest.
For once, Gojo let his mind go completely blank.
He stopped analyzing hyper-complex jujutsu theories. He stopped running mental combat simulations. He didn't even think about the apocalyptic duel waiting for him in thirty minutes. He simply slumped against the park bench, thoroughly relaxed.
He was a towering man, standing close to two meters tall, but the loose clothing he wore completely hid his toned physique. Combined with the way his blindfold pushed his bangs straight up, from a distance, he looked like an upside-down broom. It was a slightly comical silhouette.
Suddenly, a voice called out to the man preparing for the end of the world.
"Hey. Why are you sitting out here all alone? You even locked your Information Lock."
Gojo slowly reeled his mind back from the void. He shook his head slightly and looked toward the approaching figure. It was Utahime Iori.
She was dressed in incredibly formal attire. She wore a traditional red-and-white miko (shrine maiden) outfit, complete with white tabi socks and traditional wooden geta sandals. Walking a half-step behind her was a younger miko, carrying a long-handled monk's staff and a folded garment bag. Bathed in the ethereal glow of the night's moon, Utahime looked like an entity descended from the heavens.
Utahime came from a prestigious lineage of shrine maidens, and Gojo had never felt that reality more sharply than he did right now. But instead of replying to Utahime, he directed his greeting to the girl behind her. "Yo, Rice Shower. You ended up choosing the path of a miko, huh?"
Although Gojo outwardly radiated absolute confidence, Yuta's probing questions over the past few days had laid bare his true intentions: he was tying up loose ends. He was making arrangements for his own death! Among the first-years, Yuji had chosen to endlessly grind the Dream Migration in hopes of eventually wishing for Gojo's resurrection. Megumi and Nobara hadn't solidified their plans. And Rice Shower had chosen to follow Utahime.
She wanted to become a miko, and she had already put in the work to make it happen.
Gojo had introduced her to Utahime, and Utahime, completely dropping her usual fussiness, had immediately accepted the girl—who had already firmly established herself as a Special Grade Sorcerer—as her disciple.
Utahime's family was a respected, but not overwhelmingly dominant, lineage of Shinto priests. Having a Special Grade Sorcerer as a disciple would shield them from countless political headaches. This was especially true considering her disciple wielded an incredibly rare poison-based Cursed Technique. If anyone dared to anger her, she could slaughter them with a cheerful smile before they even realized they were dying. Just the mere *possibility* of that happening was enough to terrify most factions into submission.
Utahime was extremely satisfied with Rice Shower. The only thing that gave her pause was the girl's true motivation.
Why had Rice Shower suddenly developed such a fervent desire to become a miko? Up until recently, she had been aggressively searching for a way to turn back into a man.
When asked, Rice Shower had replied with a deadpan expression: "I experienced a period. And I've already used my points in the Dream Migration to purchase a constitution that never has periods again. If I turn back into a man now, I think the sheer psychological whiplash would shatter my mind."
Right. That was a remarkably pragmatic, very 'jujutsu sorcerer' line of reasoning.
As for why she chose to become a miko, the reason was equally straightforward. "In the past, Mahito—the Lord of Cursed Spirits—mentioned he wanted a miko to serve him when he became a god. I rejected him back then. But after thinking about it... *teehee*, being the Chief Shrine Maiden for a literal True God sounds like a pretty sweet gig."
In other words, she was fully embracing the absurdity and securing the ultimate safety net.
When Utahime heard this reasoning, she accepted Rice Shower without a second word.
Regardless of whether Rice Shower was joking or not—and knowing Mahito's personality, Gojo was one hundred percent certain it was a completely viable strategy—Utahime's family would be permanently safe from any future political fallout.
After all, their supreme deity might unknowingly transition into the sole True God of the new world. The sheer political leverage of that was unfathomable.
If the whole 'True God' thing was a bust, Utahime gained a Special Grade poison user as a bodyguard. If it was true? Hell, she'd have a direct line to the only True God in existence. Utahime fundamentally despised Cursed Spirits, but if this Cursed Spirit literally ascended to true godhood, that completely changed the equation.
Dressed in her red-and-white miko attire, Rice Shower held the monk's staff and the garment bag, offering Gojo a deep, respectful bow. "Yes, Gojo-sensei. Thank you for everything you've done for me. I swear I won't disappoint you."
Gojo snickered, trying to hold back a laugh. "Pfft... it's only been a few days, and you're already talking like a proper lady? Utahime's teaching you well. Man, I was worried you were going to turn into Demon Miko Version 2.0, but seeing you so polite is a huge relief."
"You absolute bastard, you have some nerve!" A thick vein bulged on Utahime's forehead. "I am your senior! How dare you casually use my first name like that! Did you feed all your manners to a pack of wild dogs?!"
"See? That's the Demon Miko right there. Whatever you do, do *not* turn out like her," Gojo said, pointing at Utahime and bursting into loud, obnoxious laughter.
Utahime instantly dropped all pretense of miko elegance. She stomped over to Gojo, raised her hand, and mercilessly delivered a vicious karate chop aimed squarely at his head.
Naturally, it bounced harmlessly off his Limitless.
"SATORU GOJO, YOU BETTER REMEMBER THIS! I AM YOUR SENIOR! YOUR! SENIOR!" she roared.
Gojo didn't even bother deflecting her; he just sat there, laughing heartily.
This exact dynamic played out every single time Gojo and Utahime interacted. Gojo would intentionally pluck her last nerve, Utahime would violently lash out, and she would invariably scream about her seniority.
Rice Shower watched the exchange with quiet envy.
She was no longer the clueless novice who had just stumbled into the jujutsu world. Unlike the other students, she had proactively devoured every text on jujutsu history she could find. And through that history, she had witnessed the horrific, blood-soaked reality of the jujutsu world's 'survival of the fittest'.
In many ways, Ryomen Sukuna was the concentrated embodiment of all jujutsu history.
All authority, all nobility—it was entirely meaningless in the face of absolute power. That was the naked, brutal truth of the jujutsu world. Ryomen Sukuna was the ultimate practitioner of this ironclad law. When his sheer arrogance and overwhelming strength shattered every established rule, the world was forced to revolve around his whims.
Satoru Gojo possessed power equal to, if not greater than, Ryomen Sukuna. Yet Gojo didn't indiscriminately unleash his power upon the world like Sukuna did a millennium ago. Gojo had friends. He had a best friend. He had students. He had a mentor. He had grown up with a healthy, human heart.
Rice Shower genuinely believed that Satoru Gojo was a truly fortunate man.
She waited until Gojo and Utahime finished their familiar routine before taking short, measured steps toward them. She stood the monk's staff upright, resting it against her side, and carefully pulled the folded garment from the bag. Holding it reverently with both hands, she presented it to Gojo.
"Gojo-sensei. The Gojo Kesa you requested is ready."
According to Buddhist tradition, a monk's robes are divided into three tiers: large, medium, and small. The small robe is stitched from five strips of cloth; the medium robe from seven strips; and the large, transcendent robe is stitched from nine to twenty-five strips of cloth.
The large robe symbolizes profound respect and is typically reserved for grand ceremonies or audiences with highly revered individuals.
The medium robe is the standard daily wear for monks, representing a mild and approachable demeanor. In the original timeline, the Kesa Suguru Geto wore was a seven-strip Kesa—a medium robe.
The small robe is specifically worn for menial labor and cleaning.
The name 'Satoru Gojo' was inherently fascinating. The surname 'Gojo' (Five Strips) directly referenced this small robe, symbolizing a humble servant of the buddhas and gods. Yet, this humble servant was ironically blessed with the most exalted, divine eyes in existence. The 'Six Eyes' mirrored the Buddhist concept of the 'Purification of the Six Roots' (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind), representing the absolute pinnacle of Zen enlightenment.
His given name, 'Satoru' (Enlightenment/Awakening), was even more poignant. It invoked 'Bodhi Awakening'—the ultimate truth that neither 'mortals' nor 'buddhas' could ever escape, a state revered as a priceless treasure.
Gojo (Five Strips), Six Eyes, Satoru (Enlightenment). Everything about Satoru Gojo—his lineage, his name, his very existence—was inextricably bound to Buddhist philosophy. And now, at the very end, even his chosen weapon was a monk's staff (Khakkhara).
Utahime carefully unfolded the Gojo Kesa. Gojo stood up and casually stripped off his black Jujutsu High uniform jacket, revealing a crisp white undershirt. He dropped the black jacket onto the park bench and spread his arms wide. With practiced grace, Utahime personally draped the Gojo Kesa over his shoulders.
December 30, 2018. 11:50 AM.
Gojo finished adjusting the Kesa. Rice Shower bowed her head and offered the monk's staff with both hands. Gojo grasped the staff and gently ran his fingers along the metal rings. The head of the staff chimed with a deep, resonant hum, like a distant temple bell. Before acquiring Tool Manipulation, Gojo would have needed to intensely scrutinize the weapon with his Six Eyes to decipher the meaning behind that sound. Now, the understanding flowed into him instantly.
He smiled softly. "Yes. I understand. Maintaining a humble heart is the most important thing of all."
11:53 AM.
Utahime took two steps back, admiring Gojo's new attire. A rare, genuine smile of approval graced her lips. "You bastard, you finally look the part of a proper sorcerer. Even though a Five-Strip Kesa isn't exactly formal wear... honestly, a Nine-Strip Kesa would have been far more fitting."
Gojo lightly tapped the base of his staff against the ground. The deep chime inexplicably washed away the lingering anxiety in Utahime's heart.
He replied with casual ease, "Have you forgotten what my family name is? Heh. I guarantee you, if my ancestors dared to name our clan 'Kujo' (Nine Strips), that old hag Tengen would have marched over and personally exterminated us. The Six Eyes *and* a Nine-Strip Kesa? What, are you trying to overthrow the heavens?"
11:57 AM.
Gojo finally untied his blindfold, letting it drop to the ground. His stark white hair fell naturally across his forehead. Seeing the absolute, overwhelming divinity radiating from his exposed Six Eyes, Utahime spoke softly. "The Six Eyes brought the Gojo clan a thousand years of absolute prosperity. It's finally time to pay the debt."
Gojo chuckled. "Yeah. I actually really like the sound of that."
11:58 AM.
Rice Shower couldn't hold it in any longer. It was literally the final countdown to the apocalypse, yet Utahime and Gojo were casually chatting about completely trivial matters. It wasn't that they were deliberately avoiding the topic of the final battle; they genuinely didn't care. Both of them had seemingly completely disregarded the apocalyptic duel looming just minutes away.
But Rice Shower didn't possess that level of Zen enlightenment yet. She couldn't stop herself from asking.
"Gojo-sensei... are you going to be okay?"
11:59 AM.
Gojo turned his head and looked at Rice Shower. His mind flashed through everything that had happened with her—from finding her terrified in a police station, to her fierce determination to learn jujutsu, to her rigorous training and missions, and finally to the devastating moment in the meeting room when Kenjaku exposed her as a sleeper agent.
He suddenly smiled warmly. Rice Shower had been entirely manipulated by the Lord of Cursed Spirits, completely at his mercy. But wasn't Gojo in the exact same boat? In a twisted way, Rice Shower was probably the only person alive who could truly understand what he was going through.
Now, as she looked at him with such profound worry, what should he say as her teacher? As her fellow pawn of Fate?
He thought about it very seriously, and finally made his decision.
12:00 PM.
"Who the hell do you think I am?" he said.
In the next instant, an infinitely brilliant, blinding white light erupted before Gojo's eyes. To Utahime and Rice Shower, it looked as if Gojo had been instantly swallowed by the light, shattering into countless shimmering fragments before vanishing completely. It was undoubtedly the Dream Migration's final teleportation mechanism.
Satoru Gojo had finally stepped onto the ultimate stage.
12:01 PM.
Satoru Gojo opened his eyes.
The scenery before him was intimately, horrifyingly familiar. He was standing within—
Domain Expansion: Dharmadhatu Transmigration: Nirvana Realm.