[Not long after. Renchoku Girls' Junior High.]
[Gojo's voice crackled through the phone, tinged with irritation. Even through the signal, you could picture him curling his lip.]
["Tch. Security here is a joke. That brat actually went to class? Seriously?"]
["Don't be like that, Satoru."]
[On the other end, Geto stood in the shadow of the chapel, his tone gentle but threaded with a sigh he didn't quite hide.]
["She might talk tough about wanting the assimilation to come quickly, but the moment it does, she becomes the foundation of Master Tengen's existence. Buried forever beneath the barriers under Jujutsu High. No more friends. No more family. If she wants to spend her last hours in this world however she likes, let her. That's part of the mission too."]
[Beside him, Kuroi's fingers tightened around the hem of her apron. Her voice came out dry.]
["Miss Riko has no family. She lost them in an accident when she was small. I've been looking after her ever since. So at least... let her have a little more time with her friends..."]
[Before the grief in those words could settle, Geto turned to face her. Colored light from the stained glass fell across his features, and he smiled. The kind of smile that made people feel like things might be okay.]
["Then doesn't that make you her family?"]
[Kuroi froze.]
[She stared at this boy who always seemed to be smiling with his eyes half-closed, too gentle for his own good, and warmth bloomed somewhere behind her ribs.]
["Yes."]
[Gojo, who'd heard the whole exchange, clicked his tongue but dropped the subject.]
["Tch. Fine. Do whatever you want."]
[You still didn't agree that any of this was safe. But orders were orders, and all you could do was swallow the objection and go along with it.]
[The conversation shifted back to the mission. Gojo spoke up.]
["Suguru, you sent Cursed Spirits out to keep watch, right?"]
["Yeah. I can't share their vision the way Mei can, but the moment anything goes wrong, I'll know. And... something's wrong."]
["What?"]
["Two of my Cursed Spirits were just exorcised. Get to Riko now, both of you."]
[The line went dead to the sound of Geto's footsteps breaking into a sprint. You and Gojo split up, taking separate routes toward Riko's position.]
[It didn't take long. Blocking your path stood an elderly Curse User in glasses, a low-grade Shikigami hovering at his side.]
[Phantom Night Parade's Cursed Energy analysis, combined with what you could observe, painted a clear enough picture. His technique was some lesser variant of summoning, a lower-tier version of Cursed Spirit Manipulation.]
[His old-fashioned clothing and measured composure ruled out Q. This wasn't a man who solved problems with indiscriminate explosions.]
[A Curse User hired by the Star Religious Group, then.]
[He'd already clocked the black Jujutsu High uniform you wore. One hand adjusted his glasses while the other produced two talismans inscribed with vermillion cursed sigils. His Shikigami let out a threatening hiss beside him.]
["Oh my! That uniform... young people these days are terrifying."]
[You kept Phantom Night Parade running, pulling apart his technique for intel while you held his gaze and spoke.]
["Walk away now and I'll pretend I never saw you. At your age, throwing your life away over a job like this doesn't add up."]
[The old Curse User chuckled.]
["I'm afraid that won't do. I'm not quite as old as you think, but as long as a man's breathing, he needs money. Even if it's for a coffin, the pricier the better."]
[You could feel those clouded eyes measuring you, scanning for any hint of your technique.]
[Exactly what you wanted.]
[Instead of activating a technique, you drew Asakirimaru and settled into a combat stance. Nothing more.]
[The old man's brow creased, a flicker of caution crossing his face. For any Jujutsu Sorcerer, the unknown was the greatest threat. The longer you withheld your technique, the more weight your unrevealed hand carried.]
[He mirrored your choice. A sharp short blade slid from inside his clothing, and he assumed a fighting posture of his own.]
[All that was missing was the signal.]
[His Shikigami provided it.]
[Its cheeks bulged, and a massive glob of dark-green, foul Cursed Energy launched at your face like a cannonball. The fight erupted in an instant.]
[Phantom Night Parade's energy analysis made tracking the old man and both Shikigami trivial. You read their movements and attacks as easily as breathing.]
[One hard push off the ground carried you clear of the corrosive blast.]
[The old Curse User moved in the same heartbeat.]
[Veteran instincts. He exploited the split second of recovery after your dodge, his dagger striking for the blind spot beneath your ribs with the precision of a viper's tongue.]
[Steel shrieked against steel.]
[Asakirimaru caught the dagger dead-on. The force that traveled through the locked blades surprised you. Cursed Energy reinforcement had kept this old man's body on par with someone half his age.]
[He pressed the advantage, confident that pinning you in close quarters would let his Shikigami finish the job.]
[Then something seized his chest. A pull, sudden and immense, ripping control of his body away from him in a single violent instant.]
["What...?"]
[His own momentum drove him onto Asakirimaru. The Cursed Energy-infused blade parted his defensive aura like paper, sank through flesh, and hit something solid with a wet, sickening crunch.]
[Your wrist turned. A clean diagonal slash.]
[Light traced the blade's arc, and a wound deep enough to show bone carved across the old man's chest. Blood erupted in a crimson sheet, painting the corridor floor a vivid red.]
["Ghk... hff..."]
[He staggered and crumpled. The sharpness drained from his eyes.]
[With their master broken, the two Shikigami that had been circling overhead let out thin, keening wails and dissolved into black smoke.]
[That strike had been Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue, replicated through Phantom Night Parade.]
[Copying Limitless's passive defense required Six Eyes-level computational precision. Far beyond you.]
[But Blue, at its core, was convergence. Attraction. Compress the field of effect to half a meter around your palm, sacrifice precision for raw burst-force gravity, and it became the deadliest close-quarters control tool imaginable.]