Gojo threw an arm around Ren's shoulders, pulling him into a tight, conspiratorial side-hug. The playful energy remained, but Gojo leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper that was entirely audible to Yuji.
"Now, there is one tiny, teeny-weeny little catch to this arrangement," Gojo hummed. "As far as the Jujutsu world is concerned—including Megumi, Nobara, Maki, and the higher-ups—Yuji is legally dead. Tragic heart incident at a detention center. Very sad."
Ren blinked. "You hid a supposedly dead kid in a basement with a TV and a cursed corpse doll?"
"Exactly!" Gojo beamed, entirely unfazed by the absurdity of the statement. "So, you cannot tell anyone he's down here. Not a word to Maki. If you slip up, it'll completely ruin the surprise!"
"The surprise?"
"Yep! I'm going to spring him on the Tokyo and Kyoto students during the Goodwill Event next month!" Gojo let go of Ren, throwing his hands into the air as he visualized the prank. "It's going to be hilarious! They're going to be so shocked! There will be tears of joy, dramatic hugs—it's going to be the perfect reunion present!"
Yuji rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. "Sensei says it's gonna be a great icebreaker."
Ren stared at Yuji. He looked at the earnest, slightly puffy-eyed smile on the kid's face, then up at Gojo, who was practically vibrating with self-satisfied delight. Ren's brain completely stalled out when faced with this level of social stupidity.
"Yeah," Ren muttered, his voice completely flat. He gave a slow, mechanical nod. "Yeah... it's gonna be a great... icebreaker."
Internally, Ren felt a profound wave of pity for the pink-haired kid. Gojo clearly hadn't considered the actual emotional ramifications of this prank. When Nobara and Megumi found out that their teacher had faked their friend's death and hid him in a basement watching movies while they were actively mourning him, there wouldn't be dramatic hugs.
Nobara was going to hammer a nail directly into Yuji's skull, and Megumi was going to let his demon dogs eat whatever was left.
"Right?!" Gojo cheered, completely oblivious to Ren's internal dread. He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing sharply in the damp concrete room. "Anyway, down to business! As I mentioned, I have a very boring, highly classified business trip to attend to for the next few days. I'm heading to Kyoto."
Yuji gently set the ugly boxing bear on the coffee table next to a half-empty can of soda. "Wait, Sensei, if you're leaving, who is going to watch the movies with me? I still have like, forty DVDs left."
"You're taking a break from the movies, Yuji," Gojo said, waving his hand dismissively. "You've got a decent handle on the basics of cursed energy output now. It's time for practical field application. But since I can't be here to babysit, I called in a favor."
A long, incredibly heavy sigh echoed from the concrete stairwell leading down into the basement.
Ren turned his head. Heavy, measured footsteps clicked against the concrete floor. A tall man stepped out of the shadows and into the dim, flickering light of the TV.
He didn't look like a Jujutsu sorcerer. He was wearing a sharp, impeccably tailored tan suit over a blue dress shirt. A strange, spotted yellow tie was perfectly knotted at his collar. His blonde hair was neatly parted, and a pair of odd, completely opaque goggles rested over his eyes, hiding his expression.
He exuded an aura of profound, bone-deep exhaustion.
"You told them I was a favor," the man said. His voice was deep, incredibly rigid, and entirely devoid of amusement. "I am a contracted employee. You are paying me for my time, Gojo."
"Details, details!" Gojo laughed, throwing an arm out toward the man. "Boys, meet Kento Nanami! He's an ex-salaryman, he wears a really nice suit, and he absolutely hates me!"
Nanami didn't look at Gojo. He reached up, slowly adjusting the knot of his spotted tie. "I do not hate you. I simply do not respect you."
Ren blinked. A slow, genuine smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. He liked this guy immediately.
Nanami finally turned his head, his opaque goggles locking onto the two teenagers. He looked at Yuji, the supposedly dead vessel of Sukuna, and then his gaze shifted to Ren. Even without the Six Eyes, a Grade 1 sorcerer like Nanami could read the flow of energy in a room. He stared at Ren for a few long seconds, noting the absolute, jarring absence of cursed energy.
Nanami let out another heavy breath, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his goggles. "A dead vessel and an unregistered anomaly. You are giving me a massive headache."
"They're good kids!" Gojo promised, patting Ren hard on the shoulder. "Yuji needs to learn how to track actual curses, and Ren just needs to learn how not to trip over his own feet while dodging. They're all yours!"
Gojo leaned in close to Nanami, completely ignoring the way the blonde sorcerer instinctively stiffened in distaste. Cupping a hand around his mouth, Gojo leaned down to whisper directly into Nanami's ear—though, much like his earlier "whisper," it was entirely audible to the rest of the room.
"Though, between you and me," Gojo murmured, his tone conspiratorial and thoroughly entertained, "I have a teeny, tiny suspicion about our little anomaly over there."
Nanami didn't turn his head. He just let out another slow, measured breath. "Enlighten me."
"I think he's actually incredibly good at fighting," Gojo stage-whispered, gesturing vaguely toward Ren with his thumb. "Like, totally overpowered. But he's just acting like a clumsy newbie on purpose. He wants to look cool. You know, 'aura farming.' He's just waiting for the perfect, dramatic moment where everyone is cornered and all hope is lost, just so he can suddenly reveal his true strength and save the day in slow motion."
Nanami didn't move. He didn't even blink behind his opaque goggles. He just slowly turned his head to look at Gojo, the sheer, crushing weight of his deadpan stare practically tangible in the air.
"Aura farming," Nanami repeated flatly, the words sounding like they physically pained him to say.
"You believe this teenager is intentionally risking his life in a world populated by lethal, flesh-eating curses to... farm aura."
"Exactly!" Gojo chirped, pulling back with a bright, entirely genuine smile. "It's a very classic protagonist trope! So, you know, push him a little out there today. See if he dramatically blocks a fatal blow for you at the last second!"
Ren stared at the two adults. The profound wave of pity he had felt for Yuji just moments prior had officially transferred to Nanami.
"You know I can hear you, right?" Ren said, his voice as flat as Nanami's. "And for your information," he continued, crossing his arms and fixing the blindfolded sorcerer with an incredibly flat stare, "I myself don't even know what happens half the time. It just... happens. Like some kind of instinct shit, or an automatic reflex kicking in."
Ren paused, clearing his throat slightly as he stubbornly held Gojo's gaze. "And it is not totally about aura farming."
The damp basement went completely silent.
Nanami slowly turned his head away from Gojo, his opaque goggles locking back onto Ren. The sheer, crushing weight of the Grade 1 sorcerer's disappointment was practically suffocating.
"'Not totally,'" Nanami repeated, his voice dropping into a register of profound, soul-deep exhaustion. "That specific phrasing implies that looking cool is, in fact, at least a partial factor in your decision-making process during life-or-death combat."
Ren shifted his weight, suddenly finding the cracks in the concrete floor very interesting. "I'm a teenager. Looking cool is a biological imperative. But mostly, it's just the reflex thing."
It wasn't a complete lie. Ever since the system had downloaded fifteen years of Zen'in tactical weapon mastery into his frontal lobe, his body truly did just know what to do. Stepping, slashing, and dodging were entirely automatic now.
"Aha! I knew it!" Gojo crowed, pointing a victorious finger at Ren before slapping Nanami hard on the back—a gesture the blonde man rigidly endured.
"Gojo, leave before I violate my contract by striking you," Nanami said, his tone perfectly even.
"Itadori. Ren. Gather whatever you need. We are leaving in three minutes. I work strictly from nine to five, and I absolutely refuse to engage in unpaid overtime because of your mentor's delusions."
Nanami dropped his hand from his face. He stood perfectly straight, his posture screaming corporate efficiency.
"Listen to me carefully," Nanami said, addressing Ren and Yuji directly. His tone left absolutely zero room for argument. "I am not a teacher. Do not call me sensei. I left the corporate world because work is shit. I returned to the Jujutsu world because sorcerers are shit. I simply chose the lesser of two evils."
Yuji swallowed hard, standing up a little straighter. "Yes, sir."
"We will be conducting a real investigation into a series of unnatural deaths in Kawasaki," Nanami continued, completely ignoring Yuji's response. "I will not coddle you. If you get in my way, I will leave you behind. If you do something foolish, you will die. Do you understand?"
"Understood."
Gojo checked a sleek watch on his wrist and let out an exaggerated gasp. "Oh, look at the time! My train leaves in twenty minutes, and I still need to buy souvenirs at the station!" He threw up a peace sign, already taking a step backward toward the stairwell.
"Play nice, kids! Nanami, don't bore them to death! Catch you all later!"
The air warped with a sudden, violent pressure. In the blink of an eye, Satoru Gojo simply vanished from the basement, leaving behind a slight gust of wind that rustled the empty snack wrappers on the coffee table.
Silence descended on the underground room. The faint, muted audio from the movie credits rolling on the TV was the only sound.
Nanami stood completely still for a moment, staring at the empty space where Gojo had just been. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a silver pocket watch, clicking it open. He stared at the face of the watch for exactly two seconds before snapping it shut.
"My shift ends at exactly 6:00 PM," Nanami stated flatly. He turned on his heel, walking back toward the stairs. "Grab your things. We are leaving."
The faint gust of wind from Gojo's teleportation finally settled, leaving the discarded candy wrappers perfectly still on the basement coffee table.
Ren let out a long, slow exhale that felt like it had been trapped in his lungs since the moment he first stepped foot onto the Jujutsu High campus. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the rigid, highly calculated tension bleed out of his neck and spine.
Aura farming. Ren scrubbed a hand down his face, a quiet, genuinely disbelieving laugh escaping his lips. Satoru Gojo was a walking, talking nightmare. The man draped himself in the persona of an obnoxious, boundary-ignoring man-child, but underneath the blindfold, he was terrifyingly perceptive.
Gojo knew. He might not know about the System, the specific mechanics of Maki's Heavenly Restriction, or the fifteen years of phantom tactical memories sitting in Ren's frontal lobe—but he definitively knew that Ren's "clueless civilian" routine was a complete and utter sham.
And miraculously... Gojo didn't care.