"I..." Feng lay in bed, gathering his thoughts.
In the original story, Sukuna's binding vow seemed to require handing over the body for one minute after he said "Enchain," and Sukuna wouldn't hurt anyone during that minute...
But... why did Sukuna make that pact? What was it meant to accomplish...?
Feng could no longer remember any of it. From his very first day after transmigrating into Jujutsu Society, some unknown means had already erased part of his memories.
And... he couldn't tell anyone about it, either.
Feng tried desperately to say the terms of Sukuna's pact, but the words stuck in his throat, leaving him unable to make a sound.
A binding vow...? Feng wondered, then spoke.
"I don't know. If Itadori is dead... then no contingency will matter, will it...? If he's still alive, maybe it would be better to ask him..."
His body rose and fell faintly on the hospital bed, the thick bandages soaked with cold sweat clinging tightly to the contours of his regenerating muscles.
His dark red eyes stared at the glaring incandescent light on the ceiling. His hoarse voice, heavy with weakness, echoed through the empty, cold basement, sounding especially clear alongside the rhythmic drip of saline from the IV bottle.
At that hoarse assessment, Satoru Gojo stopped tapping his fingers against the back of the chair.
He didn't answer immediately. His head, its eyes covered by a black blindfold, turned slightly, his gaze slowly shifting from the hospital bed to the body beneath a white sheet in the center of the room.
The suffocating, icy cursed energy that had been held down in the corner of the room briefly faltered and drew inward.
"Ah... you're right."
Satoru Gojo drew out the last word, his leather shoes scuffing lightly against the terrazzo floor.
He stood and casually kicked the wheeled stool aside. His tense jaw relaxed a little, replaced by cold, utterly rational calculation.
"If it were an ordinary special grade cursed spirit, mutual destruction would be one thing.
"But the King of Curses, with arrogance carved into his very soul, would never meekly go to the grave alongside a fifteen-year-old brat.
"Ripping out his heart looked like a way of cutting off his vessel's life... but in reality, it might just have been an extreme 'negotiating tactic.'"
He strode slowly to the autopsy table and looked through the white sheet toward the empty space in Yuji Itadori's left chest.
"Death is both an ending and a chance to start over. During this window before his flesh dies completely, Yuji's soul must be facing Sukuna inside his innate domain.
"To stay alive, or for some reason that makes coming back to life a necessity, Sukuna will absolutely force Yuji into an unequal 'binding vow.'"
The corners of Satoru Gojo's mouth curved into a smile devoid of humor, an oppressive smile belonging to the strongest jujutsu sorcerer.
He had keenly picked up on the hidden variable in the situation and swiftly reached a conclusion.
Just then, Shoko Ieiri picked up a fresh medical chart from the nearby equipment rack, the hem of her white coat lifting gently with her movement.
She walked to the bedside and looked down at the readings on the cardiac monitor, then reached out to slow the IV drip slightly.
"The lining of your vocal cords was burned by cursed residue during the fight. Right now, moisture and cursed energy are barely holding it together.
"Until the tissue has fully regrown, you should keep your vocal cords as still as possible. Otherwise, no anesthetic will ease the pain when they tear."
Shoko Ieiri recorded a few readings on the chart with the cold fountain pen in her hand, glancing sidelong at the bandaged figure on the bed.
"Still, keeping your cool in a situation that hopeless, getting the civilians out, and holding that monster back at the last moment... as a doctor, I respect your powerful survival instinct.
"But as a jujutsu sorcerer, I have to warn you: tactics that treat your own body as expendable are practically gambling with your lifespan."
Satoru Gojo turned around and slipped both hands back into his pockets.
He looked at the patient lying flat on the bed, barely even able to turn his neck. His voice returned to its carefree, breezy rhythm, but the information in his words carried crushing weight.
"Well, since Yuji will most likely come back to life with some 'binding vow' we don't know about, we can ignore those higher-ups rushing to sentence him to death for now."
Satoru Gojo walked to the foot of the hospital bed and looked down into those dark red eyes.
"As for you-your cursed technique and that practically immortal body have given those old geezers quite a scare.
"They've not only stalled your assessment at Semi-Grade 1, they're even discussing whether to put you on a high-risk watchlist.
"After all, you won't find another person in all of Jujutsu Society who went head-to-head with Sukuna inside his domain and lived."
"Didn't you submit me as Grade 4? Why did it go up?" Feng asked, a little confused.
Satoru Gojo gave a short chuckle.
With one hand in his trouser pocket, he straightened slightly from his casual stance. Beneath the glaring incandescent light, his gaze seemed especially sharp behind his black blindfold.
"Grade 4?"
He rolled the term over his tongue with undisguised mockery.
"Of course the report I submitted said Grade 4.
"But those higher-ups aren't actually blind.
"A Grade 4 sorcerer survived at the edge of Malevolent Shrine's barrier and even held back a rampaging Ryomen Sukuna in close combat-do you think they'd swallow a report that absurd without question?"
Satoru Gojo strode forward, his leather shoes striking a steady rhythm against the terrazzo floor.
"Right now, their fear of a 'heavenly restriction' beyond their control is every bit as strong as their wariness of Yuji as a vessel.
"An anomaly who can turn into flowing water at any moment and stand against a special grade head-on inside a domain-if they can't put a collar on him, their only option is to designate him a high-risk target and eliminate him.
"This 'Semi-Grade 1' assessment is nothing more than an excuse they settled on through internal compromise, letting them openly test your limits and expand their surveillance authority."
Shoko Ieiri listened coldly from the side, the pen in her hand poised to make the final mark on the chart.
Just then-
"Hah-haa!"
An utterly abrupt, violent gasp, like a drowning man suddenly breaking the surface, brutally tore through the room's icy silence.
It came from the stainless steel autopsy table in the middle of the room.
The pale white sheet covering the corpse suddenly bulged upward.
An arm covered in dried blood shot out from beneath the sheet and gripped the edge of the metal table, its knuckles turning bluish-white from the force.
A second later, the pink-haired boy tore away the sheet covering him and sat bolt upright!
He gulped down the cold air that smelled of disinfectant, his right hand instinctively pressing hard against his left chest-the place where Sukuna had ripped out his heart, leaving a fatal hole.
Now, however, the skin there was completely intact. Beneath his palm, he could even clearly feel a strong, living heartbeat.
Clatter.
The fountain pen slipped from Shoko Ieiri's hand and fell into the metal tray.
The school doctor, long accustomed to life and death, widened her eyes slightly. Her gaze locked onto the boy who had returned from the dead on the autopsy table, the weariness that always lingered around her eyes swept away by astonishment.
"Ha, what is this? Are medical miracles buy one, get one free in the morgue today?"
Satoru Gojo turned around, the cold curve of his lips instantly widening into a brilliant, genuinely cocky grin.
He strode up to the autopsy table without a trace of caution, looking instead as though he had discovered the most entertaining toy in the world.
"Yo, Yuji! I knew that thousand-year-old monster wouldn't take you out so easily."
Yuji Itadori sat on the autopsy table, his chest heaving.
He looked around blankly, his gaze flitting between the glaring surgical light, Shoko Ieiri's astonished face, and Satoru Gojo's smile.
"Gojo-sensei? Dr. Ieiri? Huh? I-I thought I died?"
He vigorously scratched his signature short pink hair, his brain clearly still stalled.
But soon, his animal-like instincts alerted him to movement on the neighboring hospital bed.
Itadori whipped his head around and saw the figure lying on the medical bed beside him, surrounded by bulky medical equipment.
At the sight of the frighteningly thick bandages and the blood seeping through them, the newly revived boy immediately forgot all about his own life and death. His clear brown eyes went wide, filled with undisguised urgency and concern.
"You-you're hurt so badly! Are you okay?! I'm sorry. If I'd only taken back control of my body sooner-"
He leaned guiltily over the edge of the autopsy table, not even caring that he was still half naked, his voice laden with self-reproach.
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