That damn Dead Cat

"Snap."

The chalk broke with a soft sound.

Half of it fell onto the lectern, bounced once, rolled twice, and stopped against the open roster of new students.

White chalk dust clung to the edge of the page. Masamichi Yaga did not wipe it off.

The classroom fell silent for a second. Not a frightened silence, but a subtle, peculiar one.

It was the oppressive stillness before a storm. Everyone knew thunder was coming, but no one yet knew whose head the lightning would strike.

Satoru Gojo glanced down at the broken chalk on the desk, then up at Masamichi Yaga's face, seemingly oblivious to the warning signs gathering in the air.

He pushed his sunglasses up his nose, his voice brimming with pure, unadulterated enthusiasm. "You've got quite a grip, sir~"

Suguru Geto closed his eyes.

The instant those words left Gojo's mouth, he knew they were done for.

Not a gradual slide toward disaster. Straight to rock bottom.

Satoru Gojo's mouth, much like the man himself, never knew when to hit the brakes.

Beside him, Yan Si still propped up his chin, watching with smiling eyes as he waited for Masamichi Yaga's reaction.

As though seeing their teacher get angry was tremendous fun.

The manga and anime he had seen had never shown interactions between "Gojo-sensei before he'd been properly trained" and Masamichi Yaga.

Now that he had transmigrated into this world, naturally he had to enjoy the show~

Suguru Geto looked at the two of them and pressed a hand to his forehead.

Whenever these two got together, they automatically slipped into a perfectly synchronized routine of handing each other ammunition.

Suguru Geto had already begun silently counting how many times the vein at Yaga-sensei's temple had twitched.

Sure enough, Masamichi Yaga raised his head the next second.

His square, stern face betrayed little expression. He could even have been called calm.

There was no sign of an impending shout, no bulging vein at his temple.

But that very calm, like the chilling patch of clear sky in the eye of a typhoon, made everyone instinctively realize that things had already started sliding down a slope from which there was no return.

"You two."

Masamichi Yaga spoke in a low but forceful voice. "It's your very first day here, and you're already discussing beating each other up after class?"

Satoru Gojo raised his hand with textbook-perfect form, playing the model student waiting for permission to speak. The curve of his lips gave him away, though. "Sir, he invited me first."

Wow, you damn Dead Cat.

You were clearly the one who invited me first. How did you just dump all the blame on me like that?

Whatever. Doesn't matter.

Yan Si lounged over his desk, his chin resting on his folded arms. His long black hair spilled over the edge, its ends nearly brushing the floor.

He blinked, his purple eyes looking especially innocent beneath the shadows of his lashes. His voice was so sincere it made people want to check the security footage. "I'm just being friendly to a classmate, sir. You ought to praise me~"

Satoru Gojo nodded emphatically, fully endorsing this. "Exactly. We're showing camaraderie between classmates."

"Strengthening our bond," Yan Si added seamlessly.

"Getting to know each other." Satoru Gojo turned sideways and gave Yan Si a thumbs-up.

"Getting some exercise." Yan Si returned a look that said, If you know, you know.

How did beating each other up not count as exercise? Just like Chaoshan beef balls-only after a good pounding did they become springier and tastier!

People were the same. They needed a good pounding to become deli... pfft, pfft, pfft. What was I thinking?

Masamichi Yaga remained expressionless.

He watched the two play off each other in a smooth, uninterrupted rhythm. One set up a joke and the other landed it, one fed the line and the other delivered the punchline. Even their breaths fell on the same beat.

If someone ignored the content and listened only to their tone, they might have thought two exemplary students were giving a class presentation.

Suguru Geto's gaze bounced between them before finally settling on his desk, where he began earnestly studying the grain of the wood.

My condolences.

Shoko fished a fifth lollipop from her pocket, this one green apple flavored. The crinkle of the wrapper sounded especially crisp in the quiet classroom. Her expression had deteriorated from "annoyed" to "whatever."

At fifteen, she had already learned to smoke, but she did not smoke in public, so she often ate lollipops that were not too sweet instead.

Looking at them, Masamichi Yaga suddenly felt that he should not have banged on the desk.

That had been too gentle. So gentle it barely counted as losing his temper.

He should have smashed the desk over their heads instead.

Not because he wanted to hurt them. He merely wanted to see whether these two clowns would have an involuntary stress response to being hit.

Of course, as a teacher-an exceptionally excellent teacher-he could not do that.

At least not on the first day of school.

He had to give his students a little time to adjust, a little kindness.

A little more patience, a little more love.

He also had to leave himself a little patience.

Even if he already had a feeling that this small reserve would sooner or later be exhausted.

Masamichi Yaga slowly released the breath trapped in his chest, picked up the broken chalk and dropped it into the chalk tray, then took up the new students' files again.

The pages rustled softly in his hands. He turned one, forcing himself to get proceedings back on track.

"Starting today, you are first-year students at Tokyo Jujutsu High."

His voice returned to its steady, low register.

"This is not an ordinary school. What you will face in the future isn't exams and further education, but curses, missions, death, and dangers ordinary people will never know about. Being a jujutsu sorcerer is one of the occupations with the highest mortality rates. That's not an exaggeration. It's a statistic. Of the students in each class, those who live to graduate..."

He paused.

"Will not be all of you."

The classroom finally fell quiet. Not the eye-of-the-typhoon silence from before, but genuine quiet. Even the rustle of leaves in the wind outside the window became clear.

Satoru Gojo leaned against the back of his chair, his eyes hidden by his sunglasses. He looked anything but proper, his long legs stretched into the aisle and his posture loose.

But his head was tilted slightly, and he had stopped shifting around.

Since getting into the vehicle, this was the longest he had stayed still in one place.

His Six Eyes watched Masamichi Yaga through his sunglasses. Who knew what he was thinking.

Suguru Geto sat upright, his expression serious.

His back had not touched the backrest from the beginning. His hands rested folded on the desk, like those of a genuine, model student.

But something new had entered those gentle eyes.

Not fear, but solemnity. He took in every word Masamichi Yaga said, weighing their significance.

He was strong. He was a jujutsu sorcerer. He would exorcise cursed spirits, even if death was part of it.

But the strong protecting the weak was only right.

Shoko bit her lollipop, her eyelids half lowered, looking almost sleepy.

The stick angled slightly upward at the corner of her mouth. She reached up and moved it to the other side, her gaze staying on Masamichi Yaga without wandering.

There was little fluctuation in those dark brown eyes, but she watched intently.

It was not that she did not care. She simply cared in a very "Shoko" way.

She had been born with Reverse Cursed Technique and could heal others.

She had begun dealing with patients, the injured, and the dead at thirteen.

She knew just how dangerous this damned jujutsu world was.

Yan Si lay over his desk, half his face buried in the crook of his arms. His purple eyes peeked through his loose black hair, carrying a hint of amusement.

That amusement was neither pronounced nor faint.

When he heard "one of the occupations with the highest mortality rates," he blinked once, his lashes lightly brushing his arm. Beyond that, he showed no reaction.

Inside, though, he found it a little funny.

Here at Tokyo Jujutsu High, this class originally had three students, not counting me. Suguru Geto was killed by Satoru Gojo, and Satoru Gojo was killed by Sukuna.

In the next class, Kento Nanami and Yu Haibara-one was killed by Mahito, and the other was taken out by a Grade 1 Cursed Spirit because a mission went wrong.

All dead.

The students more than a decade later had a much higher survival rate.