Whether it was because Sherlock had faced two life-or-death crises in the mere four months since enrolling, leaving Satoru Gojo a little on edge, or because Satoru Gojo did not want those Old Orange-Peels figuring out exactly how strong Sherlock was now, there was no telling.
The next morning, under the pretext of intensive residential training, Satoru Gojo hauled Sherlock straight out of Tokyo Jujutsu High and took him directly to the Gojo Clan's main estate in Kyoto.
Honestly, Sherlock knew Satoru Gojo was rich, and he knew the entire Gojo Clan was rich, but he had never imagined the Gojo Clan could possibly be this rich!
To Sherlock, the absolute pinnacle of wealth meant an enormous single-floor apartment in the busiest part of the city center, or an exquisitely decorated old-money manor on private land, complete with a huge garden and even a gardener.
But only when Sherlock stood outside the Gojo Clan's gates did he learn what the very highest tier of old money actually looked like.
Could you believe the gates of the Gojo Clan's main estate were fucking antiques left over from Japan's Kamakura period? Actual antiques! Every brick and tile retained its Kamakura-period appearance, practically a living history of Japanese architecture.
Hanging on those thoroughly antique gates was a plaque bearing the name "Gojo"-or a nameplate, if you preferred.
The good news was that the plaque did not look like an antique.
The bad news was that, antique or not, the wood it was made from looked terrifyingly expensive!
And that did not even include the high walls stretching out on either side of the gates, their ends nowhere in sight! Seriously, never mind how much land it covered; the gates alone made Sherlock struggle to breathe. For the first time in his life, he