A deal! Cursed Womb: Death Paintings!

"...Hell."

Satoru Gojo turned the word over in his mind, then turned his head to look at Wangchuan.

His expression was hard to make out beneath his blindfold, but he tilted his chin slightly, looking somewhere between curious and skeptical.

"Hey, Chuan."

"Does a place like that... really exist in this world?"

Wangchuan did not answer immediately.

He leaned against the back of the bench, looking at the patch of ground ahead, bleached white by the sunlight, as though considering how to approach the question.

Only after a few seconds did he speak, his tone no different from usual.

"Yeah. It does."

"But."

He raised a hand and waved it casually in front of him. "It's not like what you see in movies and TV shows."

"No eighteen levels of hell, no King Yama, judges, Ox-Head or Horse-Face, and none of that stuff about frying people in oil or sawing their bodies apart."

He lowered his hand and rested it on the back of the bench again.

"The hell in our world is essentially just a... passage for souls to reincarnate."

Satoru Gojo listened quietly, tilting his head.

"Tsk!"

There was a new curiosity in his voice. "You sound so sure about all this. Why does it feel..."

He paused, as though checking how to phrase what came next.

"Like you've been there?"

Wangchuan turned his head, meeting Satoru Gojo's blindfold.

"Yeah."

Without any intention of explaining, he smiled slightly.

"I have been there."

"I'll be making a living off it later, after all."

"Huh?!"

Satoru Gojo froze.

He went completely still on the bench, still turned sideways toward Wangchuan, as though someone had pressed pause.

The hand he had been resting lazily on the back of the bench stopped in midair, his fingers still slightly curled, not a joint moving.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

Wangchuan watched him without hurrying him, simply waiting in silence.

Satoru Gojo felt as though he had been hit by Unlimited Void.

An enormous amount of information had been crammed into his brain.

Wait what did that bastard just say he said he'd been to hell he said he'd been there?!

It scrambled his entire thought process into mush.

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Opened it again, then closed it again.

Finally, a long, deflated groan emerged from deep in his throat, and he flopped backward, slumping heavily against the back of the bench.

"Aah! I'm done thinking about it!"

"Let's just say it's true!"

He lowered his hand and turned to look at Wangchuan, his expression already switching from that frozen state back to his usual cheeky look.

He shifted his backside, scooting a little closer to Wangchuan.

"Hey, Chuan."

"Hm?"

"When I die, could you help me out too?"

Wangchuan turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"Sure."

Satoru Gojo's eyes lit up.

"But you'll have to pay."

Satoru Gojo's face instantly fell halfway.

He pursed his lips, his shoulders slumping with the aggrieved air of someone who had just had cold water thrown on him.

"But we're so close..."

"Gojo."

"I can't mix my work and my personal life."

Wangchuan's tone was flat, as though reciting a clause he had already memorized.

"Business is business, and friendship is friendship."

Satoru Gojo stared at him for two seconds, then sighed and sprawled out on the bench, like a cat melted by the sun.

"Heartless."

He muttered the word, though there was a faint undertone in his voice that sounded like amusement.

Then he fell silent again for a moment.

Satoru Gojo looked at the sky overhead, divided into fragments by the vines, the curve of his lips never fading.

He spoke softly, his voice very quiet, as though talking to himself.

"If it's really possible."

"I'd like to have..."

Before he could finish, Wangchuan interrupted his murmuring.

"Oh, right."

"Gojo."

"You weren't waiting for me just to talk about this, were you?"

Satoru Gojo sat up on the bench, returning to his grinning manner.

He brushed nonexistent dust off his trousers, then slapped both hands against his knees with a soft smack.

"Hm?!"

"That's right, I think I forgot something..."

"Hmm... what was it?"

"Oh! I remember! The higher-ups." He deliberately drew out his words, as though keeping him in suspense.

"They agreed to your proposal."

Wangchuan's eyebrows shifted slightly.

"Trading that Sukuna's Finger you have for Cursed Womb: Death Paintings."

At those words, the faint curve of Wangchuan's lips finally became a full smile.

He chuckled.

As though he had heard a joke that was expected yet mocking, he leaned back against the bench and laced his hands behind his head.

"Those old fossils..."

His voice carried undisguised disdain. "It took them over half a month to agree."

"Not the slightest efficiency. No wonder the whole Jujutsu Society has grown so rotten under them."

Beside him, Satoru Gojo nodded in wholehearted agreement, chiming in with, "Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, exactly!"

Then he tilted his head again and looked at Wangchuan.

"But what do you want those Death Painting Wombs for?"

Wangchuan turned his head and glanced at him.

The curve of his lips deepened a little, his expression suggesting he was hiding something entertaining, the sort of look that said, "You'll understand when you see the results."

"A little experiment."

Satoru Gojo looked at him for two seconds, then gave a slight shrug without pressing further.

He knew that if Wangchuan did not want to talk about something, no amount of questioning would help.

He would find out when the time came anyway, and he felt quite assured of that.

He patted Wangchuan on the shoulder.

"Fine, fine. An experiment it is."

He stood, brushed the fallen leaves off his trousers, and took a step toward the training grounds before turning back.

"Oh, right!"

"The Cursed Tool you promised me."

"I've been busy lately. No time. Give it a while longer."

Wangchuan leaned against the back of the bench.

"All right!"

Satoru Gojo turned back and strode toward the training grounds, his steps light as he hummed some unknown tune.

Wangchuan sat alone on the bench, watching that figure disappear around the corner at the end of the corridor.

He sat quietly for a while, then took the small bundle wrapped in talisman cloth out of his pocket.

Sukuna's Finger lay quietly in his palm.

He put it away again, tucking it securely back into place.

"Cursed Womb: Death Paintings..."

"Hee hee hee."

"Ten brothers. That should be interesting."

"And I can sell them to Jujutsu High."