The meeting room on Jujutsu High's top floor had thick curtains drawn year-round. Little daylight filtered through, leaving only the cold white glow of the overhead lights.
Five higher-ups sat along either side of the long table, all dressed in dark kimonos, their faces stern, carrying the oppressive air of people long accustomed to power.
Qingxiao and Satoru Gojo sat at the lower end.
Satoru Gojo slid his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose and lounged against his chair, twirling a pen as his gaze swept indifferently over everyone.
Qingxiao sat perfectly straight, his hands resting on his knees. He kept his eyes lowered and said nothing throughout, like a stone statue without emotion.
Everyone present knew Guyue Qingxiao's record. He had killed Toji Fushiguro single-handedly and was the most astonishing hand-to-hand combat prodigy Jujutsu Society had seen in nearly a decade.
But these old foxes, steeped in power games for decades, were certain that however strong he was, he was still young, followed the rules, and considered the bigger picture. Using rules to put people in their place was what they did best.
Compared with the utterly unyielding Satoru Gojo, this taciturn young man was clearly a better target for making an example and asserting their authority.
The old man at the head coughed, tapping the wanted notice on the table hard with his fingertips. His voice was hoarse but carried unquestionable authority:
"Suguru Geto's defection has had an extremely damaging impact.
"Jujutsu Society is in an uproar, and the lower-ranking sorcerers are unsettled. Neither of you can escape responsibility for this."
"Especially you, Satoru Gojo."
His gaze swept over, and his tone grew heavier:
"The three of you in the same year were as close as brothers. Did you notice nothing before he reached this point?