[After those long, seemingly endless days passed, the million-strong "Night Parade of a Hundred Demons" that had violently shaken all of Japanese society finally reached a relative resolution.]
[Inside that familiar classroom at Jujutsu High, the atmosphere was as oppressive as solid lead.]
[Sunlight slanted through the windows, yet failed to dispel the heavy gloom and exhaustion hanging over everyone inside.]
[You had gathered here again. Aside from you, who remained relatively composed thanks to your inhuman cursed spirit physiology and combination of skills, everyone wore varying degrees of nearly crushing exhaustion on their faces.]
[For once, Satoru Gojo was not wearing his signature sunglasses. He lay slumped over a desk as though he had no bones.]
[Shoko Ieiri leaned by the window, smoking one cigarette after another, trying to use nicotine to numb nerves pushed to the brink of exhaustion by repeatedly performing Reverse Cursed Technique.]
[But of everyone present, Suguru Geto undoubtedly looked the worst-miserable, even.]
[He sat quietly in his seat, his back slightly hunched.]
[You could clearly see his throat convulsing violently and uncontrollably from time to time, as though something utterly revolting were lodged in his esophagus.]
[His normally refined face was utterly bloodless, his brows tightly knitted, as though he were desperately suppressing an almost overwhelming surge of nausea and dry heaving.]
[There was no need to ask how many Cursed Spirit Orbs, each tasting like "a rag used to wipe up vomit," he had swallowed without batting an eye to swiftly suppress the rampaging cursed spirits across the country during those days of nonstop, meat-grinder-like cleanup operations.]
[At that moment, watching him swallow painfully, an exceedingly practical and cruel question involuntarily flashed through your mind.]
[In Jujutsu Society, where talent and cursed techniques determined one's ceiling, the more cursed spirits Suguru Geto subdued