Growth

Satoru Gojo had gone away on business.

That was nothing unusual-Special Grade Sorcerers had heavy workloads, and traveling around the country and abroad was routine.

But the timing of this departure struck Madara as unusual.

Almost simultaneously, Yuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro, and Nobara Kugisaki received a mission: a cursed womb had appeared at a special prison on the outskirts of Tokyo, and jujutsu sorcerers were needed to investigate and rescue any potential hostages.

The cursed womb's presence had been confirmed, but its grade was unknown. In the worst case, it could give birth to a special grade cursed spirit.

The first-year students' mission was limited to reconnaissance and rescue. If they encountered a special grade, they were to retreat immediately.

It seemed reasonable, but Madara knew more.

He knew what lurked in that prison-not just a cursed womb, but a conspiracy.

This was an attempt to murder Yuji Itadori, a dirty scheme devised by certain members of Jujutsu Society's higher-ups to eliminate an "unstable element" through a cursed spirit.

What put him even more on guard was that he had received a mission at almost the exact same time-a Grade 2 Cursed Spirit exorcism in Yokohama.

It was a two-hour drive from the Tokyo prison, neither near nor far, just far enough that he could not return in time if emergency support was needed.

"With manpower already short, they're sending three first-years to face a potential special grade cursed spirit for a few meaningless hostages?"

Madara looked at the mission document, a cold smile curling his lips.

"This isn't a mission. It's murder."

And sending him away too was clearly meant to eliminate an unpredictable factor.

After all, in the higher-ups' eyes, he was Satoru Gojo's student, an unstable element who might ruin their plan.

But they had underestimated him.

Madara set down the document, walked to the center of the room, and formed hand seals.

Wood Release: Wood Clone.

Another clone identical to him separated from his body, took the mission document, nodded, and turned to leave.

How many clones did that make now?

Madara could not remember.

Over the past few months, he had used clones to handle missions large and small, while his original body operated in secret, gathering intelligence and monitoring key points.

But this time was different.

This time, he had to go himself.

After the clone left, Madara quietly slipped out of Jujutsu High.

He notified no one and left no trace, like a drop of water merging into the sea.

He had to arrive before Sukuna killed Itadori.

He had to change that predetermined ending before the worst happened.

The special prison on the outskirts of Tokyo.

Rain poured down, bean-sized drops striking the ground and sending up muddy splashes.

The prison buildings looked sinister and dilapidated behind the curtain of rain, and the air was thick with the smell of rust and rot.

Part of the battle was already over.

Megumi Fushiguro staggered out of the prison's main building, supporting the injured Nobara Kugisaki.

Kiyotaka Ijichi drove up, and his expression immediately changed when he saw their battered condition.

"Get in! I'll take you for treatment!"

Fushiguro helped Kugisaki into the back seat, then turned to look deeper into the prison.

The special grade cursed spirit's presence had vanished, but an even more powerful presence had "overlaid" it.

Sukuna's presence.

"Please take care of Kugisaki, Mr. Ijichi." Fushiguro's voice was calm, but his clenched fists betrayed what lay beneath.

Ijichi opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but finally only nodded heavily. "All right. I'll take Miss Kugisaki for treatment. You..."

"I'm staying here to wait for Itadori."

The words were quiet but firm.

Ijichi looked at Fushiguro's face, covered in blood and rain, and at the unshakable resolve in his eyes. In the end, he only sighed.

"...Understood. Stay safe."

The car started and drove away from the prison with Kugisaki inside, its taillights gradually blurring in the rain.

Fushiguro turned to face the prison.

The special grade cursed spirit's presence had disappeared completely, replaced by another, more malevolent presence.

Like a sleeping volcano awakening, like an abyss opening its eyes.

He knew what had happened inside.

To save him and Kugisaki, Itadori had stayed behind alone to face the special grade cursed spirit.

And the only way to fight a special grade was to release Sukuna within him, trading control of his body for power.

But Sukuna was not an ally. He was an even more dangerous enemy.

Fushiguro stood motionless in the rain.

Raindrops soaked his hair and ran down his cheeks, indistinguishable from sweat.

He waited.

For Itadori to return, or for Sukuna to appear.

Then he sensed it-a presence approaching, fast, incredibly fast.

A figure emerged from deep within the prison, gradually becoming clear through the rain.

He had Itadori's appearance, but he was certainly not Itadori.

Black markings spread from his cheeks to his chest, four eyes opened on his face, and his mouth stretched into a grin that nearly split it apart.

Ryomen Sukuna.

He stopped ten meters in front of Fushiguro, tilting his head, all four eyes studying him as though admiring an interesting toy.

Fushiguro asked warily, "Where's Itadori?"

"For various reasons," Sukuna began, his voice similar to Itadori's but deeper, carrying an inhuman resonance.

"That brat can't come back for the moment."

He paused, his grin widening.

"Don't be nervous. I'm in a good mood right now. I've just stretched my legs, and I'm breathing the air a thousand years later... Hmm, it's badly polluted, but it still beats being stuck inside that brat's body."

Fushiguro said nothing and simply took a fighting stance.

Sukuna looked at him as though he were an ant trying to resist.

"But that's only a matter of time," he continued, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Sooner or later, that brat will come back to take control of this body, so..."

He suddenly reached out and grabbed the clothing over his chest-Itadori's already tattered uniform.

Riiip-

The fabric tore easily, exposing the solid chest beneath.

Then, before Fushiguro's horrified eyes, Sukuna pressed his fingers together and plunged them like a blade into his own chest.

Blood sprayed, but Sukuna showed no pain, only an indifferent calm.

His hand groped inside his chest for a few seconds, then-

Squelch.

He forcibly tore out a still-beating heart.

Sukuna held the heart and examined it for two seconds, then casually tossed it into a nearby puddle like garbage.

The heart twitched twice in the water, then gradually stopped beating.

Fushiguro's expression turned grim.

"I can live without this thing," Sukuna said, patting his hollow chest, where a bloody wound gaped.

"But that brat is different. The moment he switches back, he'll find himself in a body with its heart ripped out-and then he'll die just like that."

He looked at Fushiguro, all four eyes filled with mockery.

"All right, now you can be afraid. You can run. Running won't help, of course, but at least you'll live a few seconds longer. Hahaha!!"

His crazed laughter echoed through the rain.

But Fushiguro did not run.

He stood where he was, rain dripping from his chin, his gaze growing ever firmer.

"This world is unfair," he said, his voice quiet but unusually clear amid Sukuna's laughter.

Sukuna stopped laughing and watched him with interest.

"Good people suffer miserable fates," Fushiguro continued, as though talking to himself, yet also as though making a declaration to Sukuna.

"While evil people live without a care."

"Sukuna, you wouldn't understand."

He raised his head and looked straight into Sukuna's four crimson eyes.

"Itadori will come back. Even if it means dying, he'll come back."

Sukuna scoffed. "You think too highly of that brat. Before he was about to die, he cried in fear, babbling stupid things like 'I'm sorry' and 'I don't want to die.'

"Weak, fragile, unable to withstand a single blow-that's what you humans are."

Fushiguro ignored his mockery.

His mind raced, analyzing the situation before him.

(Sukuna can use Reverse Cursed Technique. If I can make him think he can't defeat me without a heart, he'll heal Itadori's wound.)

(That will be Itadori's chance to come back.)

(Can I do it?)

(No, I have to do it!!)

Fushiguro took a deep breath and formed hand seals before his chest. The shadow beneath his feet writhed and expanded like a living thing.

"Nue!"

At his low shout, an enormous bird shikigami flew out of the shadows-its wingspan exceeded five meters, and its eyes resembled burning coals.

Nue, one of the Ten Shadows Technique's shikigami.

Sukuna watched Nue circle overhead, the smile on his lips growing wider.

"Since I so rarely get to come out, let me have some fun~"

He stretched, extending all four arms at once, his joints cracking.

Fushiguro's expression was grave as Nue circled above his head, letting out piercing cries.

Sukuna, by contrast, looked completely relaxed. He even yawned.

The difference in their strength was plain to see.

On the roof of an abandoned building three hundred meters from the prison.

Madara stood in the shadows, watching everything clearly through the rain.

He had been there for some time, having reached the edge of the battlefield before Sukuna appeared.

But he had not revealed himself immediately, choosing to observe instead.

The reason was simple: this was growth Megumi Fushiguro had to experience.

Madara tried not to deprive others of opportunities to grow-something he had learned during his months at Jujutsu High.

Maki grew stronger through brutal training, Okkotsu surpassed his limits through his bond with Rika, and Inumaki refined his cursed technique by constantly using Cursed Speech.

Everyone had their own path, and forcibly interfering would only stifle possibilities.

Of course, if someone's life was at stake, that was another matter.

And right now, Fushiguro had not yet reached a dead end.

Madara watched Sukuna tear out his heart, watched Fushiguro summon Nue, and watched Sukuna's utterly effortless demeanor.

He was waiting, waiting for the right moment.

The rain fell harder and harder.