Greetings fellow readers, MasterW here
Sorry for being absent so much time, I won't bore you with excuse, just say I had some things to attend to.
Without any further to do, enjoy!
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(Third Person's POV)
In the teachers' booth, the conversation was punctuated by the lively chatter and occasional bursts of laughter from the students' table nearby.
"And then, even though Utahime was my senpai at the time, we had to go save her," Gojo recounted with a dramatic flourish. "When we arrived, I found Utahime buried under a pile of debris. I looked down at her and said, "I'm here to save you, Utahime! Are you crying?" And she was oh so grateful, saying things like, "Thank you for rescuing me, Gojo-sama!""
"It wasn't like that and you know it, Gojo!!" Utahime retorted, angrily placing her glass on the table with a sharp clink.
"Well, that's what it looked like from my perspective" Gojo shrugged, his smirk visible even beneath the blindfold.
"I didn't need your help!" Utahime insisted, her face flushed.
"Anyhow," Shoko interjected, deciding to end the argument before it could escalate further. "Then we all got chastised by Principal Yaga for not putting up a curtain."
"Not like we needed to," Gojo argued. "It was a remote house in a remote location."
"Maybe it was," Yaga's low voice rumbled. "But what if there had been hikers or civilians in the area? Procedure exists for a reason."
"Maybe you're right, sensei," Gojo conceded, taking a sip of his coke.
Like Akira, he abstained from alcohol, preferring the entertainment of watching others lose their inhibitions.
Shoko being his prime example.
"This bottle is empty," Shoko commented, shaking the scotch bottle disappointedly.
"Umm, should we really let her drink that much?" Utahime asked, watching Shoko's increasingly lidded eyes with concern.
"We'd better not. We don't want a repeat of the school year incidents" Nanami stated flatly.
"What happened?" Romm asked, curiosity piqued.
"Which of Shoko's many drunken antics are you referring to?" Gojo added gleefully. "The burning house? The time with the dolphins?"
"Wait, she has done that many times before?" Romm's eyes widened.
"Dude, we have a tier list," Gojo confirmed, nodding sagely.
"Waffle... Hoe..." Shoko mumbled, slumping forward slightly as she emptied the dregs of another glass.
"I do not wish to know the details," Akira spoke, his voice cutting through the revelry "But for the sake of tonight's peace, I agree we should curtail her alcohol intake."
"Yes, please do so," Nanami nodded in firm agreement, massaging his temple. "This is her third bottle of scotch. And she has like 12 bottles of Heineken in"
"Then we might as well conclude the evening," Akira stated, standing up. "Tomorrow, the students have classes, and so do I."
"Ahh, don't be such a party-pooper, Akira," Gojo whined. "You haven't seen what Shoko can do with five packs of beer!"
"I would prefer to keep it that way," Akira said dryly.
Just as he spoke, a thoroughly drunken Shoko, with surprising aim, lobbed an empty bottle straight at his head.
Without even looking, Akira's hand snapped up and caught it, setting it down gently on the table. "Case in point. I will retrieve and settle the bill."
"Waffle... Hoe...." Shoko slurred again, before her head met the table with a soft thud.
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After the bill was settled, the entire group gathered outside the restaurant, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the warm, meat-filled atmosphere inside. Goodbyes were exchanged in the wake of the unexpectedly entertaining night.
The most notable farewell involved a heavily inebriated Shoko. Nanami, with the long-suffering patience of a man who has dealt with this shit many times before, was trying to wrestle her into a seat on the bus.
"Stay still, Ieri" he grunted, attempting to fasten her seatbelt as she swayed.
"Santa... is Real!!" Shoko declared to the bus ceiling. Her words slurred but passionate.
"I don't get paid enough for this shit," Nanami muttered under his breath, a sentiment everyone nearby silently agreed with.
Akira watched the scene unfold impassively, with Gojo by his side, who was happily snapping pictures with his phone. "Hehehe, shame this night wasn't as crazy as the high-tier ones. We didn't even get to the karaoke stage."
"Hmm," Akira simply hummed in response.
"That's a wrap for today," Gojo said, slapping Akira amiably on the back. "We'll be meeting again soon, Akira. I hope to see your school up and running."
"I will see to it, Satoru."
"Don't be a stranger!" Gojo called out with a wave as he bounded onto the bus.
Principal Yaga stayed behind for a moment longer, offering a firm nod to Akira. "I will inform Kensuke about this arrangement. Notify me as soon as your school is officially established."
Akira returned the nod. "I will."
The students also exchanged their final goodbyes, the earlier camaraderie still warm between them.
"See you later, Brotha!" Todo yelled, pulling Zaimozuka into a final, crushing bear hug. "We shall meet again soon!"
"Indeed, Todo-dono! We shall get stronger until then!" Zaimozuka wheezed out, returning the hug with equal, if less effective, fervour.
"Stay safe, you guys," Miwa said, bowing slightly to Akira's students.
"Yeah, don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Nishimiya Momo added with a cheeky grin.
Maki gave a curt, respectful nod towards Akira. "Thank you for the meal, Yoshioka-sensei."
On Akira's side, his own students gathered around.
"That was fun, Sensei! We should do it again," Hana said, beaming.
"Perhaps when you have all improved sufficiently" Akira replied, though there was no real sting in his words.
Saeko offered a deep, formal bow. "Thank you for the experience, Sensei. It was... enlightening"
Sakurajima Mai simply nodded. Her expression thoughtful. "It was interesting to meet them all"
Shigeo, with Lala clinging to his arm, gave a small, shy wave to the departing Kyoto students. "Goodbye. It was nice to meet you all."
As the students began to board the buses, Utahime lingered behind. She approached Akira, her demeanour more serious than usual.
"Yoshioka-san," she greeted softly.
Akira simply raised an eyebrow, his crimson eyes waiting. She waved her hand, signalling to him to get closer and away.
She walked away and Akira followed, they moved away from the bus
"I... I want to thank you," she said, her voice firming with conviction.
".... What for?" Akira asked.
"Gojo," She began, glancing towards the bus where the man in question was no doubt causing some new mischief. "With his carefree attitude and his... everything... it's easy to forget. But I know he is lonely. Very much so. Ever since... he left, he hasn't been the same. He put on a mask of being the unshakable 'Strongest'." She looked back at Akira, her eyes sincere. "But I saw it. During your fight, he had the biggest, most genuine smile I've ever seen on his face. And even after being defeated... he seems lighter. Like a weight he's been carrying alone was finally lifted. So, thank you, Yoshioka-san."
Akira was silent for a moment, taking in her words. ".... No need to thank me, Iori-san," he replied, his tone neutral. Then, his gaze sharpened, focusing on her face. "That scar of yours.... he gave it to you."
There was no need to specify who "he" was. Utahime's eyes widened in shock, her hand instinctively flinching towards the mark on her face before she stilled it. She nodded slowly, a sad resignation in her expression. "Don't tell Gojo or Shoko. They don't know. They might suspect, but I know they want to believe the opposite." She lightly touched the scar. "When Geto defected, the higher-ups sent me to deal with him. I went to try and reason with him... but he wouldn't listen. It escalated into a fight. I had no chance against him. He caused this by accident, then... he apologized, and left."
Akira simply listened; his expression unreadable as he absorbed the painful fragment of her past.
She offered him a small, fragile smile. "It was a lovely night. See you soon, Yoshioka-san."
He gave her a final, slight nod as she turned and boarded the bus. The doors hissed shut, and the vehicles pulled away, their taillights disappearing into the Tokyo night. Akira stood for a moment longer, his own students clustering around him.
He turned to his students and spoke
"Don't be late to class tomorrow"
"Yes Sensei"
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(Next Day)
The following morning, the familiar, subdued atmosphere of Sobu High School's staff room was a world away from the chaos of the previous day.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Akira slid the door open and entered with his usual, silent behaviour, placing his briefcase neatly by his desk.
From the adjacent desk, Shizuka Hiratsuka stretched languidly, her white lab coat tightening across her shoulders. "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. Have a good couple days off, Yoshioka-kun?"
Akira took his seat, organizing a stack of graded papers. "I did well enough. It was... productive."
"Lucky you," Shizuka grumbled, gesturing to a formidable pile of forms on her own desk. "I've been buried in post-festival paperwork since I got in. Accounting for all the profits, losses... a real headache." She shot him a sidelong glance, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. "Though, I have to say, your class pulled in a staggering amount. Almost as if having a certain incredibly popular teacher running around with a butler uniform was a license to print money. Funny how that works."
Akira simply offered a non-committal hum, his attention already shifting to his own paperwork.
The world-shaking battle, the new school, the political manoeuvring, it all faded into the background, replaced by the mundane reality of lesson plans and attendance records
Shizuka watched him for a moment before snapping her fingers. "Oh, right, I almost forgot. We've got a couple of transfer students joining us. Very soon, actually."
Akira looked up. A single eyebrow raised. "How soon?"
As if on cue, a soft knock came at the staff room door.
Before either teacher could call out, the door slid open, and a chorus of polite, slightly nervous female voices chimed in unison.
"Excuse me..."
Shizuka leaned back in her chair, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. "That soon."
Both teachers turned to see five identical girls standing in the doorway, shuffling slightly.
They were quintuplets, each with the same distinctive features, yet each carrying herself with a subtle difference in posture and expression.
They wore the Sobu High uniform, and their collective presence immediately drew the attention of every other teacher in the room.
One of them, who seemed to be taking the lead, bowed slightly. "We're the Nakano transfers. We were told to report here upon arrival"
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(Nakano Ichika's POV)
As the oldest of her sisters, Ichika knew her role, her duty.
Her job was to be the first line of defence, the shield that protected her sisters from the prying eyes and potential troubles of the world
Walking through the halls of Sobu High to the staff room, she felt the weight of that responsibility immediately.
Whispers trailed them, heads turned, and countless stares, curious, admiring, jealous, were laser-focused on their group.
'Right,' she thought with an internal sigh, a practiced, polite smile fixed on her face. 'It's starting already. Work is definitely cut out for me. I'll have to keep a close eye on everyone, especially Nino and Yotsuba. One's too sharp for her own good, and the other is too trusting.'
The teacher at the desk, a striking woman with a confident air and a white lab coat, greeted them as she pulled out a piece of paper
"Nice to meet you all. I'm Hiratsuka Shizuka," she said. "Let's see... Nakano Ichika, Nakano Nino, Nakano Miku, Nakano Yotsuba, and Nakano Itsuki, right?"
"Yes, sensei," Ichika replied smoothly, her public-facing smile perfectly in place.
"Well, ummm" Shizuka-sensei looked between the five of them. "Can I call you by your first names? Calling all of you by your surname every time is going to get confusing fast."
Ichika had anticipated this; it was the same at every new school "Sure thing, Sensei" she agreed readily
"Good. Now, let's see..." Shizuka checked the paper again. "Ichika and Miku, you're in Yoshioka-san's homeroom. Itsuki, Nino, and Yotsuba, you're in mine"
Beside her, Miku, ever the quiet one, perked up slightly. "Who is Yoshioka-sensei?"
"This grumpy guy right here" Shizuka said with a chuckle, signalling with her thumb over her shoulder.
The pair turned, and Ichika's eyes landed on the man at the neighbouring desk.
He looked up from his papers, his gaze shifting to their group.
Her first thought was a simple, stunned, 'He's... incredibly handsome.' Stark white hair that defied his apparent youth, and striking crimson eyes that seemed to shine slightly. His features were sharp and perfectly composed.
But in the very next instant, her internal alarms blared.
'Handsome young teacher.' She'd heard the stories, seen the warnings in dramas and news reports. Men like him, who looked like that, often used their appearance as a tool, a weapon to lower the guards of impressionable students. Her protective instincts snapped into overdrive. 'It seems I'll have to protect my sisters from this man, too. I can't let his looks be a distraction or, worse, a danger.'
"Nice to meet you, Yoshioka-sensei" She said, her voice sweet but her guard firmly up as she passed him the transfer paper Shizuka had given them.
He took it, his movements precise.
He turned to them, his expression utterly neutral, devoid of the usual welcome or curiosity most teachers showed. "My name is Yoshioka Akira. I will be your homeroom teacher." His voice was calm, flat, and carried no inflection whatsoever. "Before entering the class, stay outside for a moment to allow me to introduce you to the class."
He stood up, gathering a few items from his desk.
"Follow me to the classroom," he stated, walking away without looking back
Ichika blinked, her carefully constructed defences momentarily confused 'Weird' His voice wasn't excited, flirty, or even politely enthusiastic. It was completely devoid of emotion.
She was used to teachers whose eyes lingered a little too long, who offered a little too much "special" attention, who were visibly pleased to have "cute" new students like the Nakano quintuplets in their class.
But him? It was as if he hadn't even truly registered them as people, merely as two new entries on a roster. There was no spark of interest in those unusual red eyes, no hint of a smile. He was like a still, deep lake—impossible to read the bottom.
'Curious...' she thought, a flicker of genuine intrigue cutting through her suspicion. This Yoshioka Akira was not at all what she had expected
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(Hikigaya Hachiman's POV)
The classroom as usual was its special kind of purgatory.
A carefully constructed zoo where everyone performed their assigned roles.
Today's main attraction was the post-festival recap. The air was thick with the cloying scent of nostalgia and exaggerated excitement
"...and then, when Yoshioka-sensei carried that entire tray without even blinking! So cool!"
"I know! I got a picture, look!"
His ear involuntarily twitched as a group of girls nearby gushed over a photo on a phone.
Of course. It was the same everywhere.
The festival was over, but the ghost of the "Butler Cafe" event, spearheaded by our unnervingly charismatic homeroom teacher, still haunted the halls.
It was disgusting. They were all just shallow, drawn to a pretty face and white hair.
"By the way, did you remember the other white-haired guy he met with?"
"I know right, I heard they were cousins"
"If their family looks like that, I would like to meet a nephew or another cousin my age. Though I won't mind if any of the two are willing, I'm not against older men myself"
"Gosh, you are such a slut!"
'Oh right, now there is two of them Great, just what he needed'
Just as he was lost in his own thoughts, the classroom door slid open with a quiet, definitive click.
Silence fell instantly. All chatter died, and every head turned as Yoshioka-sensei entered.
He moved to the podium with his usual grace and stood in the center
"The festival was a success. You have my congratulations," he stated. His voice was flat as usual "There will be new additions to this class."
A wave of murmurs rippled through the room.
New students? Now? His loner senses tingled. Newcomers always disrupted the fragile ecosystem.
They were variables, chaos agents that forced everyone to re-evaluate their social standing.
A total drag.
Yoshioka-sensei turned towards the door. "Enter."
The door slid open again, and two girls stepped inside.
...Oh.
He gets it now
They were twins. Striking ones.
The kind of girls entered the room and then they held an immediate, silent auction for everyone's attention.
They were easily, without a single doubt, instant S-tier in the school's ruthless caste system. You could already feel the social tectonic plates shifting.
"I'm Nakano Ichika. It's nice to meet you all," said the first one with a practiced, charming smile that probably vaporized the willpower of lesser men on contact
"...Nakano Miku. Pleased to meet you," the second one said, quieter, but with a mysterious air that the romance manga club would doubtless dissect for weeks
As they bowed, a single, crystal-clear thought formed in my mind, a prophecy of the incoming storm
'Great. Just great' I could already see it. Hayama's perfectly coiffed group would absorb them within the week, creating an even more impenetrable fortress of glamour and popularity.
The hallways would become choked with desperate guys working up the courage to confess, leading to a river of tears and rejected chocolate
Another day, another reminder that youth is a lie, and everything is a pain
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(Third Person's POV)
The air in the unused classroom was still, a stark contrast to the buzzing gossip filling the halls of Sobu High
Yoshioka Akira's students had gathered, as they often did, for a briefing away from prying ears and normal civilians.
Sakurajima Mai, with practiced grace, had already claimed the teacher's desk, sitting on it as if it were her personal throne. She leaned back on her palms, crossing her legs.
"Quintuplets, really?" she commented, having already heard the latest buzz from her network of fellow female students, both mundane and sorcerer. "That's a new one."
"I know, everyone's been talking about them. It's quite the phenomenon," Miko added, her sharp senses having picked up countless whispered conversations throughout the day.
"They're all beautiful," Yuria noted with a sigh. "So, it's fair to say they'll be the center of gossip for quite some time." She then turned to the quiet boy in the corner. "By the way, Kageyama-kun, where's Lala-chan?"
Shigeo looked up, slightly startled at being addressed. "Oh. Since she doesn't have the necessary paperwork yet, she can't enroll. But Sensei is helping her with that."
"Huh," Hana interjected, tilting her head. "I was thinking since she doesn't want to be separated from you, she'd just enroll super quickly and get into the same class. You know, like in those rom-coms."
"This isn't a rom-com, Hana," Yuria countered, exasperated. "You can't just enroll a girl into a school like it's nothing. There's paperwork, background checks! Especially since she doesn't have any documentation, given that she's LITERALLY an ALIEN."
"I get it!" Hana pouted, crossing her arms.
"So, Sensei," Mai said, drawing the word out as she elegantly shifted her pose on the desk, trying to recapture his attention. "What do you think?"
Akira, who had been observing them from his standing position by the window, ignored her theatrics and delivered a flat assessment. "None of them have the potential to be a sorcerer."
Mai shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. "Not what I meant, but okay."
Akira turned fully to face the group, his demeanor shifting. The casual atmosphere in the room evaporated. "On a more important subject," he began, his calm voice commanding their complete focus. "I will be opening a Jujutsu School."
The statement landed with the force of a physical blow. All casual chatter ceased. Miko, Yuria, Hana, Shigeo, Zaimozuka, and even the lounging Mai straightened up, their eyes wide and fixed on their teacher.
"Wait," Miko said, breaking the stunned silence. "Like Jujutsu High? In Tokyo and Kyoto?"
"Indeed," Akira confirmed. "It will be of a similar structure, but it will operate with its own autonomy. It will be separate from the current Jujutsu establishment, yet legally conjoined with the system. This means that, upon its establishment, you will all be able to formally receive missions."
"Missions?" Mai repeated, her interest now genuinely piqued, her playful demeanor gone.
"It is the standard within the Jujutsu community. Sorcerers receive assignments to exorcise curses through a centralized system. Since our school will be based in the Chiba area, our jurisdiction will cover this region and beyond. By undertaking missions, you will not only gain vital combat experience but also be compensated financially"
Hana tilted her head. "Isn't that just like what we were doing before? Going around and dealing with spirits?"
"The activity is similar," Akira conceded. "But now, your efforts will be officially recognized. You will be building a Curriculum Vitae within the Jujutsu world, making your achievements and strength known. This will grant you standing, influence, and legitimacy"
He let that sink in for a moment, his crimson eyes scanning each of them, ensuring the message was received. "That will be all for now. Remember to practice your techniques and maintain your vigilance. I will be occupied with the school's founding, so do not slacken in your personal training"
A unified, respectful "Yes, Sensei," echoed in the quiet room.
"You are all dismissed."
With that, he turned back to the window, the conversation clearly over
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(Third Person's POV)
In a dim, squalid apartment on the wrong side of the city, the air was thick with the smell of cheap alcohol and despair. A drunken man, his eyes red-rimmed with fury and grief, swayed as he stared at a crumpled photograph.
"I can't allow it... He can't get away with it," he slurred, his voice a venomous whisper.
The picture showed a well-dressed man in a pristine lab coat, smiling proudly as he stood in front of a newly built hospital, shaking hands with another dignitary.
"I will get my revenge... I will get what I want..."
His trembling hand turned the photograph over. On the back was a candid shot of five identical girls laughing together—the Nakano quintuplets.
"Yes... I will make sure your daughters pay for what you did... how you let her die..."
With a sudden, decisive movement, he pulled out a cheap burner phone and dialed a number from memory. It rang only once before a calm, synthetic voice answered.
{Yes?}
"I'm willing to take the vow," the man growled, his voice cracking with desperation and hatred.
{Very well then,} the voice replied, utterly devoid of emotion. {How much are we talking about?}
The man's eyes glazed over with a final, terrible resolve. He had nothing left to lose.
"All of it" he breathed. "All of my soul."
There was a brief, static-filled pause on the other end, as if the offer was being processed.
{Excellent. Your contribution will be appreciated by Claw.}
The line went dead.
The man slumped against the wall, the empty bottle clattering to the floor. A single, dark tear traced a path through the grime on his cheek, the last human emotion he would likely ever feel.
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In a lavish, otherwise empty penthouse apartment, the only light came from a large television screen.
A grisly horror movie was playing, the volume cranked high. The scene showed a grotesque, reanimated corpse lurching to its feet and savagely biting a man's arm, splattering gore across the screen.
The sole viewer, a being with blue skin and a face crisscrossed by stitches, laughed uproariously, stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
"Hahaha! Brilliant!" Mahito cackled, his eyes wide with delight. "Humans have such wonderfully twisted imaginations! I wonder if I could replicate that with my technique? A horde of transfigured humans, mindlessly shambling and infection other humans by bite... the despair would be exquisite!"
"What are you doing, Mahito?" A new voice inquired. A slender woman with short, dark hair and a distinct line of stitches across her forehead stood in the doorway, watching the patchwork curse user with mild amusement.
"Oh, Ken-chan!" Mahito replied, gesturing excitedly at the screen. "I was just getting ideas! These movies are so inspiring. I was wondering if I could replicate what's happening here."
The woman, Kenjaku, peering out from behind the face of Itadori Kaori, glanced at the screen. "Oh, a zombie movie. Well, if you're looking for a place to experiment, I have the perfect location for you."
Mahito instantly sprang to his feet, his curiosity piqued. "Oh? Where is it? Tell me, tell me!"
Kenjaku's lips curled into a slow, sinister smile. "Have you heard of Fujimi Academy?"
---------------------------------------------
Akira slid the key into the lock of his apartment, the quiet click a familiar sound signalling the end of the day.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside, his movements fluid and silent.
But he froze the moment he crossed the threshold. His sharp senses, registered an anomaly immediately.
The air currents were different, the ambient energy subtly altered.
And there, placed neatly in the genkan, was a pair of shoes he recognized, expensive, modern, strew carelessly, and utterly out of place next to his own gracefully placed footwear.
He didn't bother calling out. He simply walked into the living room, his voice flat and unsurprised.
"What do you need, Satoru?"
He turned to see his fellow white-haired sorcerer sprawled across the tatami mats like a large, lazy cat, completely engrossed in a handheld gaming console.
The blue light of the screen illuminated a wide grin.
"You finally show up!" Gojo exclaimed without looking up, his thumbs flying over the buttons. "I came here to play with you, and you made me wait for two whole hours! Do you have no shame?!"
"I do productive things, Satoru," Akira replied, hanging his bag on a hook and carefully loosening his necktie. "It's a concept you could familiarize yourself with."
"Oh, c'mon," Gojo said, finally sitting up and stretching dramatically. "It's not like there's anything of real importance to do right now."
"How about your own students?" Akira countered, placing his folded tie on a shelf.
"They're fine on their own. No big deal. They're probably having their own practice and study section. They are very studious."
"...I truly lament the fate of those poor children for having you as their teacher," Akira deadpanned, walking over to the low table
"What do you mean? I'm awesome!" Gojo declared, pointing a thumb at his own chest. "What better teacher than the strongest sorcerer? You know the prestige it brings?"
"You mean, the former strongest," Akira said, a slight, almost imperceptible quirk at the corner of his lip. "Right now, you are firmly in second place."
"Rub it in, why don't you?" Gojo groaned, flopping back onto the floor. "Do you have any idea how much the elders of the Gojo clan rattled in my ear about that? All about 'losing the clan's reputation' and 'reconsidering our standing.' I left halfway through the meeting and came here. You owe me for my emotional distress."
Akira simply hummed in response. His eyes then fell upon the 3DS on the table, his own. "Satoru," he began, his tone dangerously calm. "Do tell me, what were you doing with my 3DS?"
"Oh, that? I was checking your save file," Gojo admitted unabashedly. "Who would've thought you'd have a whole team of Ghost types? So edgy. I'm more of a generalist myself." He pulled out his own, custom-painted console from his jacket. "So? Wanna play? My team against yours?"
"If you wish to lose to me once again, then very well," Akira conceded, sitting down and picking up his device.
"Ha! I'll show you! I had to farm my team for ages to get the perfect IVs and EVs!" Gojo boasted, already powering on his system.
As the consoles booted up, Akira's gaze drifted to a large, stuffed bag sitting beside Gojo. It was filled to the brim with game consoles, CD cases, and game cartridges.
"You have planned this for the whole evening," Akira observed, not even a question.
"Of course! I can't allow the new 'Strongest' to be better than me in any habit, especially not in Pokémon," Gojo said with a triumphant smirk. "Oh, by the way, this was in your mailbox." He casually tossed a manila envelope onto the table.
Akira raised an eyebrow, picking it up. It was unmarked except for a message written in elegant, looping cursive: "For you, my dear Akira♡". He opened the flap and pulled out the contents. His eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch.
It was a photograph of Momobami Kirari. In a state of... profound undress.
She was splayed provocatively, showcasing the delicate folds of her womanhood to the camera. On her midriff, written in marker, were the words "Akira Only" with a bold arrow pointing decisively downward. The photograph left little to the imagination, including the handle of an intimate toy on the other entrance
Gojo, seeing Akira's minute but telling reaction, concentrated his Six Eyes for a split second, reading the text on the back of the photo. His mind pieced together the image. "Phew... I didn't know you had such a... proactive girlfriend."
"She is not my girlfriend, I have no relationship whatsoever with this woman" Akira stated, his voice even. He turned the photo over. The message on the back was even more explicit: 'I've been training myself for you, waiting for you to come and fill my insides. My sister is also being trained, if you wish to use her as well.'
"Oh, I get it. An admirer," Gojo nodded sagely. "I've gotten my fair share of those. Even now. Ugh, I've had to answer so many marriage proposals that I've memorized the written rejection. It's become muscle memory at this point. I could probably do it in my sleep"
"You receive marriage proposals?" Akira asked, a hint of genuine curiosity in his tone.
"Well, duh, haven't you seen me?" Gojo struck a pose, even though he was sitting on the floor. "I'm handsome, strong, rich... I'm the full package for any lucky girl."
Akira stared at him for a long moment, then simply sighed.
He placed the photograph back into the manila envelope, feeling the thickness that suggested more of the same type of pictures inside.
He decided immediate action was best and willed the entire envelope, contents and all, to be "Erased" from existence.
"Ooh, saving it for later?" Gojo waggled his eyebrows.
Akira ignored him completely, his focus returning to the game console in his hands. The battle menu was open, Gojo's team already waiting on the other side.
The two most powerful sorcerers in the world settled in, the fate of their Pokemon now the most pressing matter in the room
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(Thousands of Years ago)
(Unohana Yachiru's POV)
Emptiness. That was all that remained.
She stood upon a mountain of corpses, a queen of a silent, crimson kingdom. But these slain warriors, these fallen challengers, were nothing more than monuments to her dissatisfaction.
None had posed a true threat. None had made her heart stir. None that made her blood sing with the savage joy of a battle where her own life hung in the balance.
The rain fell, a cold, cleansing torrent that washed the blood from her skin but could not touch the hollow ache within her soul.
She began to walk, a predator with no prey, her feet carrying her through the desolate landscape of death.
Then, she stumbled upon it.
A corpse she had not created.
She knelt, her expert eyes tracing the fatal wound. It was not a wound of brute force or wild hacking. It was a masterpiece.
A single, perfect slash, so precise it seemed less an act of violence and more of a piece of art.
The cut was deceptively small, yet it spoke of an understanding of anatomy and force that was possibly superior to hers.
It was a wound designed not just to kill, but to do so with an unnerving, beautiful efficiency
"Beautiful," She whispered, her voice a reverent hush against the pounding rain.
She rose, her gaze sharpening. Another corpse lay ahead, bearing the same elegant signature of death. And another.
A trail of cadavers, each a testament to a skill that made her own brutal accumulations feel almost… artless. She followed the path, a slow, deliberate pilgrimage, until she crested a rise and beheld it.
A mountain of corpses that dwarfed her own.
And at its zenith, stood a figure.
A young man with hair as white as bone, now streaked and matted with crimson. His clothes were a ragged tapestry of stitched-together fabrics, a history of countless battles written in thread and blood.
His face was one of stark, handsome lines, a chilling contrast to the sea of carnage he presided over. And his eyes… they were the colour of fresh blood, and they were fixed on her.
In that single, piercing gaze, she felt something she had never known. It was not fear. It was a sensation of being utterly seen, her very soul laid bare and assessed by a kindred spirit. He saw the killer in her, the warrior, the emptiness, and the potential. A tremor, violent and wonderful, ran through her entire being. This was it.
He moved.
There was no shout, no warning.
One moment he was a statue atop his grisly throne, the next he was a blur cutting through the rain, his katana a silver extension of his will.
Clang!
The shriek of steel meeting steel was the first true music she had heard in a century
Her own zanpakutō, Minazuki, met his blade in a shower of sparks.
The impact was not just physical; it was spiritual.
It resonated in her bones, in her soul. A warmth spread through her, a fire she thought had been extinguished forever. Finally.
They separated, circling each other like predator circling their preys. The rain slicked their hair and washed the blood from their blades
"Who are you, woman?" he asked, his voice calm, devoid of anger or pride, carrying nothing.
She did not answer with words.
Her answer was the tightening of her grip, the slight shift of her stance, the predatory smile that finally, after so long, graced her lips.
She had come for a fight, and she had found a revelation.
He understood. He launched forward again.
Their dance began in earnest.
It was not a brawl; it was a deadly conversation.
He flowed like water, his movements impossibly fluid, his katana tracing lines of lethal intent through the air.
She was the storm, her strikes powerful and overwhelming, each one meant to cleave and crush.
He would deflect, redirect, his blade a whisper against her roar.
'He adapts' she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs not from exertion, but from pure, unadulterated ecstasy. 'He learns my rhythm as we fight'
She pushed harder, unleashing a flurry of strikes that would have dismembered a hundred lesser warriors.
He met each one, his defence an unbreakable, moving fortress.
The sound was a continuous, deafening symphony of clashing steel.
'My blood is singing. My soul is awake!' This was what she had been born for. This was the edge she had sought to stand upon.
He countered, not with brute force, but with precision.
His blade slipped past her guard, not to kill, but to teach.
A shallow cut opened on her arm, then another on her thigh. Each was a lesson, a demonstration of a path she had not walked.
He was showing her a higher level of swordsmanship, and her being swelled with a terrifying, joyous hunger to reach it.
The fight stretched.
An eternity contained in minutes. The rain turned to mist around them, vaporized by the heat of their clashing spirits. She was bleeding from a dozen wounds, each one a badge of honour. He was untouched, his red eyes never wavering, reading her every intention before it was fully formed.
And then, it came. The final exchange.
She committed everything to one last, perfect killing stroke, the culmination of all her skill and bloodlust.
He did not meet it with force. He moved inside the arc of her swing, his body turning, his katana becoming an extension of that motion. It was not a block; it was an embrace.
His blade met hers, guided it, and in that infinitesimal moment of contact, he disarmed her technique, her power, her very will
His counter was the same beautiful, perfect slash she had seen on the first corpse. A single, clean line across her torso.
Time seemed to stop. She felt the cut, a line of silver that torn into her flesh
Her sword fell from numb fingers, clattering on the stone. She looked down at the fatal wound, a work of art etched onto her skin, and then back at him.
He stood before her, calm as ever, his katana already sheathed. "You are strong," he stated, his voice cutting through the rain. "But I defeated you. So now you are my woman."
Unohana Yachiru, the first Kenpachi, the most terrifying monster in the Soul Society, looked at this man who had given her the only thing she had ever truly desired, a worthy end and a new beginning.
A slow, genuine smile, free of bloodlust and filled with a profound, peaceful acceptance, spread across her face.
The emptiness was gone, replaced by a fierce, possessive loyalty.
"Yes," she breathed, her body bleeding but her spirit soaring "I will be your woman, Kenpachi"