The dressing room was saturated with the strong smell of hairspray. The lights of the mirror shone with a blinding white, reflecting in every corner and giving the place a sterile air.
"Mmm…"
Damian sank into the leather sofa, his legs stretched out carelessly, a posture that conveyed more disinterest than relaxation.
In his hand, he held a crumpled document.
In front of him, two figures waited in silence.
Nanami Kento, impeccable in his perfectly pressed suit and blond hair combed to the millimeter, maintained an upright posture and the expression of someone carrying the seriousness of duty, professional to the core.
At his side, Maki Zen'in could not maintain the same façade.
Her usual coldness, that "don't come near me" gaze, had completely crumbled. She held her breath, and her eyes, behind her glasses, remained fixed on Damian, shining restlessly. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of her uniform and, though she tried, she could not hide the faint blush spreading across her cheeks.
Damian lowered his gaze toward the document, a symbol of the supposed "goodwill" of the Jujutsu higher-ups.
The corner of his lips curved in a joyless gesture, and without bothering to lift his eyelids, he asked:
"Did the higher-ups send you to recruit me?"
"Yes." Nanami spoke without hesitation, "They expect you to join the forces to confront Suguru Geto." The way he said it made it clear that he himself wanted to conclude that task as soon as possible.
Damian let out a soft laugh, dripping with mockery. With a casual flick of his wrist, he let the document fall onto the vanity table, where it landed with a dry sound that broke the tension in the room.
"I'm not interested."
Three sharp words, closing the matter immediately.
Nanami showed no surprise. On the contrary, he nodded slightly: troublesome mission concluded, excellent.
"…sigh…"
Damian rose slowly, stretching his arms with a crack of bones that echoed through the dressing room.
When he turned toward Maki, his expression changed immediately. The indifference gave way to the charming smile of a star, a smile crafted to dazzle, directed only at her, while Nanami was relegated to the background.
"Since you came," he said in an almost mocking tone, "watch the concert before you leave."
Without waiting for a reply, he walked to the wall, took an electric guitar with a striking design, and slung it over his shoulder with a smooth, practiced motion.
He pushed the door open and stepped out, leaving behind the suffocating white light of the dressing room.
The outer hallway was shrouded in gloom, lit only by flashes filtering in from the distance. The echo of thousands of voices grew louder and louder, a roar that intensified with each step.
Damian moved forward without stopping, his silhouette projecting a feline shadow in the darkness, like a leopard walking straight toward its prey.
Suddenly, the curtain lifted in one sweep.
And an avalanche of screams enveloped him instantly.
"NERO——!!!"
The spotlight bathed him in a dazzling beam, pinning him at the center of the stage as if the entire universe had been reduced to him.
With the guitar slung across his back, he lifted his face and let his signature smile, overflowing with confidence, set the crowd on fire.
There was no need for words.
His fingers fell onto the strings and an explosion of sharp notes tore through the air, splitting the noise in two.
Immediately, the bass drum erupted with force, each beat pounding the chests of those present, while the bass roared like subterranean thunder that made the ground tremble.
The lights flared on at once, white, red, and blue, cutting through the darkness and sweeping over faces twisted by collective madness.
The frantic beams moved in all directions, as if the light itself had been possessed by the music.
The massive sound system spewed out deafening waves, an invisible fist striking every person present.
And there, in the middle of the chaos, Damian was the eye of the hurricane.
He shook his head violently, his hair flying under the spotlights, while his hands blurred across the strings.
Strums, pulls, sharp hits: each movement unleashed ferocious riffs, like a storm crashing down on the crowd.
On the giant screen behind him, his sharp profile was projected under the light, his piercing gaze, and that smile brimming with absolute control, tinged with a wicked edge.
A mysterious prelude began to slide through the speakers, wrapping the crowd like a forewarning.
The stage's half-light tensed as Damian's lips slowly drew closer to the microphone, and his sharp, piercing voice ripped through the initial roar.
It was the opening theme of Jujutsu Kaisen: "Kaikai Kitan."
"The swarming masses, are all nature of mankind…"
"Bluff, mental image, inhuman, ah it's like a monster…"
"With a calm and clear mind, harboring life…"
"The rest is a mindless, hollow human…"
The audience was caught immediately, as if an invisible thread had anchored them to every syllable. The music expanded, wrapping them in an intensity that left no room to breathe.
"Exorcise the darkness, exorcise the darkness…"
"Once the veil of darkness descends, that's our cue…"
"After the tit-for-tat, leave all the circular battle frontline…"
Then the chorus burst forth!
Damian's voice rose with brutal force, and around him the music exploded. The guitar unleashed bursts of sound that overlapped like waves, while the drums struck with a dense cadence, marking the frenzied pulse of the song.
The crowd lost control.
A mass of bodies vibrating in unison, headbanging like a field of wheat whipped by a hurricane. Bodies leaping, heads smashing the air in rhythm with the music, throats unleashed in unrestrained screams.
Under the psychedelic lights that cut through the half-darkness in flashes of red, blue, and violet, thousands of arms rose like a deranged forest dancing to the rhythm of chaos.
The voices joined in a heart-wrenching chant:
"NERO! NERO! NERO!"
On stage, Damian was a giant wrapped in lights. His singing climbed higher and higher, each note striking with immense weight, as if every word crashed directly into the soul of the audience.
"..."
Nanami's frown deepened as he watched, unblinking, the dazzling Damian dominating the stage.
The light of the spotlights wrapped him in an almost unreal glow, and like a persistent echo, the phrases of the song pounded again and again in his mind.
He knew all too well that the darkness of the Jujutsu world could not be erased with a simple chorus. Curses were like a cancer embedded in the body of humanity, feeding on negative emotions, multiplying and spreading without end.
The sorcerers, for their part, were chained to a fate that barely allowed them to move forward, dragging themselves inside that darkness with no possibility of ever fully escaping it.
He let out a resigned sigh.
In silence, he convinced himself that Damian, although he usually projected the image of a cynical and carefree man, was revealing in his music a truth that only a few could perceive.
His lyrics, wrapped in metaphors, were a veiled X-ray of the true state of the Jujutsu world. Perhaps, out of the thousands of spectators hypnotized by the intensity of the concert, only a handful would have the clarity to understand it.
"NEROOOO!!"
Maki, on the other hand, had lost all control.
Her eyes stayed fixed on Damian as if nothing else existed, shining with a fervor that made her unrecognizable.
Her arms flailed with force, her throat shredded in screams, and her voice merged with the roar of the crowd.
Releasing a passion she never showed in her daily life, throwing into the air a devotion she didn't even try to hide.
In that moment, the disciplined Maki Zen'in had disappeared, replaced by just another fanatic.
Nanami turned his gaze away.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen lighting up with a blue glow that illuminated his rigid features.
His first impulse was simple: to immediately report the anomaly in the song to the higher-ups.
His fingers already brushed the option to dial.
But then he thought twice. He visualized the endless reports, the meetings where nothing was ever resolved, the faces of superiors who only knew how to demand more and more.
He also pictured the inevitable orders that would follow: new missions, new problems, and endless overtime that devoured his life without respite. A wave of fatigue suddenly washed over him, sinking his shoulders.
"..." He stayed silent for a few seconds, then let the phone screen fade and slipped it back into his pocket.
"Forget it…" he muttered under his breath.
For once, he chose not to be a sorcerer, but simply another spectator, lost in the music.
…..
Meguro District, neighboring Shibuya.
The streets, which at another time would have been full of traffic and conversations, now lay completely empty.
The forced evacuation, under the pretext of a supposed "pipeline risk inspection," had left behind a desolate landscape: shutters down, faded signs, and windows hastily shut.
The wind dragged papers and forgotten pamphlets, sliding them across the asphalt.
At the riverbank, Yuji Itadori stood with his unmistakable pink hair. He stared at the murky water and, suddenly, raised his hands to clap loudly.
Clap
Clap
Clap
The claps echoed strangely, bouncing in the emptiness like an echo that shouldn't exist, and almost immediately, the river began to stir violently.
The surface churned wildly, bubbling unnaturally.
The waters split open abruptly, and from them emerged dozens of cursed spirits. Their bodies were deformed, their skin oozed rot, and a nauseating stench spread with every movement.
With guttural roars, the horde lunged at Yuji, eager to tear him apart.
The boy's gaze hardened, and with a swift push of his legs, he leaped back, dodging the first charge.
"This way!" he shouted, turning on his heel without hesitation and sprinting toward the entrance of a nearby tunnel.
Behind him, the horde roared like a swarm of hyenas that had just caught the scent of blood.
The ground shook with every stride of the creatures, chasing him with savage ferocity.
In the shadow of the tunnel, another presence waited. A tall figure, motionless like a statue, silently observed: it was Chōsō.
Yuji ran without looking back, leading the pack of curses straight to that point. Just before the entrance, he skidded to a halt, spinning on his heels to face the pursuers.
That was when Chōsō moved.
His hands formed quick seals, and cursed energy, dyed a dark red like liquid blood, burst from his body with tangible force.
"Piercing Blood."
Swoosh
A crimson arrow shot out violently. The first curses leading the charge barely had time to open their mouths before their bodies were pierced through side to side.
Thud Thud Thud
Those coming behind didn't fare any better.
Yuji did not let the opening pass. His body launched forward, cutting through the chaotic formation of curses.
Wham Wham Wham
Each punch, loaded with overwhelming force, shattered a different curse. With every impact, the curses broke apart and dissolved into black smoke.
At the same time, Chōsō remained calm. His blood arrows pierced coldly through the curses that tried to flank.
It was a dance of contrasts: one sweeping the field with raw violence, the other executing precise eliminations with composure. Their movements flowed as if they had trained together their whole lives.
In less than a minute, the tunnel entrance was cleared. Only the metallic stench of blood and an air soaked in dark energy remained, slowly dissipating.
Yuji shook his fists, breathing heavily.
"Done…" he said, though his expression showed no relief, only the same heaviness that had followed him from before.
Chōsō, serene, nodded. "The next point?"
"Yes, let's go to…" Yuji had barely started to speak when his voice was abruptly cut off.
"Ah… isn't Megumi-kun here?"
An unfamiliar voice, slightly mocking, descended from above.
Both of them looked up at the same time.
Above the tunnel, silhouetted against the railing of the highway, a figure had appeared that neither of them had sensed.
The short golden hair stood out in the half-light, and the newcomer turned his head from side to side, making sure of something.
"Tsk… am I the first one to arrive?" he muttered, as if speaking only to himself.
Yuji and Chōsō tensed immediately. Their muscles reacted instinctively, adopting a defensive stance, ready for whatever came.
That change in their posture finally caught the blond man's attention. He lowered his head and looked down at them with disinterest.
"What were you just doing?" he asked with a flat voice, but one filled with icy disdain. "With all that noise… do you want everyone to see you?"
Yuji frowned. "Run away? What do you mean?"
The blond let out a mocking laugh, tilting his head as if amused by his naivety.
"Seriously? You guys don't even know that?"
At his side, Chōsō stepped forward firmly, placing himself slightly between Yuji and that man. His presence was a protective wall, and his voice was deep, filled with gravity.
"Itadori… the higher-ups have already issued an execution order against you. They claim that, having lost Satoru Gojo's protection, your fate is sealed."
!
"What…?" Yuji's eyes narrowed sharply. The news struck him like lightning, and for a moment he froze, unable to process the absurdity of those words.
"Execution? That's insane…"
The shock left him speechless for an instant, but…
That was when another voice interrupted, harsh and devoid of emotion, coming from behind him.
"Hm… so there's more than one."
Thud…
The air shifted immediately.
A suffocating pressure poured over them like a wave. A cursed energy so dense that their skin instantly bristled, every muscle in their bodies tensing until rigid, as if they had been bound by invisible chains.
Both of them turned sharply.
Less than ten steps away, a man was standing, motionless, as if he had been there the entire time. There had been no prior sound, no footsteps, no breathing; he was simply there.
His sunken sockets emphasized deep dark circles, and his expression conveyed an unsettling emptiness, an air of death that saturated the place.
Resting on his shoulder was a long cloth bag. The shape outlined beneath the fabric left no room for doubt: it was a weapon, and it was bladed.
His eyes, vacant and cold, fixed on Yuji with a lethal intent that needed no words.