Chapter 66 — The Resurrection of Itadori
Inside the Tokyo Jujutsu High infirmary, the room was eerily quiet.
A white sheet covered Itadori Yuji's motionless body.
Ijichi stood at the bedside, nervously reporting to Gojo Satoru.
"I did warn them," he said, voice trembling. "I told them never to engage a special grade. I even contacted Zen'in-sensei out of precaution, just in case something went wrong… but I didn't expect this to happen."
Gojo's voice was calm—too calm.
"Didn't expect it? Or was it intentional?"
Ijichi froze. Gojo's six eyes glimmered faintly behind his blindfold.
"They made his death sentence indefinite," Gojo said flatly. "So now they're trying to give him a more respectable death—sending a first-year team to handle a special grade? That wasn't a mistake. That was murder dressed up as a mission."
He sneered. "And conveniently, they did it while I was out of the country."
"W-well…" Ijichi stammered. "At first, we weren't sure it would evolve into a special grade. I made the call to contact Zen'in-sensei after I realized the danger."
He wiped the sweat from his forehead.
If he hadn't done that, there might've been more than one body lying here.
"Tch. Finding out who's responsible is too much work. Maybe I'll just kill all the higher-ups," Gojo muttered.
For once, the strongest sorcerer didn't sound like he was joking. His anger was palpable.
He'd seen potential in Itadori—a kid willing to risk everything for others. And now? Dead because of the scheming of old men.
The sudden appearance of that cursed womb—everything about it reeked of manipulation.
"You? Acting on emotion?"
A teasing voice broke the tension. Shoko Ieiri walked in wearing her white lab coat, Zen'in Shinsuke following behind her.
Shinsuke toyed with Sukuna's severed finger between his gloved hands and grinned.
"I like your idea, Gojo. Go on—wipe out those wrinkled fossils. You've got my full support."
Gojo's irritation spiked. "Oh, you're here too? And you let Itadori die on your watch? Don't tell me that was part of your 'plan.'"
"Hey, hey, don't slander me," Shinsuke said lazily, scratching his neck. "I'm a model teacher who loves his students. But if the brat's host decides to off himself, what can I do? If Ijichi had called a bit earlier, this wouldn't have happened."
"So it's my fault now?" Ijichi muttered, pale and sweating.
"Enough, you two."
Shoko sighed, crossing her arms. "Stop picking on Ijichi. He's just the messenger here. Try being nice for once."
Ijichi gave her a grateful bow—caught between titans like Gojo and Zen'in, he never stood a chance.
Shoko turned to the table and pulled back the sheet.
"So this is the Vessel of Sukuna, huh?" she murmured. "No pulse, no residual flow of cursed energy. He's well and truly dead. Guess I can start the autopsy?"
Itadori's bare chest gleamed under the cold light. A deep, ragged wound marked where his heart used to be.
"Do as you like," Gojo said bitterly. "Don't waste what's left of him."
There was nothing more to say. Itadori's death was another stain on a system already rotten to the core.
If the jujutsu world was built on arrogance and bloodlines, then Gojo would tear it down—educate, rebuild, and raise a new generation strong enough to end this cycle of decay.
He wouldn't let another Itadori happen again.
Shinsuke noticed Gojo's silence and assumed it was grief.
"Don't be so glum," he said lightly. "The kid might still come back."
Gojo turned to him sharply. "What do you mean?"
Shinsuke tossed the cursed finger up and caught it again.
"Come on, Gojo. He's Sukuna's vessel. You really think that guy would let his host stay dead? If Sukuna wants to live, he'll bring Itadori back himself."
Gojo raised an eyebrow. "And since when is Sukuna the charitable type?"
Before Shinsuke could answer, a low hum filled the room.
The air grew heavy.
And then—
"—Haah!"
Itadori's body arched violently. His eyes flew open, crimson light flashing within them as the sheet fell away.
Both Shoko and Ijichi stumbled back in shock.
Gojo, however, smiled faintly beneath his blindfold.
"Welcome back, kid."
The "corpse" lying on the dissection table suddenly sat upright with a loud gasp.
"Uh… huh? Why am I… completely naked?"
Itadori Yuji blinked, looking down at himself in confusion. Then, noticing the woman beside him in a lab coat, he awkwardly scratched his head.
"Uh… this is kinda embarrassing. Uh, miss, who are you again?"
Shoko Ieiri froze, scalpel still in hand. Her expression twisted into reluctant frustration.
"Damn it… just a second more and I could've finally dissected Sukuna's vessel."
Zen'in Shinsuke gave a low whistle.
"See? Told you so."
Gojo exhaled sharply, a relieved smile tugging at his lips.
He stepped forward and waved casually. "Yo, Yuji—welcome back to the land of the living."
Itadori grinned sheepishly. "Yeah… guess I'm back! Don't really remember why Sukuna saved me, but man—it feels good to be alive."
Shinsuke smirked and turned to leave.
"Well, that's that. Since the kid's breathing again, my job here's done. Oh, and—"
He tossed something small and sinister toward Gojo.
Sukuna's finger.
"Figure out what to do with it yourselves," he said lazily. "Not like I can snack on pickled demon parts anyway."
Gojo caught the finger between two gloved fingers, his smile fading.
"Don't tell anyone outside that Yuji's alive. Not yet."
Shinsuke waved over his shoulder, clearly uninterested in details.
Shoko raised a tired brow. "You think someone might target him again?"
"Exactly," Gojo said, his tone now cold and pragmatic. "Before the next move comes, I need him to have at least the bare minimum of combat ability."
He looked down at Yuji, who was now fumbling for something to cover himself with.
"He's got potential. If I train him right, he might even surpass Hakari or Okkotsu someday."
Shoko gave a half-smile. "Well, that saves me from rewriting the death report."
---
Outside the infirmary, under the pale morning sky—
Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara sat on the steps outside the building. Neither spoke. Their faces were blank, drained, the grief from Itadori's death still raw and heavy.
Then, a sharp, irritated voice broke the silence.
"What's with those faces, huh? You two look like someone's dog just died. Are you… mourning or something?"
They looked up to see a short-haired woman standing over them, a weapon case slung across her back—Zen'in Maki, freshly returned from a mission.
"M-Maki-senpai?" Megumi asked quietly.
"Don't 'senpai' me, brat," Maki snapped, crossing her arms. "Use my name properly, little nephew."
Behind her, Panda and Inumaki peeked nervously from behind a stone pillar.
"Maki… maybe, uh, don't—" Panda whispered urgently.
"What? I'm talking to them," Maki said, frowning.
Panda wiped imaginary sweat from his furry face. "You seriously don't know? One of the first-years—died yesterday."
"Bonito flakes," Inumaki added solemnly.
"What!?" Maki's face went pale.
She spun on the two of them, voice rising. "And you didn't tell me sooner?! Do you have any idea how heartless I must've sounded just now!?"
"Uh, well," Panda said meekly, "you kinda did sound like a demon there for a sec."
"BAKA YARŌ!!" Maki barked, slamming her palm against her forehead. "This is all your fault for not warning me!"
The trio's chaotic argument carried down the hall, loud enough to echo through the quiet school.
But inside the infirmary, behind closed doors—
Itadori Yuji sat quietly, breathing, alive once more.
And somewhere deep within him… Sukuna's cruel laughter echoed faintly, like the beating of a second heart.