Soon, Gojo returned home, the wooden sword from the Dojo resting lightly in his hand. As soon as he stepped inside, he went straight to the kitchen and pulled out the extra breakfast he had prepared earlier before leaving for the dojo. He had intentionally cooked a larger portion that morning, knowing he'd need something ready when he got back. Now, even though it was only noon—far from the end of the day—Gojo sat down and began to eat, wasting no time. Once his stomach was full, he headed straight for bed. His meal had been heavy on meat, just as he'd planned; protein was key to helping his body recover faster.
Lying on the bed, still wearing his blindfold, Gojo deliberately dulled his perception—lowering his awareness to the faintest level the Six Eyes would allow. Let everything fade... just rest, he thought. Maybe it was the exhaustion from nearly four hours of sword practice and physical training, the weight of his full stomach, or simply the habit he had developed over the past two days of falling asleep quickly, but within half an hour, he was fast asleep.
Three or four hours later, when the clock touched four in the evening, Gojo stirred awake. He opened his eyes beneath the blindfold, then removed it to check the sun's position and the time. The room was still bathed in daylight; the sun hung low in the sky, edging toward dusk. Good… still some light left. What mattered most, however, was the surge of energy flowing through his body. The fatigue from his morning training had completely vanished. He had fully recovered.
Without hesitation, he tied the blindfold again, picked up the wooden sword leaning against the wall, and began practicing the basic sword techniques once more in the hall. The steady rhythm of wood slicing through air filled the quiet house. After about an hour, when the light outside deepened into orange, Gojo stopped his sword swings and shifted into physical exercises—push-ups, sit-ups, and other basic routines.
For now, even these simple exercises were enough to push his body to its limit. But Gojo knew that wouldn't last. The stronger I get, the less effective this will be. In the future, he'd need equipment—weights, resistance, something that could challenge him. Otherwise, he'd have to do push-ups all day just to feel the strain. He smiled faintly beneath his blindfold, sweat glistening along his jaw. That was a problem for later. For now, he kept moving, building the strength he'd need for everything yet to come.
By that time, Gojo figured he'd be ready to begin his hunting career in the nearby forests. Once that happened, he could buy basic equipment for his own training without worrying too much about expenses. There was also the option of returning to the dojo—after all, he was already paying the fees and could easily go again in the evenings if he wanted to. But Gojo understood one thing very clearly: standing out too much could bring unnecessary trouble. If his name started spreading around, the Marines might come knocking again—or worse, soldiers from the Frauce Kingdom could try to recruit him for their army. And unlike Smoker, they probably wouldn't be so easy to talk to. This much, Gojo was sure of.
Being a prodigy was fine. But being too much of a prodigy… that could be dangerous. He'd already taken a small risk with the fact that he had awakened Observation Haki—a rare ability, though one most people wouldn't recognize even if they saw it. To the average person, it would just seem like Gojo had an exceptional sense of awareness. Some might even assume the blindfold covering his eyes was just for decoration—or some eccentric personal habit—and that he could see perfectly fine through it.
As for the truth of his Observation Haki, only Smoker knew. But Gojo also knew this: once word reached Kishimoto about his rapid progress in swordsmanship—and especially the fact that he could fight and move with his eyes closed—Kishimoto would undoubtedly figure it out. A man who had lived and survived in the Grand Line would recognize Haki when he saw it. Still, Gojo wasn't worried. From what he had seen of Kishimoto's character, the old swordsman wasn't the type to gossip or seek attention. Even if he realized the truth, he'd most likely keep it to himself, shrugging it off as just another oddity in this strange world.
After Gojo finished his rigorous physical training, night had already fallen. The world outside was wrapped in deep darkness, but that hardly mattered to him. What mattered was training. Though his muscles screamed from exhaustion and his breath came heavy, he refused to stop. There was still one more thing he needed to work on—his Limitless ability.
He hadn't used it since that first time, right after eating the Devil Fruit. Ever since then, he'd avoided it—partly because he hadn't needed it, and partly because mastering it would require far more focus than simple sword swings or push-ups. But if he wanted true control, he'd have to train it as well.
Gojo reached up and slowly untied the blindfold. The fabric slipped down into his hand as he opened his eyes. To properly train the Limitless, he needed his Six Eyes active. The moment his eyes opened, his perception expanded to impossible clarity. The air itself seemed alive—he could see faint currents shifting, dust motes dancing like tiny stars suspended in motionless space. Every detail, every fluctuation in the air around him became visible.
He exhaled softly, then focused. The space around his body began to twist and converge, compressing into something unseen yet tangible—a thin, invisible barrier. To the outside world, nothing seemed to change, but to Gojo's eyes, countless layers of distorted space shimmered faintly, surrounding him in a perfect sphere. Everything in his surroundings—light, dust, even the smallest particles—was stopped before reaching him.
Then he noticed something else. The air itself was no longer touching his skin. During his battle with Finn and Juno, he'd only used Limitless briefly, just enough to stop their bullets. The fight had been too fast for him to sense the subtler effects. But now, standing still in the silence of his small home, he could feel it—or rather, not feel it.
The Limitless didn't just block attacks; it created an infinite distance between him and the world. Nothing could pass through—not even air. So that's how it really works… he thought, feeling his lungs tighten slightly. If he maintained it too long, he would suffocate himself.
He released the technique immediately, letting air rush back into his lungs. The sensation made him inhale deeply, his chest rising as though he'd just broken the surface of water. Yeah… that could've been bad.
Of course, he wasn't entirely surprised. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he already knew this. After all, he wasn't just Gojo of this world—he was a transmigrator, someone who had once been a massive fan of Gojo Satoru from Jujutsu Kaisen. In his past life, he'd studied the character's powers in obsessive detail, memorizing every fight, every nuance. And now, living them for real, he finally understood what those details truly meant.
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