Tokyo Jujutsu High sat on a mountain like a secret the city kept from itself.
Kage felt the barrier before he saw it—not that seeing mattered. The cursed energy woven into the school's perimeter thrummed against his skin like a living thing, complex and layered, the work of generations of sorcerers who understood that some places needed to exist outside the normal world.
"Impressive, isn't it?"
Masamichi Yaga stood at the gate, arms crossed, looking like a man who'd seen too many prodigies and been disappointed by most of them. He was younger than Kage expected—mid-thirties, maybe—but carried himself with the weight of someone who'd buried students before.
"The barrier?" Kage tilted his head, analyzing the energy structure. "Seven layers. The outer three are detection, middle two are reinforcement, inner two are actual defense. Clever. Most people would put all the strength on the outside."
Yaga's eyebrows rose. "You can read all that just by feeling it?"
"I can read the cursed energy signature. Everything else is just logic." Kage adjusted his bag. "You're Yaga-sensei?"
"Masamichi Yaga. And you're the Zen'in boy who's supposedly blind but fought a Grade 2 curse last month." He paused. "The report said you used some kind of shadow technique. That's not a Zen'in clan ability."
"No," Kage agreed. "It's mine."
The distinction mattered. Inherited techniques were predictable, catalogued, understood. Original techniques were wild cards. Dangerous. The kind of thing that made clan heads nervous and higher-ups suspicious.
Yaga studied him for a long moment. "You know what Tokyo Jujutsu High teaches?"
"How to kill curses efficiently?"
"How to be human while doing it." Yaga's voice was gentle but firm. "Lots of people can exorcise curses, Kage. What separates a sorcerer from a curse user is remembering why we fight. Who we're protecting."
Kage thought of the Zen'in estate. The training pits. Ogi's calculated cruelty. "And if I don't care about protecting anyone?"
"Then you'll learn." Yaga gestured toward the gate. "Or you'll wash out. Either way, you won't be the first Zen'in to walk through these gates thinking strength is all that matters." He smiled, sharp. "You also won't be the last one to realize you were wrong."
The gate opened.
Beyond it, Kage could sense the school grounds—sprawling, ancient, humming with residual cursed energy from decades of training and combat. But more than that, he sensed people. Students. Other sorcerers. Cursed energy signatures that ranged from mundane to...
His attention caught on one signature in particular.
It was like standing next to the sun.
"Ah," Yaga said, following his gaze—or lack thereof. "You felt Satoru, didn't you?"
"That's a person?" Kage's voice was flat. "That much cursed energy should be a Special Grade curse, not a student."
"Satoru Gojo. Born with the Six Eyes and the Limitless technique. First person in four hundred years to have both." Yaga's tone was carefully neutral. "He's... intense. But talented. You'll meet him soon enough."
"Can't wait," Kage muttered, already dreading it.
The dorm room was small, sparse, and infinitely better than anything Kage had at the Zen'in estate.
He ran his fingers along the walls, mapping the space. Wooden floor, tatami mats, a futon in the corner, a desk by the window. Simple. Clean. His.
For the first time in his life, Kage had a door that locked from the inside.
He was testing the lock mechanism—memorizing the click and resistance—when he felt it again. That overwhelming cursed energy signature, now moving directly toward his room at a casual walking pace.
The door opened without knocking.
"So you're the new guy!"
The voice was bright, confident, and utterly unbothered by social conventions. Kage turned, his empty eye sockets directed at the intruder with cold precision.
"That's my room you just walked into. Without permission."
"Technically, all the rooms belong to the school, so it's our room that I walked into." A pause. "Wow, they weren't kidding about the no-eyes thing. That's actually pretty cool. Creepy, but cool. Can you really not see anything, or is it like echolocation? Oh, or maybe you see cursed energy? That would make sense given your—"
"Get out."
Satoru Gojo, age ten, blessed with infinite power and apparently zero boundaries, grinned. Kage couldn't see it, but he could feel it in the shift of the boy's cursed energy—amused, curious, completely unrepentant.
"Not very friendly, are you?"
"I'm not here to make friends."
"Good, because I wasn't offering." Gojo stepped fully into the room, and Kage tensed. The cursed energy radiating from this boy was absurd—vast and dense and controlled with the kind of precision that took most sorcerers decades to develop. "I'm here to figure out if you're actually strong or if the Zen'in Clan is just hyping you up because they're embarrassed about producing another dud."
The insult was casual, throwaway, but it hit like a physical blow. Kage's hands clenched.
"Another dud. Like Toji?"
"See, you get it!" Gojo's enthusiasm was grating. "Everyone talks about the Zen'in Clan like they're so impressive, but half of you are just regular sorcerers with fancy names, and the other half are Heavenly Restriction cases who can't even—" He stopped, reading something in Kage's posture. "Oh. You're related to him, aren't you?"
"Cousin."
"Awkward."
"Not particularly. I've never met him." Kage forced his hands to unclench. "And if you're done insulting my bloodline, I'd appreciate it if you left. Some of us are trying to unpack."
"You have one bag."
"Then it should be quick."
Gojo laughed—bright and sharp and genuine. "Okay, I like you. You're mean. Most people are too scared of me to be mean."
"Most people," Kage said slowly, "probably have survival instincts."
"Probably." Gojo's cursed energy shifted, and suddenly the air pressure in the room changed. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but Kage felt it immediately—space itself bending around the other boy like reality was negotiable. "So. Wanna fight?"
"What?"
"You heard me. Let's fight. Nothing serious, just a sparring match. I want to see what you can do."
Kage considered. Every instinct honed by years of Ogi's training screamed that this was a terrible idea. Gojo's cursed energy alone could probably level the building. Fighting him would be suicidal.
But another part of him—the part that had survived the training pits, that had stood up bloodied and broken just to spite his father—was curious.
"Where?"
Gojo's grin widened. "Follow me."
The training grounds were empty, a wide dirt circle surrounded by wooden posts marked with barrier talismans. Kage felt them activate as he stepped inside—containment seals, designed to keep cursed energy from spilling out and alerting the whole school.
Smart. Whoever designed this place expected students to get violent.
"Rules are simple," Gojo said, standing opposite him with his hands in his pockets. Casual. Confident. Infuriating. "No killing, no permanent damage, first one to surrender loses. Sound good?"
"Define permanent damage."
"Use your judgment." Gojo's cursed energy spiked. "Oh, and try not to bore me. I've been waiting for someone interesting all year."
The fight started before Kage could respond.
Gojo moved first—a blur of motion that closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. Kage threw himself backward, feeling the displacement of air where Gojo's fist would have connected with his face.
Fast. Impossibly fast for a ten-year-old.
Kage's shadow rippled.
It started as nothing—just the natural shadow his body cast in the afternoon sun. But as Kage poured cursed energy into it, the shadow grew, expanding like spilled ink, darkening until it looked less like an absence of light and more like a hole in reality itself.
Gojo skidded to a stop. "Oh, that's creepy. I love it."
The shadow lunged.
It moved like a living thing, tendrils of darkness reaching for Gojo with surprising speed. The white-haired boy danced backward, his movements fluid and precise, and Kage realized with growing frustration that Gojo wasn't even using a technique yet—just pure physical ability and cursed energy reinforcement.
"Come on," Gojo called. "Is that all the Zen'in Clan's prodigy can do? Wiggle some shadows around?"
Anger flared hot in Kage's chest. He channeled it, pushing more cursed energy into the shadow until it solidified—not tentacles now, but a solid mass that erupted from the ground like a spear of pure darkness.
It should have impaled Gojo through the chest.
Instead, it stopped.
Centimeters from Gojo's uniform, the shadow hit something invisible and stopped dead. Kage felt it through his technique—an infinite space that shouldn't exist, compressed into nothing, creating an impassable barrier between Gojo and everything else.
"Infinity," Gojo said, and his voice carried something new now. Respect. "Automatic defense. Anything that tries to reach me has to cross infinite space first. Cool, right?"
Kage pulled his shadow back, analyzing. If Gojo was protected by infinite space, then physical attacks were useless. He needed something that could bypass distance entirely, or—
Wait.
Kage's shadow pooled at his feet, then sank down, disappearing into the ground itself. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then Gojo's own shadow moved.
It wasn't much—just a flicker, a twist—but suddenly Gojo's feet were pinned. His shadow had become solid, locking him in place like chains.
"Oh, that's clever!" Gojo looked genuinely delighted. "You're using my shadow as an anchor point. Infinity protects me from external threats, but my shadow is technically part of me, so—"
He stopped talking and simply flexed his cursed energy.
The shadow bindings shattered like glass. Gojo's raw power output was too much—Kage's technique couldn't maintain cohesion against that kind of force.
"Nice try though," Gojo said. "You almost had me."
Kage was breathing hard now, sweat dripping despite the cool air. He'd used more cursed energy in two minutes than he normally did in an hour of training. Gojo, meanwhile, looked barely winded.
The gap between them was massive.
But gaps could be crossed. Kage had learned that in the Zen'in training pits. You didn't need to be stronger—you needed to be smarter, faster, more willing to do whatever it took to win.
His shadow expanded again, but this time in all directions. It covered the training ground in seconds, plunging everything into premature twilight. Within his shadow's domain, Kage could feel everything—every grain of dirt, every shift in air pressure, every movement Gojo made.
And Gojo, for the first time, looked uncertain.
"Darkness technique? No, it's more than that." He was analyzing, those Six Eyes processing information faster than Kage could think. "You're not just creating shadow—you're manipulating the absence of light itself. That's... actually really powerful. If you develop it right, you could probably counter most cursed techniques."
"Are you going to keep talking," Kage said, "or are we fighting?"
Gojo's grin returned. "Both. I'm a multitasker."
What followed was less a fight and more a learning experience.
Kage attacked from every angle—shadows rising from the ground, dropping from above, solidifying into weapons and barriers and chains. He used everything Ogi had taught him about combat, every dirty trick he'd learned in the training pits.
Gojo dodged it all with infuriating ease.
But—and this was important—he wasn't bored anymore. Those Six Eyes tracked every move Kage made, analyzing, cataloguing, learning. When Kage tried the shadow-binding trick again, Gojo was ready, jumping before his shadow could be pinned. When Kage created a wall of solid darkness, Gojo simply walked around it.
They moved through the training ground like dancers in a choreographed routine, neither landing a solid hit, both pushing each other to think faster, move smarter, adapt quicker.
"You're good," Gojo said, breathing slightly harder now. "Not great yet, but good. Your technique is solid, your tactics are smart, and you don't hesitate. That's rare."
"Thanks," Kage said dryly. "Your approval means everything to me."
"It should! I'm—"
"Satoru! What the hell are you doing?!"
The fight stopped.
A new presence entered Kage's awareness—another student, cursed energy signature powerful but controlled, radiating concern and exasperation in equal measure.
"Suguru!" Gojo waved cheerfully. "I'm testing the new kid. Wanna join?"
"You're supposed to be helping me with homework."
"Homework is boring. This is educational."
Kage let his shadow technique dissipate, the darkness receding until normal afternoon light returned. He was exhausted—muscles trembling, cursed energy reserves depleted by at least half. Gojo looked barely winded.
The gap was humbling.
"You must be Kage Zenin." The new arrival—Suguru Geto, Kage assumed—had a gentle voice that didn't match his obvious strength. "I'm Suguru. Sorry about Satoru. He gets... excited about strong opponents."
"I noticed."
"I'm standing right here," Gojo protested.
"We know," Suguru and Kage said simultaneously, then paused, surprised by the synchronization.
Gojo laughed. "See? You're already ganging up on me. This is why I need more rivals—everyone keeps teaming up against the strongest one."
"Maybe," Suguru suggested mildly, "people would team up against you less if you didn't call yourself the strongest one."
"But I am the strongest one."
"Humility, Satoru. Look it up."
Kage listened to their banter with growing confusion. These two were clearly close—the easy back-and-forth, the comfortable insults, the way their cursed energies moved in sync without conscious effort. It was friendship, real and uncomplicated.
He'd never had that.
"You okay?" Suguru asked, turning his attention to Kage. "You're bleeding."
Kage touched his face, felt wetness. Must have scraped something during the fight without noticing. Pain had become background noise years ago.
"It's fine."
"No, it's not." Suguru frowned. "Come on. Shoko can patch you up."
"Shoko?"
"Our healer," Gojo supplied. "And before you ask, yes, we only have one healer for the entire school, and yes, that's insane, and yes, she's already tired of us. You'll love her."
The infirmary smelled of antiseptic and something else—cursed energy with a specific quality Kage had never encountered before. It felt restorative, like standing in sunlight after days in darkness.
"Another one?" A girl's voice, flat and unimpressed. "Satoru, I told you to stop picking fights with new students."
"I didn't pick a fight! I offered a friendly sparring match!"
"You held him upside-down by his ankles last week."
"That was one time."
Kage stood in the doorway, listening to them argue, trying to figure out if he'd accidentally joined a insane asylum instead of a jujutsu school.
"You must be Kage." The girl—Shoko Ieiri—approached with the tired professionalism of someone twice her age. "Sit down. Let me see."
Kage sat. "It's really just a scratch."
"Uh-huh." Shoko's hands glowed with gentle green light as she examined his face. Her cursed energy was different from anything he'd felt before—not aggressive, not destructive, but mending. Like watching broken pottery reassemble itself.
Reverse Cursed Technique. The ability to invert cursed energy and use it for healing instead of harm. Kage had heard of it, never seen it, definitely never felt it applied to himself.
"Your cursed energy control is good," Shoko commented, her fingers tracing the scrape with clinical precision. "Really good, actually. You've been trained?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"The Zen'in manner of speaking, which means they probably threw you at curses until you figured it out." She pulled back, the scrape completely healed. "You've got a lot of scars. Old ones."
"Training accidents."
"Those aren't accidents." Her eyes—brown, sharp, missing nothing—met his blindfold with uncomfortable directness. "Those are abuse patterns."
The silence that followed was thick enough to cut.
Gojo shifted uncomfortably. Suguru looked troubled. And Kage sat very still, trying to figure out how this ten-year-old girl had seen through five years of carefully maintained lies in under two minutes.
"It's fine," he said finally.
"No, it's not." Shoko's voice was gentle but firm. "But you're here now. So it's over. Okay?"
Something in Kage's chest—something he hadn't known was clenched tight—loosened slightly.
"Okay."
"Good." Shoko turned to Gojo. "And you. Stop picking fights with traumatized kids."
"I didn't know he was traumatized!"
"Everyone who comes from a clan is traumatized. It's basically a requirement." She shooed them toward the door. "Go away. All of you. I have actual work to do."
They found themselves standing in the hallway, three ten-year-olds with enough collective power to level a city block, shuffling awkwardly like normal children caught misbehaving.
"So," Gojo said eventually. "Lunch?"
"Is food all you think about?" Suguru asked.
"No. I also think about getting stronger, annoying people, and food. In that order."
Despite everything—the exhaustion, the lingering pain, the sheer surreality of the situation—Kage felt his mouth twitch.
Almost a smile.
"Lunch sounds good."
The cafeteria was loud, chaotic, and overwhelming to Kage's enhanced senses. Dozens of students talking over each other, the clatter of dishes, the smell of various foods mixing into an olfactory assault. He wanted to leave immediately.
Gojo grabbed his arm and dragged him to a corner table.
"Here. Quiet spot. You look like you're about to bolt."
"I'm fine."
"You're white-knuckling the table." Gojo slid a tray in front of him. "Eat. You burned a lot of cursed energy. Your body needs to replenish."
Kage had never had someone else get food for him. In the Zen'in estate, you ate what you were given, when you were given it, and you didn't complain. The concept of someone caring about whether he ate enough was foreign.
He picked up the chopsticks. Ate mechanically. The food was good—infinitely better than clan rations—but he barely tasted it.
"You're quiet," Suguru observed, sitting across from them. "Satoru said you were sarcastic."
"I'm conserving energy for when it matters."
"See? Sarcastic." Gojo was demolishing his second helping. "So, Kage. What's your deal? Why'd you come to Jujutsu High instead of staying with the clan?"
"Same reason most people leave their families. They were toxic and I wanted out."
"Fair." Gojo's acceptance was casual, like family trauma was just another Tuesday. Maybe at this school, it was. "What's your technique called? The shadow thing?"
"Abyss."
"Edgy. I love it." Gojo leaned forward, those Six Eyes glowing faintly behind his sunglasses. "Can you do more than just manipulate shadows? Like, can you store things in them? Travel through them? Create constructs?"
"Some of that. I'm still developing it."
"That's so cool," Gojo said with genuine enthusiasm. "My technique is all about space manipulation. Limitless lets me control space at an atomic level, but it's complicated and my brain hurts when I think about it too hard. Your technique seems more intuitive."
"More intuitive," Kage repeated. "You can control space at an atomic level and you think shadows are intuitive?"
"Relatively speaking."
Suguru laughed. "Don't try to understand Satoru's logic. We've been friends for two years and I still can't follow it."
"Two years?" Kage did the math. "You've been here since you were eight?"
"Seven," Suguru corrected. "They recruit early when you show potential. You?"
"Ten. Just arrived today."
"Welcome to Tokyo Jujutsu High, where childhood ends and trauma begins." Gojo raised his juice box in mock toast. "May we all die honorably in service to a society that will immediately forget our names."
"Satoru," Suguru said wearily. "We talked about your nihilism."
"I'm not nihilistic, I'm realistic."
"You're ten."
"Age is just a number, Suguru. Wisdom is eternal."
Kage listened to them bicker with growing fascination. These weren't just classmates—they were friends. Real ones. The kind who could insult each other and laugh about it, who knew each other's buttons and pushed them anyway, who existed in each other's spaces without it feeling like warfare.
He'd never had that.
Didn't know if he wanted it.
(He absolutely wanted it.)
"You're staring," Gojo said suddenly, turning to Kage. "Or, well, you're facing me really intensely, which is the blind equivalent of staring, I guess."
"I wasn't—"
"It's fine. People stare at me all the time. Usually because I'm devastatingly handsome, but I'll accept 'confused by my brilliance' as a reason too."
"I was not staring because of your—" Kage stopped. Realized Gojo was messing with him. "You're annoying."
"I've been told." Gojo's grin was audible. "But I'm also right most of the time, so people put up with it."
"Those people are saints."
"I know, right? Suguru especially. He's basically a angel for tolerating me."
"I'm sitting right here," Suguru protested weakly.
They fell into comfortable silence, eating and existing in each other's space. Kage felt the other students' cursed energy signatures moving around the cafeteria—some curious about the new arrival, most ignoring him. It was strange, being somewhere he wasn't automatically a threat or a disappointment.
Just another student.
Almost normal.
"Hey, Kage?" Gojo's voice had lost its teasing edge. "That thing you did in the fight, where you turned my shadow solid? That was really smart. Most people try to overpower Infinity. You tried to bypass it. I like that."
It was, Kage realized, a genuine compliment. From someone who probably didn't give them often.
"Thanks."
"We should spar again sometime. When you're not half-dead from cursed energy depletion." Gojo stood, stretching. "But now Suguru's glaring at me, which means I actually have to do that homework. See you around, Kage Zenin."
He left with characteristic chaos—nearly knocking over two other students, stealing someone's dessert on the way out, and somehow still making it look graceful.
Suguru stood more sedately. "Don't let him bully you into constant fights. Satoru thinks everything is solved through combat."
"Isn't it?" Kage asked, genuinely curious.
"No. Sometimes things are solved through conversation, understanding, and emotional intelligence." Suguru smiled. "But I guess if you're from the Zen'in Clan, you wouldn't know that."
He left before Kage could respond.
Alone at the table, Kage sat in the ambient noise of the cafeteria and tried to process everything that had happened in the last four hours.
He'd fought one of the most powerful sorcerers in Japan to a standstill (kind of).
He'd been healed by a ten-year-old with better medical instincts than most adults.
He'd eaten lunch with people who might become something like friends.
The Zen'in estate had never prepared him for this.
Evening. The dorm hallway.
Kage found Yaga waiting outside his room, holding something wrapped in cloth.
"How was your first day?"
"Violent. But informative."
Yaga's laugh was rough but genuine. "Yeah, that's Satoru for you. He's... a lot. But he means well. Usually."
"Is he always like that?"
"Always. Sometimes worse." Yaga handed over the cloth bundle. "This is for you. I was going to give it to you tomorrow, but I figured after today, you might want it now."
Kage unwrapped it carefully. Fabric. High-quality, black, slightly different texture than his current blindfold.
"It's woven with cursed energy-resistant thread," Yaga explained. "Won't interfere with your sensing abilities, but it's more durable than normal cloth. Most of our students who hide their eyes prefer them."
"There are other students who—"
"No. But there might be someday." Yaga's hand landed on Kage's shoulder, gentle and grounding. "You're not the only person at this school who's different, Kage. And different isn't the same as broken. Remember that."
He left Kage holding the blindfold, standing in the empty hallway, trying very hard not to feel anything.
(Failing.)
Back in his room, Kage sat on the futon and held the blindfold up to the light he couldn't see. Ran his fingers along the weaving, felt the careful craftsmanship, the intentional design.
Someone had made this specifically for him.
Not as a tool to be used. Not as a weapon to be sharpened. As a person to be accommodated.
He tied it around his head, replacing his old one. The fit was perfect. The material was soft against his skin. And when he extended his cursed energy senses, they flowed through the fabric without resistance.
Better than perfect. Thoughtful.
Kage lay back on his futon, exhausted in ways that had nothing to do with physical exertion. His first day at Tokyo Jujutsu High had been overwhelming, intense, and completely unlike anything he'd experienced before.
The Zen'in estate had taught him that strength was survival.
In one day, these people had suggested that strength could be something else.
He wasn't sure he believed them yet.
But—and this was the dangerous part—he wanted to.
Outside his window, Tokyo glowed with artificial light. Somewhere in the school, Gojo was probably driving Suguru crazy. Shoko was probably treating some idiot who'd tried to show off. Yaga was probably dealing with paperwork and wondering why he'd chosen teaching over retirement.
And Kage lay in his room, blindfold on, door locked, finally safe for the first time in his life.
Tomorrow would bring more training. More lessons. More chances to prove himself or fail spectacularly.
But tonight, he was just a ten-year-old boy who'd survived another day.
That felt like enough.
The next morning. Training grounds.
"Again!"
Kage's shadow struck like a whip, solidifying mid-arc to catch Gojo in the ribs. It should have worked. It didn't.
Infinity caught the attack centimeters from contact, and Gojo danced backward with that infuriating grin.
"Better! You're getting faster! But still not fast enough to—"
Kage's second shadow tendril came from below, erupting from Gojo's own shadow to bind his ankles.
Gojo toppled backward with a surprised yelp.
For one glorious second, Kage had actually landed a hit.
Then Gojo just laughed, broke the binding with raw cursed energy output, and flipped back to his feet like gravity was optional.
"OKAY, now that was cool! Do that in a real fight and you'd actually hurt someone!"
"I'm trying to hurt you."
"Aww, I'm touched. Most people wait at least a week before trying to murder me."
Suguru, watching from the sidelines, called out: "You brought it on yourself, Satoru!"
"Did not!"
"You challenged him to a rematch at breakfast."
"That's called being friendly!"
"That's called having no boundaries!"
Kage let his shadows dissipate, breathing hard. They'd been sparring for twenty minutes and he was already close to his limit. Gojo looked like he'd barely warmed up.
The gap was still massive. But yesterday, Kage couldn't have touched Gojo at all. Today, he'd managed one successful hit.
Progress.
"You know what your problem is?" Gojo asked, walking over. "You're thinking too hard. Your technique is good, your strategy is solid, but you're always three steps ahead in your mind, which means you're not reacting to now."
"That's called tactical thinking."
"That's called overthinking. Sometimes you just gotta feel it." Gojo poked him in the chest. "Like, where's your cursed energy right now?"
"In my core, circulating through my—"
"Wrong. It's everywhere. In the air, in the ground, in you. You're not separate from it—you're part of it. Once you understand that, your technique will stop being something you do and start being something you are."
Kage stared at him. "That's... actually profound."
"I know, right? Sometimes I surprise myself." Gojo's grin returned. "But seriously, try it. Stop thinking about your shadows as tools. Think of them as extensions of yourself."
"That's what I've been doing."
"No, you've been controlling them. That's different from being them." Gojo sat down cross-legged in the dirt. "Here, watch."
His cursed energy shifted—not aggressively, just changing. The space around him rippled like heat waves, bending and flexing in ways that made Kage's head hurt to perceive.
"Infinity isn't something I activate," Gojo explained. "It's automatic. It's always there because it's part of how I exist in the world. Your Abyss technique should be the same—not something you turn on and off, but something that's always present."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is at first. But then it becomes natural." Gojo stood, dusted off his pants. "Practice it. And next time we fight, I want you to hit me without thinking about it."
He left with Suguru, the two of them bickering about lunch plans.
Kage stood alone in the training ground, considering Gojo's words.
Stop controlling. Start being.
His shadow pooled at his feet, dark and familiar. He'd spent years learning to manipulate it, shape it, weaponize it. But Gojo was right—he always thought of it as separate. A tool to be wielded.
What if it wasn't?
Kage closed his eyes—a useless gesture, but habits died hard—and listened to his cursed energy. Not analyzing it. Not directing it. Just feeling it flow through him and into the shadow at his feet.
The shadow rippled.
Not because he commanded it. Because he wanted it to.
The difference was subtle but profound.
For the next hour, Kage practiced. Not fighting. Not training. Just existing with his technique, letting the boundary between self and shadow blur until he wasn't sure where one ended and the other began.
When Shoko found him later, he was sitting in the center of a pool of living shadow that moved with his breathing.
"That's new," she observed. "Also slightly horrifying."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome." She sat down beside him, unconcerned by the darkness lapping at her shoes. "Satoru said you're making progress."
"Satoru says a lot of things."
"True. But he's usually right about combat stuff." Shoko pulled out a cigarette—where did a ten-year-old get cigarettes?—and lit it with a spark of cursed energy. "You settling in okay?"
"I've been here one day."
"Long enough to know if you hate it."
Kage considered. The training was intense but fair. The other students were strange but not hostile. No one had tried to poison him or throw him in a pit with a curse.
"I don't hate it."
"High praise." Shoko's smile was gentle. "For what it's worth, I think you'll do fine here. You've got the skill, the drive, and the trauma. That's basically the trifecta for jujutsu sorcerers."
"That's depressing."
"Welcome to our world." She stood, stretched. "Come on. Yaga wants to do proper technique assessment. Try not to accidentally kill anyone."
"I make no promises."
They walked back toward the main building together, Kage's shadow trailing behind him like a loyal pet. For the first time since leaving the Zen'in estate, he felt something that might have been hope.
Maybe Tokyo Jujutsu High could be different.
Maybe he could be different here.
It was a dangerous thought. Hope always was.
.
Maybe Tokyo Jujutsu High could be different.
Maybe he could be different here.
It was a dangerous thought. Hope always was.
Yaga's office. Afternoon.
"Sit."
Kage sat. The office was small, cluttered with paperwork and cursed tools in various states of repair. Yaga's cursed energy signature was steady, controlled—the mark of someone who'd mastered their technique decades ago and now used it with muscle memory efficiency.
"I've been reviewing your file from the Zen'in Clan." Yaga's tone was carefully neutral. "It's... sparse. Birth date, cursed energy measurements, technique classification. Nothing about your training methods or educational background."
"The Zen'in Clan believes in practical education."
"The Zen'in Clan," Yaga said slowly, "believes in survival of the fittest. Which works great for producing strong sorcerers and terrible for producing functional human beings." He set the file down. "Tell me about your technique. In your own words."
Kage shifted, uncomfortable with the direct attention. "Abyss. I manipulate darkness—shadows, absence of light, whatever you want to call it. I can solidify it, use it as a weapon or defense, store objects inside it. I'm still developing the limits."
"Can you demonstrate? Small scale."
Kage extended his hand. His shadow rose from the floor, coalescing into a sphere of pure darkness that hovered above his palm. He compressed it, expanded it, shifted it through solid and liquid states with the ease of someone who'd been doing this for years.
"Impressive control," Yaga observed. "How long have you been able to manifest your technique?"
"Since I was five. It activated during a training exercise."
"Training exercise." Yaga's voice hardened. "Is that what they're calling it?"
Kage said nothing. The sphere of darkness rotated slowly above his palm.
"Kage, I need you to understand something." Yaga leaned forward, his expression serious. "What happened to you in that clan—that wasn't training. That was abuse. And while I can't change your past, I can damn well make sure it doesn't define your future here."
"It made me strong."
"It made you survive. That's different." Yaga stood, walked to the window. "Strength that comes from trauma is brittle. Real strength comes from understanding, discipline, and choice. That's what we teach here."
The darkness in Kage's hand flickered, responding to his emotional turbulence.
"I don't know how to be anything else."
"Then you'll learn." Yaga turned back, his expression softening slightly. "You've got talent, Kage. Raw, untrained, dangerous talent. But talent alone isn't enough. You need to learn control—not just of your technique, but of yourself. Your emotions, your reactions, your relationships."
"I'm not good at relationships."
"No kidding. You threatened to kill Satoru twice yesterday."
"He deserved it."
Yaga's laugh was unexpected and genuine. "Yeah, he probably did. But here's the thing—Satoru's going to be one of the most powerful sorcerers in history. Maybe the most powerful. And right now, at ten years old, he's figuring out what kind of person he wants to be. Whether he uses that power to help people or just to satisfy his own ego." He fixed Kage with a meaningful look. "The same goes for you."
Kage let the darkness dissipate. "What if I don't want to help people?"
"Then why did you come here instead of staying with the Zen'in Clan? They would've been happy to turn you into a weapon." Yaga crossed his arms. "You came here because you wanted something different. You just don't know what yet."
The accuracy of that statement hit harder than any physical blow.
"I want to be strong," Kage said finally. "Strong enough that no one can control me. Use me. Throw me away when I'm not useful anymore."
"That's a start." Yaga smiled. "Now we just need to figure out what you'll do with that strength once you have it."
Evening. The dorm common room.
Kage found Gojo and Suguru sprawled across the floor, homework scattered around them like casualties of war.
"I don't get it," Gojo was saying. "If cursed energy comes from negative emotions, why do we use math to calculate output? Emotions aren't mathematical."
"Everything's mathematical if you think about it hard enough," Suguru countered. "Emotions are just chemical reactions, which means they follow patterns, which means—"
"Which means you're both overthinking a simple problem."
They turned to find Kage standing in the doorway.
"Oh good, a tiebreaker!" Gojo gestured dramatically. "Kage, cursed energy: mathematical or emotional?"
"Both. Obviously." Kage sat down, examining their homework. "Cursed energy comes from negative emotions, but its manipulation requires mathematical precision. You can't have one without the other."
Silence.
Then Suguru laughed. "He's right. We've been arguing about a false dichotomy for twenty minutes."
"I hate it when other people are right," Gojo muttered. "It's very inconvenient."
"Get used to disappointment," Kage suggested.
"Oh, I like this version of you. This is the sarcastic version Shoko promised me." Gojo sprawled backward, staring at the ceiling. "Hey, Kage, random question: what's it like not being able to see?"
"Satoru!" Suguru's voice was sharp. "You can't just—"
"It's fine." Kage surprised himself by meaning it. "Honestly? I don't know. I've never seen anything, so I don't know what I'm missing. It's like asking what it's like to not have wings—you don't miss what you've never had."
"But you can still perceive things, right? Through cursed energy?"
"Yeah. Better than most people with eyes, actually." Kage tilted his head, focusing his senses on Gojo. "Like right now, I can tell you're genuinely curious, not mocking. Your cursed energy signature shifts when you're being serious versus when you're being an ass."
"I'm never an ass."
"You're frequently an ass," Suguru and Kage said in unison.
Gojo sat up, delighted. "You guys are ganging up on me again! This is amazing! I've always wanted people to team up against me!"
"That's the weirdest flex I've ever heard," Kage observed.
"I'm a weird guy." Gojo's grin was audible. "But seriously, your sensory abilities are incredible. You should develop them further. Like, have you tried sensing cursed energy from a distance? Or through barriers?"
"A little. Why?"
"Because if you can do that, you'd be perfect for reconnaissance missions. Most sorcerers need visual line of sight, but you could map entire areas just by feeling cursed energy flow." Gojo was getting excited now, talking faster. "And combined with your Abyss technique, you could create perfect ambushes. Hide in shadows, sense enemy positions, strike from complete darkness. That's terrifying. I love it."
Kage blinked behind his blindfold. "That's... actually a good idea."
"I have those sometimes." Gojo flopped back down. "Suguru, write that down. Kage admitted I had a good idea. I want it documented."
"I'm not your secretary."
"You could be. I'd pay you in compliments and stolen desserts."
"That's not a real currency."
"It is in my economy."
Kage listened to them bicker, something warm and unfamiliar settling in his chest. This was what Yaga had talked about—functional relationships, casual friendship, the kind of bond that didn't require blood or violence to maintain.
He'd never had that in the Zen'in estate.
Never thought he could.
"Hey, Kage?" Suguru's voice was quieter now, more serious. "I wanted to ask you something."
"Okay."
"Why did you really leave the Zen'in Clan? I know you said they were toxic, but that's true for most major clans. What made you actually leave?"
Kage considered the question. He could deflect, make a joke, shut down the conversation. That's what he would've done yesterday.
But something about Suguru's genuine curiosity—not prying, just wanting to understand—made him answer honestly.
"I didn't want to become what they wanted me to be."
"Which was?"
"A weapon. Useful, obedient, controllable." Kage's hands clenched. "My father spent five years trying to break me into the perfect tool. And I realized if I stayed, eventually he'd succeed. So I left."
The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable.
"That's brave," Suguru said finally. "Leaving family is hard, even when they're terrible."
"It didn't feel brave. It felt necessary."
"That's what bravery is." Gojo's voice had lost its usual playfulness. "Doing the necessary thing even when it's terrifying. Most people can't do that."
Kage turned toward him, surprised. "That's surprisingly deep, Gojo."
"I contain multitudes." The playfulness returned. "Also, I'm hungry. Who wants to raid the kitchen?"
"It's nine PM," Suguru protested. "We're not supposed to—"
"Which is exactly why we should. Come on, Suguru. Live dangerously."
"I live dangerously every time I agree to be your friend."
"Exactly! You're a natural risk-taker!"
They stood, already moving toward the door, and Kage found himself standing too. Following. Choosing to be part of whatever chaos they were about to create.
"You coming?" Gojo asked, turning back.
"Yeah," Kage said. "I'm coming."
The kitchen. Midnight raid in progress.
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
Suguru kept watch by the door while Gojo raided the refrigerator with the efficiency of someone who'd done this many times before. Kage stood in the middle, his sensory abilities mapping every cursed energy signature in the building.
"We're clear," he reported. "Closest person is three floors up. Probably Yaga in his office."
"See? Kage gets it." Gojo emerged with his arms full of ingredients. "Teamwork makes the dream work."
"The dream being... midnight snacks?"
"The dream being friendship." Gojo set everything on the counter. "Now watch as I create the perfect sandwich."
What followed was less cooking and more controlled chaos. Gojo assembled sandwiches with the same intense focus he brought to combat training. Suguru provided commentary that ranged from helpful to sarcastic. And Kage, despite his better judgment, found himself laughing.
Actually laughing.
When was the last time he'd done that?
"You have a weird laugh," Gojo observed, not unkindly. "Like you're not sure if you're allowed to."
"I'm not used to it."
"Then we'll have to fix that." Gojo handed him a sandwich. "Here. Sustenance for the soul."
Kage took it, felt the warmth of fresh food, the care put into making it. It was stupid to get emotional over a sandwich, but the Zen'in estate had never made him anything. Food was fuel, distributed with mechanical efficiency.
This was different.
This was kindness.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
"Don't mention it." Gojo's voice was softer now. "That's what friends do, right? Take care of each other?"
"Is that what we are? Friends?"
"Well, yeah." Gojo said it like it was obvious. "You haven't tried to actually kill me, you laugh at my jokes sometimes, and you called me an idiot at least three times today. That's basically friendship."
"That's a very low bar."
"I have low standards." Gojo grinned. "Lucky for you."
They ate in comfortable silence, three kids who'd found each other in a school designed to train them for death. Outside, Tokyo slept, unaware of the curses that prowled its streets or the sorcerers who fought them.
But in this moment, in this kitchen, there were just three ten-year-olds stealing food and pretending life was normal.
"We should do this again," Suguru said eventually. "The midnight raid thing. Make it a tradition."
"I'm in," Gojo agreed immediately.
They both looked at Kage.
He thought about the Zen'in estate. The training pits. The isolation. Five years of survival and nothing else. Then he thought about today—sparring with Gojo, healing with Shoko, talking with Yaga, and now this. Sitting in a kitchen with people who actually wanted him around.
"Yeah," Kage said. "I'm in."
Later. Kage's room.
He lay on his futon, blindfold removed, staring at a ceiling he couldn't see. His body was exhausted—two days of constant sensory input, social interaction, and emotional processing had drained him more thoroughly than any training session.
But he felt... good?
Was this what normal felt like?
His shadow pooled on the ceiling above him, responding to his unconscious direction. Since Gojo's advice, it had been easier to manifest. Less like controlling and more like being. The shadow was part of him now, as natural as breathing.
Tomorrow would bring more training. More lessons. More chances to prove he belonged here or wash out spectacularly.
But tonight, he had friends.
Real ones.
The kind who broke rules with you at midnight and called you on your bullshit and saw your scars without flinching.
Kage's hand rose, touching the space where his eyes should have been. The void that had defined him since birth. For ten years, it had been proof of his defectiveness, his worthlessness, his failure to be what the Zen'in Clan wanted.
But maybe here, it could be something else.
Maybe the void could be his—not a weakness to overcome, but a strength to embrace.
His shadow rippled, and for just a moment, Kage swore he could see it. Not with eyes, but with something deeper. The cursed energy that comprised his technique, responding to his will, becoming an extension of himself rather than a tool to be wielded.
Stop controlling. Start being.
Gojo's words echoed in his mind.
Kage closed his non-existent eyes and let his consciousness sink into the shadow. Not directing it. Just existing with it. Feeling the boundaries between self and technique dissolve until he wasn't sure where Kage Zenin ended and Abyss began.
The darkness welcomed him home.
Outside his window, the first hints of dawn painted the sky in colors he would never see. But Kage felt them anyway—the shift in temperature, the change in air pressure, the way cursed energy moved differently in daylight than darkness.
He was ten years old, blind, traumatized, and utterly alone in the world.
Except he wasn't alone anymore.
He had Gojo's infuriating confidence, Suguru's philosophical challenges, Shoko's gentle competence, and Yaga's unexpected wisdom.
He had a school that wanted to teach him rather than break him.
He had a future that wasn't written in the Zen'in Clan's ledger.
And he had his shadow—his Abyss—which was finally becoming what it was always meant to be.
Not a curse.
A gift.
Kage smiled—small, tentative, unsure—and let himself drift toward sleep.
Tomorrow, he would continue becoming whoever he was meant to be.
But tonight, being Kage Zenin, student at Tokyo Jujutsu High, friend to idiots and healers alike, was enough.
More than enough.
Perfect.