The infirmary at three in the morning smelled of disinfectant and something Kage couldn't quite place—copper, maybe, or iron. Blood that hadn't been fully cleaned. Residual cursed energy from injuries that went deeper than flesh.
Shoko Ieiri sat at her desk, a cigarette burning forgotten in the ashtray, her hands glowing with gentle green light as she practiced reverse cursed technique on a dead plant.
"You're early," she said without looking up. "Or late. Hard to tell with your sleep schedule."
Kage stood in the doorway, debating whether to retreat. He'd been coming to the infirmary for a week now, ever since Shoko had casually mentioned she could teach him RCT if he was interested. The Zen'in Clan had never bothered—healing was seen as weakness, reliance on something other than pure strength.
But Kage was beginning to understand that the clan had been wrong about a lot of things.
"I can't sleep," he admitted.
"Nightmares?"
"Memories."
"Same thing, usually." Shoko gestured to the chair across from her. "Sit. Might as well make yourself useful if you're going to haunt my infirmary like a ghost."
Kage sat. The plant on Shoko's desk was struggling back to life, leaves unfurling with unnatural speed as her cursed energy knit together damaged cells.
"How do you do that?" he asked. "Invert cursed energy. Everything I know about cursed techniques says they're inherently destructive."
"They are. That's the point." Shoko's concentration didn't waver. "Cursed energy comes from negative emotions—fear, anger, hatred. It's designed to harm. But reverse cursed technique takes that harm and inverts it. Negative times negative equals positive. Basic math."
"That's not how cursed energy works."
"It's exactly how it works. You just have to change your perspective." The plant finished healing, green and healthy now. Shoko pulled her hands back, finally looking at him. "You want to learn?"
"Is it difficult?"
"Incredibly. Most sorcerers never manage it." She lit a new cigarette from the old one. "But you've got something most people don't—perfect cursed energy control. I noticed it when I healed you after your fight with Satoru. Your energy flows like water, precise and responsive. That's rare."
Kage flexed his fingers, feeling his cursed energy circulate through his body. He'd always assumed everyone controlled their energy this precisely. The Zen'in training pits had demanded it—sloppy energy manipulation meant death.
"How do I start?"
Shoko reached into a drawer, produced a dead mouse. "By killing something. Then bringing it back."
Week one. Failure.
The mouse stayed dead.
Kage poured cursed energy into the tiny corpse, trying to follow Shoko's instructions. Invert the energy. Make destruction become restoration. Negative times negative equals positive.
Nothing happened.
"You're forcing it," Shoko observed from her chair. "RCT isn't about power output—it's about intention. You have to want to heal, not just command it to happen."
"I am wanting it to heal."
"No, you're wanting to succeed at learning RCT. That's different." She tapped ash into the tray. "Why do you want to learn this technique, Kage?"
"Because it's useful."
"That's not a reason. That's a justification." Shoko's brown eyes were sharp, missing nothing. "Try again. Why do you really want to learn reverse cursed technique?"
Kage's jaw clenched. The honest answer was buried under layers of survival instinct and practiced deflection. But Shoko's gaze was patient, waiting, and something about the pre-dawn quiet made truth easier than lies.
"Because in the Zen'in estate, when you got hurt, you stayed hurt. There was no healing. No recovery time. Just pain and scars and the expectation that you'd keep fighting anyway." His hands trembled slightly. "I don't want to be that helpless again."
Shoko's expression softened. "That's better. Now use that feeling. Not the anger or the fear—the want. The desire to never be helpless again. Channel it into the mouse."
Kage tried. His cursed energy flowed into the tiny body, and for just a moment, he felt something shift. The energy inverted, turned inward, became something other than destruction.
The mouse's heart beat once.
Then stopped.
"Progress," Shoko said. "Come back tomorrow."
Week two. Understanding.
"You're overthinking it again."
Kage glared at her—a useless gesture behind his blindfold, but it made him feel better. The mouse collection on Shoko's desk had grown to five, all stubbornly remaining dead despite his best efforts.
"I'm following your instructions exactly."
"That's the problem. RCT isn't a formula—it's a philosophy." Shoko crushed out her cigarette. "You're trying to control the inversion process, but you can't control it. You have to allow it to happen."
"That makes no sense."
"Welcome to jujutsu sorcery, where nothing makes sense and the rules are made up." She stood, moved behind him, placed her hands on his shoulders. Her cursed energy was gentle, exploratory. "Feel my energy. Don't analyze it—just feel it."
Kage focused. Shoko's cursed energy flowed through her body with effortless grace, circulating naturally, and when she channeled it into RCT, it didn't feel like a technique. It felt like breathing. Automatic. Instinctive.
"You're not fighting your energy," he realized. "You're just... redirecting it."
"Exactly." Shoko's hands pulled back. "Most people's cursed energy wants to destroy because that's what cursed energy does. But my energy knows it might need to heal, so I trained it to flow both ways. Destruction and restoration. Two sides of the same coin."
"How long did it take you?"
"Three years to learn the basics. Five to master it. Ten to make it automatic." She smiled at his expression. "I know. It's not fast. But you've got better control than I did at your age, so maybe you'll be quicker."
Kage looked at the dead mice. Three years minimum. The Zen'in Clan had expected results in weeks, not years. But the clan had also expected him to break, and he'd disappointed them on that front too.
"Okay," he said. "Teach me."
Week three. Breakthrough.
The breakthrough came at four in the morning, when Kage was half-asleep and not thinking about technique at all.
He'd been studying the flow of his own cursed energy, not trying to manipulate it, just observing. Watching how it circulated through his body, pooled in his core, responded to his emotional state. And somewhere in that observation, his perspective shifted.
Cursed energy wasn't separate from him. It was him. Just another part of his existence, like his heartbeat or his breathing.
And if it was part of him, then controlling it wasn't about force—it was about intention.
Kage placed his hand on the latest dead mouse. Didn't push cursed energy into it. Just... opened the flow. Let his energy mix with the residual cursed energy in the corpse, and wanted it to heal.
Not commanded. Not forced.
Wanted.
The mouse twitched.
Kage's eyes widened behind his blindfold. He maintained the flow, keeping his intention clear, and the mouse's cursed energy signature slowly strengthened. Cells knitted back together. Blood began circulating. Tiny lungs expanded with air.
The mouse stood up, looked around confused, and promptly tried to escape off the desk.
Shoko caught it with one hand. "Well. That only took three weeks. You're officially faster than I was."
"I did it." Kage's voice was hushed, awed. "I actually did it."
"You did the basics. Healing a mouse is different from healing a person, which is different from healing yourself, which is different from doing it in combat." Shoko returned the mouse to its cage—apparently she kept them alive now that Kage could resurrect them. "But yeah. You did it."
Something warm unfurled in Kage's chest. Pride. Accomplishment. The knowledge that he'd learned something not through pain or force, but through patience and understanding.
The Zen'in Clan had never taught him that was possible.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For teaching me."
Shoko's smile was gentle. "Thank you for being a halfway decent student. Most people give up after the first week." She pulled out her eternal cigarette. "Now get some actual sleep. You look like death, and I mean that medically."
"I always look like death."
"You look like more death than usual. Go. Sleep. That's a medical order."
Kage stood, started toward the door, then paused. "Shoko?"
"Yeah?"
"Why do you teach people RCT? You could keep the technique to yourself, make yourself indispensable. But you share it."
Shoko was quiet for a long moment. "Because healing is too important to hoard. And because..." She took a drag, exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. "Because every sorcerer I teach to heal is one less corpse I have to identify when missions go wrong. Selfish reasons, really."
It didn't sound selfish. It sounded like someone who cared deeply and pretended not to because caring hurt.
Kage understood that intimately.
"Goodnight, Shoko."
"Goodnight, Kage."
Week four. Competition.
"This is stupid," Kage said.
"This is science," Gojo countered. "There's a difference."
They stood in the training ground, cursed energy flowing around them in visible waves. Gojo had challenged Kage to an efficiency contest—who could maintain their technique the longest using the least amount of cursed energy.
Suguru sat on the sidelines, timing them with a stopwatch. "You both know this is ridiculous, right?"
"It's not ridiculous, it's educational!" Gojo's Infinity rippled around him, bending space with casual ease. "I need to know if Kage's control is actually better than mine or if I just imagined it."
"Your ego is showing," Kage observed.
"My ego is always showing. It's one of my best features."
They'd been maintaining their techniques for fifteen minutes. Gojo's Infinity required constant cursed energy output to maintain the infinite space between him and the world. Kage's shadow manipulation was simpler—just a thin layer of darkness coating the ground around him—but it still required focus and energy.
Twenty minutes in, Gojo was sweating slightly.
Thirty minutes in, his Infinity flickered.
Forty-five minutes in, Gojo admitted defeat.
"Okay, fine. Your cursed energy control is better than mine." He collapsed dramatically on the ground. "I hate it. You're like a machine. Don't you ever get tired?"
"I get tired," Kage said, his shadow still perfectly stable. "I'm just used to ignoring it."
"That's not healthy."
"Neither is your god complex, but here we are."
Suguru laughed from the sidelines. "He's got you there, Satoru."
"Everyone's against me today." Gojo sat up, genuinely curious now. "How do you do it? Maintain that level of control for so long?"
Kage considered the question. "I don't think about it as controlling cursed energy. I think about it as being cursed energy. It's not separate from me, so maintaining the flow is just... existing."
"That's what I told you!" Gojo pointed accusingly. "Like three weeks ago! I gave you that advice!"
"And it was good advice. You want a medal?"
"I want recognition for my brilliant teaching methods!"
"You told me to 'feel it' and then wandered off to steal snacks."
"Strategic teaching! I was giving you space to process!"
Suguru checked his stopwatch. "Kage's at fifty minutes now. Still stable."
"Show-off," Gojo muttered, but there was admiration in his voice.
Kage finally let his technique dissipate, feeling the exhaustion hit all at once. Fifty minutes of constant output, even minimal output, was taxing. But it proved something important—his control was world-class. Maybe not as powerful as Gojo's raw output, but more precise. More efficient.
In a long fight, that could mean the difference between winning and dying.
"You're getting stronger," Gojo observed, serious now. "Like, noticeably stronger every week. It's kind of terrifying."
"Good," Kage said. "I'm trying to be terrifying."
"Mission accomplished." Gojo stood, stretched. "Alright, rematch next week. I'm going to practice efficiency training and then crush you."
"Looking forward to it."
They walked back toward the school together, Suguru between them, and Kage felt that warm sensation again. Belonging. Friendship. The knowledge that he was improving not through pain but through challenge, competition, and mutual growth.
The Zen'in Clan had taught him that strength came from isolation.
These idiots were proving that strength came from connection.
Evening. The courtyard.
"Can I ask you something philosophical?"
Kage looked up from the book he was pretending to read. Suguru sat beside him on the bench, his cursed energy signature thoughtful and calm.
"Sure."
"What's it like?" Suguru asked carefully. "Perceiving the world without sight? You've mentioned you sense cursed energy, but is that all there is? Or is there something else?"
Most people asked this question with pity or morbid curiosity. Suguru asked with genuine philosophical interest, like Kage's perspective might reveal something profound about existence itself.
"It's different," Kage said slowly. "I don't see shapes or colors or light. But I sense... textures? Intentions? Every person has a cursed energy signature that's unique, and those signatures tell me more than appearance ever could."
"Like what?"
"Like you're troubled about something right now. Your cursed energy is cycling faster than normal, more chaotically. You're processing some kind of internal conflict." Kage tilted his head. "Am I right?"
Suguru's silence was answer enough.
"It's about the curses, isn't it?" Kage continued. "You absorb them. That means you're constantly consuming malevolence, hatred, fear. I can feel the weight of it in your cursed energy sometimes."
"You can feel that?"
"I can feel everything." Kage's voice was quiet. "That's the blessing and curse of my Heavenly Restriction. Enhanced senses means sensing things I'd rather not. Like the residual malice in your absorbed curses. Or the way Gojo's cursed energy sometimes feels lonely despite him being surrounded by people. Or how Shoko's energy signature is always tired, even when she's slept well."
Suguru was quiet for a long moment. "That sounds exhausting."
"It is. But it's also honest. People can lie with words, with expressions, with actions. But cursed energy doesn't lie. It just... is."
"What does mine say right now?"
Kage focused on Suguru's energy signature. It was powerful, complex, layered with the countless curses he'd absorbed and controlled. But underneath all that was something simpler—uncertainty, questioning, the beginning of doubt.
"You're starting to wonder if what we do matters," Kage said carefully. "Exorcising curses, protecting people. You're questioning the purpose."
Suguru's breath caught. "How did you—"
"Because I've felt that way since I was five years old." Kage smiled without humor. "Welcome to existential dread. It's a terrible club with no benefits."
"Does it get better?"
"I don't know yet. Ask me in a few years."
They sat in comfortable silence, two kids processing the weight of powers they didn't ask for and responsibilities they didn't choose. Around them, the school continued its evening routine—students studying, teachers planning, curses being catalogued for training purposes.
Normal, in the strange way that jujutsu society defined normal.
"Kage?" Suguru's voice was hesitant. "Thank you. For being honest. Satoru and Shoko mean well, but they don't... they don't feel things the way I do. The weight of it."
"But I do?"
"But you do." Suguru stood, preparing to leave. "You understand that power isn't just strength—it's responsibility. And sometimes that responsibility feels like drowning."
"Yeah," Kage agreed quietly. "It does."
Suguru left him alone in the courtyard. Kage sat with his unread book, his enhanced senses mapping the school around him, and wondered if this was what Yaga had meant about learning to be human while being a sorcerer.
Feeling the weight of it all and choosing to carry it anyway.
Two days later. Mission briefing.
"Abandoned hospital in Shibuya Ward. Multiple civilian deaths, probable Special Grade curse." Yaga's voice was grim as he briefed the first-years. "Normally I wouldn't send students, but we're short-staffed and you three are... exceptional."
"Exceptional is generous," Shoko muttered. "We're child soldiers."
"You're jujutsu sorcerers," Yaga corrected. "And this is what we do."
Kage felt Gojo's cursed energy spike with excitement. Of course he'd be thrilled about a dangerous mission. Suguru's energy was more controlled—focused, preparing mentally. And Shoko's was already tired, anticipating the healing she'd need to do afterward.
"What kind of curse are we expecting?" Kage asked.
"Unknown. But witnesses reported intense light before losing consciousness." Yaga fixed Kage with a meaningful look. "Which means it might counter your sensory abilities. Be careful."
Light-based curse. That would be difficult. Kage's perception relied on cursed energy mapping, but intense light could overwhelm his other senses—hearing, touch, smell. He'd be operating partially blind.
Ironic.
"When do we leave?"
"Now. Car's waiting."
Abandoned hospital. Shibuya Ward.
The building reeked of death and medical decay—formaldehyde mixed with rotting flesh, cursed energy so thick it was almost tangible. Kage's enhanced senses catalogued every detail: three floors, structural instability, and something massive on the second floor.
"That's definitely a Special Grade," Gojo observed cheerfully. "This is going to be fun."
"Your definition of fun is deeply concerning," Shoko said.
They entered through the main entrance, cursed energy reinforcement making them immune to the building's various hazards. The hospital had been abandoned for five years, but something had taken up residence recently.
Something hungry.
"Split up or stick together?" Suguru asked.
"Together," Kage said immediately. "This building is a maze and the curse knows it better than we do. Getting separated is suicide."
"Listen to the blind kid about navigation," Gojo teased. "That's either smart or ironic."
"It's smart," Shoko confirmed. "Let's go."
They moved through the first floor in formation—Gojo at the front with his Infinity active, Suguru in the middle with cursed spirits on standby, Shoko behind with medical supplies ready, and Kage at the back, his enhanced senses mapping their surroundings.
The curse was on the second floor. Waiting.
"It knows we're here," Kage reported. "Cursed energy signature just intensified."
"Good," Gojo said. "I was worried it might be boring."
The stairs to the second floor were narrow, dark, and absolutely perfect for an ambush. Kage's shadow expanded instinctively, coating the walls and ceiling, giving him complete sensory coverage of the space.
They reached the second floor.
The curse was waiting.
And then there was light.
The battle.
Kage screamed.
The light was overwhelming—not just bright, but destructive, cursed energy woven into photons that attacked on every sensory level simultaneously. His enhanced hearing picked up the high-pitched frequency until his ears rang. His enhanced sense of touch felt the heat of it burning his skin. Even his sense of smell was overwhelmed by ozone and burning flesh.
He was blind and his other senses had just become weapons against him.
"KAGE!" Shoko's voice, distant and panicked.
"I'm fine!" He wasn't fine. He was disoriented, pain receptors screaming, cursed energy control slipping. But admitting weakness in combat was suicide.
Through the agony, Kage felt the curse move. It was large—humanoid but wrong, composed primarily of light and radiant cursed energy. A curse born from hospital deaths, from the fear of sterile whiteness and fluorescent bulbs and the moment between diagnosis and acceptance.
A curse of clinical illumination.
"Gojo!" Kage shouted. "It's using light as a weapon! My senses can't—"
"On it!" Gojo's Infinity expanded, creating a barrier between them and the light. The intensity decreased but didn't disappear—the curse could generate light from multiple angles, surrounding them.
Suguru released his cursed spirits to attack, but the light incinerated them before they could reach the curse. Shoko was trying to reach Kage, her RCT already glowing, but the curse moved faster.
A beam of concentrated light struck Kage's shoulder.
Pain. Burning. The smell of his own flesh cooking. He stumbled, cursed energy reinforcement barely maintaining integrity, and realized with terrible clarity that his Abyss technique was useless here.
Shadow couldn't exist in pure light.
"We need to exorcise it now!" Gojo was saying. "But it's too fast—it keeps moving!"
Kage's mind raced through the pain. The curse was light. His technique was darkness. Opposites. Incompatible.
Unless—
Reverse cursed technique.
The thought hit like lightning. If he could invert cursed energy to heal, could he invert his technique entirely? Turn Abyss into its opposite?
Turn shadow into light?
It was insane. He'd only just learned basic RCT. Inverting an entire cursed technique was advanced-level skill that took years to develop. Gojo couldn't even do it yet, and Gojo was a prodigy among prodigies.
But Kage was out of options.
The curse attacked again. Gojo blocked, but his Infinity flickered—maintaining it against constant light-based assault was draining his reserves. Suguru was down to his last few cursed spirits. Shoko was pinned behind a desk, unable to help.
They were going to die.
Unless Kage tried something impossible.
He reached deep into his core, where his cursed energy pooled and his Abyss technique resided. Instead of pushing the energy outward as shadow, he inverted it. Negative times negative equals positive. Destruction becomes creation. Darkness becomes—
Light.
Pure, radiant, impossible light.
It erupted from Kage's hands with the force of a flashbang, blindingly bright even to sighted eyes, and for one perfect moment, he understood what Gojo meant about technique being part of identity.
He was the void. But the void was also the space where light could exist.
Photonic.
The light from Kage's hands collided with the curse's radiant assault, and something fundamental shifted. His light wasn't just brightness—it was antithesis. Where the curse's light burned, his light nullified. Where the curse's light destroyed, his light unmade.
The curse shrieked—a sound like breaking glass and dying stars.
"NOW!" Kage shouted. "While it's disoriented!"
Gojo moved like lightning. His Infinity compressed into a single point, then expanded with devastating force. The cursed energy wave caught the curse mid-scream and tore it apart on a molecular level.
The hospital fell silent.
The curse was dead.
And Kage collapsed.
Aftermath. The infirmary.
Consciousness returned slowly, bringing pain with it. Kage's shoulder was agony, his head felt like it was splitting open, and every nerve in his body was screaming exhaustion.
"Welcome back to the living."
Shoko's voice. Her hands were on his shoulder, green light flowing into damaged tissue, knitting flesh back together with patient precision.
"How long was I out?"
"Two hours. You burned through about eighty percent of your cursed energy reserves and cooked yourself from the inside out." Her voice was clinically detached, but her cursed energy signature betrayed her worry. "Also, you invented a new technique mid-battle, which is either genius or suicidal. I'm going with suicidal."
"Did we win?"
"The curse is dead, everyone survived, and you only almost died. By jujutsu standards, that's a resounding success." Shoko pulled her hands back, the healing complete. "You're going to be sore for a week, and I want you on bed rest for at least three days."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're stubborn." She sighed. "Satoru and Suguru are outside, by the way. They've been here since we got back. Want me to send them away?"
"No. Let them in."
The door opened immediately—they'd obviously been listening. Gojo practically bounced into the room, his Six Eyes cataloguing every detail of Kage's condition.
"That was the coolest thing I've ever seen," he announced. "And I've seen me, so that's saying something."
"Your humility is inspiring," Kage muttered.
"You created light," Suguru said quietly, sitting beside the bed. "From a darkness technique. How is that even possible?"
"Reverse cursed technique. Same principle as healing." Kage's voice was rough. "I inverted my Abyss technique and got... whatever that was."
"Photonic," Gojo supplied. "I heard you say it. Is that what you're calling the reversed technique?"
"I guess." Kage hadn't really thought about it consciously. The name had just come to him in the moment—the opposite of Abyss, light instead of darkness, radiance instead of void.
"It's perfect," Shoko said. "Abyss and Photonic. Shadow and light. You're basically a walking philosophical paradox now."
"Great. That's exactly what I wanted to be."
Gojo was uncharacteristically serious. "You saved us, you know. My Infinity was about to fail, Suguru was out of spirits, and Shoko couldn't reach us. If you hadn't figured out that technique, the curse would've killed us."
The weight of that statement settled over the room.
"I didn't figure it out," Kage admitted. "I just got desperate and tried something insane. It could've killed me."
"But it didn't." Suguru's voice was gentle. "You trusted your instincts and your control, and you saved us. That's what matters."
Kage wanted to argue, but exhaustion pulled at him. The Photonic technique had burned through his reserves like wildfire, and his body was demanding rest in a way he couldn't ignore.
"You guys can leave," he said. "I'm fine."
"We know you're fine," Gojo said, settling into a chair. "But we're staying anyway. That's what friends do."
"We're not—"
"We are," Suguru interrupted. "Whether you like it or not, you're stuck with us."
Shoko covered Kage with a blanket. "Sleep. I'll wake you if anything's wrong."
"I don't need—"
"Medical order. Sleep."
Kage wanted to protest, but his body betrayed him. The exhaustion was too deep, the pain meds Shoko had clearly given him were kicking in, and despite his best efforts, sleep claimed him.
His last conscious thought was that he'd created light.
The void child had learned to shine.
And somehow, that felt like both a victory and a loss he couldn't quite name.
Three days later. Recovery.
"Your technique is fascinating."
Shoko sat across from Kage in the infirmary, medical texts spread between them. He'd been on bed rest for three days, and she'd spent most of that time theorizing about his Photonic technique.
"You inverted your entire cursed technique," she continued, sketching diagrams on paper. "Not just the energy, but the fundamental concept. That shouldn't be possible."
"But it happened."
"But it happened." She tapped her pencil against the paper. "Which means your Abyss technique isn't just shadow manipulation—it's conceptual. You manipulate the idea of darkness, which means you can also manipulate its opposite."
"Light."
"Exactly. But here's the interesting part—your Photonic technique isn't just light manipulation. It's..." She paused, searching for words. "It's antithetical light. It doesn't just illuminate—it negates. It's the opposite of your shadow in every way."
Kage processed this. "So Abyss consumes and Photonic negates?"
"In simplified terms, yes. Abyss is emptiness that consumes. Photonic is presence that unmakes." Shoko leaned back. "You're essentially two techniques in one body. That's... unprecedented. And probably exhausting."
"It was," Kage admitted. "Using Photonic burned through my cursed energy way faster than Abyss does."
"Because you're not used to it yet. Once you train it properly, the efficiency should improve." She smiled. "Congratulations, Kage. You're officially complicated."
"I was already complicated."
"Now you're more complicated. Embrace it."
The door opened. Gojo and Suguru entered with what looked like the entire school cafeteria's dessert selection.
"We brought offerings," Gojo announced. "Because you're officially the coolest person at this school, and that's coming from me, which is basically a factual statement."
"Your ego is showing again."
"My ego is a permanent fixture. Accept it." Gojo set down the food. "But seriously, how are you feeling?"
"Sore. Tired. Like I got hit by a truck made of my own cursed energy."
"That's disturbingly accurate," Shoko observed.
They settled into comfortable positions around the infirmary—Gojo on the window sill, Suguru in the spare chair, Shoko at her desk. It felt natural, this gathering. Like they'd been doing it for years instead of weeks.
"I've been thinking," Suguru said carefully. "About what happened during the mission. How you inverted your technique."
"And?"
"And I'm wondering if I could do something similar. My curse manipulation is about controlling cursed spirits, but what if I could invert that? Instead of controlling curses, maybe I could... I don't know. Purify them?"
"That would require reverse cursed technique," Shoko said. "Which you're not learning because you're 'too busy' with other training."
"I'm not learning it because it's hard and I have better things to do."
"Excuses."
"Valid reasons."
Kage listened to them bicker, something warm settling in his chest despite the lingering pain. A month ago, he'd been alone in the Zen'in estate, surviving but not living. Now he was here—injured, exhausted, and surrounded by people who actually cared if he died.
It was strange.
It was uncomfortable.
It was good.
"Hey, Kage?" Gojo's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Can you do me a favor?"
"Depends on the favor."
"Next time you're about to invent a new technique mid-battle, maybe give us a heads up? My heart can't take that kind of surprise."
"You don't have a heart. You have an ego with a circulatory system."
"Rude. Accurate, but rude."
Shoko laughed—a real one, not her usual tired chuckle. Suguru smiled. And Kage felt his own mouth twitch in response.
The void child had learned to shine.
But more than that, he'd learned that light didn't have to be lonely.
Darkness and radiance could coexist.
And sometimes, the space between them was where you found the people worth keeping.
That evening. The training grounds.
Kage stood alone, his body still sore but functional. Shoko had cleared him for light activity, which he immediately interpreted as "time to practice the technique that almost killed me."
His shadow pooled at his feet, familiar and comfortable. Abyss had been his companion since childhood, the technique that defined him, the power that kept him alive through the Zen'in training pits.
But now there was something else.
Kage closed his eyes—again, useless but habitual—and reached into his core. Instead of drawing darkness, he inverted the flow. Negative becomes positive. Shadow becomes light.
Photonic manifested as a gentle glow around his hands, far more controlled than the desperate explosion during the mission. It felt strange—not wrong, but different. Like learning to write with his non-dominant hand.
"You're practicing already?"
Yaga's voice made him startle. The teacher approached with his characteristic steady pace, cursed energy signature calm and assessing.
"Shoko cleared me for light activity."
"I bet she regrets that phrasing now." Yaga stopped a respectful distance away. "How does it feel? The new technique?"
"Like wearing someone else's skin. Familiar but foreign."
"That's normal. You've spent your whole life defining yourself by your Abyss technique. Adding Photonic changes your entire identity as a sorcerer." Yaga crossed his arms. "Some people spend decades mastering one technique. You've got two, and you're ten years old. That's a lot of responsibility."
"I didn't ask for it."
"No one asks for power. We just deal with what we're given." Yaga's voice was gentle. "But here's what I want you to understand, Kage—having two techniques doesn't mean you have to use both all the time. Power is knowing when not to fight, when to hold back, when to let someone else take the lead."
"The Zen'in Clan would call that weakness."
"The Zen'in Clan calls everything weakness except blind obedience and overwhelming force." Yaga's tone hardened. "You're not in that clan anymore. You don't have to prove your worth through constant combat. You're already valuable."
The words hit harder than Kage expected. Valuable. Not useful—valuable. The distinction mattered more than he wanted to admit.
"I don't know how to be anything except a weapon," Kage said quietly.
"Then learn. That's why you're here." Yaga placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding and solid. "You've got time, Kage. You're ten years old. You don't have to have everything figured out today."
"But if I don't stay strong—"
"You'll still be strong. Strength isn't just about techniques and cursed energy output. It's about knowing who you are and what you stand for." Yaga squeezed his shoulder once, then released. "Take tonight off. Rest. Let your body recover. Tomorrow you can go back to training yourself into the ground."
He left Kage alone in the training grounds.
The Photonic light around Kage's hands flickered, then faded. He let his shadow return, the comfortable darkness that had always been his refuge. But now, knowing he could create light too—knowing the void could shine—changed something fundamental.
He wasn't just the absence of sight anymore.
He was the choice between darkness and radiance.
And maybe, just maybe, he could learn to be both.
Late night. The dorm common room.
Kage found himself drawn to the common room despite exhaustion. Sleep was difficult these days—every time he closed his eyes, he saw the light-curse, felt the burning, remembered the desperate moment when he'd inverted his entire technique on pure instinct.
He was alive. But the cost lingered.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
Suguru sat in the corner, a book open in his lap but clearly not reading. His cursed energy signature was troubled, cycling with the same chaotic pattern Kage had noticed weeks ago.
"Nightmares," Kage admitted.
"Same." Suguru closed the book. "About the mission?"
"About dying. About failing. About—" Kage stopped, the words catching in his throat. "About not being strong enough when it matters."
"You saved us."
"This time. What about next time?" Kage's hands clenched. "I got lucky. I stumbled onto a technique that happened to counter the curse. But what if I hadn't? What if my desperate gamble had failed?"
"Then we would've died together." Suguru's voice was matter-of-fact. "That's the reality of being a jujutsu sorcerer. We fight curses that want us dead, and sometimes we lose."
"That's not acceptable."
"No. But it's reality." Suguru stood, moved to sit beside Kage. "I've been thinking about that a lot lately. About what we're fighting for. We exorcise curses to protect people, but curses keep coming because people keep generating negative emotions. It's an endless cycle."
"You sound like you're questioning the point of it all."
"I am." Suguru's honesty was startling. "What's the point of saving people who'll just create more curses? What's the point of fighting an unwinnable war?"
Kage didn't have an answer. The Zen'in Clan had never cared about philosophy—only results, only strength, only survival. But Suguru was asking deeper questions, the kind that didn't have easy answers.
"Maybe there is no point," Kage said slowly. "Maybe we're just delaying the inevitable. But..." He thought about Shoko's patient teaching, Gojo's infuriating challenges, Yaga's unexpected wisdom. "Maybe the people we protect along the way matter more than the end result."
"That's surprisingly optimistic coming from you."
"Don't get used to it. I'm usually much more nihilistic."
. "But here's what I want you to understand, Kage—having two techniques doesn't mean you have to use both all the time. Power is knowing when not to fight, when to hold back, when to let someone else take the lead."
"The Zen'in Clan would call that weakness."
"The Zen'in Clan calls everything weakness except blind obedience and overwhelming force." Yaga's tone hardened. "You're not in that clan anymore. You don't have to prove your worth through constant combat. You're already valuable."
The words hit harder than Kage expected. Valuable. Not useful—valuable. The distinction mattered more than he wanted to admit.
"I don't know how to be anything except a weapon," Kage said quietly.
"Then learn. That's why you're here." Yaga placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding and solid. "You've got time, Kage. You're ten years old. You don't have to have everything figured out today."
"But if I don't stay strong—"
"You'll still be strong. Strength isn't just about techniques and cursed energy output. It's about knowing who you are and what you stand for." Yaga squeezed his shoulder once, then released. "Take tonight off. Rest. Let your body recover. Tomorrow you can go back to training yourself into the ground."
He left Kage alone in the training grounds.
The Photonic light around Kage's hands flickered, then faded. He let his shadow return, the comfortable darkness that had always been his refuge. But now, knowing he could create light too—knowing the void could shine—changed something fundamental.
He wasn't just the absence of sight anymore.
He was the choice between darkness and radiance.
And maybe, just maybe, he could learn to be both.
Late night. The dorm common room.
Kage found himself drawn to the common room despite exhaustion. Sleep was difficult these days—every time he closed his eyes, he saw the light-curse, felt the burning, remembered the desperate moment when he'd inverted his entire technique on pure instinct.
He was alive. But the cost lingered.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
Suguru sat in the corner, a book open in his lap but clearly not reading. His cursed energy signature was troubled, cycling with the same chaotic pattern Kage had noticed weeks ago.
"Nightmares," Kage admitted.
"Same." Suguru closed the book. "About the mission?"
"About dying. About failing. About—" Kage stopped, the words catching in his throat. "About not being strong enough when it matters."
"You saved us."
"This time. What about next time?" Kage's hands clenched. "I got lucky. I stumbled onto a technique that happened to counter the curse. But what if I hadn't? What if my desperate gamble had failed?"
"Then we would've died together." Suguru's voice was matter-of-fact. "That's the reality of being a jujutsu sorcerer. We fight curses that want us dead, and sometimes we lose."
"That's not acceptable."
"No. But it's reality." Suguru stood, moved to sit beside Kage. "I've been thinking about that a lot lately. About what we're fighting for. We exorcise curses to protect people, but curses keep coming because people keep generating negative emotions. It's an endless cycle."
"You sound like you're questioning the point of it all."
"I am." Suguru's honesty was startling. "What's the point of saving people who'll just create more curses? What's the point of fighting an unwinnable war?"
Kage didn't have an answer. The Zen'in Clan had never cared about philosophy—only results, only strength, only survival. But Suguru was asking deeper questions, the kind that didn't have easy answers.
"Maybe there is no point," Kage said slowly. "Maybe we're just delaying the inevitable. But..." He thought about Shoko's patient teaching, Gojo's infuriating challenges, Yaga's unexpected wisdom. "Maybe the people we protect along the way matter more than the end result."
"That's surprisingly optimistic coming from you."
"Don't get used to it. I'm usually much more nihilistic."
Suguru laughed—quiet and genuine. "You know what's funny? A month ago, I would've said Satoru was my only real friend. But now..." He gestured between them. "I don't know. You get it. The weight of it all. The questioning. Satoru's too confident to doubt himself, and Shoko's too pragmatic to care. But you and me—we feel it."
"The existential dread?"
"The responsibility." Suguru's cursed energy pulsed with emotion. "Every curse I absorb, every life I save, every mission I complete—it all adds up. And I keep wondering when the weight will become too much."
Kage understood that intimately. His Heavenly Restriction meant feeling everything—every cursed energy signature, every emotional undercurrent, every moment of suffering around him. Some days it was overwhelming. Some days he wanted to stop sensing anything at all.
But stopping meant dying. And he'd promised himself he'd survive.
"We carry it because someone has to," Kage said. "That's not comforting, but it's true."
"Yeah." Suguru's smile was tired. "Thanks, Kage. For understanding."
"Thanks for not calling me crazy for questioning everything."
"You're not crazy. You're just aware." Suguru stood, stretched. "I should try to sleep. Early training tomorrow."
"Right. Sleep. That thing normal people do."
"We're not normal people. We're jujutsu sorcerers." Suguru paused at the door. "But maybe that's okay."
He left Kage alone in the common room.
Alone, but not lonely. Not anymore.
Kage sat in the darkness—not his Abyss technique, just the natural absence of light—and thought about everything that had changed in a month. He'd learned reverse cursed technique. Invented a new ability. Saved his friends. Started questioning what strength actually meant.
The Zen'in Clan had wanted him to be a weapon.
Tokyo Jujutsu High was teaching him to be human.
He wasn't sure which was harder.
But for the first time in his life, Kage thought maybe being human was worth the effort.
The next morning. Training grounds.
"Again!"
Kage's shadow struck like a whip. Gojo dodged, his Infinity catching the attack centimeters from contact. They'd been sparring for an hour, and Kage could feel the improvement—his attacks were faster, more precise, more instinctive.
"Better!" Gojo called. "But you're still telegraphing! I can see you winding up!"
"You can see everything. That's cheating."
"It's not cheating, it's having better eyes than you. Which is most people, to be fair."
Kage sent three shadow tendrils simultaneously—two obvious attacks from the front, one subtle strike from below. Gojo blocked the obvious ones and almost missed the third. Almost.
"Oh, that's clever! Misdirection!" Gojo's enthusiasm was genuine. "See? You're learning! Strategy over raw power!"
"I learned that in the Zen'in training pits."
"Yeah, but you're applying it better now. Before you were just surviving. Now you're fighting." Gojo landed lightly, his cursed energy signature practically vibrating with excitement. "Want to try the light technique?"
Kage hesitated. Photonic was still new, unstable, dangerous. Using it in a sparring match could seriously hurt someone.
"I'll keep my Infinity up," Gojo assured. "Come on. I want to see it again."
Against his better judgment, Kage inverted his cursed energy flow. Negative becomes positive. Shadow becomes light.
Photonic manifested around his right hand—controlled, focused, nowhere near the explosive power from the mission. It looked almost gentle, a soft glow that belied its destructive potential.
"Beautiful," Gojo breathed. "Okay, now try to hit me."
Kage moved. The Photonic technique felt different from Abyss—lighter, faster, more aggressive. Where shadow consumed, light pierced. Where darkness spread, radiance focused.
His light-coated fist struck Gojo's Infinity barrier.
For a split second, the barrier flickered.
Gojo's eyes widened. "Did you just—"
"I don't know what I did."
"Your light interfered with my Infinity!" Gojo was analyzing frantically, Six Eyes processing information at impossible speeds. "It didn't break through, but it disrupted the spatial manipulation for a moment. That shouldn't be possible!"
"Why not?"
"Because Infinity is absolute! Nothing should be able to interfere with infinite space!" Gojo grabbed Kage's shoulders, shaking him slightly. "This is amazing! Do you know what this means?"
"That I accidentally did something impossible again?"
"That your Photonic technique isn't just light manipulation—it's conceptual interference! You're not creating normal light, you're creating the antithesis of darkness, which apparently includes the antithesis of absence!" Gojo was talking faster now, excited beyond measure. "My Infinity works by creating infinite space—essentially infinite absence between me and attacks. But your light is the opposite of absence, so it partially negates the infinite space!"
Kage's head hurt trying to follow that logic. "So my light can hurt you?"
"Maybe! We need to test it more!" Gojo was practically bouncing. "This is the first time anyone's found a potential counter to my Infinity! You're officially my new favorite training partner!"
"I thought I was already your favorite training partner."
"You were my only training partner who could keep up. Now you're my only training partner who might actually pose a threat!" Gojo's grin was manic. "Come on, hit me again! Harder this time!"
They trained for another hour, Kage testing the limits of his Photonic technique while Gojo analyzed every interaction with scientific enthusiasm. By the end, Kage was exhausted and Gojo was covered in notes about spatial manipulation theory.
"This is groundbreaking," Gojo said, reviewing his notes. "If your Photonic can disrupt Infinity, it might disrupt other spatial techniques too. Domain barriers, cursed spirit manifestations, maybe even teleportation techniques."
"That sounds... powerful."
"That sounds terrifying." Gojo's expression turned serious. "Kage, I need you to promise me something."
"What?"
"Be careful who you show this to. The Photonic technique, I mean." His voice was uncharacteristically grave. "If the higher-ups find out you can potentially counter my Infinity, they'll either try to control you or eliminate you as a threat to their strongest weapon."
The words sent ice through Kage's veins. "You're their weapon?"
"I'm their deterrent. The strongest sorcerer in generations, loyal to jujutsu society, controllable through the school system." Gojo's smile was bitter. "As long as I'm on their side, they feel safe. But someone who can counter me? That's dangerous to their power structure."
"So I should hide it."
"For now. Until you're strong enough that they can't touch you." Gojo squeezed his shoulder. "Trust me on this. The jujutsu world isn't as noble as Yaga makes it sound. Politics and power matter more than protecting people."
Kage thought about the Zen'in Clan. The way they'd treated Toji, ostracized him for lacking cursed energy despite his incredible strength. The way they'd abused Kage for being born different.
Jujutsu society was just the Zen'in estate on a larger scale.
"I'll be careful," Kage promised.
"Good." Gojo's usual cheerfulness returned. "Now come on. Shoko's probably got lunch ready, and if we're late, Suguru will eat all the good stuff."
They walked back toward the school together, and Kage tried not to think about the target his new technique had painted on his back.
He'd wanted to be strong enough that no one could control him.
Apparently, he was succeeding.
And that, he was learning, came with its own dangers.
Evening. The infirmary.
"You overdid it again."
Shoko's hands glowed green as she healed the minor injuries from Kage's extended training. Nothing serious—just bruises, strained muscles, the usual wear and tear of pushing too hard.
"Gojo wanted to test my Photonic technique."
"Of course he did." Shoko sighed. "That boy treats everything like a science experiment, including his friends' physical limitations."
"I could've said no."
"But you didn't. Because you're just as bad as he is about pushing limits." She pulled her hands back, healing complete. "How's the technique feeling? More stable?"
"A little. It's still exhausting, but I'm getting better at controlling the inversion process."
"Good. Because that mission was terrifying from a medical perspective." Shoko pulled out her cigarette pack, then paused. "Actually, I've been thinking about your techniques. Abyss and Photonic."
"And?"
"And I think you should develop them in parallel, not sequentially." She lit the cigarette, took a drag. "Most sorcerers with multiple techniques focus on mastering one before developing the other. But your techniques are opposites—training one should theoretically make the other stronger."
"How?"
"Because understanding darkness makes understanding light easier. The better you are at consuming with Abyss, the better you'll be at negating with Photonic." Shoko sketched on her ever-present notepad. "It's like reverse cursed technique—understanding destruction makes restoration possible. Your techniques work on the same principle."
Kage considered this. "So I should train both simultaneously."
"Exactly. Alternate between them. Use Abyss one day, Photonic the next. Let your cursed energy pathways adapt to both flows." She smiled. "You'll be exhausted for a few months, but the payoff will be worth it."
"A few months of exhaustion. Wonderful."
"Welcome to advanced jujutsu training." Shoko stood, stretched. "Now get out of my infirmary. You're taking up space I might need for actual injuries."
"Your bedside manner is terrible."
"And yet people keep coming back. Funny how that works."
Kage left the infirmary, Shoko's words echoing in his mind. Train both techniques. Master the duality. Become the space between darkness and light.
It sounded exhausting.
It sounded impossible.
It sounded exactly like something he needed to do.
The void child had learned to shine, and the shining child was learning to embrace the void.
Maybe that's what balance meant—not choosing between darkness and light, but being both simultaneously.
The Zen'in Clan had tried to make him one thing: a weapon.
Tokyo Jujutsu High was teaching him he could be everything.
And somewhere between those two truths, Kage Zenin was becoming whoever he was always meant to be.
One painful lesson at a time.