Nanami returned to the orphanage just before dawn.
The damage had already been cleaned as much as possible. Broken glass swept away. Cracks in the walls marked with tape. The street outside looked deceptively normal again, as if the night hadn't nearly swallowed it whole.
Ray sat where Nanami had left him—on the steps, back straight, eyes distant.
Ms. Aoyama stood nearby, arms folded tightly around herself, exhaustion written across her face.
Nanami stopped a few steps away.
"Ms. Aoyama," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I need to take the boy with me."
Her shoulders stiffened instantly.
"For how long?" she asked.
Nanami did not lie. "I don't know."
Silence.
The morning air felt heavier than the night had.
Ms. Aoyama looked at Ray then, really looked at him. The blood was gone now, but the hollowness wasn't. Whatever had happened last night hadn't ended with the disappearance of the curse.
"…Is he in danger?" she asked quietly.
Nanami adjusted his glasses. "Yes."
Ray lifted his head.
"And staying here," Nanami continued, "would place everyone else in danger as well."
Ms. Aoyama's hands clenched.
Ray stood before she could say anything.
"It's okay," he said. His voice was steadier than it had any right to be. "I'll come back."
She shook her head. "You don't know that."
"No," Ray admitted. "But if I don't go, something worse will."
She looked away.
For a long moment, Nanami thought she would refuse. That she would demand answers, explanations, promises he couldn't give.
Instead, she exhaled shakily and nodded.
"…Please," she said, kneeling in front of Ray, gripping his shoulders. "Just—just stay alive."
Ray swallowed.
"I'll try."
It was the most honest thing he could offer.
Nanami turned away first.
....
Tokyo moved on.
That was the first thing Ray noticed from the back seat of Nanami's car.
Morning traffic crawled along wet streets, neon signs flickered off one by one, and people hurried toward work with the same urgency they always had. The city didn't care that something monstrous had nearly been born in one of its quieter corners.
Ray pressed his forehead lightly against the window.
Nanami drove without speaking, hands steady on the wheel, posture rigid. He looked like a man already filling out paperwork in his head.
Ray broke the silence.
"…What's going to happen to me?"
Nanami didn't answer right away. He waited until the car slowed at an intersection, the red light reflecting faintly in the glass.
"That depends," he said.
Ray turned slightly. "On what?"
Nanami glanced at him through the rearview mirror.
"On whether you can be explained," he replied.
Ray frowned. "Explained?"
"In jujutsu society," Nanami said evenly, "anything that cannot be categorized becomes a liability."
The light changed. The car moved again.
"And liabilities?" Ray asked quietly.
Nanami exhaled.
"They are either controlled," he said, "or eliminated."
Ray leaned back in his seat.
"…And Gojo?"
Nanami's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Satoru Gojo observes," he said. "Then he decides."
That answer settled uneasily in Ray's chest.
The moment they stepped out of the car, Ray felt it.
The air ahead shimmered, space itself subtly distorted, as if distance had momentarily forgotten how to behave.
Nanami stopped walking.
Ray followed his gaze.
A voice echoed lazily down the corridor.
"Wow. You really brought him all the way here without telling me?"
A presence arrived.
Not entered.
Arrived.
A tall man leaned against the wall as if he'd always been there—white hair catching the light, blindfold covering his eyes, posture relaxed to the point of arrogance.
Satoru Gojo smiled.
Nanami sighed. "You could have waited like a normal person."
Gojo shrugged. "Where's the fun in that?"
Ray's instincts screamed.
Not fear.
Not danger.
Recognition.
Every part of him understood something instantly and absolutely:
This person was untouchable.
Gojo tilted his head toward Ray.
"Oh?" he said. "So this is him."
He took a single step.
The distance collapsed.
Ray felt exposed—not threatened, but seen.
"…Interesting," Gojo murmured.
Nanami stiffened. "Gojo."
"Hm?" Gojo replied absently. "Give me a second."
Then he stepped back, straightening with a quiet laugh.
"Okay," he said. "Yeah. That explains a lot."
Ray swallowed. "Explains what?"
Gojo clapped his hands once. "Nanami, you didn't bring me a problem."
Nanami adjusted his glasses. "Then what did I bring you?"
Gojo smiled.
"A variable."
Gojo didn't rush his explanation.
That alone unsettled Ray more than anger would have.
"When a cursed technique awakens," Gojo said, pacing slowly, "it defines what cursed energy becomes after it leaves the body."
Ray listened carefully.
"Most cursed energy fades," Gojo continued. "Leaks away unless shaped."
He glanced at Ray.
"Yours doesn't."
Nanami's expression sharpened.
"Your cursed technique," Gojo said, "gives cursed energy the property of air."
Ray blinked. "Air?"
"Flowing. Compressible. Persistent," Gojo replied. "When you released cursed energy during your awakening, it didn't disperse."
Nanami exhaled slowly. "Residual accumulation."
"Yes," Gojo said. "A lot of it. All at once."
Ray's chest tightened.
"It lingered," Gojo continued. "Built up. Became a focal point."
Nanami nodded. "The orphanage."
Ray didn't argue.
"The world corrected the imbalance," Gojo said calmly. "By forming a curse."
Ray felt sick.
"That's why I felt familiar," he said quietly.
Nanami looked at him. "Residual cursed energy resonates with its source."
Ray nodded.
It wasn't a lie.
Just incomplete.
Nanami frowned.
"But the curse hesitated," he said. "It stopped when it saw Ms. Aoyama."
Ray's fingers twitched.
"A curse drawn purely to cursed energy wouldn't pause," Nanami continued. "It would attack."
Gojo tilted his head. "Curses aren't always consistent."
"Yes," Nanami replied. "But—"
"For headquarters," Gojo interrupted gently, "this explanation is enough."
Nanami hesitated, then nodded.
Ray said nothing.
He knew the truth.
And he knew what would happen if he spoke it.
Gojo turned back to Ray.
"Now," he said lightly, "here's the part that matters."
Ray straightened.
"This phenomenon," Gojo continued, "occurred because of an uncontrolled initial release."
Ray's heart pounded.
"It does not have to happen again," Gojo said. "Provided you learn control."
Ray swallowed. "And if I don't?"
Gojo's smile vanished.
"Then you remain a variable," he said. "And variables are disposed of."
No anger.
No cruelty.
Just fact.
Ray felt something inside him crack.
When he arrived in this world, he hadn't wanted power.
He'd wanted distance.
Quiet.
A way to exist without leaving a mark.
But he had seen what his existence could cause.
He had seen fear bloom where safety had once lived.
He wasn't a hero.
He didn't believe in that.
But he was still human.
And humans didn't get to pretend their existence had no cost.
If I don't learn control, he thought, this will happen again.
Not because he chose it.
But because the world would force it.
He lifted his head.
"I'll learn," Ray said.
Not bravely.
Not confidently.
Firmly.
"I won't let this happen again."
Gojo studied him.
Then he smiled faintly.
"Good."
He turned to Nanami.
"You're training him."
Nanami felt a familiar headache bloom behind his temples.
Of course, he thought. When something inconvenient appears, Gojo throws it at someone else.
He disliked children in this world.
He disliked anomalies even more.
And he disliked himself most of all for knowing he wouldn't walk away.
"…Very well," Nanami said at last.
Ray bowed deeply. "Thank you."
"Don't," Nanami replied. "You'll regret it later."
After they left, Gojo remained behind.
The blindfold stayed on, but the Six Eyes relaxed.
The truth lingered.
This was not a one-time phenomenon.
He had said it was because Ray didn't need to know yet.
Because Geto existed.
Geto who understood systems.Geto who exploited guilt.Geto who would see a boy like Ray not as a tragedy—but as a mechanism.
If Ray understood the full implication too soon, someone like Geto could twist him into recreating the phenomenon deliberately.
Gojo trusted Nanami.
He did not trust the world.
Once Ray learned proper cursed energy control, the risk would diminish.
Not vanish.
Just become manageable.
Gojo exhaled quietly.
"…You're going to be a problem," he murmured.
Not with optimism.
Not with dread.
With certainty.