Jogo found Yuji's body on the ground floor of Shibuya Station.
The boy was unconscious. Face down. Beaten half to death by Choso. Blood everywhere. Two girls — Nanako and Mimiko — were crouched over him, shoving a mummified finger into his mouth like the world's worst first aid.
Jogo landed beside them. The zombie landed beside Jogo. Its arm was hooked around Jogo's like they were a couple on a Sunday walk.
"How many did you feed him?" Jogo demanded.
The girls looked at Jogo. Then at the zombie attached to his arm. Then back at Jogo.
"...One," Nanako said slowly. "What is that thing on your—"
"Don't. How many FINGERS."
"One."
One wasn't enough. But ten at once? That would force a switch. Kenjaku had told him — one finger a day for twenty days and Yuji keeps control. Ten at once? Sukuna takes the wheel.
Jogo reached into his cloak — difficult with a zombie permanently fused to his other arm — and pulled out a scroll. Inside: ten of Sukuna's fingers. Mummified. Ancient. Each one radiating cursed energy that made the air taste like copper.
"Time to wake up," Jogo said.
"Uuuuuuuhhh," said the zombie.
"I wasn't talking to you."
Jogo knelt, unrolled the scroll with one hand because the zombie had claimed the other, and started shoving fingers into Yuji's mouth one by one.
One. Two. Three.
The zombie watched with its empty eyes.
Four. Five. Six.
Jogo was feeding an unconscious teenager cursed mummy fingers while a Minecraft zombie in Netherite armour clung to his arm like a toddler at a supermarket. This was his life now.
Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Done. Fifteen total.
Jogo stood up. He noticed the girls were still nearby — enveloped in smoke, barely alive, too scared to move but unable to escape. He could deal with them later. Right now—
The air changed.
It didn't change gradually. Someone flipped a switch labelled "EVIL" and cranked it past maximum. The temperature dropped. The pressure spiked. Every shadow grew darker. Every sound died. The concept of safety packed its bags and left Shibuya.
Yuji's body twitched.
The marks spread. Dark lines crawling across skin like ink through water. A second pair of eyes opened beneath the first. The mouth curved into a smile that had no warmth in it whatsoever.
Sukuna sat up.
He healed the wounds on Yuji's body casually — like brushing lint off a jacket — and stood. Rolled his neck. Cracked his knuckles. Looked around with the energy of a man who'd been woken from a nap and was deciding who to blame.
His presence was suffocating. Not like Gojo's — Gojo's power felt like standing next to the sun. Bright. Overwhelming. But warm. Sukuna was the opposite. Standing near him felt like drowning in something ancient and hungry. Every instinct in every living thing within a hundred metres screamed one word: RUN.
Jogo didn't run. But he felt it. This wasn't Gojo's overwhelming brightness. This was pure, concentrated malice. Worse than Gojo in a way Jogo hadn't expected.
"Move," Sukuna said. "One second."
Jogo moved. His body MOVED — instinct overriding pride. He darted sideways, putting distance between himself and the King of Curses. The zombie came with him, arm still linked, matching his speed perfectly.
The girls hadn't moved. Couldn't move. Nanako was frozen. Mimiko was shaking. They could both feel it — one wrong breath and they'd die.
Sukuna walked toward them. Slow. Unhurried. Four eyes scanning the three figures in front of him — two terrified girls, one bleeding volcano, and a Minecraft zombie standing upright with its arm hooked around said volcano.
"You're all holding your heads a little too high," Sukuna said, "to be standing before me."
Nanako and Mimiko hit the floor instantly. Full prostration. Faces to the concrete.
Jogo dropped to one knee. He dragged the zombie down with him by the arm. The zombie folded at the middle like a hinged door, face hitting the floor, but its arm STAYED linked. Even the King of Curses couldn't separate them.
One knee wasn't enough.
Sukuna's technique sliced the air. A massive gash carved into the wall behind them — and the top of Jogo's volcanic head separated clean off. Blood poured down his face. The zombie was untouched. It had already been face-down on the floor. Accidental perfect dodge. Zero braincells required.
"The boughs that bear most hang lowest," Sukuna said. "Though yours doesn't bear much at all now."
Sukuna turned to the girls. Asked what they wanted. Nanako begged him to kill the imposter wearing Geto's body. Offered him a finger's location in exchange.
Sukuna smiled.
Then Mimiko's head left her body.
Nanako screamed. Reached for her phone — her cursed technique. Sukuna was faster. Always faster. He cut her apart before her finger touched the screen.
Quick. Brutal. We're not dwelling on it.
Sukuna caught Nanako's phone. Looked at it. Tossed it. "Boring technique."
He turned to Jogo.
"You're next. What do you want?"
Jogo wiped blood from his face with his free hand. His other hand was occupied by the zombie, who had stood back up and reattached itself to his arm the moment the bowing was over.
"I want you to take over this body permanently," Jogo said. "Use the boy's friends as leverage. Make a binding vow."
"No."
"...No?"
"I have my own plans." Sukuna's four eyes drifted to the zombie. "But I appreciate the fingers. So here's my offer."
He paused. Looked at the zombie again. Longer this time.
"What IS that thing?"
"It won't let go of me," Jogo said flatly.
"That's not what I asked."
"I don't KNOW what it is. Some shoeless man created it and told it to follow me. It has been attached to me for the last two hours. It cannot be killed. It cannot be hurt. It cannot be reasoned with. It is the single worst thing that has ever happened to me.
"Uuuuuuuhhh," the zombie confirmed.
Sukuna stared at it. A thousand years of existence. Sorcerers, curses, armies— all killed. Every technique, every domain, every cursed tool in history — all witnessed.
He had never seen whatever this is.
Sukuna raised one hand. A casual gesture — the kind of motion a man makes when swatting a fly.
Dismantle.
An invisible slash crossed the zombie's chest. The kind that cut cursed spirits like paper.
The zombie stood there.
A tiny white scratch on the chestplate. Healed before Sukuna's hand finished lowering.
"Uuuuuuuhhh."
Sukuna's eyes narrowed. Four of them. All at once.
Cleave.
The advanced version. Adapted to the target's toughness. The technique that adjusted its cutting power based on cursed energy — except this thing had no cursed energy, which meant Cleave didn't know WHAT to do with it. The slash hit the zombie square in the face.
Nothing.
Not a scratch. Not a flinch. Not a single pixel of acknowledgment that the King of Curses had just hit it.
"Uuuuuuuhhh," the zombie said, directly into Sukuna's face.
Silence.
For the first time in a thousand years — the FIRST time — something had confused Ryomen Sukuna.
"...Hm," Sukuna said.
The most dangerous "hm" in the history of language.
Jogo, despite bleeding from his scalp and standing next to the most terrifying being alive, felt a tiny spark of satisfaction. The King of Curses couldn't kill his zombie either. Welcome to the club buddy.
Sukuna turned back to Jogo. Apparently deciding the zombie wasn't worth his time.
"Fight me," Sukuna said. "Land one hit. If you do, I'll work with your group and slaughter every human in Shibuya. Except one."
Jogo processed this.
The zombie processed nothing.
"I accept," Jogo said.
Behind a collapsed pillar, invisible, Sebas had watched the entire thing.
The girls dying. The head slicing. The deal. And — most importantly — Sukuna trying to kill his zombie.
Twice.
"Yo," Sebas whispered to himself. "Did this fraud just try to kill my boy?"
Sukuna and Jogo were squaring up. The fight was about to start. The zombie was still on Jogo's arm. It was going to be dragged into a fight against the King of Curses — a fight that was going to end one way. Jogo was going to die. And when Jogo died...
Sebas looked at the zombie. His beautiful, stupid, unkillable creation. Hooked onto Jogo's arm. Loyal. Committed. Braindead but dedicated.
Something stirred in Sebas's chest.
Parental instinct.
"Nah," Sebas said, standing up. "I can't let fraudkuna smoke my future son-in-law. That volcano man is FAMILY now. The zombie chose him and I respect my son's choices."
He reached behind his back — into what can only be described as "somewhere" — and pulled out a fruit.
Not a normal fruit. Not the kind that kills you by lodging in your throat. This fruit looked like someone had taken a regular fruit and set it on fire from the inside. Deep red, almost black at the edges, swirling patterns across its skin pulsing like magma flowing through cracks in the earth. It radiated heat. The air around it shimmered.
The Magu Magu no Mi.
The Magma-Magma Fruit. Admiral Akainu's Devil Fruit. The power to become, create, and control MAGMA. The stuff beneath the earth's crust at temperatures that make Jogo's flames look like a birthday candle.
Sebas looked at the fruit.
He looked at Jogo.
He looked at the zombie on Jogo's arm.
"For my son," Sebas whispered.
He dropped the invisibility.
Jogo saw him first.
The shoeless man. The one who'd created the zombie. The one who'd appeared during Gojo's sealing, slipped on blood, called him a science fair volcano, and ruined his entire night.
"YOU—"
Sebas was already in front of him. Moving faster than Sukuna could track — and Sukuna could track EVERYTHING. One moment behind a pillar. The next, three inches from Jogo's face, holding a fruit that smelled like the earth's core.
Sukuna's four eyes locked onto the newcomer. His expression didn't change. But something behind those eyes sharpened. This man had moved faster than him. That hadn't happened in a thousand years.
"No time to explain," Sebas said.
"WHAT ARE YOU—"
"MY FUTURE SON-IN-LAW." Sebas held the fruit to Jogo's face. "EAT THIS."
Silence.
Sukuna watched. Curious despite himself.
Jogo's single eye went wide. "Your WHAT?"
"SON. IN. LAW." Sebas pointed at the zombie on Jogo's arm. "That's my son. You're dating my son. This makes you family. And I am NOT letting fraudkuna over there smoke my family."
"I am NOT dating—"
"The zombie chose you. That's marriage."
"THAT'S NOT HOW ANY—"
"EAT THE FRUIT, JOGOAT."
"WHAT IS—"
"IT'LL MAKE YOUR FIRE LOOK LIKE A LIGHTER. JUST EAT IT."
"I DON'T—"
"EAT."
Sebas shoved the Magu Magu no Mi into Jogo's mouth.
Not gently. With the urgency of a mother bird feeding a chick except the mother bird was a stupidly strong maniac in one shoe and the chick was an ancient cursed spirit having the worst night of his existence.
Jogo's eye went wide.
He bit down.
The fruit was — as every Devil Fruit user in history would confirm — the most disgusting thing he had ever tasted. And he was a being made of fire who didn't technically have taste buds. It tasted like someone had blended a tyre with battery acid and seasoned it with betrayal. His mouth rejected it. His tongue filed for divorce. Every fibre of his cursed spirit body screamed SPIT IT OUT.
But Jogo had survived Gojo. He had survived a zombie. He had survived having the top of his head sliced off by the King of Curses. He was NOT going to be defeated by a fruit.
He swallowed.
And something inside him ignited.