Chapter 35

  How embarrassing that I had made Shoko’s monumental achievement all about me. I hadn’t meant to, of course. The soul sake was some really strong stuff. I doubted I’d be fully sober until at least noon.

  Thankfully, we moved on quite quickly.

  “Just to be clear,” Geto said. “While healing oneself is an extremely rare skill, healing others is practically unheard of?”

  “It’s not unheard of,” Gojo said. “It’s more like the stuff of legend. Like, real legends, not myth. Some techniques facilitate the Reverse Cursed Technique via some condition or other. That’s how most people access it—via their innate technique. But Shoko isn’t activating hers. She’s utilizing the Reverse Cursed Technique the same way Teira and I do—only better, because not only can she generate it internally, she can also output it externally. Without an innate technique. The last sorcerer with this power was a man known as Ghost Hands Matsumoto, who lived in the seventeen hundreds.”

  I had heard of Ghost Hands Matsumoto, the legendary healer.

  I had also dismissed him as a myth. Him and all of his predecessors of the rare Reverse Cursed Technique output. Perhaps… I had judged too soon.

  Basing that judgment on…

  Dammit. I certainly had judged too soon. Now, I was paying the price, by being woefully behind schedule. My one reprieve was the knowledge that the skill also eluded Gojo. I could take comfort in that.

  “Uhh…” Shoko looked unsure. “My buzz has worn off. I don’t know what this means for me.”

  I put a hand over her arm. “Nothing that you don’t want it to mean. That, I can assure you.”

  “Hah!” Gojo grinned. “Be grateful. Without us, the higher-ups would probably kidnap you and put you in a cage and force you to keep their old asses young for eternity.”

  “What?!”

  “Ignore him,” I growled. “He’s talking out of his ass, like usual. The Reverse Cursed Technique doesn’t reverse aging. If it did, guys with that power would still be around.”

  “They wouldn’t just want to come after me, would they?” Shoko asked.

  Dammit, Gojo. I shot him a quick glare before shaking my head to Shoko. “They wouldn’t make a move like that, given our connection. Still, it’s best that you focus on learning how to protect yourself, just in case. The higher-ups would more realistically offer you tons of benefits to simply become a doctor. You wouldn’t have to go after cursed spirits. In doing so, you would be hampering your growth in skill, which isn’t ideal.”

  “I mean,” she looked at her tray of food in worry. “It’s not like I want to overrely on either of you.” She then moaned sadly, pushing the tray away to drape her upper body on the table. “Why do I have to be so dang gifted?”

  “Join the club,” Gojo grinned widely. “No offense, but I never expected you to be much of anything. Glad I was wrong.”

  “Satoru,” Geto said. “You have an awful personality.”

  “Agreed,” Shoko and I said at the same time, causing Gojo’s expression to twist into agony. “For the time being, let’s keep it quiet until you grow some calluses on your fists, Shoko. Or, whatever you want. It’s up to you.”

  “Yeah, I think I’ll just wait…” Shoko said. “Sounds like it’s for the best.”

  “I suppose it’ll be my turn, soon.”

  Gojo and I immediately locked in on Geto, who quietly ate his breakfast after having said that. Gojo grinned, clapping Geto on his shoulder. “My man!”

  “It’s good to be ambitious,” I raised a thumbs-up.

  “You can do it, Dragon of Kamakura!” Shoko cheered.

  Geto grimaced. “I feel patronized.”

  “Don’t! You’re strong!” Gojo said.

  “Great job last night,” I said. Gojo and Geto looked at me in shock. “You really showed those jerks.”

  Gojo seemed to chuckle in relief for some reason. Hm, why?

  Ah. He must have thought I was referring to his secret meeting with the Gojo clan head. Now that I mentioned the subject, I could smell a bit of despondency on him. Something about that conversation had left him rather un-energized.

  “Teira… are you spying on us?” Geto asked quietly.

  I shook my head. “Not at all. The simple fact is, I just hear very well,” I pointed at my antennae. “These things increase my range of spiritual perception to about three-hundred and twenty-five kilometers. Even higher the more I transform. But the real strength lies in its physical sensory perception. I can hear everything on campus. Every whispered conversation. I can hear so well that I can even sense the shapes of people and objects based on how sound bounces off them. Like a bat.”

  “Oh yeah, fun fact—she’s actually blind!” Gojo said. “Those aren’t real eyes.”

  Geto gaped at that. “Uh… wait, nevermind that!” He focused on me. “You’re choosing to hear what goes on in the boy’s dorm,” Geto said. “Teira, I need you to understand—that’s not acceptable.”

  “Ah,” I said. Then I shook my head. “No, you got it wrong. I hear everything. I just happened to hear what went on last night. Well, everything that didn’t occur inside of a barrier of Infinity,” I flashed Gojo a grin. “Or, the crap they’re discussing in the secret council chamber. They put up a barrier for that before I arrived here. Smart of them.”

  “That’s not… possible,” Geto said. “Even if you can hear everything, don’t you have to focus on what you want to hear? Otherwise, you’d just get overwhelmed.”

  “Ah, I see your confusion: actually, that’s not how I work. I can basically process as many streams of data as I want. Pretty easily, in fact. It’s how I can control my shikigami so well.”

  “You control them all manually,” Gojo said. “My elders couldn’t believe it when they heard it, too. Scared the crap out of them.”

  He was clearly exposing my cursed technique just to piss me off. He’d regret playing that game with me.

  I was already arranging my revenge as we spoke.

  “But I get your point,” I said to Geto. “You don’t have to lecture me. I’ll specifically try to tune out whatever’s going on in your dorm building. I already do, by the way. I don’t just listen in on every private conversation on campus—well, I do, but I filter non-essential chatter out from my memory automatically. Anything that’s got nothing to do with me, I automatically let go.” I wasn’t really making a good case for myself here. Oh well. “But what happened last night was really loud.”

  “And what exactly was that?” Shoko asked me.

  “My loyal knights in shining armor, fighting to defend my honor,” I chortled. “The upperclassmen ganged up on Gojo because he challenged me. What a bunch of idiots. Don’t worry Gojo, Geto—those idiots are on their way here to apologize to you as we speak. I gave them a piece of my mind after all.”

  “What?!” Gojo shouted. “Wait—stop that! Don’t you dare! That’s embarrassing!”

  “They’ll promise never to hurt your feelings again,” I continued. “Or disturb your precious, peaceful high school days.”

  Gojo grinned in anger. “Oh, you’re diabolical.”

  “I’ll call them off,” I said. “If you tell me what you discussed with your clan head.”

  Gojo raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that? None of your goddamn concern.”

  I grinned widely. “I asked for your benefit, but I fear I’ve already collected enough clues to form a picture. He walked away from your meeting really negative. Scared, stressed, angry. You flew away looking quite angry as well. And… tired. He asked you for something and you turned him down.”

  I could guess at exactly what that thing was, but I didn’t want to kill the table’s vibe by mentioning a conspiracy to murder.

  “And I want you to know, Gojo—I’m grateful,” I nodded to him. “You made a political maneuver on my behalf, even after you told me expressly that you wouldn’t.”

  “Well, if you’re so damn grateful, how about you call off our senpais coming over here to apologize on your goddamn orders before you embarrass us?!”

  I hissed and shook my head. “I would have, if you had come clean. I gave you the chance. I’m sorry, however.”

  “Teira—“

  “Three years, Gojo,” I said. “You harassed me for three years.”

  “It was one year and then you told me—“

  “Oh! Right! Just one year of a protracted harassment campaign from the ‘strongest’ specialest boy in the world! That makes it so much better!”

  The best thing I could do for this stupid, na?ve, but ultimately well-meaning boy was to teach him that actions had consequences. That would be his reward for sticking up to me. Tough love, but love nonetheless.

  Geto raised his hand. “I, for one, am very eager to see those bastards apologize. Thank you, Teira. I appreciate the gesture.”

  The viciousness of how he beat the crap out of those seniors hadn’t gone unnoticed to me. Geto was rapidly becoming more and more interesting to me as time passed. Made it all the more surprising and coincidental that we had all found each other as we had. Even Shoko wasn’t exempt from the general air of excellence in this friend group. Odd to say the least.

  Was this fate, perhaps? Maybe it was.

  I returned the nod. “Thank you for being mature, Geto. A wrong done unto you deserves apology. Saving face by acting highly is immature in this day and age of clear communication, Gojo.”

  “I hate you so much.”

  “Aw. I thought we were best friends.”

  “Devil.”

  “You wound me.”

  “Demon.”

  Peaceful, precious high school days.

  At this rate, these four years might fly by in an instant.

  000

  “Alright, let’s not waste any time on this,” Yaga-sensei immediately began after stomping into the classroom like everyone in it owed him money and turned to us with a flare of energy. Yaga-sensei, to my knowledge, gave it his all in basically everything he did. It was an odd, albeit extremely intriguing way to live. Especially for one who dealt with children on a daily basis. “Elect your class representative. A girl and a boy. In two weeks, you will cast votes for Jujutsu High’s next student council president, vice president, secretary, treasurer, and general affairs! After this present election, there will be a club fair. There will be consequences should you choose not to register in any club. If you want to join a subcommittee for the student council, ask the current administration. As the last president already graduated, that would be the vice president, Mukai Reiko.”

  Gojo, who was sitting to my left, leaned closer to my desk with a grin as he whispered “let’s just join a club that’s on the brink of disbanding, and use it to hang out or whatever.”

  This boy really had a penchant for living life on his own pace. Also, “You don’t have to lean close to me for me to hear you, you dolt.”

  “Hibana! Gojo!” Yaga shouted.

  Fuck!

  “What was so important that you had to interrupt me? You couldn’t just wait until I was done?”

  “I apologize, sir,” I said.

  “I apologize, too!”

  To my right, Shoko shot me a feline grin of mocking.

  “Alright, I’m done talking,” Yaga said. Then why the hell was he hassling us anyway?! “I’ll be back in ten minutes. By then, you better have elected two class representatives.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  With that, he just left.

  The whole class was entirely silent.

  I raised my hand to speak, but Suzuki Yui beat me to the punch.

  “Hibana for class rep! I’ll beat the crap out of anyone who says otherwise!”

  Wait! Dammit.

  “That’s not—“

  “Kobayashi Jun for class rep!” Gojo shouted. “Who’s with me?!”

  “I don’t care!” Suzuki shouted back. “As long as Hibana is the class rep.”

  “Firstly,” I said. “Let’s begin by splitting up the class. Boys on one side. Girls on the other. We discuss among ourselves and elect our class reps.” It wasn’t as if the boys didn’t have a right to weigh in on which girl should be the class rep, but this way was just easier, and faster.

  Once we migrated to our sides—with Aomori Sakura still on her desk in the very back corner of the class, scribbling away without a care in the world—I told the girls, who stood in a semi circle in front of me, “I don’t actually want to be the class rep.”

  Suzuki gasped at me. “No way, boss! Who better to lead us than you?” Boss.

  “Lead us to what?” I asked, chuckling. “I’d be a class rep, not exactly some kind of warlord.”

  “Back me up, girls!” Suzuki shouted behind her.

  Aomori Sakura was, as usual, in her own world scribbling down notes in her book whenever Yaga-sensei wasn’t watching. She hadn’t even been present to my little speech yesterday. Quite the odd person, but then again, who was I to talk?

  “False modesty doesn’t become you, Hibana-san,” Takahashi Hana said haughtily. “You should stand proud. You would represent the class after all. And there is no better candidate for that.”

  I looked at Ito Aoi, Takahashi’s little hanger-on, questioningly. “And what do you have to say?”

  “I… I think you could make a good leader.”

  “I decline. Just flat out,” I said. “What’s more, I think the ideal class rep would be you, Takahashi.”

  “Huh?!” Suzuki looked offended. She whipped her head so fast that her read ponytail slapped her in the face, as she sent a glare to Takahashi. “Her? She even that strong?”

  “It’s an administrative position, Suzuki,” Takahashi rolled her eyes. “Not a position of battle prowess. Do you even want the responsibility of being class rep?”

  Predictably, the boys were being a lot more raucous.

  Gojo slapped his hand on Kobayashi’s desk. “What’ll it be, Kobayashi?” He asked. “You ready to seize your destiny and become the class rep?”

  “That’s one way to sell my potential short,” Kobayashi snorted.

  “Gojo is just being overexcited,” Geto said, “but if I’m being honest, I can’t see anyone else in this position but you.”

  “Very well. If no one has any objections, I’ll take on this burden.”

  Satoshi sniffed. “Punk,” he said, which led to a minor argument. I refocused on my side.

  “Suzuki,” I said to her. “What’s the verdict, then? You still want to be class rep?”

  “I’m asking why she’s the right one,” Suzuki deflected.

  “Aomori-chan,” Shoko called out to the girl in the corner. The girl looked up from her scribbling. “Who do you think—“

  “Oh, the class rep thing? I don’t care. Me, I guess. If not, then I don’t care.”

  Suzuki scoffed. “Why would it be you? You barely talk to us! You barely talk to anyone!”

  “You asked who I thought. I answered,” She said with a shrug before continuing writing.

  I chuckled. The balls on her. “Why shouldn’t it be her?” I asked. “I for one think it would be a good opportunity to get her out of her shell. Or something.”

  “In that case,” Suzuki frowned, “I’d rather it be Takahashi. And Ito is going to vote for her as well because they’re friends.”

  Takahashi, in the meanwhile, was preening at the attention. “Thank you, thank you.”

  Ito, conspicuously, didn’t say anything at all. Or maybe it wasn’t that conspicuous for self-assured young girls like those two, who were likely at the top of their social niches wherever they had come out from. The Sophia Hesses and Emma Barneses of my new life—only they would never dare hurt me.

  The memory of those two caused me such discomfort that I dispelled it instantly. And mentally apologized to Suzuki and Takahashi. They weren’t perfect, but they certainly did not deserve that comparison.

  “Then Teira and I are voting for Aomori,” Shoko drawled, narrowing her eyes at Takahashi. “And since she votes for herself, that makes it three against three, right?”

  “Why would you even want her?” Takahashi asked. “Look at her! She’s sitting all the way over there, busy writing like usual!”

  Suzuki glared at Shoko. “Why vote for her anyway?”

  “Why’re you asking me that, and not Teira? Is somebody afraid?”

  Suzuki turned to me, and with a considerably more careful tone, asked, “Why Aomori?”

  “I have nothing against you or Takahashi,” I said. “But I don’t enjoy the idea of discounting her out of hand, asocial personality notwithstanding.” Aomori either hadn’t heard that or she had ignored that so thoroughly that she had made no internal reaction to it either. “Or even Ito for that matter. If we want to figure out our class rep, shouldn’t we have this discussion with everyone present? That’s how any union should work, no?”

  I knew, from experience, that that was the optimistic way to view it. Most union people didn’t participate in the day-to-day politics even though the option was always there. In doing so, some of them would become increasingly disgruntled with the decisions made by the union, as if they were meant to be mind-readers or something.

  An organization like that couldn’t work unless everybody participated.

  “Why can’t you just step up, Hibana?” Suzuki asked, almost pleaded. “Every time you talk, it makes sense. People hang onto your words like it’s the most natural thing to do. You would make a perfect class rep.”

  “I want the rest of you to have practice in leadership, too,” I said. “I vote for Aomori because I want her to be more—hey, Aomori. I’m voting for you because I want you to join the rest of us. Become more involved. Why do you think you’re the girl for the job anyway?”

  Aomori took a moment to think, gazing languidly at the ceiling. “It’s because I’m good at disregarding the will of others.”

  “Can you come closer to us?”

  She stood up and walked up to us. “I had experience as a class rep in my school last year. I learned very quickly that reaching a resolution with others doesn’t really matter. You can negotiate for more budget and leeway in arranging public events as long as you negotiate with barely any regard for the wishes of anyone else, or an understanding of limitations. The moment cooperation becomes your main concern, you’ve already lost. Of course, this falls flat unless you pretend to care about cooperation just a little. I can assure all you girls, I don’t care at all.”

  Oh my god, I love this girl.

  Shoko clapped her hands.

  “There are some flaws with that logic,” I said. “I’d love to continue discussing this with you, but can we first put a pin on that subject? Ito, I’m sorry to single you out, but we could really use your kind voice as well.”

  “I think…” she looked down. “I think Takahashi should be the class rep. If you don’t want to. Because she’s good at making people like her. I like her.”

  Takahashi’s eyes glittered at the sudden praise. Tears welled up in them as well. “Thank you! You’re really so kind, Ito.”

  Ito smiled shyly.

  “What the hell gives, Satoshi?!” Gojo yelled. “Kobayashi’s the best man for the job, alright?”

  Meanwhile, with the boys, things were finally starting to kick off.

  “Gojo-san,” Kobayashi said quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Let me handle this.”

  000

  In the world of Jujutsu, violence didn’t seem to be a form of bullying at all, Jun had learned.

  If this had been a non-sorcerer school, there would have been a lot more viciousness to the violence. A lot more spite. But in Satoshi Ren’s eyes, there wasn’t any spite at all. The dick just wanted to fight for the love of the game.

  Jun imagined that if he gave up his image and appeared weak, then Satoshi would never bother with him again. Neither would anyone else. That would be the ‘real’ bullying, in terms of Jujutsu—being discounted.

  In contrast, being challenged in this way was meant to be an honor. In theory.

  Satoshi’s thrice-beaten face had healed over admirably. He’d taken several trips to the infirmary, no doubt, costing the school much of their precious miraculous medicine—a sweet, honey-like substance that could be applied on bruises and wounds.

  Jun suspected that he would have more need for it after they were done.

  While it frightened him to have to resort to physical violence so often, there was a fair bit of anger there as well, deep inside. Anger at getting closer to exposing his innate technique. Anger at being seen for the coward that he was.

  That his lie would be exposed.

  Gojo Satoru gleefully used his technique to push away all the desks to the edges of the room. Even a few of the girls who were still seated on their chairs had been lifted up and moved away with some yelps.

  Jun put his glasses on his desk and gazed impassively at Satoshi. Short-cropped blond hair, an X-shaped scar underneath his right eye, and his dark navy blue uniform jacket was open, revealing a black shirt underneath.

  “Is this really necessary?” Geto asked tiredly, putting a hand on his forehead. “We already have two votes for Kobayashi. What about you two, Ishikawa, Nakamura?”

  Ishikawa Takumi hummed in thought. The rotund, tall boy grinned guilelessly as always as he pinched his chin. “I can see Kobayashi-san being the class rep, too. I would vote for him under regular circumstances.”

  Nakamura Daiki, who was sitting on top of one of the desks pushed to the sidelines, raised his hand. “Same, yo. But these circumstances ain’t regular. If our class rep can’t throw down, then what use is he?”

  Jun, for his own sanity, chose not to question that ridiculous statement. Surely, a class rep wasn’t expected to do battle as a part of their duties.

  And if that was the case, then Gojo would automatically have to be the class rep. Of course, he was busy pushing away that hassle of a responsibility to Jun, simply because he looked like the most responsible boy in class.

  He had reinforced that image too strongly to deny this responsibility without looking like a faker. And being a class rep couldn’t be so bad.

  He turned to the girls and bowed his head. “Apologies for the disruption. I fear this part of our electoral process is… rather unavoidable.”

  He didn’t wait to gauge their reactions, for fear that he had come off as a tryhard. Instead, he turned to Satoshi, unbuttoning his trench coat. “Are you going to say something trite like ‘nothing personal’?” Jun asked.

  “It’s not,” Satoshi said. “But I won’t acknowledge you unless you beat me.”

  Typical.

  Jun should have known that this was the prevailing culture, going into this school. Violence was forbidden, but the penalties were extremely vague, and clearly quite lacking if even Gojo and Hibana’s display the day before hadn’t locked them out of the academy.

  Similarly, Jun could expect a slap on the wrists as well, should he beat Satoshi.

  He threw his coat to the side, making it land on his desk.

  To get in the zone, Jun thought of an aggressive line, one that could reflect his own inner anger.

  “I’ve grown tired of people underestimating me,” Jun growled. That was good.

  Satoshi darted forward.

  Jun activated his Coward’s Dance.

  He slipped underneath the punch, delivering an uppercut that took Satoshi off his feet. Jun spun, and kicked him square in the chest using the momentum of the spin, launching him backwards several meters.

  He felt a surprising lack of give at his monumental strikes. Jun hardly believed that he had ever hit a single person or object as hard as he had just hit Satoshi. Jun hadn’t held back from applying the sum total of the knowledge he had gained yesterday from Yaga-sensei’s Jujutsu lesson.

  Satoshi skidded backwards on his feet, and dashed in again, looking completely unruffled.

  Jun pushed himself to dodge the ensuing barrage of punches. He could see the path to safety, but he could barely keep up with the choreography. It wasn’t his technique that was failing him, but his body.

  I have to infuse more cursed energy into my body.

  Not just my legs and core.

  No. All of it.

  My entire body.

  Full coverage.

  The harebrained idea had merit. Instantly, as he extended his cursed energy to the rest of his body, carefully keeping as much of it confined to his muscles as possible, he began to feel a newfound resonance with the choreography.

  He could keep up easily.

  And he was barely even straining his stores of energy.

  He could keep up. Moreover, he could fight back!

  BAM.

  A right cross that struck Satoshi directly in his face. It stunned him for a moment, allowing Jun to apply some of his knowledge on anatomy. Liver. Left lower side of his torso.

  My left.

  The punch doubled him over in agony, lowering his face.

  Jun didn’t hesitate to go for the most savage tactic available to him.

  Jun thought back to when he was twelve.

  His life was just beginning to collapse as the demons sank their hooks into every adult in his life. His teachers, his parents, even his priest.

  Even his friends. Now bullies.

  It had started small, with mockery and pushes.

  It had escalated into fights. Jun had tried his best to exhaust every option. He had called the teachers.

  They hadn’t helped him.

  His priest was equally useless. His friends went to the same church as him, but the priest said the same thing that the teachers said.

  Just try to get along.

  Jun had swallowed his pride, asking his parents for help. Compromising his lie of a perfect life.

  We’re sure you can handle it, son. You’re blessed, after all.

  They had drank themselves into a stupor, forgetting the very conversation.

  The day after, Jun had fought back, next to a construction area in town.

  He had beat one of his friends. His remaining three friends approached him with weapons; rebar that they had found on the ground near the construction area.

  While a part of Jun’s mind screamed in disbelief that such weapons could easily take his life should they hit the wrong place, a deeper part of Jun saw no reason to put stock in words any longer.

  A performance wouldn’t save him. So if lies wouldn’t help him, how could truths ever do the same?

  Jun had reached deeply into himself. Unbeknownst to him, he had manipulated his cursed energy to become stronger.

  Just one punch had shattered the arm of one of his assailants so thoroughly that his forearm bent at an acute angle, bones sticking out and revealing ripped up muscle-fibers from the overstretched muscles.

  He had run away.

  The laxity of his community had gone both ways. As no one had taken his bullying seriously, no one had believed honestly that Jun had been responsible for such a grievious injury.

  From then on out, Jun had lived by a simple policy.

  Lie when you can.

  Reveal the truth when all else fails. And there was no harsher truth than violence.

  Jun’s knee crashed into Satoshi’s face. He felt a crunch that sickened him somewhat. Chains of indecision held him back from feeding more energy into the strike.

  He didn’t like hurting people at all. Even when it was necessary. He’d much rather only ever fight cursed spirits.

  But did this idiot even understand that?!

  Satoshi’s head sailed backwards, a spray of blood from his nostrils shooting out like jets as he stumbled backwards. “We’re not here to be the strongest!” Jun roared as he refused to let up, planting a hook to Satoshi’s face. “We’re here…!” Left hook. “To exorcise…!” Another right hook. “Curses!”

  Finally, Jun allowed himself to feel resentful of the likes of Gojo Satoru. And even Hibana Teira. Both of them had essentially solidified this idiotic mentality that battling other sorcerers was the end-all be-all of sorcery, when there was an infestation of monsters plaguing the country, murdering people in droves!

  Satoshi grabbed Jun by his shirt, pulled his head back—

  This will hurt.

  Jun shadowed the movement, pulling his own head back as well. The collision of foreheads immediately erased all rage and fear in his mind, replacing it with pure confusion.

  What the f—where am I?

  He saw Satoshi stumbling backwards in shock. Then he grinned. “Can’t take a hit, can you?”

  Jun remembered himself, and he infused cursed energy into himself in order to stand straight. He actually felt like throwing up. From a hit to his head. Was that a concussion? Those could potentially have lifelong repercussions!

  Once again, his anger returned.

  “And for the record,” Satoshi slurred. “I don’t give a damn about what you’re saying. Matter of fact, I didn’t even hear anything.”

  Jun rushed him. It was pointless to have a conversation while fighting after all.

  Satoshi held up a hand, stopping Jun in his tracks. “Let’s fight some other time,” Satoshi said. “A time when the teacher won’t stop us. But… you passed my test, nerd. I acknowledge you.”

  Jun still punched him.

  The punch made him feel like every other punch he had thrown in his life was a false one.

  The force of it took Satoshi off his feet and sent him slamming into the blackboard, shattering it and the wall behind it.

  Dammit!

  Structural damage. He’d have to pay that back. And without any real cash to his name, he might be indebted to Jujutsu High for years to come!

  “Gojo, why did you do that?!” Hibana shouted.

  “Yeah, Gojo!” Ieiri shouted as well. “You can’t just be wrecking the school, idiot!”

  “What—?!”

  Geto Suguru sighed and put a hand on Gojo’s shoulder. “That wasn’t right of you, and you know it.”

  “And you, Suguru?!”

  You know what?! Screw it! He turned to the same impetuous idiot that had goaded him into this class rep position in the first place and shook his head in disappointment. “I will report your misconduct to Yaga-sensei, Gojo-san. That is my duty as a class rep, of course.” Right? You bastard?

  Gojo’s gape of disbelief was priceless.

  “And to all you others,” Jun raised his voice, sweeping his hand over the boy-section of the class. He did have Suzuki Yui in mind as well, but she was standing too close to Hibana—and he’d hate to challenge her. “Challenge me at your own peril. I’m done with these childish games. We’re here to learn Jujutsu and exorcise curses, not sate our egos and jockey for positions in a hierarchy of strength.”

  I’m putting it on too thickly.

  Calm down, just a tad.

  “Now, if we’re all quite done with this nonsense,” Jun sighed. “Let’s arrange the desks properly again.”

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