The sky over Tokyo was a dull, overcast gray—fitting, perhaps, for the arrival of someone who didn't yet understand the weight he carried.
Souten Mikazuki stood quietly at the edge of Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High, a worn duffel slung over one shoulder and a sheathed wooden bokken strapped across his back. He looked up at the massive torii gate before him, eyes the color of rain-washed stone. He wasn't nervous. He wasn't excited either. Just focused—like always.
The gate thrummed faintly with cursed energy, the air around it shimmering for a brief moment before parting with a soft hiss.
Beyond it, waiting with the easy posture of someone who'd never once worried about being late in his life, stood a tall man in a blue uniform and a black blindfold. One hand was raised in a wave, the other tucked in his pocket.
"Yo, Souten-kun! Took you long enough," Gojo Satoru called out with a lopsided grin. "You trying to make me look bad in front of the principal?"
Souten approached calmly, barely reacting to the comment. "You told me to arrive by noon."
Gojo tapped his wrist like he wore a watch. "It's 12:03. That's basically a war crime in punctuality."
Souten tilted his head slightly. "I didn't realize you followed clocks."
Gojo smirked. "Only when I feel like it. Let's get you to the classroom first. Don't be surprised if everyone stares."
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The hallway lights buzzed faintly overhead as Souten followed Gojo through the winding corridors of Jujutsu High. The building was a strange blend of tradition and practicality—scrolls hung beside fire extinguishers, reinforced walls hummed with barrier techniques. Everything here was functional. Purposeful.
When they stepped into the classroom, four students turned to look at them.
Yuta Okkotsu sat near the back, leaning forward slightly. His expression was calm, but alert. Toge Inumaki glanced up from his notebook, pen freezing mid-sentence. Panda tilted his head curiously. Maki Zenin stood near the window with her arms crossed, her gaze locking onto Souten the moment he entered.
For a few seconds, no one said a word.
Then it hit them.
A sudden, faint pressure—not overwhelming, but heavy. Like stepping into a shrine after dark. Souten's cursed energy wasn't flaring, but its presence was distinct. Dense. Layered. Oppressive, yet strangely not harmful. Yuta's brows furrowed. "That's… not normal. I've never felt cursed energy like this."
Toge scribbled something quickly: "His cursed energy feels heavy."
Panda sniffed the air. "Yeah. It's like his very cursed energy is evaluating all of us."
Maki narrowed her eyes, arms still folded. "What? Do you take yourself as some kind of Judge?"
Souten didn't answer right away. He stepped forward, bowed slightly. "I'm Souten Mikazuki. I'll be joining your class from today."
His tone was polite, but not soft. His gaze never wavered.
Gojo grinned, stepping in behind him. "Don't mind the cursed energy. He's not cursed—just complicated. You'll get used to it."
Souten moved to an empty seat as Gojo started explaining the next training rotation. As he sat, his eyes subtly scanned the room—more out of habit than curiosity.
Yuta Okkotsu. Calm posture, minimal movement. His cursed energy was coiled, dense, and... shadowed. Not just by power, but by presence. Something else clung to him, faint but undeniable—like another being watching quietly from just behind his shoulder. Souten didn't need to see it to feel it. There was something with him. Protective. Deeply tied. Someone who knew loss—Souten could see it in the way he watched, not just looked.
Toge Inumaki. Quiet, observant. Hands steady. Souten noticed the way his pen barely trembled even under pressure. Likely had refined control over his cursed energy—discipline etched into every motion.
Panda. The most outwardly expressive. Friendly, but not simple. Souten noted the way Panda's body shifted its weight—too measured to be casual. A cursed corpse, perhaps? Artificial, but alive.
Maki Zenin. Her cursed energy was almost nonexistent, but her presence was sharp. Her eyes didn't just look at him—they challenged him. There was something rigid in her posture, like she was always ready to fight, even while standing still.
And then there was Satoru Gojo. Even standing casually at the front of the room, he was impossible to ignore. His cursed energy didn't press outward—it bent space around it, like gravity with a sense of humor. Souten couldn't see his eyes, but he didn't need to. Anyone with even a shred of perception could tell: Gojo wasn't just strong. He was beyond comparison. A living singularity in the world of Jujutsu. There is a reason he is known as the strongest.
Souten didn't feel fear when looking at him. But he felt something close to reverence. And a very quiet, calculating question in the back of his mind: "What would it take to reach that far?"
Both Maki and Yuta kept watching him for a few moments longer, a subtle tension in Maki's jaw.
There was something about that energy—it wasn't incredibly strong, though there is an incredible amount of it. No, it was more like it was watching, calculating, judging.
Where most peoples cursed energy felt like a hammer, this felt like a sealed door.
Like a storm that hadn't passed at all—just held its breath, waiting.
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Training Field One was a large open courtyard beyond the main buildings, bordered by stone lanterns and wooden racks lined with old weapons and training dummies. Despite the faint drizzle in the air, the stone floor had been swept clean—someone clearly anticipated the students' arrival.
Souten stood near the edge of the field while the others gathered. He wasn't nervous, but there was a subtle tension in the way his fingers brushed the hilt of his bokken—like a habit formed from preparation, not fear.
Gojo stretched lazily as he walked into the center. "Alright, kids. Yaga wants a light sparring session. Get to know each other's style, build some chemistry, all that good stuff. No cursed techniques. Just basics."
Yuta nodded. "Makes sense. We've all worked together before."
Panda added, "It's mostly for you, new guy. Don't worry, we won't hit you too hard."
Toge gave a soft thumbs-up and said casually, "Salmon." Then he scribbled in his notebook and held it up: "He means, 'Let's see what the new guy can do.' Initiation day."
Maki smirked. "You're pairing us off?"
Gojo raised a brow. "You volunteering?"
She looked straight at Souten. "Sure. Let's see if our new recruit's as balanced as his cursed energy makes him sound."
Souten met her gaze evenly. "I'll try not to disappoint."
He stepped into the circle.
Yuta leaned toward Panda. "Think this is a good idea?"
Panda tilted his head, arms crossed. "She's not gonna go easy on him. But if he can keep up? That'll say a lot."
Gojo grinned. "Alright then. Let's keep it clean. No cursed techniques, no lethal force, and try not to break the new guy."
The rain had slowed to a mist. Gojo clapped his hands. "Begin."
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The courtyard fell quiet as Souten and Maki stepped into position, dropping into loose hand-to-hand stances. The air between them was tense—not hostile, but weighted with the kind of anticipation that came before a thunderclap.
Maki moved first.
No warning, no testing the waters—just a straight, clean swing aimed for Souten's shoulder. He blocked it, barely, the force rattling down his arm. The next strike came immediately—a rising cut toward his ribs. He stepped back just enough, her arm slicing past the fabric of his uniform.
She was fast. No—precise. Every movement was stripped of excess, distilled down to pure intent.
Souten countered with a thrust, sharp and compact, aimed toward her midsection. Maki parried with ease and stepped in, aiming a kick toward his shin that forced him off balance.
He adjusted quickly, shifting his weight to avoid the follow-up strike. His movements were efficient, grounded—he wasn't matching her strength, but he wasn't being overwhelmed either.
From the edge of the field, Panda leaned in. "He's definitely not a normal first-year."
Yuta nodded. "Grade 2, at least. And that's just physical technique."
Toge said, "Tuna." Then calmly scribbled in his notebook and held it up again: "Not bad. Calm under pressure."
Maki narrowed her eyes mid-clash. "You're not flinching. That's rare."
"I don't have time to flinch," Souten replied, parrying again.
Another exchange. Another barrage of clean, punishing strikes. Souten deflected three. Took two. Landed one.
Maki spun into a wide arc, aiming a brutal overhead strike. Souten's stance shifted.
He wasn't just defending now. He was reading her.
His cursed energy surged—not instinctively this time, but deliberately.
As their arms collided again—forearm to forearm—a pale white glyph flared to life at the point of contact, hovering briefly like a glowing sigil etched in light.
Maki stepped back, startled by the pressure that followed. For a split second, her cursed energy stuttered. Like something had touched the flow itself.
"What was that?" she muttered, adjusting her grip.
Souten didn't answer.
Maki came in again—faster this time, trying to beat his timing. Souten redirected the strike, and the glyph flashed again—this time across her forearm, momentarily slowing its momentum.
She gritted her teeth, backing off. "This is, a cursed technique?"
Gojo's voice rang out. "Alright, that's enough."
The sigil faded. Souten let his energy recede.
Both fighters lowered their fists. Maki's breath was steady, but her eyes lingered on him a moment longer.
He didn't win. But he made her think.
She gave him a long look, then nodded. "Not bad."
Souten nodded back. "You're better."
"Obviously."
Panda clapped slowly. "Welcome to the class, Souten."
Gojo stepped forward, grinning. "Congrats. You've survived Maki's welcome party. That's usually the worst of it."
Souten stepped back and straightened his posture. He didn't smile. But he felt something ease inside his chest.
It wasn't acceptance. Not yet.
But it was a start.
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The rain had stopped by the time they returned indoors. Souten sat near the back of the classroom, a towel draped over his neck, drying sweat from his face. The others found their seats in varying degrees of interest—most eyes drifting toward him.
Panda was the first to speak. "So… what was that thing you did?"
Maki, arms crossed and still standing, added, "It felt like it poked at my cursed energy. Not just blocked it—touched it."
Toge leaned forward and said, "Bonito flakes." Then he scribbled: "Are you using some kind of binding vow?"
Souten looked at them for a moment, then nodded. "It's called Black Ledger. My cursed technique allows me to mark others with karmic seals. They accumulate through physical contact. Once enough are applied, they can suppress, disrupt, or—if I will it—unravel someone's cursed energy."
Yuta blinked. "Unravel?"
"Think of it like a tally system," Souten explained.
Yuta nodded slowly, still thinking. "That makes sense. But what about your cursed energy itself? It feels... different."
Souten was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Like all cursed energy, mine stems from fear and hatred—but it also carries vengeance. When I make contact with someone, it reflects not just their energy, but their spiritual weight—their imbalance. That's why it feels heavy to you. It's not wild or overwhelming—it's condensed, deliberate. Like it's watching, measuring. It doesn't move like most cursed energy because it's not meant to lash out—it's meant to respond."
He looked down at his hands. "That's why it feels the way it does. I don't just generate cursed energy—I carry karmic weight. Echoes of everything the seals have recorded."
Panda whistled. "That's… heavy."
Maki studied him, unreadable. "You didn't use it all the way, though."
"I didn't need to," Souten replied. "And I didn't want to."
Gojo leaned into the doorway, arms crossed. "See? Told you he's complicated."
Yuta rested his arms on his desk. "So the more someone's unbalanced, the more effective your technique is?"
Souten nodded. "Not Exactly. It's not really about them being unbalanced. It's about their soul—how much they've done wrong, and whether they carry that weight. Black Ledger reads that. Every soul records its own transgressions, whether people realize it or not. The more wrong someone has done, the more clearly my technique can see it—and the stronger the backlash when I use it."
Toge wrote: "So it's reactive. That's why it felt like it was watching."
Panda tilted his head. "What happens if you fight someone… balanced? Or just decent?"
"They still get marked," Souten said. "But it takes longer. And the seals are harder to activate. If their spirit is aligned with their intent, there's less karmic backlash."
Maki raised a brow. "So what, it's like spiritual debt?"
Souten considered it, then nodded once. "That's a good way to put it."
Yuta's brow furrowed as he leaned forward, connecting the dots aloud. "So… if it can read the wrongs someone has done, not just their cursed energy—does that mean your technique interacts with the soul?"
The question landed like a pin-drop. For a few seconds, no one said anything.
Even Gojo, who had been casually leaning in the doorway, straightened slightly.
Toge glanced around, then slowly wrote: "You serious?"
Souten met their eyes, calm but honest. "That's what my clan has always believed. That Black Ledger doesn't just interact with cursed energy—it interfaces with the soul's karmic record."
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The classroom had mostly cleared out. The buzz of voices faded into the quiet hum of the hallway beyond. Souten remained seated, his towel folded on the desk, posture straight but relaxed. Gojo hadn't left.
"Mind walking with me?" Gojo asked casually, already halfway out the door.
Souten stood and followed him into the corridor. They walked side by side through the quiet hallways, feet echoing lightly against the polished floors.
"You made quite the impression," Gojo said. "Maki's not easy to impress. Panda on the other hand is easily impressed. And Toge. Well, he's Toge."
Souten didn't respond right away.
Gojo glanced sideways at him. "You already know this, but I'll say it anyway: that technique of yours? It's not just strong. It's dangerous."
"I don't use it unless I have to," Souten said.
"I know. That's why we're having this conversation and not a disciplinary review." Gojo smiled, but it faded quickly. "Souten… the soul isn't a battlefield most sorcerers are ready to walk into. You step into that space—you better be damn sure why."
Souten looked straight ahead. "I don't intend to break people."
"I didn't say you would," Gojo said, hands in his pockets. "But one day, someone's going to ask you to. And when that happens, you need to know whether you're the kind of person who says yes."
They stopped at the entrance to the school. The sky had cleared, and faint sunlight filtered through the clouds.
Gojo stretched, then added, more lightly, "Anyway. Don't let the kids scare you off. Toge's bark is worse than his rice ball, and Panda talks in his sleep."
Souten allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch.
Gojo's grin returned. "There it is. A smile. Told you you weren't a statue."
Souten looked out at the school grounds, quiet again. The moment lingered.
And then he remembered the first time he met Gojo.
The cursed spirit. The shrine. The grin that didn't quite fit the strength behind it.
That was where it all began.
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