Chapter Five:
The corridors Maki led Kai through were different from the grander, more frequented areas near the main entrance. These were narrower, the wooden floors older, creaking softly under their footsteps despite Maki's light tread. The air here was colder, too, carrying the faint, musty scent of disuse and old paper, overlaid with the persistent, sharp tang of what Kai was beginning to recognize as residual Cursed Energy, like the lingering ozone after a localized lightning strike. Lanterns were fewer here, casting long, dancing shadows that made the already unsettling environment feel even more like the labyrinth from a half-forgotten nightmare.
Kai walked, trying to keep his external demeanor one of weary resignation, though internally his thoughts were a frantic, high-speed collision of variables and worst-case scenarios. Observation room. Secured. These terms are unambiguous. I am, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner. Classify as: unknown potential threat. Objective: information extraction, threat assessment, then… what? Neutralization if deemed hostile? Deportation to my original dimension if deemed harmless but inexplicable? The latter seemed wildly optimistic given the context.
Maki was a silent escort, her focus forward, though Kai felt acutely aware of her occasional, fleeting glances. He wondered what she was thinking. Did she buy any part of his story? Did she see him as a fool, a liar, or something genuinely out of place? Her perception is critical. She's a known quantity in this world, respected for her abilities despite her clan's politics. Her testimony about my initial state could be influential.
"This is B-block," Maki said, her voice cutting the silence as they stopped before a sturdy, plain wooden door, indistinguishable from several others they had passed, except for a few faded paper talismans plastered near the frame – protection wards, Kai guessed, though their specific function was beyond his current knowledge. "The old infirmary wing. Not used much these days, except for… situations like this."
She slid the door open. It moved heavily, with a well-oiled groan. Beyond it was a small, sparse room. Grey tatami mats covered the floor. There was a single, tightly rolled futon in one corner, a low wooden table in the center, and one small, high window covered with thick wooden slats, allowing no view out and likely very little light in. The walls were plain wood, also adorned with several more talismans, these looking fresher, their ink starker. The air inside was cool and still.
"In," Maki instructed, her voice neutral.
Kai stepped inside. The room felt… contained. Not just physically, but energetically. The ambient Cursed Energy seemed duller here, as if the talismans were actively dampening or filtering it.
He heard Maki slide the door shut behind him. There was a heavy, metallic click – a lock, external and robust. Definitely secured.
Then, silence. A heavy, profound silence that pressed in on him from all sides. He was alone. Truly alone, for the first time since the white light had torn him from his world.
The full weight of his situation, temporarily held at bay by the adrenaline of his encounters with Maki and Yaga, now descended with crushing force. He stood in the center of the small room for a long moment, his newly acquired, unfamiliar body rigid. Then, slowly, he began to move.
He paced the length of the room – six strides one way, six strides back. His mind, deprived of external stimuli to analyze, turned inward with a vengeance. Yaga's assessment: anomaly, potential threat. My explanation: insufficient, bordering on ludicrous. Probability of belief: low, very low. Next step: further interrogation. What will they ask? How do I answer without revealing the full, insane truth about my origin from a fictionalized version of their reality?
He stopped at the window, running his fingers over the rough wooden slats. No give. He examined the talismans on the walls. Protection, binding, perhaps a detection ward if I try to use Cursed Energy? Or maybe just to suppress it. He focused, trying to feel them with that new sense he possessed. There was a faint, almost imperceptible thrum emanating from them, a quiet assertion of power.
His physical transformation. Now that he was alone, he could confront it more directly. There were no reflective surfaces in the room beyond a faint, distorted image he could catch if he pressed his face close to the polished surface of the low table – useless. He held up his hands. They were larger, his fingers longer, the knuckles more defined. He felt his arms, his shoulders. Broader, definitely. He stretched to his full height, a height that still felt alien. The top of his head was now much closer to where he estimated the ceiling to be than it would have been in his old body. This is not a subtle change. This is a fundamental alteration. Why? Was it a side effect of the dimensional transport? A requirement for existing in this world? Or something else entirely? The lack of data was maddening.
He sank down onto the tatami, his back against the cool wall. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sensation of Cursed Energy again. He could feel the ambient presence of Jujutsu High around him, like a vast, sleeping beast. He could feel the subtle dampening effect of the room's wards. But what about himself? Did he have… anything? In the anime, individuals with innate techniques often had a Cursed Energy signature, a core.
He tried to look inward, to feel for that core within himself. He imagined it as the characters in the anime did, a wellspring of power in his gut. He focused, concentrated, trying to replicate the mental state he'd seen sorcerers adopt. Nothing. Just the familiar thrum of his own anxious heartbeat and the slight ache in his altered limbs. Perhaps a faint, almost undetectable warmth deep inside, but it was so subtle it could have been his imagination, a wishful thought. No surprise. I'm not a sorcerer. I'm an anomaly who just happens to be able to perceive Cursed Energy now. Another unexplained variable.
The irony of his situation was a bitter pill. He had yearned for a world with tangible rules, with purpose, with something more. He had fantasized about understanding the intricate system of Jujutsu Kaisen. Now he was in it, a prisoner, his primary purpose seemingly to be a confusing problem for its inhabitants. His old life, with its predictable routines and intellectual comforts, felt like a distant, almost imaginary paradise compared to this terrifying, uncertain present. That feeling of being a "ghost with weight" in his old world? It was nothing compared to being a physically transformed, inexplicable entity locked in a warded room in a world of curses and sorcerers.
He opened his eyes, staring at the opposite wall. What would a character in the anime do now? Yuji would probably be yelling or trying to punch his way out. Megumi would be stoically observing, looking for a weakness in the containment. Gojo… Gojo would already be out, probably annoying Yaga. Kai was none of them. He was just Kai, the overthinker, the theorist, now trapped by the very system he'd found so fascinating from afar.
He pushed himself up and began to examine the room more methodically. The door was solid, the lock clearly beyond his ability to manipulate without tools or a relevant Cursed Technique. The window was a non-starter. The talismans… he touched one gingerly. It felt like old, dry paper, but the faint thrum of energy within it was undeniable. He felt a slight tingle in his fingertips as he made contact, a minuscule repellent force, almost like static electricity but with more… intent. He pulled his hand back. Definitely designed to keep things in, or certain energies out.
Exhaustion began to creep in, a heavy cloak settling over his shoulders. The adrenaline from the night's events was wearing off, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and a gnawing anxiety. He unrolled the futon. It was thin, but better than the hard floor. He lay down, staring up at the wooden ceiling, his mind still refusing to be quiet.
Tomorrow. Yaga will question me again. I need a strategy. A more plausible narrative. But what? Amnesia about my entire past? Too convenient. Claim to be from a remote, unknown village of sorcerers? Requires knowledge I don't possess. Every option is flawed.
He thought of his grandmother. What would she be thinking now? Would she even know he was gone, or would his disappearance be as inexplicable in his old world as his appearance was in this one? The thought brought a fresh pang of a different kind of pain, a sorrow that cut deeper than the fear.
The night dragged on. Sleep was a distant, unattainable shore. His mind cycled through scenarios, analyses, fears, and the lingering, disorienting sensation of his own unfamiliar body. He was a system that had encountered a fatal error, desperately trying to reboot into a new, unknown operating environment.
Just as the first, almost imperceptible hint of grey began to dilute the oppressive darkness beyond the slatted window, Kai heard it. Footsteps in the corridor outside. Deliberate, approaching. Coming for him.
He sat up, his heart once again picking up its frantic pace. Morning. And whatever came next.