Chapter 118 – The Shift in the Culling Game
The situation was growing increasingly complicated.
Yet Sukuna's reaction had revealed something crucial to Megumi — the Angel's ability posed a tremendous threat to him. That was why Sukuna had warned Itadori in the first place.
But Itadori's thoughts ran in a different direction.
As Sukuna's vessel, he had always known that his life had an expiration date. If dying meant saving Gojo-sensei… then it was a trade he was more than willing to make.
So what if his end came sooner? As long as it bought everyone a chance to move forward, that was enough.
With that thought, he stepped forward, ready to speak. "Actually, I—"
Before he could finish, the Angel's calm voice suddenly broke in:
"Something's wrong. A large number of players just entered the barrier."
Her expression hardened instantly. "Little Beetle, show me the number of new arrivals."
A faint golden light flashed, and the tiny messenger creature appeared, its mechanical voice echoing softly:
> "Report: Just now, 807 new players have entered the Culling Game."
"What?" The Angel's voice turned sharp. "Eight hundred and seven? That's impossible! Where could so many players come from all at once?"
Her gaze turned grim. "This influx will completely disrupt the fragile balance we've established."
For over ten days, the Culling Game had been stabilizing — the recent rules allowing free movement and point transfer had nearly neutralized the chaos. Most barriers were quiet, each territory reaching a tense but steady equilibrium.
But now, out of nowhere, hundreds of new combatants had appeared.
It could only mean one thing: someone — or something — had deliberately thrown the game back into turmoil.
"What happened?" Megumi muttered, brows knitting. Every time they found a foothold, the ground shifted again beneath them.
Still, they had finally located the Angel. The next priority was to regroup with Zen'in Shinsuke and the others, and then plan their next move.
---
Meanwhile—
Across multiple barriers, the situation was rapidly deteriorating.
Armed soldiers in full tactical gear were appearing inside the Culling Game's domains — men with rifles, grenades, and even prototype energy weapons powered by cursed energy itself.
They weren't sorcerers. They were foreign military operatives.
Months earlier, Kenjaku's manipulations had already exposed the existence of cursed energy to several powerful nations. To them, it wasn't sorcery — it was a new, limitless energy source, clean and high-yield, capable of replacing every modern power system on Earth.
And now that the Culling Game had opened… they had their chance.
Their orders were simple: capture sorcerers alive.
Dissect them.
Study the structure of cursed energy.
Uncover its origin — and seize control of it.
Because if they succeeded, their nations would possess the key to infinite power.
---
Inside one of the barriers, a group of confused players ducked behind ruined buildings as gunfire erupted nearby.
"Who the hell are these people?!" someone shouted. "They don't feel like sorcerers—"
A streak of bullets tore through the air, tearing apart a nearby wall.
Another voice answered, trembling, "They're not… They're soldiers! Armed forces from outside the country!"
And as cursed energy clashed with modern firepower for the first time, the Culling Game began to evolve — from a deadly ritual among sorcerers into something far greater, and far more dangerous:
A war between the world and jujutsu itself.
Inside the Tokyo Second Colony, Zen'in Shinsuke and his companions were clearing out clusters of lingering curses, preparing to move on to another barrier—when suddenly, they found themselves surrounded.
Dozens of fully armed soldiers emerged from the smoke, forming a tight ring around them. The muzzles of their rifles gleamed coldly under the light.
Kashimo Hajime tilted his head, his sharp eyes glinting with faint amusement.
"They're challenging us?" he asked, his tone casual but tinged with excitement.
"Looks like it," Shinsuke replied with a shrug. "Guess Kenjaku really pulled it off — convincing outsiders to throw themselves into the lion's den."
Kashimo's lips curled into a faint smile. "Then… we can kill them, right?"
"Do as you like," Shinsuke said indifferently, spreading his hands. "I don't know these people."
The soldiers' commander squinted, studying the three figures before him. There was something eerily familiar about the tall man in black.
He took out a sleek, high-tech projector, cycling through images — Sukuna, Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento… and there it was: Zen'in Shinsuke's face, captured mid-battle.
Kenjaku's "briefing file."
Months ago, he'd provided them with detailed data — footage, power assessments, and behavioral notes — on key Japanese sorcerers.
"So it's him," the commander muttered. He remembered Kenjaku's warning clearly.
"This one isn't a sorcerer, but he's just as dangerous. Capture him alive for study."
He raised a hand. "Target confirmed. Engage—"
A blinding flash of lightning erupted before he could finish.
In the next instant, his world spun—literally. His own head hit the ground.
The soldiers froze as the commander's body crumpled, blood spurting across the broken asphalt.
Kashimo's voice, low and contemptuous, echoed through the silence.
"Pathetic. You thought numbers could make up for strength?"
Electric arcs flickered around him, dancing like serpents. Every breath he took hummed with killing intent.
"Tch." Shinsuke glanced around at the smoking remains. "Guess that's that. Now, shall we go find Sukuna?"
A faint voice emerged from Tsukimi's mouth — or rather, from Yorozu, currently sharing her body.
"Finally. I was getting bored."
"Let's move."
Without another glance at the carnage, the three of them stepped forward, heading toward Tokyo's First Barrier, where Yuji and the others were regrouping.
---
Meanwhile, deep beneath Tokyo Jujutsu High, inside the sacred chamber of the Star Corridor (Kōseikyū), the atmosphere was far less calm.
The air trembled with restrained tension as Tsukumo Yuki and Tengen faced each other, their exchange sharp enough to cut.
"Old woman," Yuki began, folding her arms, "was Amanai really the only Star Plasma Vessel back then — aside from me?"
Tengen, serene as ever, poured herself tea. "There was no one more compatible than Amanai Riko."
"So there were others," Yuki pressed, eyes narrowing. "Then why didn't you merge with any of them? You could've prevented all of this."
Tengen's movements were calm, almost detached.
"Refusal? No," she said softly. "Call it… acceptance. Assimilation with a vessel only resets my form — it halts my evolution by age. But true evolution… can't be undone."
Her gaze turned distant.
"No one could predict whether that evolution would bring me closer to enlightenment — or turn me against humanity entirely.
When the last assimilation failed, my consciousness spread beyond the body. I survived only by anchoring myself with barrier techniques."
Her words were eerily gentle — like a scientist describing her own dissection.
Yuki listened in silence, then poured herself a cup of scalding tea. She drank it in one gulp, then slammed the cup against the table, shattering it.
"'Acceptance'? You call that acceptance?" she snapped. "You let children bear the burden of your failure and then dress it up as 'rationality'!"
Her voice trembled with rage.
"So when assimilation failed, you just decided it didn't matter anymore? That you could accept it as fate?!"
Tengen remained silent, her ageless face unreadable.
Yuki's voice dropped, bitter. "At least Riko never gave in to you. Thank god for that."
Then Tengen's question came, soft and strange:
"You can hear them, can't you? The voices of the vessels who dwell within me."
Yuki froze.
"I cannot hear them myself," Tengen continued, eyes closed. "When assimilation occurs, they become part of me — indistinguishable from my own mind. But you… perhaps you can still hear their echoes. Tell me, Yuki — what do they say?"
The fury in Yuki's chest reignited. She clenched her fist.
"You think I'd tell you?"
Her eyes burned with defiance.
"Even if I did, you'd just twist their pain into another philosophical excuse — say it's all part of your enlightenment.
No. I won't let you off that easy, Tengen. Not after everything you've made them suffer. That's my responsibility — as the original Star Plasma Vessel."
Tengen only regarded her quietly, unreadable as ever.
Yuki exhaled, her voice soft but seething. "You've made enough mistakes to last several lifetimes. One more won't make a difference, right?"
Then, suddenly, the entire room trembled.
The teacups rattled. The floor groaned. The air thickened with cursed energy.
Tengen's eyes turned toward the vibrating barrier walls.
"He's here," she said quietly.
Yuki's hand drifted to her weapon.
The air grew heavy, suffocating.
Something — or someone — was approaching.