Because Kamo Itsuki had explicitly ordered him not to leave Jujutsu High, Kamo Noritoshi had remained obediently in his dormitory, not stepping out even once. He waited quietly, his anticipation growing with each passing hour.
Outside the window, a gentle breeze rustled through the treetops, leaves whispering secrets to one another. Inside, Kamo Noritoshi flipped absently through a book, though his eyes frequently drifted toward the door.
When Kamo Itsuki's figure finally materialized in the doorway, Noritoshi was on his feet instantly, moving to greet him with proper respect.
It wasn't just Kamo Itsuki's unfathomable strength that commanded such deference—though that alone would have been enough. It was his position within the Kamo Clan. His achievements. His vision.
And more personally, Noritoshi remembered the Blood Resonance Ceremony years ago. The ritual that had strengthened every Kamo clan member who participated. His current power, enough to stand on equal footing with someone like Todo Aoi, was in large part thanks to that ceremony.
He owed Kamo Itsuki a debt he could never fully repay.
"I heard you awakened Blood Manipulation?" Kamo Itsuki began, settling into a chair as if he had all the time in the world.
Noritoshi's face colored with embarrassment. "I... originally thought so. But seeing yours, I'm not so sure anymore."
The comparison was almost laughable. His Blood Manipulation versus Kamo Itsuki's was like comparing a candle flame to a forest fire.
Kamo's expression remained calm. "Don't doubt yourself. Your Blood Manipulation is the real thing. Mine simply doesn't consume my own blood—I convert cursed energy directly into blood instead. It bypasses the anemia problem entirely."
"I see..." Noritoshi breathed, understanding dawning.
Kamo extended his hand. "I came to perfect your Blood Manipulation. Give me your hand."
Noritoshi's heart stuttered. Perfect his Cursed Technique? Change something innate? Could Blood Manipulation really do that?
It shouldn't be possible. And yet...
Despite his doubts, Noritoshi extended his hand without hesitation.
Kamo's slender fingers pressed into his palm. A strange, foreign cursed energy flowed into his body.
Then came the itch.
Not on his skin—inside. Beneath his flesh. In his blood, his muscles, his very bones. It felt like countless tiny insects crawling freely through him, exploring, reshaping, changing.
Noritoshi's body went rigid. Every muscle locked. Sweat erupted from every pore. He wanted to scratch, to scream, to do something—but he forced himself still, enduring.
Minutes passed. An eternity.
Then it stopped.
Noritoshi collapsed forward, gasping, drenched in sweat as if pulled from water. His body trembled with exhaustion.
Kamo Itsuki watched impassively. "Try your new Blood Manipulation."
Hope kindled in Noritoshi's exhausted eyes. He gathered his cursed energy, following the new pathways carved into his body.
Blood Manipulation: Slicing Exorcism. *
Fresh blood—not drawn from his body, but converted from cursed energy—coalesced in his palm. It swirled, condensed, and formed a perfectly circular shuriken.
"It worked!" Noritoshi's voice cracked with amazement. "It actually worked!"
Kamo nodded, already rising to leave. "The technique is changed. Next, improve your conversion efficiency—turn cursed energy into blood more smoothly. Experience it yourself."
Noritoshi scrambled to his feet, rushing to escort Kamo Itsuki to the gate despite his exhaustion. His mind raced with possibilities, with gratitude, with a renewed sense of purpose.
Kamo Itsuki walked alone, reflecting.
Since acquiring Idle Transfiguration, the final gaps in his understanding of the human body had filled. He had integrated it with his previous research, refined it through countless experiments, and finally achieved something remarkable:
The ability to bestow Cursed Techniques upon others.
Noritoshi had been a successful test subject. The data was clean. The results, promising.
Now, Kamo returned to Tokyo Jujutsu High—the designated meeting point for his Finger Recovery Squads. One by one, they had returned. From Mahito. From two other simultaneous missions.
He counted.
Ten fingers.
Half of Sukuna's total. A significant hoard, safely stored within his Blood Prison.
But there remained a variable: Itadori Yuji. The vessel carrying Sukuna's essence within his very cells. A living finger, in some ways.
Kamo's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"With my current technique..." He murmured to himself. "Perhaps I can realize that idea."
Another layer of insurance. Another failsafe.
He turned and walked back into his laboratory without hesitation. Research waited. Solutions demanded to be found.
In a small hospital room, sunlight filtered through half-closed blinds.
Itadori Yuji sat beside a bed, his young face etched with worry. In the bed lay his grandfather, Itadori Wasuke—pale, thin, connected to machines that beeped and hummed.
The old man's eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. But occasionally, his hand would twitch, reaching unconsciously for his grandson's.
Yuji held that hand gently, his own grip firm despite his fear.
"Grandpa," he whispered. "Stay with me. Please."
The machines beeped on, indifferent to human pleas.
At that moment, Kamo Itsuki appeared quietly beside Itadori Yuji.
"Mr. Kamo?" Yuji's eyes widened in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Just passing by." Kamo's tone was casual, the excuse flimsy but delivered with perfect composure.
"Oh." Yuji didn't question it further. Whether he believed the excuse or simply didn't care to probe, his attention was clearly elsewhere.
Kamo's gaze shifted to the bed, to the pale, sleeping figure of Itadori Wasuke. Machines beeped steadily, monitoring a life slowly ebbing away.
"Your grandfather is ill," Kamo observed. "Would you like my help?"
Yuji understood immediately. He had seen Kamo's healing ability before—the bruises vanishing from his face in an instant. If anyone could help his grandfather, it was this man.
"I'll ask him."
He leaned toward the bed, gently squeezing his grandfather's hand. "Grandpa. Mr. Kamo is here. He can help you. He can heal you."
Itadori Wasuke's eyes opened slowly, cloudy but sharp. He looked past his grandson, fixing Kamo Itsuki with a long, assessing gaze.
Then he shook his head. A small movement, but absolute.
"No."
"Grandpa—"
"I said no." The old man's voice was weak but firm. "Life and death have their time. I won't owe any favors to some cult's so-called divine powers."
Yuji's shoulders slumped. He turned to Kamo, helplessness in every line of his young face. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kamo. He's... stubborn."
Kamo nodded slowly, a faint smile touching his lips. "It's alright. In a way, your grandfather is remarkably clear-sighted. Few people truly have the courage to face their own death without flinching."
Yuji looked down at his grandfather, then back at Kamo. "Mr. Kamo... is there such a thing as a correct death?"
The question hung in the sterile hospital air.
Kamo's expression grew serious. "Itadori. There is no correct or incorrect death."
He stepped closer, placing a hand gently on Yuji's shoulder.
"Death is simply the end. When you die, everything becomes empty. At that point, what does 'correct' even mean?" His voice was soft, thoughtful. "If one must judge correctness, it should apply to the entire process of living—not just the final moment. And the only person qualified to make that judgment is yourself. No one else."
As he spoke, something subtle happened. A small snake, thin as a blood-red thread, slipped from beneath Kamo's sleeve. It passed through Yuji's clothing without resistance, pierced his skin without pain, and entered his bloodstream.
It traveled silently, carried by the current of life, until it reached his heart. There, it coiled and fell into a deep, patient slumber.
Yuji felt nothing. Not a twitch. Not a shiver.
Kamo withdrew his hand. "Take good care of your grandfather. I have matters to attend to."
He turned and walked away, leaving Yuji staring thoughtfully at the floor, the words about life and death echoing in his young mind.
Outside the hospital, Kamo Itsuki allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
'Ten fingers under my control. And now, the vessel himself.'
The blood-thread snake would remain dormant indefinitely—unless Sukuna's power ever stirred within Yuji. Then it would wake. And it would act.
Insurance. Perfect, invisible insurance.
His communication device pulsed. New data from the Yin-Yang Butterflies.
'The remaining ten fingers. All located.'
He transmitted orders immediately. Ten more Finger Recovery Squads deployed. Ten simultaneous missions.
By nightfall, every fragment of the King of Curses would be in his possession.
The board was nearly set. The pieces, nearly gathered.
Now came the waiting.