Toji Fushiguro flicked his wrist and tossed Shinichi aside, but the boy adjusted his posture
mid-air and landed perfectly on his feet.
"Hey, kid. How about a little competition?"
Looking at the child before him, Toji felt a spark of interest he hadn't experienced in years.
This wasn't some pampered clan heir—there was something different about him.
"If you can touch me, I'll let you go. Sound fair?"
Shinichi studied the man cautiously. This was the infamous Sorcerer Killer. The way he stood, the
way he breathed, the complete absence of wasted movement—everything about him screamed danger.
"You won't lie, will you, mister?"
"Relax. I'm too lazy to lie to a kid like you. But if you lose, you'll have to accept the
punishment."
Toji smirked.
"Consider it after-dinner entertainment."
Shinichi had no choice. Running was impossible—he'd seen how fast Toji could move. And screaming
for help would only annoy him.
I can't escape. I only have two blood bags left. But... I'm not completely without a chance. He's
underestimating me.
"Alright. I accept your proposal, mister."
Toji smiled contemptuously.
"Then... let's begin."
The instant he finished speaking, Toji became a blur. Shinichi only felt a gust of wind brush past
him. When he turned, Toji's hand-blade was already inches from his face.
"Don't get distracted during a fight."
But Toji's strike missed—Shinichi had shifted just enough to avoid it, moving on pure instinct.
On one hand, Shinichi's smaller frame worked in his favor. The height difference made the attack
angle awkward—Toji was nearly twice his size.
On the other hand, Toji hadn't "worked" in a while. Combined with Shinichi being just a child, he
had underestimated his opponent's reflexes.
Not bad, Toji thought. Let's see what else you've got.
The game continued. Toji attacked with casual grace, each strike pulling back just before making
contact. He was testing Shinichi, probing his limits, treating this like a training exercise
rather than a real fight.
After five minutes, Shinichi was drenched in sweat. He hadn't landed a single hit, and his stamina
was failing fast.
His speed is insane. Even holding back, I can barely track his movements. If he was serious, I'd
be dead a hundred times over.
But Shinichi noticed something. A pattern in Toji's movements—a slight telegraph before each
attack. It wasn't much, just a subtle shift in weight, but it was there.
Now.
As Toji lunged again, Shinichi didn't dodge backward like before. Instead, he dove forward,
sliding between Toji's legs while simultaneously extending his arm.
His fingertips brushed against Toji's ankle.
Both of them froze.
"...Well, damn."
Toji looked down at the exhausted boy sprawled on the ground, chest heaving.
"You actually did it."
Shinichi managed a tired smile. "You said... if I touched you... you'd let me go."
"I did say that, didn't I?"
Toji reached down and pulled Shinichi to his feet—not roughly, almost gently.
"You've got good instincts, kid. Most sorcerers your age would've panicked and wasted energy on
flashy techniques. You stayed calm, observed, and found an opening."
"Thank you, mister."
"The name's Toji. Toji Fushiguro." He paused, studying Shinichi with renewed interest. "You said
your name was Kamo? Blood Manipulation, right?"
"Yes."
"Show me."
It wasn't a request. Shinichi pulled out one of his remaining blood bags and formed a small Blood
Edge along his forearm.
Toji nodded appreciatively. "Not bad for a brat. That technique takes most Kamo sorcerers years to
master. How old are you?"
"Five. Almost six."
"Five years old and already this strong..." Toji muttered something under his breath that sounded
suspiciously like "monster." Then he grinned. "Tell you what, kid. You've entertained me. So
instead of a ransom, how about we make a different deal?"
"What kind of deal?"
"Information. Tell me what you know about the Star Plasma Vessel mission, and I'll let you walk
away. No tricks."
Shinichi's blood ran cold. He already knows about the mission. He's the one they hired to kill
Riko.
But maybe... maybe this was an opportunity.
"I'll tell you what I know," Shinichi said carefully. "But I want something in return."
"Oh? What's that?"
"After this mission is over—whatever happens—I want you to teach me how to fight."
Toji stared at him for a long moment. Then he burst out laughing.
"You've got balls, kid. Alright. Deal."
Over the next several days, Shinichi found himself in an increasingly bizarre situation. He was
essentially traveling with the man hired to kill his allies—and neither of them seemed
particularly bothered by it.
Toji, for his part, treated Shinichi like a mildly interesting pet. He didn't share his full
plans, but he didn't hide his nature either. He was a killer, plain and simple, and he made no
apologies for it.
"Why do you do this?" Shinichi asked one evening, as Toji counted his gambling losses.
"Kill people? Because they pay me."
"That's not what I meant. Why do you hate sorcerers so much?"
Toji's expression flickered—just for a moment. "Who said I hate them?"
"The way you talk about them. 'Sorcerer scum.' 'Cursed energy freaks.' You're not exactly subtle."
A long pause. Toji lit a cigarette and stared at the sky.
"The Zenin family," he said finally. "You know about Heavenly Restriction?"
Shinichi nodded. He knew more than Toji realized.
"I was born with zero cursed energy. In exchange, I got a body that can kill Special Grade curses
with my bare hands. Pretty good deal, right?"
"I would think so."
"The Zenin family disagreed. To them, cursed energy is everything. If you can't use it, you're
worthless. Less than human." Toji exhaled smoke. "They called me 'monkey.' Threw me in a pit to
fight cursed spirits for their entertainment. When I finally escaped, I killed half the family
guards on my way out."
Shinichi was silent. He'd known the broad strokes from the manga, but hearing it directly from
Toji was different. The casual way he described childhood trauma spoke volumes about how he'd
processed—or failed to process—those experiences.
"So you became the thing they feared," Shinichi said quietly. "The Sorcerer Killer."
"Something like that. If they're going to treat me like a monster, I might as well be one."
"That's stupid."
Toji raised an eyebrow.
"You're punishing the entire jujutsu world for what one family did to you. Most sorcerers have
never even heard of you. They're just people trying to protect others from curses."
"And? What's your point?"
"My point is that revenge doesn't actually make you feel better. It just gives you something to
do. An excuse not to think about what you really want."
For a moment, something dangerous flickered in Toji's eyes. Then he laughed—genuine laughter, not
the mocking kind.
"You're something else, kid. Five years old and you're psychoanalyzing assassins."
"I've had a lot of time to think."
Toji studied him for a long moment. "You know what? I almost believe that."
The Hidden Inventory mission proceeded roughly as Shinichi remembered. Gojo and Geto protected
Riko Amanai while curse users and the Time Vessel Association threw everything they had at them.
Meanwhile, Toji watched and waited, gathering information, identifying weaknesses. He was playing
a longer game than anyone realized.
"You're going to attack them eventually," Shinichi said. It wasn't a question.
"That's the job."
"You'll lose."
Toji snorted. "That so? Against Gojo Satoru—the 'strongest'? Maybe. But I've killed 'strongest'
sorcerers before. They all have blind spots."
"Gojo's different."
"We'll see."
Shinichi knew he couldn't stop Toji directly. The man was too strong, too experienced, too
committed to his mission. But maybe he could influence how things played out. Maybe he could save
lives where the original story had taken them.
Riko Amanai. Geto Suguru's sanity. Maybe even Toji himself.
"What if there was another way?" Shinichi asked. "What if you could get what you want without
killing anyone?"
"And what do I want, according to you?"
"Money. Recognition. Proof that you're not the worthless 'monkey' the Zenin family said you were."
Shinichi met Toji's gaze steadily. "You want to beat sorcerers at their own game. But killing
them isn't winning—it's just... mutual destruction."
Toji said nothing for a long time.
"You're an interesting kid, Shinichi," he said finally. "But you're naive. The world doesn't work
the way you think it does. Some people can only be stopped with violence. Some debts can only be
paid in blood."
"Maybe. But not all of them."
The confrontation came, as Shinichi knew it would.
At Renchoku Women's Academy, while Riko Amanai enjoyed her last day with friends, Toji made his
move. He crippled Geto's cursed spirits with surgical precision, then cornered Gojo Satoru in a
battle that would have killed any other sorcerer.
Shinichi watched from a distance, helpless. Toji was a force of nature—unstoppable, relentless,
perfect in his lethality.
But Gojo was something else entirely.
Even wounded, even outmatched in pure combat ability, Satoru Gojo possessed an arrogance that
transcended mere confidence. He believed himself to be the strongest not because of evidence, but
because anything else was simply unacceptable.
And in the jujutsu world, belief had power.
The battle ended with Gojo apparently dead—his throat pierced by the Inverted Spear of Heaven.
Toji moved on to his next target, leaving the white-haired sorcerer bleeding out on the pavement.
But Shinichi had been watching. And he had seen something that Toji had missed.
Gojo's cursed energy is still there. Fading, but not gone. He's not dead—he's learning.
Shinichi pulled out his phone and sent a single text message: "Shoko. Come to these coordinates.
Bring medical supplies. Trust me."