Where am I…?
I muttered under my breath, slowly lifting my head as my eyes scanned my surroundings.
Just a moment ago, I was inside my room—sitting on my chair, half-slouched, watching some random documentary that I wasn't even paying attention to.
And now…
I was here.
A classroom?
The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, flickering like they hadn't been replaced in years. The air smelled like old chalk, wood polish, and something faintly bitter—like medicine or smoke.
Rows of desks stood neatly aligned, their surfaces scratched and worn as if countless students had carved their boredom into them.
It had only been a few minutes since I'd been… transported.
No. Dragged? Taken?
A theory formed in my mind almost immediately.
Kidnapping.
It wouldn't be far-fetched to assume I'd been kidnapped into some kind of twisted game—some kind of experiment, or—
I stopped myself.
No, what am I thinking?
I'd been watching too many Japanese sci-fi series lately. Maybe my brain was just trying to make sense of the impossible by using fiction.
But one thing was certain.
I wasn't inside my original body.
This body felt… wrong.
I flexed my fingers slowly, staring at my hands. The sensation was there—I could feel my muscles tighten, my joints bend.
But the feeling wasn't natural.
It was as if my hands were extensions of me rather than me. Like I was controlling a puppet with invisible strings. Like my mind was connected to this body, but not fully rooted inside it.
I swallowed, my throat oddly dry.
Cupping my hands together, I tried to calm my breathing and piece together what was happening.
Then—
BANG.
The classroom door swung open.
The sudden sound made me jolt so hard my chair scraped slightly against the floor.
Two figures walked in casually, like they owned the place.
"Y'know, Satoru…" one of them spoke, his voice irritated but familiar in a way I couldn't explain. "I've noticed it's your fault we're always scolded by Yaga-san."
"Blah-blah-blah!" the other one interrupted loudly, waving him off. "I'm not hearing you!"
Their presence hit me like a slap.
For a second, my mind went completely blank.
No way…
The one walking lazily, almost arrogantly, had messy white hair that stuck out in every direction. A pair of dark sunglasses rested on his face, covering his eyes, yet somehow making him look even more noticeable.
He was tall—ridiculously tall—and wore a black uniform that fit him like it was custom-made.
His posture screamed confidence.
The type of confidence that said he'd never once doubted himself in his entire life.
And next to him—
The other guy had a calmer aura, but no less imposing. His dark hair was tied up neatly into a bun, and his expression was composed, almost mature.
He wore the same uniform, but unlike the white-haired one, he carried himself with a quiet dignity.
Sharp eyes. Slim build. A face that looked like it was sculpted to be both Asian and European at the same time.
Wait…
My heart began to pound.
IS THAT SATORU GOJO AND SUGURU GETO?!
No.
That's impossible.
This had to be a dream.
A hallucination.
A—
Then I heard it again.
"Satoru."
That wasn't a random name. That wasn't something you casually said.
That name was a confirmation.
My breathing grew shallow.
I couldn't stop staring.
"Hello? Earth to Shion?"
A hand waved in front of my face, snapping me out of my frozen state.
I blinked hard.
Standing beside me was a girl with short brown hair, her eyes half-lidded with boredom. A cigarette rested between her fingers as if it was a natural part of her hand.
Shoko Ieiri.
The moment my brain registered her, my stomach dropped.
She raised the cigarette to her lips and exhaled smoke directly toward my face.
I coughed immediately, covering my mouth.
"Seriously?" I wheezed.
Shoko smirked faintly, as if she found my suffering mildly entertaining.
"Don't zone out like that," she said casually. "You know how Yaga is. If it gets worse, you'll end up like a certain white-haired cat."
She tilted her head slightly, gesturing behind her with her thumb.
Behind her, the white-haired guy—Gojo—was already lounging in his seat, leaning back like he was relaxing on a throne instead of a classroom chair.
Even though he was clearly listening, he acted like he wasn't.
Nonchalantly, he chimed in.
"…Did someone say something?"
His tone was dripping with sarcasm as he cupped his hand over his ear dramatically.
Shoko sighed.
"Hopeless."
Before any of us could say more—
THUD.
The classroom door slammed shut again, this time with force.
A heavy presence filled the room.
"Everyone, sit down!"
The voice was sharp enough to silence even Gojo.
In front stood a large man with a thick build. His hair was trimmed neatly, and a goatee framed his face. His eyes were stern, the kind that made you feel like you were already in trouble just for existing.
Masamichi Yaga.
He looked annoyed—barely holding it back—yet his face remained calm, like a man used to dealing with chaos every day.
His gaze swept across the room, stopping briefly on Gojo, lingering just a second longer than everyone else.
Gojo gave a lazy wave.
Yaga's eye twitched.
I couldn't help but think:
(Did Masamichi Yaga and Thragg go to the same barbershop?)
Yaga cleared his throat, the sound heavy like a warning.
"Also…"
His voice dropped slightly, and the room felt colder.
The kind of tone teachers used right before they announced something that would ruin your entire week.
"Now that that's over… shall we move on."
Yaga grabbed a piece of chalk from the tray and turned toward the board. The sound of it scraping against the black surface filled the room as he began writing in bold strokes.
The letters were clean, sharp, and firm—just like his personality.
When he finished, he stepped aside, revealing the words:
MISSION: ABANDONED MANSION (OUTSKIRTS)
CURSES CONFIRMED: GRADE 3–2
"As I stated yesterday," Yaga began, dusting the chalk off his hands, "the Jujutsu authorities have been notified of multiple scattered Grade 3 and Grade 2 curses located in an abandoned mansion just outside the city."
He glanced around the room, making sure everyone was paying attention.
"Your task for today is to investigate the source and exorcise the curses."
His tone lowered slightly at the end, carrying an unspoken warning.
Almost immediately, a familiar lazy voice broke the silence.
"Sensei… do we really have to~?"
Gojo raised his hand, not even bothering to sit properly. His chair creaked as he leaned back, balancing on two legs like he had no respect for gravity—or authority.
"I mean, these are downgrade plebs," he continued, dragging out the words dramatically. "Why not just send someone else available?"
Yaga didn't even blink.
"That's because there are currently no sorcerers free at the moment," he replied flatly. "Most are occupied with other assignments."
"Tch…" Gojo clicked his tongue, clearly unsatisfied.
Suguru Geto, who had been quiet until now, spoke up with calm firmness.
"Masamichi-san is right, Satoru," Geto said. "As jujutsu sorcerers, it's our responsibility to deal with these situations—regardless of the curse grade."
Gojo's lips curved into a slight grin, though it wasn't a friendly one.
"Philosophies, responsibility…" he muttered. "Who cares about stuff like that?"
He leaned back even further, folding his arms behind his head.
"The weak should obey the strong. That's just how things work."
The room felt a little colder after he said that, even if he spoke it casually—like it was a fact as obvious as breathing.
Then, Gojo turned his head.
His covered eyes angled directly toward me.
"Right, Shion?" he said.
My body stiffened.
" Don't you agree with me? Come on back me up here~! "
My throat went dry.
Even though I couldn't see his eyes, I could feel them—like pressure pushing down on my skin. Like he was staring straight through me.
I tried to respond, but my words tangled in my mouth.
"W-well… y-you know… i-it's not like I know something like that—"
My voice died halfway through.
I couldn't even finish my sentence.
Could anyone blame me?
I was literally talking to Gojo Satoru.
A character I'd only ever seen on a screen, now casually calling me weak like it was the most normal thing in the world.
My brain couldn't decide whether to panic, scream, or faint.
Geto's expression tightened slightly, his calm demeanor cracking just enough to show irritation.
"Satoru," he warned, voice low.
Gojo shrugged. "What? I'm just being honest."
The tension between them sharpened like a blade, the air in the classroom suddenly feeling heavy. It was like watching two storms quietly form—one controlled and one wild.
Before their debate could explode into something worse—
Yaga stepped forward.
"Enough," he said, his voice cutting through them like a hammer.
Silence.
"What I said is final."
Gojo leaned back with a dramatic sigh, clearly annoyed, but he didn't argue further.
Yaga continued.
"Since this mission shouldn't involve much danger, Shoko will participate as well."
Shoko raised an eyebrow, cigarette still resting between her fingers.
"Lucky me," she muttered with zero enthusiasm.
Yaga's gaze shifted toward me.
"I expect the best out of all of you," he said. Then his eyes narrowed slightly. "Especially you, Shion."
He pointed directly at me.
My body reacted before my brain did.
I straightened up quickly, trying to look composed.
"Y-yes, sir."
I nodded instinctively, forcing myself not to look nervous.
But inside…
My heart was pounding like it wanted to escape my chest.