A guy in a cheap Dracula cape, holding a half-empty beer, tried to walk down the street leading away from the station.
He took two steps and suddenly jerked backward, his face smacking into something completely invisible. His beer slipped, shattering on the pavement.
"What the hell?" He reached out, his hands flattening against thin air. There was no glass. No wall. Just a solid, unyielding force blocking the street.
People on the other side of the invisible line stopped, staring at him. A group of teenagers dressed as zombies laughed, thinking it was a mime routine.
One of them stepped forward, walking right past the Dracula guy and into the station plaza without any issue.
But when the Dracula guy tried to step back out, he hit the invisible wall again.
"Hey," the guy yelled, slapping his palms against the empty air. "Hey, it won't let me out! There's a wall here!"
The girl in the nurse costume pulled out her phone to take a video. The screen lit up, but her thumb froze over the record button.
No Service.
She blinked, tapping the screen. Nothing. She looked around. Dozens of people were doing the exact same thing—holding their phones up to the sky, shaking them, tapping screens with rising frustration.
"I don't have a signal."
"Wi-fi is dead too."
"Hey! Why can't we leave?!"
...
The System's blue light cast sterile shadows across Ren's dorm room. Fully dressed in his uniform, he sat on the mattress, swiping glowing interface squares aside. He stopped twirling Nightfall, letting its tip rest against the floor, and checked his phone.
7:07 PM.
The device vibrated violently in his palm.
"Ijichi," Ren answered.
"Ren. Thank goodness you picked up," Ijichi said, his voice strained over a backdrop of sirens. "Seven minutes ago, a curtain was lowered over the station plaza. An unverified number of civilians are trapped inside. Standard cell service and radio inside the radius are completely dead."
"Let me guess. Nobody can get out."
"Correct. It's a localized barrier explicitly preventing civilian exit. The higher-ups are scrambling everyone. Nanami's squad is already mobilizing. I am dispatching a black sedan to the campus gates right now."
"Alright," Ren said. "I'll be at the gates in two minutes."
The line went dead. Ren pocketed the phone and dismissed Nightfall into his inventory. He walked out, pulling the heavy door shut until the deadbolt clicked into place.
The black sedan jerked to a halt near the Dogenzaka police barricades at 8:09 PM. Ren pushed the door open, his boots hitting the asphalt. Above the panicked street, a massive curtain swallowed the skyline, plunging the skyscrapers into an artificial night.
Ijichi stood by a cruiser's flashing lights, typing rapidly on a tablet. Beside him, Nanami checked his pocket watch, the sharp lines of his suit catching the harsh glare. Ino and Fushiguro waited a few paces back, their attention locked on the black dome.
Nanami turned as Ren approached. His gaze swept over the teenager, pausing.
"You are projecting a different vibe today, Ren," Nanami stated. It wasn't a question.
Ren held his ground, forcing his breathing to remain even.
"Didn't get much sleep," Ren deflected. "What's the situation?"
Fushiguro stepped forward. "They broadcasted a single condition to the people trapped inside. The civilians won't be released until Gojo arrives."
Nanami adjusted his goggles, turning back to the curtain. "We are on strictly enforced standby. Multiple squads are positioned outside. Our sole objective is to eliminate anything that slips past Gojo once he initiates his infiltration."
Ren gave a short, tight nod. At the extreme edge of his vision, a translucent gold timer pulsed faintly against the dark backdrop of the street.
The final threshold dropping his cursed energy to absolute zero could finalize in the very next second, or it could trigger right as he was dodging a lethal blow.
"So, we know it's a trap," Ren said, his voice flat. He shoved his hands deep into his uniform pockets, looking at Nanami. "They lock thousands of civilians in a cage and specifically demand the strongest guy on the planet. Why are the higher-ups actually giving them exactly what they asked for? What's the strategic value in walking right into it?"
Nanami didn't look away from the towering black dome. The blue and red strobes of the police cruisers reflected sharply off his opaque goggles.
"Because it is Satoru Gojo," Nanami stated. His tone carried a heavy, cynical resignation. "The higher-ups operate on a blunt logic. To them, whatever elaborate snare the enemy has prepared inside that curtain is ultimately irrelevant. They believe he will simply overpower the trap."
Ino adjusted his ski mask, leaning forward slightly. "It's also about damage control. If they send in standard squads to clear the subway platforms, it turns into a bloodbath. Gojo working alone means he doesn't have to worry about protecting other sorcerers in the crossfire. He can just cut loose."
"Exactly," Fushiguro muttered, his eyes narrowed at the barrier. "They want Gojo because they know he's the only one who can threaten them. But they don't realize he's essentially a natural disaster himself."
Ren stared at the impenetrable black ink of the veil, feeling the cold autumn air bite at his face.
They're right, Ren thought. And that is exactly what Kenjaku is counting on. The enemy wasn't trying to overpower Gojo. They were using his overwhelming strength, and the very presence of those trapped civilians, to lock him into a psychological corner.
"Understood," Ren finally said.
...
October 31st. 8:31 PM.
Outside Shibuya Mark City Entrance.
Nobara Kugisaki stood with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, glaring at the massive, impenetrable black curtain that had swallowed Shibuya Station.
"Gulp... gulp... ahhhh."
The loud, obnoxious sound of liquid being swallowed made her eye twitch.
Nobara slowly turned her head. Sitting on a concrete planter just a few feet away was Naobito Zen'in, the head of the Zen'in clan.
He was dressed in a traditional yukata, completely ignoring the apocalyptic scenario unfolding in front of them in favor of tipping a massive, brown ceramic gourd into his mouth.
Alcohol spilled into his white mustache, and he wiped it away with the back of his sleeve, letting out a satisfied, drunken sigh.
"Are you entirely serious right now?" Nobara demanded, her voice dripping with venom.
"Thousands of people are trapped in viel, and you're getting plastered on the sidewalk?"
Naobito didn't even look at her. He just swirled the gourd, listening to the slosh of the liquor.
"Patience, little girl. The higher-ups already made their call. We're on standby. What good is standing at attention going to do when Satoru Gojo is the only one allowed inside the toy box?"
Nobara gripped the handle of her hammer so tightly her knuckles popped.
"Excuse me! Please listen up, you two!"
Akari Nitta, their assigned auxiliary manager, came jogging up to them. The blonde woman in the black suit looked like she was on the verge of a stress-induced ulcer.
She clutched a glowing tablet to her chest, her eyes darting nervously between the imposing black veil and the heavily intoxicated clan head.