Chapter 25

  Gojo Satoru could not believe the words coming out of Manjiro’s mouth.

  He had been summoned to Manjiro’s office to hear the news of the Hibana clan’s leader making her first appearance to the higher-ups.

  Her first appearance in public, even.

  The man sat behind his ornate mahogany desk, wearing the same yukata and haori combo that many of the clan was known for. The robes were dark gray, and the haori was sky blue. Satoru had long ditched those stuffy clothes for more comfortable wear, like hoodies and jeans. Not least of his reasons for why he did that, was due to the disturbed looks the clansmen gave him for bucking tradition.

  Being a nuisance to the old guard was the furthest thing from his mind at this very moment.

  “We’ve long-suspected the Hibana clan head to be a woman,” Manjiro said, as if that even slightly approached the heart of the matter. “They never made direct references to her gender, but the fact that she chose to speak to us using a womanly shikigami was some evidence—“

  “Forget about that!” Satoru shouted. “You said—you said she’s twelve?!”

  “That’s… what she claimed,” Manjiro sighed. He shook his head.

  “And the Hibana clan’s Juchū technique is worthless without the Reverse Cursed Technique to help them multiply their Juchū!” Satoru said. Over the years, he had become familiar with what his own clan knew about those elusive bug-sorcerers. From everything he had learned, it would seem that they had been on a slow decline since the Edo period. The Reverse Cursed Technique was the wrong power to which one pinned all of a clan’s hopes and dreams on.

  It was too rare. The amount of people who could even use the Reverse Cursed Technique in this day and age…

  No one.

  Except for Hibana Teira. Anyone else likely kept it a secret.

  “She’s twelve and—“ Satoru winced. “No, not even that! She was eight when we discovered her. She had the Reverse Cursed Technique at eight! That’s not—that’s not possible!” Satoru laughed. “That can’t be! She’s just…”

  Just what, Satoru?

  Just… lying?

  Satoru slapped his forehead and grabbed at his stark white hair. Since when did I give myself to such weak justifications?

  “We believe there is a trick to it,” Manjiro said. “Obviously.”

  No shit he would say that. He’s weak, just like the rest of them.

  Satoru didn’t need his Six Eyes to see through their weakness and their ignorance. He saw with something deeper and more innate to him. He saw with his heart.

  The Reverse Cursed Technique at eight.

  Satoru turned around to leave the room.

  “Where—where are you going?”

  “I’m going to learn the Reverse Cursed Technique, of course.”

  All along, he’d been approaching it with too much brutish effort. He had missed the forest for the trees. An eight-year-old figuring out the Reverse Cursed Technique while he just struggled and struggled like a buffoon.

  There was a ‘trick’ to it, in that it demanded more than just bashing one’s head on the problem over and over again, but nothing that relied on the sort of tricks that weaklings and simpletons would employ.

  This was… not a trick, but something closer to an enlightenment.

  He had to be worthy somehow. He had to push himself to a level far, far beyond what he was used to. Far beyond.

  I might just have to bring myself to the brink of death for this, as long as it means reaching that hallowed point.

  He would figure it out. Even if it killed him.

  And when he did…

  Red.

  Imaginary Technique: Hollow Purple.

  Long-range teleportation.

  Domain Expansion.

  And more. He would find more. He would be the strongest Six Eyes and Limitless user in history—no, the strongest sorcerer in all of history.

  000

  “Mark up all future purchases of cursed silk by 200%. All honey to 500%,” I said to Iemon. “They want us now. They all but admitted it. The beginnings of our negotiations of probationary status is already in place. We have nothing to fear in this regard,” I said. “Don’t be shy, uncle. Just press them.”

  We didn’t need the money. Mr. Li’s gold still kept us more than solvent for all our purposes. We just needed to make them pay for this concession of mine. And the more they felt they had to pay for the privilege of trading with us, the more connected we would be.

  And the less that the Big Three could try and pressure us out of our newfound status.

  Zen'in. Gojo. Kamo. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. I’ll make you financially bleed for this.

  Jujutsu HQ would be happy to pay anything. They received government funds. The Big Three stood to lose more, as their government funding also went to their personal coin purse. HQ were an organization in which their money was pooled for official purposes. They would feel the brunt of this far less than the big clans would.

  “Of course,” Iemon replied hotly. “For your promised enrollment into their school, we should be gaining at least that much. However, should we push for this amount, then it may not be possible for you to turn back without irreparably damaging our relationship with them.”

  “I know. I’m going to school. That much is decided.” It couldn’t beat four years in a kodoku jar.

  “Understood.”

  “The hard part is over,” I said. “But I’m still going back into the jar. I will remain coherent, however.”

  “Teira-sama, is this really necessary?” Iemon asked me as he tried to keep up with me on his beetle chair. We were walking through the hallways, on our way to my bedroom, with the cleared-out kodoku jar. All the fumes had been taken care of as well, sucked into pressurized canister Juchū I had designed specifically for that purpose.

  “At this point, I’m only directly increasing my affinity with cursed energy. By the time I emerge, I should have a local capacity akin to a hundred sorcerers,” I explained. “So yes, this is still necessary. If I just stop now, there is no way I’ll be able to stand against Jujutsu Society should Gojo Satoru reach his potential. This is necessary,” I said. Then I caught sight of my paper-white skin. “And if you’re worried about me beginning to look even freakier, don’t. These surface-level cosmetic changes are as far as things will go, as long as I’m still in my base form. And I can return to this form at will.”

  “Aren’t you worried about how people will perceive you?”

  “Better to look scary than pretty,” I said. Having seen myself with my Juchū, I had given thought to just how pathetic any pursuit of romance would become in the future. Hell, even going out to the non-sorcerer world would have people give me odd looks. There was always Halloween, of course, but…

  I didn’t know if it had to do with the kodoku ritual, or having such an enormous scope into the human condition through all my Juchū stationed all across Japan, but I couldn’t ever see myself entangled in romance any longer. Not just because of my looks, but because I no longer really had a person-shaped hole in my heart.

  Certainly no hole that power couldn’t fill.

  I could live vicariously through the next generation of the Hibana clan, knowing that they had turned into healthy, well-balanced individuals.

  Well, as well-balanced as anyone could be while regularly dealing with ghosts and demons.

  “It’ll only be three years,” I said. “Then I’ll have extracted maximum value out of this ritual. In three years, my physical development will reach its final stage, and the benefits that my spirit may gain will also begin to diminish drastically, after which there is no longer any point to it.”

  We finally reached my bedroom.

  On it, the walls were covered in all sorts of implements. Swords, spears, axes, daggers, hammers.

  Thousands of them.

  Thousands of tools cursed with me while I was in my Bath. Over sixty of them had innate techniques engraved in them to boot. Nothing that could readily pierce through the defenses of Limitless, unfortunately, but they would be enough to turn our stock of sorcerers into true powerhouses.

  “Happy belated birthday,” I said to Iemon, gesturing around. “I’ll have them all moved before resuming my ritual, but I hope this will get you to recognize the value of my work.”

  “It’s you I’m worried about,” Iemon snapped, sounding uncharacteristically serious. “You’re the one point of failure in this clan that would have everything unravel, should you fail.”

  “I survived four years already,” I deflected. “And the only reason why I… nearly lost my mind… was because I was overcoming the biggest hurdle that there was. There are no more such hurdles waiting for me, Iemon. I promise.”

  He sighed. “By your will, clan head.”

  He barely took a moment to admire all the tools. He just turned his beetle-chair around and left.

  He could complain all he wanted, but he was still benefitting greatly from my talent. I’d let him have his time to stew, anyhow.

  000

  The world kept spinning and spinning.

  No more such episodes akin to the Curse Parade at Okinawa occurred in the meanwhile. Or that minor mess in Nagoya. The cursed spirits responsible, the big ones that must have inspired the attack at least, eluded my notice.

  I vowed that I would exit my jar and deal with them personally should they resurface, should even a single part of my network fall apart.

  Thankfully, nothing happened.

  I complied maliciously with the wishes of the Jujutsu Council, and scoured all of Japan for raw sorcerers. I found hundreds more.

  Then over a thousand.

  Two thousand.

  Jujutsu High became Jujutsu Elementary, Jujutsu Middle School, Junior High, and High. And the High School would accept anyone between the ages of fifteen and twenty-one. Anyone older had to wait to be given apprenticeships by Semi-Grade 2 sorcerers or higher.

  I was doing this both to give the Council a headache, and drive the Big Three Clans to a level one half a step below outright trying to assassinate me. The imbalance of Jujutsu Society had reached a peak, and the Big Three no longer knew what to do.

  They couldn’t just adopt the graduates or the students. Many of them already had families, and many of their cultural values didn’t align with their traditionalist values. If the Big Three made arrangements and accommodations for these outsiders, then perhaps things would work. Money talked, after all. But in doing so, they would be openly demonstrating an imbalance of privileges within their clan.

  Above all, the clans wanted control and a say in what culture should be dominant to themselves.

  It was almost exactly the same slew of reasons why I hadn’t adopted any of the raw sorcerers, and had just seen fit to toss them over to Jujutsu High. Even if they would have proven a positive influence—I was more worried for how my people might influence them. They just weren’t ready for civilization, and were barely above animals, really.

  In a generation, Jujutsu Headquarters would become an entity too big to be controlled by the Big Three. The rapid and overwhelming expansion of Jujutsu Society’s clanless sorcerers would see to that.

  And then there’s this fucking kid!

  The fuck is wrong with him?! Fuck!

  The thirteen-year-old Gojo Satoru had taken to menacing me. He was twelve when he began on his campaign, and a bit after turning thirteen, he had finally become a problem.

  He would scour the country for my Juchū and kidnap them just to ask me to meet with him. Then, when I emphatically ignored his requests, and then demands, he had taken to sabotaging my Daughter Bugs, compromising my network and almost forcing me to exit my jar prematurely.

  He had even tried to follow the signal lines all the way to the Hibana clan. The fact that he could still see them no matter how much I veiled them irritated me to no end. His Six Eyes bullshit, no doubt.

  The only thing that had stopped him was a demand to Jujutsu HQ to leash their human Endbringer before I declared all-out war.

  His clan head had then blown up his phone while he was just about halfway to my house. His expression had twisted into horror, then disgust, and then he slinked back from whence he came.

  And to ensure that no similar episode reoccurred, I gave him a simple promise.

  Let’s meet in Jujutsu High in two years.

  My plan was to just try and talk him down.

  And the longer I marinated, the more… ideas I started to entertain.

  Ideas that weren’t just about talking him down, but perhaps…

  …perhaps besting him, should our talks break down.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  Michiko… how did you make a Domain Expansion?

  Michiko didn’t say the words to me. She showed me, through our spiritual handshake.

  000

  Two years later

  Hibana Haruta had spent the last seven years in a constant state of desperation.

  She would never be as strong as Teira-sama. She could try, but she would always fall short. And that was fine. Compared to Haruta, Teira-sama was a god given flesh. She was the Hibana clan’s answer to Gojo Satoru, no doubt.

  Haruta believed that to be the case with her entire heart, mind and soul. Because she could not imagine how anyone could be stronger than Teira-sama.

  Haruta didn’t compare herself to Teira-sama for that reason.

  Instead, she compared herself to the others. Her peers.

  And then, when she showed that she could run circles around her peers, she graduated to taking on the older teenagers.

  She monopolized the private tutelage of Teira as much as possible. Teira-sama offered private lessons in refining their cursed energy control to anyone that asked. She made herself available in this boundlessly generous capacity because she was able to split her focus, and also because she was challenging people to take on her classes.

  Haruta could still remember the first time that Teira-sama had taken her on. It was out in the forest next to the clan compound, in a clearing.

  “Punch this tree,” she had commanded, through her pretty moth-woman Juchū. “Using cursed energy.”

  Haruta, only eight years old, had walked up to the tree, and she had prepared her cursed energy.

  She punched. It made a heavy ‘thump’ sound.

  “Wrong,” Teira immediately admonished. “You’re not even punching with all your strength. Punch with everything you have. If you have infused your fist properly, then it won’t hurt. I know you’re only limiting yourself because you’re scared to hurt. Don’t.”

  Haruta had understood her words immediately. She was holding back because punching tough objects was actually really scary.

  Haruta felt a flare of shame about that. She was going to be a curse expert—no, a Jujutsu Sorcerer! How could she be afraid of one tree?

  So she cocked her fist back and threw it—

  The Juchū grabbed her by her wrist, stopping her momentum. Haruta yelped in shock.

  “You weren’t coating your fist. Only your shoulder. This way, you really would have hurt yourself. Coat your fist properly. Feel the energy. Before we start, I want you to move your energy smoothly from one fist to the next, in an alternating pattern.”

  And so that first lesson had gone. She hadn’t even been allowed to punch the tree for the entire time. At the end of their lesson, Haruta had felt such a profound degree of disgust and shame at herself, for daring to call herself Teira-sama’s future right hand, while also being so weak.

  She kept playing with he cursed energy, kept getting a feel for it, even outside of training hours. Day and night, when she woke up, and just as she was about to sleep, she moved her energy.

  And Teira-sama’s lessons kept coming. They also kept ramping up in intensity.

  She remembered clearly a day when she was twelve.

  She was on her hands and knees, throwing up her breakfast.

  This was her first lesson in many months, during a period of which Teira-sama wasn’t able to communicate clearly with people. Her drones worked on autopilot, completing tasks like counting points, and holding clan members accountable for their actions. She did it in the same capacity as a robot would, and offered nothing in the form of unique thoughts or sermons.

  Those days had terrified Haruta.

  Then, finally, she had seen the clan head come out of her entombment.

  Snow white skin, black orbs for eyes, and antennae sticking out from her head. She looked less human than Haruta had remembered.

  And very quickly, things were back to normal again.

  Except that Teira-sama was pushing Haruta to her limits, and then past them.

  “The next few years will not be easy for you,” Teira’s Juchū said. “I was mistaken in how easy my hand was in your tutelage. You defied expectations, small as those were, and yet I find myself dissatisfied with your current trajectory. Should I continue coddling you, you will amount to nothing but a third-rate sorcerer. And I don’t have the patience to cultivate mediocrity. Therefore, this is how it will now be.”

  Haruta spat out the last of her chewed-up breakfast and flashed a grin covered in saliva and bile. “I won’t give up!”

  Teira-sama had told her the truth that day. Things had changed between them. Haruta felt a pressure unlike any other to become strong.

  “I gave you and every other disciple a thousand Juchū when they were children. Your brain was plastic and easily moldable. In doing so, I raised your potential for Sense Expansion to an amazing amount. You can release all one thousand Juchū for an hour, but it leaves you immobile. I tire of this weakness of yours. From now on, you will leave all thousand out during training hours. We will increase this to every waking moment. Once you have reached that level, I will consider you a Grade One sorcerer.”

  That was years ago.

  Now…

  …Haruta was riding next to Hibana Teira, in the flesh, in the back of a black SUV.

  They were both fifteen now.

  It was hard to remember that Teira was only her age.

  She had paper-white skin, and her eyes were black orbs. She was dressed in a navy blue kosode of spider silk, and a matching hakama over her legs. Around her waist, she wore a golden obi that matched her golden haori, embroidered with white patterns of spiders, beetles, and bees.

  This would be her uniform in Jujutsu High. As they were allowed to customize theirs, Teira had chosen this.

  Haruta had chosen a sailor uniform, like the ones in Sailor Moon. The primary color was navy blue, though her necktie and stripes on her collar and cuffs were white.

  From a dragonfly plane, had just arrived in Tokyo, and were intending to drive the rest of the way to Mount Ushiro by car. Haruta didn’t know why Teira-sama bothered with such a circuitous path. Still, she was grateful.

  This was the first time that Haruta had seen the outside world—outside of manga, movies and anime.

  It was massive. Non-sorcerers were truly every bit as incredible as sorcerers in how they were able to create all of these things with nothing but human strength and machines. It was a sobering thought for Haruta.

  “Here.”

  Teira offered her a gourd. Wait, what? “Sake?” she hissed. “But… we’re underage?”

  “We’re fifteen,” she scoffed. “If we’re old enough to risk our lives, we’re old enough to at least shave the brunt off our stress.”

  “I’m not—I’m not stressed!”

  Teira’s head turned towards her. Haruta held her breath. “I appreciate that you chose to follow me all this way. And that you chose to join Jujutsu High. But I can tell that you’re nervous. I won’t be there to hold your hand any longer. You’re going to Kyoto after all.”

  Haruta took the bottle.

  She removed the cork.

  She sniffed its insides.

  Smelled like the purified essence of her father after a long day. The parts of him that made him angry. Or sometimes overly happy.

  “You don’t have to drink it,” she said. “It’s only in case you need it.”

  She threw a gulp back and swallowed it instantly, fearful that tasting it might make her regret it.

  Indeed, after the drink had settled, and the taste hit her tongue and nostrils, she found herself deep in the throes of regret.

  “Keep it. Might earn you some friends.”

  Haruta would… keep this gourd somewhere safe, and far, far away from her easy reach. Then, she would drink more once she became officially recognized as a Grade One sorcerer. But that was it. Never again. Outside of dinners with the clan head, of course—once she achieved the status of Teira-sama’s right hand. By that point, she would need to be an expert in drinking in order to keep up with Teira-sama’s… rumored appetites.

  “Also, Haruta,” she said. “If anyone gives you trouble—and I do mean anyone—give me a call. I don’t care if it’s Gojo Satoru himself. If you feel out of your depth… reach out. I will help you.”

  Haruta nodded, numbly.

  Then, she shook her head, grimacing as she did. “I won’t have any trouble! I’ll take care of my own problems, okay? And if I die, it’s only because I was too weak!”

  Teira cracked a grin.

  Haruta would never have described Teira-sama as ‘cute’, both before and after she had made these changes to herself. Her default state was an expression held down by gravity. She looked like how any girl would look like while in a funeral, mourning their lost loved ones. Her lips were perennially quirked downwards and her wide, pitch-black eyes gave her the impression that she had seen a most horrid specter.

  A smile, however, did much to cut away this constant tension of hers.

  It turned her ethereally sculpted features into something almost resembling cute.

  “You’re not weak, Haruta,” she said. “You’re… my favorite disciple.”

  Haruta gasped.

  What?! Me?! I’m her favorite?! No, no, that—that can’t be!

  “You say that to every disciple, no doubt,” she said.

  “I’ve never said this, even once,” she said. “True, you’re not the strongest. Nor even do you fight with the same ferocity and ability of some of my male disciples. In truth, you’re hopelessly untalented. I’ve never had to work so hard to bring the potential out of a student as I’ve had to work on you.”

  Each comment drove an actual spear through her heart.

  I’m worthless after all.

  “But you defy your limits. You get up and work harder in spite of how pathetically weak you are. In doing so, you’ve outstripped all those promising students. You’ve outstripped them where it counts: in Jujutsu Sorcery.”

  “But you said I’m weak!”

  “You don’t hit as hard as our best. You don’t bring ferocity to the level of our best. Yet, you would beat them all in combat ability. Because you are balanced. Balanced to an incredible degree. Should you acquit yourself to Jujutsu Society and earn your Grade irrespective of my own recommendations, then you will earn your kamakiri.”

  Haruta held her breath.

  “You can squeal and cry all you want. I don’t mind.”

  She let it all out in one go. “This is awesome, Teira! I will show them all, I promise I will!”

  Teira-sama laughed. It was so gratifying to see her laugh like this. Not just for Haruta’s sake, but to see how her clan’s Goddess in the flesh could… exhibit such human characteristics.

  “All that aside,” she said. “Let’s move onto an even more important subject.”

  Even more important?!

  “What’s your favorite anime?”

  000

  “Teira-sama—“

  “I told you. Outside the clan compound, you don’t call me Teira-sama. You call me Teira.”

  “Fine. Teira! Seriously, though. How can you eschew the sheer value of Dragon Ball? I don’t understand! I know it’s a boy manga, but it’s literally—“

  “Garbage. It’s literally garbage.”

  They were walking up the steps of the hallowed Jujutsu High as they discussed, and Haruta couldn’t let go of this topic. Maybe it was the all-too-strong sake playing havoc on her mind, but she just couldn’t let this go. “Let me finish!” she shouted. “I know you like to walk over people’s opinions, but I merit more than that, dammit! I’m your future vice head!”

  “I walk over him, too, for your information.”

  “Well, not me! I won’t let you walk over me!”

  “You whine even more than he does,” she said. “Maybe I won’t, purely because of how annoying it is to listen to you screech in my ear about your favorite manga.”

  “It’s not my favorite manga!” she roared. “My point is that it isn’t bad!”

  “But Berserk is bad? Haruta-chan, your taste is shit.”

  Haruta felt herself growing hotter and hotter at this sheer… this absolute… “Idiot!”

  Teira turned towards her, and stuck her tongue out. “You’re the fool.”

  “Berserk isn’t bad! It’s just gross, okay?!”

  “And the life of a Jujutsu Sorcerer isn’t gross?”

  “Less gross than a horse trying to rape a girl!”

  “Huh? I didn’t hear that just quite. Maybe say it louder.”

  “I said, a horse trying to rape a girl!” she roared.

  “Greetings, sensei.”

  Haruta slapped her hand over her mouth at the sudden appearance of a man wearing shades. He had short hair and wore sunglasses over his eyes. He looked like a thug or a yakuza member.

  “Hibana Teira,” he said, bowing his head. They had just reached the precipice of a Torii gate. “Welcome. I am your homeroom teacher. I will also show you to the girl’s dormitory.”

  “Excellent,” she said. “Show me the way.”

  “I will. Before then, I’d like to tell you something,” he said. “I will be your teacher. That means, I will be in charge of your conduct and your development during your time in our school.”

  “Right. Of course. Now, the way?”

  He took off his glasses and massaged his nostrils for a moment before sighing. “I know I can’t make you do anything that you don’t want to do. I know that you are strong. You have proved your might enough that no one can fail to recognize what you are.”

  “Sensei, this—“

  “Let me finish,” he nearly glared at Teira. Haruta herself felt fixed into position by the look. “Please.”

  After a moment, Teira nodded.

  “The higher-ups decided this for you,” the teacher said. “And you graciously accepted this state of affairs. I know that you have no desire to submit yourself in a way that debases your station. I get that. And yet, I must ask you to lower yourself. Not for my sake, or for the sake of the higher-ups, but for your classmates.”

  Haruta felt red in her face at these words. “How dare you—!”

  Then she felt a hand cover her face. Teira’s hand.

  She instantly deflated.

  “You ask much of me,” Teira replied quietly.

  “No. Not nearly. I don’t ask anything of you but what I would ask of any of my students.”

  “And that is?”

  “To let them enjoy a modicum of joy and levity in their young age,” he said. “To not feel stifled. I don’t ask of you anything but the chance for my students to develop safely, without feeling victimized by your strength or status.”

  Teira’s hand dropped from Haruta’s mouth and landed on her shoulder. A shoulder which she held which such stiffness that Haruta could nary imagine moving.

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” the teacher asked.

  Teira…

  …bowed her head. “I understand.”

  The teacher nodded. “Thank you, Teira-kun. I appreciate your cooperation.”

  “Yours, too,” she said in a low tone, her voice frying underneath her volume. “Act in your capacity as an impartial teacher, and I will afford you the respect that you deserve.”

  “Of course, Teira-kun.”

  “Even if it means going against the rulings of your so-called higher-ups?”

  The teacher’s entire frame tensed, and he looked up proudly. “Especially in that case.”

  He turned around then, and led them forward.

  And all Haruta felt was a sense of awe.

  She hoped her teacher in Kyoto would be even half this cool.

  000

  Ieiri Shoko had arrived near dawn to bring all of her stuff over to school.

  She brought a backpack.

  She didn’t have anything, really. Only two changes of clothes and some make-up. Apparently, the school would provide her with the necessary school clothes free of charge, as well as a fat stipend that she could use to buy more stuff for herself, earning more than even her mother did in a month, every week.

  Of course, the stipulation had been escaping her house with all her requisite identification. The government would, apparently, take care of the rest.

  After arriving in the magic high school for exorcists of demons and ‘cursed spirits’, she had finally escaped.

  She felt empty.

  She tossed her backpack into her barebones bedroom, and hung out in the hallway, debating on whether or not to bring out the pack of cigarettes that she had stolen from her mom.

  Hmm. Probably not indoors.

  “—but I’m telling you, Teira, you need to start viewing the value of Luffy’s journey for what it is, and not just for what you want it to be! I mean seriously, if you were such a great storyteller, wouldn’t you by now have written something worth a damn?”

  “I shouldn’t have given you that shot—“

  The pair of people just turned the corner of the hallway.

  One wore a sailor uniform, while the other wore a more traditional attire. And she was tall. As tall as a boy, even.

  And she looked like a fucking ghost. Holy shit, is she even real?

  “Ah,” she said. She had pitch black orbs for eyes, and had a hairband on her head with two long stick sticking out, like insectile antennae. “Alright, Haruta. Allow me to demonstrate to you how to make friends, alright?”

  Huh?

  The freaky-looking girl walked up to Shoko. “Hello. My name is Hibana Teira. What is yours?”

  Teira? Was that her first or last name? Whatever. “Ieiri Shoko,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Are you a first-year as well?”

  “That, I am.”

  She then turned towards her drastically-normal-looking friend and nodded. “Now we’ve got the greeting portion out of the way, and we’ve confirmed that we’re the same age.” She turned back towards Shoko. “It’s good to meet you, Ieiri-san. You can call me Teira. Can we be friends?” Before Shoko could even reply, she turned her head towards her friend. “At this stage, you simply ensure that the other party is receptive towards politeness. Then you ask. It’s fine because she clearly doesn’t have any friends.” Ouch, girl. She turned back to Shoko. “None of us do, this early into the year. Well?”

  “Sure,” Shoko said. Sure, whatever. Let’s be friends, freaky insect-looking girl. What’s the worst that can happen?

  A lot of things, but… eh.

  “Thank you!” Teira said. “I must inform you: should you betray me, then I will make your life a living hell.”

  Then she turned back to her friend. “There!”

  The girl looked nervous. “I don’t know, Teira… this doesn’t seem like a good approach. In the mangas, people usually aren’t this blunt.”

  Shoko shrugged. “It sounds like one to me.”

  Teira grinned. The expression looked unnatural on her. Was she wearing make-up to make herself look so pale? Either way, Shoko liked her style. She was just… wildly freaky.

  “Still,” Shoko said. “I also have to make sure. Will you betray me?”

  “Never,” she replied. All too easily. “I have no use betraying you. Should we find ourselves at an impasse, I will immediately announce my intentions. I don’t foresee myself resorting to subterfuge in order to get one over on you.”

  Shoko raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

  “You don’t strike me as a particularly strong person,” she replied easily. “Meaning, there is no real advantage to be had in deceiving you when I can just be straightforward.”

  Shoko hummed. “I don’t know. Sounds like you just wanna bully me.”

  “I see no need for that,” she said. “Should you prove yourself to be a friend to me, then I will move heaven and earth for you. This is my honest truth.”

  And despite the fact that she looked like a fucking horror movie character, Shoko couldn’t help but believe her words. What use would a girl that looked like her have for deception? Anyone with a style like hers were likely honest and straightforward to a fault. “Alright, then,” Shoko shrugged. “Then we can be friends.”

  “Excellent,” she turned to her friend and nodded. “Alright. I’ve found my bearings. You should leave, now.” She turned to Shoko then. “Ah, right, she’s my cousin. Haruta.”

  “Ah, right! I’m Hibana Haruta!” she bowed.

  “Nice to meet you,” Shoko replied. “Then…” she looked up at the other girl. “does that make you…?”

  “Yes, we hail from the same clan,” she said.

  “She’s the—“

  Teira put a hand over Haruta’s shoulder to stop her. “Alright, now, cousin. Go. Good luck.”

  She immediately hugged the freaky-looking girl, shedding tears as she did. “I promise, I’ll do my best, okay?!”

  Teira laughed and wrapped her arms around the girl, patting her head. “I know.”

  Ah. Then, she’s nice.

  Shoko was immediately sold. Well then, Teira. You will be my first friend in this place.

  As Haruta quickly fled out the hallways, Teira turned to her and grinned. “You know, I was a little worried that I would appear slightly offensive to my classmates. I’m glad you managed to look past my monstrous appearance.”

  “What monstrous appearance?” Shoko asked, grinning as she did.

  In all actuality, dealing with the embodiment of Sadako from The Grudge was far easier on her conscience than remaining even another day in her mother’s house.

  Receiving that letter from Jujutsu High the moment that she had... it had saved her life, truly. Now, she had an easy path through life, working in a capacity that only she could. Well, she, and a host of other students that she had seen going into this school.

  Still, she appreciated this change of pace. Even if it meant being best friends with a ghost-girl.

  “I appreciate your open-mindedness,” she said. “I really do. Just for that, I will ensure that no one fucks with you.” She grinned sharply. “Under my watch, no one will.”

  Shoko didn’t need much convincing to believe that whole-heartedly.

  “Classes are in an hour,” she said. “So, let’s try and get to know each other before then.”

  Her expression twisted into a grimace. “Ah. He’s here.”

  Shoko raised an eyebrow at that. “Who?”

  “A certain blue-eyed idiot will be in attendance, apparently. Gojo Satoru.”

  “Who?” Shoko asked.

  Teira grimace turned to a grin. “No one that you will have to worry about. Alright, let’s go. I’ll show you some of my favorite songs before we go to class.”