Jujutsu Dragon Emperor Chapter 10 — Getting Settled (Patreon)

Before any classes started at Jujutsu Tech they were first given time to acquaint themselves with where they'd be staying. 

The hallway of the first-year dormitory wing smelled like fresh lacquer and old wood, a combination that told Naoto someone had cleaned the place recently but hadn't bothered doing it for years before that. Though to be fair the dormitory could easily house fifty or so students and considering a year never had anymore than ten students it wasn't a surprise they didn't bother cleaning it properly. 

Naoto walked down the corridor with his bag slung over one shoulder and a cardboard box tucked under his other arm, scanning the numbers on each door until he found his. Room 104. He shifted the box against his hip, fished the key from his pocket, and pushed the door open.

The room was... fine.

It was a clean rectangular space with tatami flooring and a single sliding window door that faced the east courtyard. A wooden desk sat against the far wall, its surface bare except for a small reading lamp that looked like it had survived at least three generations of students. The bed was a simple raised platform bolted into the floor with a thin mattress rolled out across it, and a narrow closet stood beside the door with its sliding panel slightly ajar, revealing a few bare hangers inside. There was a small shelf unit near the desk and a table for sitting and that was it.

Pretty boring all things considered.

Naoto set the box down on the desk and dropped his bag beside the bed before standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips, surveying the space. 

Then he cracked his knuckles and got to work.

He started with the bed itself, pulling out the sheets he had brought from home and fitting them over the mattress. After he was done he moved to the closet next, hanging his uniforms on the left side and his casual clothes on the right with enough space between each hanger that nothing would crease, then he folded his training gear and stacked it on the shelf at the bottom.

The box on the desk held the personal things, and this was the part he actually cared about. He opened the flaps and pulled out a small framed photograph first, one that Mirajane had taken of him with Maki and Mai in the garden behind their house. The twins were perched on his shoulders in the picture, both of them mid-laugh with their mouths wide open. He set it on the desk beside the lamp and adjusted its angle twice before he was satisfied with the placement.

Next came the posters. 

He had three of them rolled up in the bottom of the box, each one protected by a thin cardboard sleeve. The first was a vintage martial arts film print that he had found at a secondhand shop in Tokyo. The second was a detailed anatomical chart of cursed energy pathways that he had copied by hand from one of the older texts in the Zenin library. The third was something lighter, a print of a mountain landscape in autumn that Mirajane had given him as a going-away gift, the kind of image that was meant to make a room feel less like a cell. He hung it on the wall opposite the window so the natural light would hit it during the afternoon.

He spent another ten minutes arranging smaller details. A ceramic cup and a small tin of loose-leaf tea went on the shelf beside a battered copy of a book on barrier techniques. A set of calligraphy brushes and an ink stone found their place at the corner of the desk alongside a neat stack of blank talismans that he kept sealed in a cloth wrap. When everything was in place, Naoto stepped back to the doorway and looked over the room one more time. 

He let out a breath and nodded to himself. 

It was good. 

It felt right.

He filled the ceramic cup with water from the small kettle he had set to boil on the portable burner he'd brought, measured out a portion of loose tea leaves, and let them steep while he pulled the chair out and sat down at the desk. Naoto leaned back in the chair, lifted the cup to his lips, and took a slow sip.

It had been a long time since he'd been born in to this world and he had a lot of trouble remembering anything but he was pretty sure he loved tea. It always seemed to trigger strong memories of Deja vu when he drank it. 

"Ahhh..."  The tea was perfect. Slightly bitter, earthy, with a warmth that settled in his chest and spread outward through his limbs. For the first time in weeks, he felt something close to calm and serene.

He closed his eyes and let the moment stretch.

CRASH 

The wall to his left shuddered violently and the martial arts poster peeled away at one corner, curling forward before the adhesive strip gave out entirely and the whole thing fluttered down to the floor. His tea sloshed over the rim of the cup and splashed across his knuckles. The photograph of Maki and Mai slid sideways on the desk and tipped forward, landing face-down with a small clatter.

A vein twitched at Naoto's temple.

He set the cup down very carefully and then he stood and crossed the room to pick up the poster. He smoothed it against his thigh, checked the corners for damage, found none, and pressed it back into place on the wall with fresh adhesive strips. He righted the photograph on the desk and wiped the spilled tea from his hand with the edge of his sleeve. Then he sat back down, picked up his cup, and raised it to his lips.

He managed exactly one sip.

CRASH

The entire wall rattled this time end the poster dropped again, one of the adhesive strips actually popping off the wall and landing on the floor several feet away. The cup of tea jumped in his hand and this time the splash caught the front of his shirt. The photograph of Maki and Mai didn't just slide, it fell off the desk entirely and bounced off the tatami with a crack that made him flinch.... if the glass on that frame had broken he was going to commit a genuine act of violence.

"That son of a—" Naoto snarled through his teeth as he snatched the photograph up and checked it. The glass was intact. He set it down on the shelf this time, further from the edge, and then turned toward his door with murder in his eyes.

He grabbed the handle and slid the door open so hard the frame cracked.

At the exact same moment, the door on the opposite side of the hallway slammed open with equal force, and Shoko stepped out with her hair slightly disheveled and a freshly lit cigarette clenched between her teeth. Her eyes were narrowed into slits and there was a vein pulsing at her own temple that matched Naoto's almost perfectly.

They looked at each other.

Neither said a word.

Naoto's gaze slid from Shoko toward the door between their two rooms. Room 103. Shoko's gaze followed, landing on the same door. A muffled crash sounded from inside, followed by the unmistakable screech of nails being pried from wood.

Shoko took the cigarette from her mouth, exhaled a long stream of smoke through her nose, and gave a single short nod.

Naoto returned it.

No words were necessary. 

They moved at the same time, crossing the three steps of hallway in sync, Naoto lifted his foot and drove it straight into the center of Gojo's door.

The door blasted inward off its track, slamming flat onto the floor of the room with a crash that sent dust pluming up from the tatami, Shoko stepped through the opening right beside him.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" they shouted in unison.

The scene inside the room stopped both of them dead for a full second.

Gojo stood in the center of what could only charitably be described as a disaster zone, shirtless for some reason and holding a claw hammer in one hand while his other hand gripped a loose plank of wood that had clearly been part of his bed frame until very recently. 

The bed itself, or rather what was left of it, was scattered across the room in various states of destruction. The bolted platform that had been anchored to the floor now had two of its four legs completely ripped free, one of which lay across the desk.

Gojo looked up at them with genuine surprise, hammer still raised, his expression shifted into a wide grin. "Oh hey. You guys settling in okay? I heard the rooms on this floor are kind of cramped but honestly I think the layout isn't—"

"What the hell are you doing?!" Naoto cut him off, gesturing at the carnage with both hands.

Gojo looked around the room as if seeing the mess for the first time, then held up the plank of wood like it was Exhibit A in his own defense. "Okay so hear me out," he began, lowering the hammer to his side. "This bed is garbage, the mattress is like sleeping on a bag of rocks and the frame creaks every time you move, wnd it smells weird. So I called ahead and had my real bed delivered."

Then Gojo turned and gestured grandly toward the sliding glass doors that led out to the courtyard, sweeping his arm like a game show host. 

Naoto and Shoko both looked.

Sitting in the middle of the courtyard, taking up an area roughly the size of a large bathroom, was a bed. A massive, gleaming, custom-upholstered super king-size bed with a padded headboard that rose at least four feet tall, a mattress so thick it looked like it could swallow a person whole, and silk sheets in pristine white that practically glowed in the morning sun. 

Naoto turned back to Gojo.

Gojo's grin was radiant.

Naoto looked at Shoko. 

Shoko looked at Naoto. 

They both walked toward the sliding glass doors without a word.

Gojo's grin faltered. "Wait. What are you—hey. Hey! What are you doing?! That cost more than this entire building!"

Naoto reached the bed first and drove his fist into the headboard. The padded frame buckled inward, fabric tearing and stuffing exploding outward in a cloud of white. Shoko grabbed one of the pillows and ripped it cleanly in half with both hands.

"NO!" Gojo shrieked. "STOP! STOP IT! THAT'S CUSTOM EUROPEAN FEATHERS! DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TAKES TO SOURCE THAT?!"

Naoto grabbed the edge of the silk sheets and yanked them off the mattress balling them up and hurling them into the bushes. Shoko had already moved to the other side and was kicking one of the bed legs with the flat of her foot, each impact bending the wood further until it cracked with a satisfying snap.

Gojo dropped the hammer and sprinted toward them, launching himself at Naoto with all the grace of a raccoon defending a trash can. His arms locked around Naoto's torso from behind and he tried to drag him away from the bed, but Naoto planted his feet and twisted throwing Gojo over his hip. Gojo caught himself mid-fall, grabbed Naoto's sleeve, and yanked him down with him, and within seconds the two of them were rolling across the courtyard grass in a tangle of limbs.

"LET GO OF MY ARM YOU PSYCHO—"

"YOU LET GO OF MY SHIRT FIRST—"

"YOUR SHIRT ALREADY HAS TEA STAINS ON IT—"

"THAT WAS YOUR FAULT TOO!"

Gojo managed to get Naoto in a loose headlock, which lasted two seconds before Naoto twisted out of it and pinned Gojo's arm behind his back. Gojo kicked backward, caught Naoto in the shin, and they separated just long enough for Gojo to tackle him back to the ground. They rolled through a bush, scattering leaves and twigs in every direction, before Naoto shoved Gojo off and scrambled to his feet only for Gojo to grab his ankle and pull him back down.

A door slid open at the far end of the courtyard and Geto stepped out with his hair still damp from what had clearly been a shower, a towel draped over one shoulder and a look of mild confusion on his face. He surveyed the scene in silence for a moment and then 

walked over to Shoko and stopped beside her.

"What happened?" Geto asked.

Shoko took the cigarette from her mouth and gestured vaguely at Gojo with it. "He was tearing up the bed in his room with a hammer because it wasn't fancy enough and then had that monstrosity delivered." She pointed at the destroyed super king. "We decided it had to go."

Geto looked at the bed, then at the feathers drifting through the air, then at Naoto who was currently sitting on Gojo's back while Gojo flailed beneath him. "I was wondering what the noise was," he said with a small sigh. "I thought someone was being attacked."

"Someone is," Shoko said flatly, watching Gojo bite Naoto's forearm. 

In the grass, Gojo had managed to wriggle out from under Naoto and was now standing with his hair full of leaves and a look of genuine distress on his face as he pointed at the ruined bed. "You don't understand! I can't sleep on just any mattress! My body is finely tuned, it's like an instrument, and if the support isn't right I wake up with knots in my shoulders and then my cursed energy flow gets disrupted and then I'm off my game for the entire day!"

Naoto burst out laughing. "You sound like one of those old Zenin elders who insist on having their bathwater heated to an exact temperature or they can't meditate properly. You're sixteen years old, Gojo. Sleep on the damn school bed like the rest of us."

"But it's horrible!" Gojo protested, and the genuine whine in his voice made Shoko snort smoke out of her nose.

"Welcome to being normal," Naoto said, still grinning as he stepped forward and grabbed Gojo by both ears, pulling them gently outward. "This is what happens when you grow up with servants ironing your underwear. The real world is uncomfortable. Deal with it, rich boy."

"OW OW OW— I'm not the only rich one here!" Gojo yelped, slapping at Naoto's hands before lunging forward and sinking his teeth into Naoto's forearm like a cornered animal. Naoto hissed and tried to shake him off, but Gojo clamped down harder.

"Are you seriously biting me right now?!" Naoto shouted, shaking his arm while Gojo hung on like a dog with a bone.

"YOU PULLED MY EARS!" Gojo shouted back without letting go, the words muffled against Naoto's skin.

"LET GO!"

"APOLOGIZE FIRST!"

"I'M NOT APOLOGIZING FOR—"

Geto sighed deeply, raised one hand, and a cursed spirit materialized between the two of them, a large, heavy-bodied thing with four thick arms that seized Naoto around the waist and Gojo around the shoulders, physically prying them apart and holding them at arm's length from each other like a bouncer separating drunk patrons. Both of them struggled against the grip for a few seconds before giving up and going limp in the spirit's hold, panting and glaring at each other.

"Are you both done?" Geto asked patiently before gesturing for the spirit set them down and then dissolve. 

Naoto landed on his feet, brushed himself off, and rolled his shoulders with a stretch before something occurred to him. He looked back at the enormous ruined bed, then at Gojo's door, then at the bed again, measuring the dimensions with his eyes. "Setting aside the fact that we just destroyed it," he said, "how were you even planning to get that thing into your room? It's wider than the door frame. It's wider than the wall. Were you going to remove the window?"

Gojo straightened his shirt, picked a leaf from his hair, and snorted as if the question was beneath him. "Please. Limitless manipulates the fundamental properties of spatial relationships at an atomic level. I could have compressed the dimensional footprint of that mattress by reducing the convergent distance between its molecular structures until it fit through any opening I wanted."

Everyone stared at him.

"You were going to use a technique that manipulates infinity itself to move furniture," Naoto said slowly. 

"Obviously."

Naoto ran a hand down his face. "You truly are a Limitless idiot."

Gojo's eyes widened with outrage and he surged forward, but Geto stepped between them with one hand firmly on Gojo's chest, pushing him back. "We need to go," Geto said. "Orientation starts in twenty minutes and if we're late on the first day, we'll already be on the administration's bad side."

Naoto's expression shifted, the irritation dropping away as he made a small "ahh" sound and tapped his fist against his palm. "Right. I almost forgot about that." He let out a long exhale through his nose and shot Gojo a look. "See? You've been here for less than an hour and you're already a terrible influence. I was a focused, disciplined individual before I met you."

Gojo jabbed a finger at him. "Excuse me? I am the best student this school has ever seen. They should be paying me to attend. My presence alone raises the academic standard of this entire institution."

"Your presence raises my blood pressure," Shoko muttered.

Naoto waved his hand dismissively as he turned and walked back toward the building with Shoko falling into step beside him. She stubbed her cigarette against the sole of her shoe and tucked it away, and the two of them disappeared through the sliding doors into the dormitory hallway.

Geto stayed behind and looked at Gojo, who stood in the courtyard amidst the ruins of his bed with his shoulders slumped and his hair still full of debris. Geto walked over and clapped him on the shoulder. "For what it's worth, I think you would have figured out how to get it through the door."

Gojo's face brightened immediately. "Right?! I had the whole thing planned out. I was going to—"

"But you probably shouldn't have used a hammer on the old one, I'm guessing you didn't that because it was fun," Geto added.

Gojo deflated again.

"Come on," Geto said with a faint smile. "Let's go get changed. You've got grass in your hair."

Gojo grumbled something unintelligible but followed him inside.

...

The orientation hall was a large room in the main building of Tokyo Jujutsu High, its walls lined with old scrolls and framed calligraphy that depicted the founding principles of the institution. Rows of seats faced a raised platform at the front where a single wooden desk sat, and behind that desk stood a man who looked like he had been carved from the same stone as the building itself.

Masamichi Yaga waited with his arms folded across his broad chest and his eyes tracking the four first-years as they filed in and took their seats.

"Welcome to the Tokyo branch of Jujutsu Technical Collage," Yaga said. "I am Masamichi Yaga, your homeroom instructor and the individual responsible for ensuring that you four survive long enough to become useful to the jujutsu world. I have been doing this for a long time, and I will tell you now that the attrition rate for first-year students who do not take their training seriously is higher than any of you would find comfortable."

He let that sit for a moment, his gaze moving across each of them in turn. Gojo leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head, Shoko sat with her chin propped on one hand looking vaguely bored, Geto sat upright with polite attention, and Naoto met Yaga's stare directly without flinching.

"Your curriculum will be divided across several tracks," Yaga continued, reaching behind him and producing a thick folder that he dropped onto the desk. "Standard academics first. Mathematics, literature, history, science. You are still students and you will be expected to maintain passing grades in all subjects regardless of how many curses you can exorcise. If you fail your written examinations, I will personally make your training sessions unpleasant enough that you reconsider your priorities."

He opened the folder and began laying out documents on the desk. "Alongside your standard coursework, you will study jujutsu history in depth, tracing the development of sorcery from the golden age of the Heian era through the establishment of the barrier networks, the rise of the great clans, and the formation of the modern jujutsu administrative structure. You will learn about the classification system for cursed spirits, the grading framework for sorcerers, and the legal and ethical guidelines that govern our operations. This is not optional reading. You will be tested on it, and you will be expected to understand not just the facts but the reasoning behind the decisions that shaped our world."

Gojo yawned, making absolutely no effort to hide it.

Yaga's eye twitched, but he pressed on. "Beyond academics, the majority of your time will be devoted to practical development. Combat training, cursed energy control, technique refinement, and fieldwork. Each of you possesses a unique cursed technique or skill set, and it is my job to ensure you push those abilities to their absolute limit. You will spar regularly, you will face controlled curse encounters, and you will participate in real missions under supervision as soon as I determine you are ready. The goal is not to make you comfortable. The goal is to make you dangerous enough that the things hunting humanity think twice before crossing your path."

He closed the folder and straightened. "Any questions?"

Gojo raised his hand lazily. "Yeah. Is there a gym in this place? The one at my compound had a sauna and—"

"No," Yaga said flatly. "Next question."

"That wasn't even a real—"

"I said next question."

Silence.

Yaga gave a single nod. "Good. Then follow me. I will show you the grounds."

...

The tour of the campus took the better part of two hours, and Yaga led them through every building, training ground and facility. They saw the library, the training halls, three of them, each one designed for different types of combat, from open-field sparring to close-quarters technique work to cursed spirit containment drills. 

They saw the medical wing where Shoko visibly perked up for the first time all day. They saw the mission briefing room, the barrier workshop, the cursed tool storage vault, and finally the outdoor training grounds, which stretched across a wide expanse of open land behind the main building.

It was during the walk between the library and the second training hall that they ran into the upperclassmen.

A group of four students stood near the entrance to the hall, two second-years and two third-years, talking among themselves until they noticed the first-years approaching. The conversation paused, and a few of them turned to look with expressions ranging from mild curiosity to open assessment.

A young woman with dark hair pulled back under a headband stepped forward from the group, her arms folded across her chest. "So these are the new first-years," she said, more to the group behind her than to Yaga. "The ones from the exhibition match."

"Utahime Iori," Yaga introduced her with a nod. "Second-year. One of the more diligent students we have."

Utahime gave a polite bow toward the group, though her eyes lingered on Gojo for a moment as if already sensing that he was going to be a problem.

She was right.

"Diligent, huh?" Gojo said, tilting his head as he looked her over. "What's your technique? Must be pretty impressive if you're being held up as an example."

Utahime's eye twitched. "I'm a second-year student and your senpai. Show some respect."

Gojo grinned. "Ehhh I don't know you seem pretty weak, are you weak?"

"That's not the—"

"Yeah definitely weak... yawn."

Naoto closed his eyes briefly and let out a slow breath through his nose while Geto's hand drifted to Gojo's shoulder. 

Before Utahime could respond with what would have been a very justified verbal evisceration, another figure stepped forward from the group. This one was a third-year, a young woman with short blue-gray hair. "Mei Mei," she introduced herself. "Third-year. I heard about your little performance at the exhibition." Her gaze settled on Naoto specifically. "Impressive. Though I have to wonder how much of it translates to real field work."

Naoto met her gaze and shrugged. "I guess we'll find out."

Mei Mei smiled thinly. "I suppose we will."

Two other upperclassmen lingered at the edges of the group. A broad-shouldered fourth-year named Takeda Ryusei who watched the exchange with his arms folded across his chest, and a wiry second-year with angular features named Soma Hiroki who stood beside Utahime with his hands in his pockets and a half-smile.

Gojo, predictably, was not finished.

"So none of you are special grade, right?" he asked, directing the question at the group with the casual bluntness of someone reading a restaurant menu and finding nothing interesting. "I'm just asking because I can kind of sense everyone's cursed energy from here and none of it is really... you know." He wiggled his hand in a so-so gesture.

Utahime's face went red. Soma's half-smile disappeared entirely. Even Mei Mei's expression cooled by a fraction.

Naoto grabbed Gojo by the back of his collar and yanked him backward before any of the upperclassmen could respond physically, while Geto stepped smoothly into the gap and offered a bow. "Please forgive him," Geto said, his tone perfectly polite. "He has a condition."

"I do not have a—"

"It affects his ability to read social situations," Geto continued without missing a beat. "We're working on it."

Shoko nodded solemnly from behind them. "It's very serious."

Gojo sputtered, but Naoto kept his grip on the collar and steered him down the hallway before the upperclassmen decided to test whether a first-year could survive a coordinated jumping. As they rounded the corner, Naoto let go and gave Gojo a look. "You're going to get jumped in a hallway one day and I want you to know right now that I will not help you."

"They were weak," Gojo said, rubbing the back of his neck where the collar had dug in. "I could feel it. Why should I pretend otherwise?"

Geto sighed. "Because it's polite."

"Politeness is a social construct designed to protect mediocrity."

"That is the most obnoxious thing anyone has ever said," Shoko observed from behind her freshly lit cigarette.

They continued down the hallway, and as they passed the doorway to the fourth-year training room, Naoto caught movement from the corner of his eye. A figure leaned against the far wall inside, half-hidden by shadow, a tall woman with long blonde hair. She glanced at him as they passed, their eyes meeting for barely a second, and then she looked away with a faint smile that made the hair on his neck prickle.

...

By the time the afternoon faded into early evening and the orientation was officially over, the four of them spilled out through the school gates with the energy of prisoners granted parole. 

"I'm starving," Gojo announced. "Let's get food. Real food. Not whatever sad excuse for a meal the school cafeteria is serving."

"Ramen," Naoto said immediately.

Shoko pointed at him. "Seconded."

Geto smiled. "I know a place near here. A friend mentioned it when I was researching the area before the semester. It's supposed to be excellent."

The ramen shop was a narrow storefront tucked between a bookshop and a convenience store, the kind of place that had no sign out front and relied entirely on the smell of pork broth drifting through the noren curtains to draw people in. They ducked inside and found four seats at the counter, shoulder to shoulder, and ordered without much deliberation, Naoto going for the tonkotsu with extra chashu, Gojo demanding every topping available including two extra eggs, Shoko ordering the simplest thing on the menu, and Geto choosing a clean shoyu broth. 

When the bowls arrived, there was a moment of collective silence as the steam rose between them, and then they ate.

As they ate they started to relax and as they happened they started talking. 

Gojo talked with his mouth full, gesturing with his chopsticks and nearly flinging noodles into Geto's face twice while describing in excruciating detail how when he took over the Gojo clan he was going to turn it into a massive strip club. Geto listened with a small grin, occasionally adding observations that caught Gojo off guard and made him laugh. Even Naoto found himself agreeing with Gojo's plans and offered the entire wealth of the Zenin clan to fund the world's greatest strip joint. 

Shoko strangely enough was also in support if it only for the fact that it would be amusing if thousands of years of Jujutsu history led up to two of the three great clans moving in to adult entertainment. 

By the time the bowls were empty and the owner was starting to give them looks that suggested the seats needed to be freed, they had spent nearly two hours at the counter. Naoto realized with mild surprise that he had genuinely enjoyed every minute of it.

Gojo stretched his arms above his head and made a sound of contentment that bordered on theatrical before his expression shifted into a grin. "So," he said, lowering his voice and leaning in toward the group. "I know for a fact that the convenience store two streets from here doesn't check ID. And I happen to have enough cash on me to buy a truly irresponsible amount of alcohol. I say we get some drinks, find a rooftop, and celebrate the fact that we survived the first day without anyone getting expelled."

"You want to get drunk on a school night," Geto said. "...The first school night."

"I want us to bond as a team through shared experiences of mild irresponsibility."

"He wants to get drunk on a school night," Shoko translated.

Geto ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath. "I'd rather not have a headache for our first real day of classes tomorrow. That seems like a spectacularly bad way to start."

Shoko tilted her head. "I could probably heal our hangovers in the morning. Reversed cursed technique works on that kind of thing. Alcohol is basically just poison and I've fixed worse."

Everyone looked at her.

She shrugged. "What? It's true. It's just a whoosh and a bang."

Naoto chuckled and shrugged. "I don't mind. Been a while since I just... did nothing for a night. Could be worse."

Gojo pointed at him triumphantly. "See?! Naoto gets it! Three against one, Geto."

Geto sighed. 

"Democracy in action!" Gojo declared, grabbing Geto by the arm and dragging him toward the convenience store before he could protest further. "Come on! The night is young and so are we and tomorrow's problems are tomorrow's problems!"

...

Twenty minutes later they sat on the rooftop of a four-story building that overlooked the neighborhood, their legs dangling over the edge.

Gojo had indeed purchased a truly irresponsible amount of alcohol. Cans of beer, two bottles of expensive sake, and a single bottle of plum wine that Shoko had pointed at and declared non-negotiable.

Naoto leaned back on one hand, a can in the other. The first sip of beer was bitter and he grimaced slightly, but the second went down easier, and by the third he stopped noticing the taste entirely.

Gojo drank like he did everything else, fast and without moderation, finishing his first can in a matter of minutes before reaching for a second. "You know what the worst part about the clans is?" he saidn lazily. "It's not the pressure, cause... burp pressure is only really for weaklings cause... like... how am I? Pressured? Im literally the best... wait what was I saying?"

Gojo hesitated for a few more moments. "Oh yeah The worst part is the politics. The endless, exhausting, brain-rotting politics. Every single decision has to be filtered through fifteen layers of 'how does this make us look' and 'what will the other clans think' and 'we must maintain our position.' Nobody actually cares about doing the right thing. They just care about power. It's kinda gross ya know?"

Geto swirled the sake in his cup slowly, staring at the amber liquid. "The Gojo clan isn't unique in that. Every institution I've observed operates the same way. The jujutsu higher-ups, the government, the schools, all of them. They build systems that are supposed to protect people, and then the systems become more important than the people they were built to protect."

Naoto took a longer drink and set the can down beside him. "The Zenin are worse than most. They don't even pretend to care about anything beyond bloodline purity and technique inheritance. I've watched them discard people because they were born without the right ability or the right name. They would have thrown Maki and Mai away like trash if I hadn't been there. My shit stain of an uncle tried to kill them the day they were born."

"The higher-ups are the same," Naoto continued. "They sit in their chambers and make decisions about who lives and who dies based on utility. They don't see people, they see assets and liabilities. A sorcerer who's useful gets protected. One who isn't gets sacrificed. That's the system. That's the reality."

Silence settled over the four of them, heavier than before. The city below them looked almost peaceful... and to the people who lived there it probably was. 

If only they knew the true horror that jujutsu sorcerers protected them from. 

Gojo broke the silence first, but this time his voice was different. 

The bravado stripped away.

"When I'm at the top," he said, "I'm going to tear it all down. The higher-ups, the clan system, the whole rotten structure. All of it. I didn't get the Six Eyes and Limitless just to prop up a bunch of old men who treat sorcerers like expendable tools. I'm going to be so strong that none of them can touch me, and then I'm going to use that power to change things."

Geto looked at him for a long moment, something stirring behind his expression. "I believe you," he said finally. "I want the same thing. A world where sorcerers aren't sacrificed for the convenience of people who've never fought a curse in their lives."

Naoto stared out at the city, the lights blurring slightly at the edges of his vision from the alcohol. "Then we're agreed," he said. "When we get strong enough, when we're at the top and no one can stop us, we tear it down. The higher-ups, the clan politics, the whole system. We build something better."

Gojo raised his can. "To burning it all down."

Geto raised his cup. "To building something worth keeping."

Naoto lifted his own can and touched it to theirs. "To making sure no one else gets thrown away."

The three cans and one cup met in the air with a quiet clink, and they drank.

Beside them, Shoko had gone quiet. Her head had tipped sideways, resting against the ledge behind her, and her eyes had drifted closed. 

"They do say one in four people can't hold their liquor..." Gojo said 

(AN: So their first day at Jujutsu tech is done. The first year hopefully shouldn't be too long of an arc it's basically going to be an original arc before we head into the hidden inventory arc. Anyway hope you enjoyed.)