18 The Strongest (Part Nine)
Page (1/3)
“Wait?! You ran into cursed spirits out shopping on the street?!” Satoru Gojo’s voice brimmed with astonishment as he clicked his tongue at Megumi Fushiguro over the phone. “Seriously?!”
Holding his phone, Megumi felt the vein at his temple throb at Gojo’s gleefully provocative tone.
Yet when he recalled the two cursed spirits he had seen, even his own voice carried a trace of hesitation. “I think they were cursed spirits.”
“...You think?” Gojo’s voice grew serious.
From the driver’s seat, Kiyotaka Ijichi could not help glancing back at him.
“I don’t know,” Megumi said in confusion. “If I hadn’t sensed cursed energy from them when we brushed past each other, I wouldn’t even have realized they were cursed spirits.”
He paused, then said hesitantly once more, “Maybe it was only him...?”
“Mmm—interesting!” Gojo smiled with keen interest, his eyes beneath the blindfold as still as a deep abyss. “I’ll head over there today. What does Megumi want for dinner?”
“Anything is fine, as long as you don’t make cake the main course.”
Gojo argued righteously, “Your appetite is just too small, Megumi. I can eat plenty after finishing the cake!”
“Regardless, no cake, and no sweets of any kind.”
“All right.” Gojo agreed with a wounded air as he took out his phone to set the destination. “I’ll pick you up at home in a little while.”
“Mm.”
After ending the call, Gojo looked at the notification on his screen confirming that the location had been set. He tossed the phone into the air and caught it like a toy before asking, “Ijichi, who knows about my relationship with Megumi?”
Caught off guard by the question, Kiyotaka Ijichi glanced at Gojo in the back seat through the rearview mirror. Puzzled, he answered, “Aside from the few people who needed to know before, I don’t think anyone else does.”
“‘Don’t think...’” Gojo rolled the phrase around on his tongue and tugged up the corner of his mouth.
Ijichi immediately shuddered and withdrew his gaze like a mouse that had spotted a cat.
Gojo paid no attention to his reaction and continued tossing his phone between two fingers. Judging by his expression, however, he probably would rather have been tossing someone’s—or some cursed spirit’s—head.
The cursed spirits had even tracked Megumi down...
In Gojo’s mind appeared the image of his adopted daughter, Tsumiki Fushiguro, lying unconscious and silent in a hospital bed. Cold fury burned in his chest. First Tsumiki, and now Megumi?!
If cursed spirits really had their eyes on the Fushiguro siblings, it was difficult to say that he had nothing to do with the matter.
Megumi was an exceptionally talented jujutsu sorcerer, but he had not yet enrolled at Jujutsu High. Only the Gojo and Zenin clans, with whom the details of his technique had been negotiated, knew about it. The cursed spirits had no reason to target him.
Disliking the old fossils in his family was one thing, but when it came to the rotten-smelling elders conspiring with cursed spirits, Gojo would be the first to refuse to believe it.
Who had revealed his relationship with Megumi to the cursed spirits? Gojo’s thoughts shifted toward the higher-ups of the jujutsu world. He had adopted Megumi through official channels; those rotten oranges could certainly find out about it.
Who had leaked the information to the cursed spirits? Had it been an accident, or deliberate?
Page (1/3)
Page (2/3)
The black luxury car sped straight through the streets before stopping beneath an apartment building. Gojo opened the door from inside and let Megumi into the car.
On the way, Gojo questioned Megumi in detail about his encounter with the two cursed spirits.
“So they didn’t harm any civilians? They were just out shopping like ordinary friends?” Gojo stroked his chin thoughtfully. “How strange!”
“And I only sensed one flow of cursed energy.” Megumi rubbed his temple. He had replayed the scene countless times, but unfortunately, he could find no further clues. “The man with orange-red hair... that cursed spirit was holding a bottle of red wine.”
Gojo whistled and said in amazement, “There are cursed spirits who know how to enjoy life? Did you see the brand on that bottle of red wine, Megumi? I’d love to buy some and try it!”
Megumi said expressionlessly, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t make it out.”
Gojo cheerfully asked Kiyotaka Ijichi in the front seat, “Ijichi, are there any wine shops near there?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Gojo,” Ijichi replied. “I’ll look into it later.”
“There is one,” Megumi said. “I tracked it down.”
“Megumi’s already become quite an experienced sorcerer!” Gojo praised him. “Did you discover anything?”
“No. The shopkeeper was an ordinary person.” Megumi sounded frustrated. “If only I’d reacted faster. By the time I realized they were cursed spirits and turned back, they were already gone.”
“That wasn’t your fault.” Gojo tapped his thigh with curled fingers, sinking into thought. “Those two cursed spirits looked very much like humans?”
“They were indistinguishable from the real thing.”
“What grade were they?”
Megumi shook his head in frustration. “I couldn’t tell.”
Two special-grade cursed spirits, Gojo concluded for the moment. Megumi was already at the level of a grade-two sorcerer. Any cursed spirit capable of giving him that impression either possessed an unusual technique or was overwhelmingly stronger than him.
Was this a trap laid for him, or a clue?
Ever since Tsumiki’s accident, he had kept a close watch on Saitama. The Window had made no report of trouble in the area recently. Two cursed spirits had come to Saitama merely to shop and had harmed no one—Gojo had never heard of anything like that in his life.
Hostility toward humans was innate to cursed spirits. That meant these two were capable of suppressing their urge to harm people.
Or perhaps someone had ordered them not to hurt anyone.
Gojo stared expressionlessly at the dining table. An unusual cursed spirit, or cursed spirits acting under orders—both clues pointed toward the same person, his former and eternal best friend: the special-grade curse user Suguru Geto.
The last news he had heard was that Suguru Geto had been gravely wounded by a special-grade cursed spirit. Gojo did not believe that so many unusual cursed spirits would appear at the same time.
Wow. Picking a fight with two special-grade sorcerers at once? Those two cursed spirits certainly had confidence.
Page (2/3)
Gojo speared a dessert with his fork and put it into his mouth. The sweetness softened his expression as he teased Megumi across the table. “Don’t look so glum, Megumi! The moment that cowardly little skulker finally shows his face, I’ll take care of him!”
In a private residence in Saitama, Chuuya Nakahara and Osamu Dazai sat on tatami mats, each holding a glass of red wine.
The flush on Chuuya’s face complemented the red wine in his glass. In excellent spirits, he asked, “Dazai, how long are we staying in Saitama?”
Dazai glanced at the surveillance footage on the computer screen, then turned his gaze back to Chuuya. “Not long. Satoru Gojo has already made a move.”
“Mm...” Chuuya answered indifferently and took another sip of wine.
He never asked about Dazai’s plans. For the most part, all he had to do was act on a whim. When the time came for him to take action, he would naturally know what to do.
Dazai, on the other hand, had a strong urge to share his thoughts. “Take a guess, Chuuya. What do you think Satoru Gojo will do next?”
Fine. This was one of the games they often played.
When they had first met, Chuuya had stubbornly bet against Dazai several times. Later, he discovered that betting with Dazai was no different from admitting defeat.
Dazai coaxed him, “Come on, Chuuya. Take a guess. You and Satoru Gojo have similar personalities. Maybe you’ll get it right!”
Chuuya remembered the section on Gojo’s personality in the intelligence report and decided that Dazai was insulting him by implication. Without a word, he kicked Dazai first.
Dazai: “???”
“If you don’t want to play, fine, but why resort to violence?” Dazai stared at Chuuya in confusion. He remembered that Chuuya’s alcohol tolerance should have held out for a while longer.
Chuuya gave a cold laugh. “Don’t think I can’t tell you’re insulting me just because I’ve been drinking!”
Dazai: “...”
He thought back over what he had said and seemed to understand.
“Chuuya’s just being too sensitive. You can’t blame me!” he muttered resentfully.
Chuuya asked bluntly, “Are Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto working together?”
“Doesn’t seem like it. But whether Gojo will turn a blind eye to Geto is another matter.” Dazai spoke maliciously. “Just like you did with me after I defected.”
Chuuya raised his voice. “I was just too busy to be bothered with you!”
“Right. There are three hundred and sixty-five days in a year, and Chuuya spends three hundred and sixty of them away on missions!” Dazai was filled with resentment at the very thought. “Were you in such a hurry to earn travel allowances for more red wine?!”
Saying it was because of a direct order from Mr. Mori would certainly hit a sensitive nerve. After thinking for a moment, Chuuya wisely kept silent, drained the wine in his hand, and poured himself another glass.
Page (3/3)