Location: Kyoto Jujutsu Tech — Internal Courtyard, Observation Wing
Rain tapped lightly on the wooden overhang as Akira sat beneath the shelter of the east pavilion, arms crossed, hoodie soaked through. Kyoto had a way of feeling older than it looked — layered in whispers, rotting under ceremony.
His mind wasn't quiet. It hadn't been for weeks.
Each time he closed his eyes, he didn't sleep. He listened.
Voices. Some familiar, some with his voice but not his words. Some screaming. Some crying. One kept saying:
"We died for you."
Across the courtyard, a figure leaned against a column, watching from the shadows.
Momo Nishimiya.
She hadn't approached him directly since he arrived, but she watched every spar, every mutter under his breath, every time he rewound and came back more... broken.
Today, though, things would shift.
Elsewhere — Jujutsu HQ (Remote Meeting Chamber)
Sougen Kido stood before the cursed mirror communication channel, his scarred jaw clenched.
"The subject's resistance is high," he reported. "He's not reacting to standard psychological fatigue triggers. We need a deeper test."
A council elder's voice crackled through: "Use the protocol."
"…The crucible?"
"No. Too early. But we simulate it."
Kido narrowed his eye. "Understood."
The image vanished.
Back at Kyoto — Internal Training Quarters
Akira found himself summoned without warning.
The room was a reinforced veil chamber, lined with talismans and embedded with cursed suppression sigils.
Inside were two unfamiliar faces — Grade 1 inspectors from HQ. Stoic. Cold. Ready.
"This is a psych-stress simulation," one said. "Endurance, mental fortitude, and CE control under duress."
Akira scoffed. "Sounds like torture with extra paperwork."
They didn't answer.
Veil sealed.
The room darkened.
Inside the Simulation
It wasn't a fight.
It was memory overload.
The simulation bled pieces of his trauma back into his mind — flashes of Junko's twisted, dying faces from every failed rewind. Her body cracking like glass. Her blood in his mouth. Her voice begging without words.
Then: echoes.
Dozens. All in front of him.
Some looked like him. Others wore burned skin, melted faces, hands missing.
One held Junko's head in its arms.
"You didn't save us."
Akira dropped to his knees, blood leaking from his ears.
Observation Room Above
Momo leaned over the rail, her hands clenching tight on the banister.
"This is a mistake," she said.
Kido's eyes didn't move. "He needs to break."
"Why?"
"Because if he doesn't, something worse will."
Momo looked down, watched as Akira stood — shaking, snarling, fingers twitching in that anchor sigil again.
She remembered the first time she saw him fight — that broken veil mission two months ago. She hadn't been assigned. She chose to watch him.
Because she felt it even then — this boy's cursed technique wasn't like anyone else's. It didn't obey rules. It rewrote them.
Back in the Veil
Akira's head throbbed with noise.
An echo in his mind started screaming: "Let me out."
"No," Akira muttered.
"Let me out."
"No—!"
But the sigil formed anyway. A fracture of cursed energy bloomed around his feet. His hands moved without consent.
Clockwork gears. Warped light. Screaming anchors cracking the floor.
The incomplete Domain Expansion began to form.
The inspectors inside panicked. One activated an emergency seal, barely suppressing the expansion before it completed.
Akira dropped, unconscious. A light echo of static bled from his mouth like mist.
Later — Medical Wing
Akira lay strapped to a reinforced gurney, eyes half-open, murmuring. Momo stood at the edge of the room, watching.
"Why are you here?" Kido asked her.
"I've been watching him for months."
"We know."
Momo exhaled, stepped closer. "He doesn't need to be destroyed. He needs to choose."
Kido gave her a sidelong look. "Then you better make sure he chooses right."