Chapter Text
It was an ordinary evening. An evening like any other, where the weight of the day slowly fades under the call of the pillow. You closed your eyes, let your thoughts drift, simply waiting for sleep to carry you towards oblivion or some disjointed dreams.
What if I told you that this evening would not be like the others?
Of course, you don't expect it. And it is precisely this element of surprise that drives me to come and look for you.
When you should be plunged into a dreamless sleep, or perhaps imagining adventures alongside your favorite heroes, your eyelids open onto a setting that is nothing like your room. You are there, standing, still wearing your pajamas, in a kind of vast hall open to a starry void. There are no windows, no doors. The light seems to emanate from the floor itself, a polished marble that reflects the baroque and slightly quirky decorations scattered around the place: clocks running backward, statues of impossible creatures, and, in the center, an imposing throne.
Is it a dream? The sensations are too vivid. The cool air on your skin, the smell of incense and old paper... Everything seems far too real.
Seated on the throne, a young woman stares at you. Her skin is a pale violet shade, almost ethereal, and long silver hair cascades over her shoulders. Her eyes, two silvery pearls devoid of pupils, seem to shine with a metallic gleam. She looks deeply bored, her elbow on the armrest, her cheek resting on her closed fist.
Then, she notices you. Her expression changes radically. Her eyes widen, an almost predatory smile stretching her lips.
— Ah! she exclaims, suddenly straightening up. You are finally here!
She stands up with an exaggerated grace, adjusting a dress that seems woven from the night itself.
— I am the Great Coordinator of the Fluxes, a goddess whose splendor surpasses your mortal understanding, she declares with poorly concealed boastfulness.
You scrutinize her, one eyebrow raised. "The Great Coordinator of the Fluxes"? Seriously? It sounds like the title of a final boss in a second-rate RPG or an overly pompous fanfiction.
With a sudden gesture, she makes a parchment register appear, which unrolls onto the floor with the sound of a paper waterfall. The scroll seems endless. She begins to frantically scroll through it, muttering insults between her teeth, struggling with the paper that seems determined to curl up on itself. Her "goddess" dignity takes a hit; she looks more like a capricious child fighting a recalcitrant gift wrap than a deity.
The spectacle is so grotesque that you can barely suppress a scornful chuckle. Seeing this so-called divinity having a near-nervous breakdown against a piece of parchment is the height of ridiculousness. She tugs at the paper, nearly trips over herself, and screams with flagrant immaturity, like a kid who has been asked to clean her room. This is celestial power? You wonder if you shouldn't offer her help, just to stop watching her sink into her own discomfort.
— There! It's coming back to me! she finally exclaims, proud of herself, pointing a name with her finger. You are soul number X85651VC.
Your fictional readings rush back to your memory like a boomerang. The first thought that crosses your mind is chilling: Did I die in my sleep? Is this the final judgment?
The goddess seems to read your face like an open book.
— No, you are not dead, she replies, waving her hand to dismiss your fears. And this is not a dream either. In reality... I am facing a "slight problem" that I must resolve.
She clears her throat, suddenly looking less confident.
— Soul number XVB35462 died prematurely in another dimension. An accident, a... synchronization error. And I need an emergency replacement.
You look at her, incredulous.
— Basically, you screwed up and are struggling to fix it?
She freezes, an expression both embarrassed and frustrated deforming her fine features. You hit the nail on the head.
— The... the divine affairs are beyond you! she stammers awkwardly before hiding behind a disdainful pout.
With a snap of her fingers, an image appears in the air. It is a person your age, asleep in a bed.
— I propose that your soul integrates this body, the goddess continues. This is a unique opportunity.
You look at the image with total skepticism. This whole thing smells like a scam. Why you? Why now? You tell her outright that it's not much of an offer for you and that you don't see why you should bother accepting such a responsibility to cover her mistakes.
The goddess gets annoyed, stamping her foot on the marble floor.
— I'm not finished! At least listen!
She scrolls through other images. Streets of Tokyo, old high schools, monstrous creatures born from human fears... Your blood runs cold. You recognize this universe. Those black uniforms, those occult techniques, that dark energy emanating from the images.
It's Jujutsu Kaisen.
Your expression changes completely. This is no longer fiction on a screen or paper; here, the images vibrate with a frightening and magnificent reality.
The goddess notices your change in attitude and a small smirk stretches her lips. She knows she has your full attention.
— This is a person whose potential is immense, she explains in a sickly sweet tone. Powers worthy of a "Special Grade." Their premature disappearance could destabilize this entire universe, and the higher instances are pushing me to correct this trajectory error.
She plays her part well. She pretends to lose interest in the situation.
— Well, you can refuse. Go back to your dreams and your "normal" world. Tomorrow, when you wake up, you won't remember anything. You'll continue your quiet little life... What a shame, though. This body was just about to start its first year at the Tokyo Jujutsu High School. But oh well, too bad for you.
Knowing the original work, you don't recognize this person, but the doubt remains. You cross your arms, your gaze suspicious.
— And you? If I accept, won't you have problems? Won't they hold you accountable up there if they discover that you "replaced" one soul with another like changing a defective part?
The goddess pauses, suddenly caught off guard. She waves her hand dismissively, even if her silver eyes betray a slight nervousness.
— Pff, don't worry about that. I am a professional. I will simply say that there was... an unusual event in the cycle of souls. A metaphysical anomaly, a singularity, you know the type? They won't suspect a thing. It's my domain, after all.
She assures you with a slightly forced confidence that there will be no problem. Her excuse seems far-fetched, but the lure is too great to ignore. How to refuse entering the Jujutsu Kaisen universe? To gain Special Grade powers? You can already see yourself meeting Satoru Gojo, having him as a mentor, protecting the characters you care about.
Becoming an Isekai protagonist in your favorite work? It's the dream of a lifetime.
You look up at her. The excitement finally swept away your last reservations.
— It's a deal, you whisper.
The goddess bursts into crystalline, victorious laughter, delighted to have pulled off her bluff. Before you can ask another question, the floor gives way beneath your feet. You plunge into an abyss of silvery light, with only one certainty: your life will never be ordinary again.
The first thing you notice is the silence. A deep, muffled silence, broken only by the distant song of a bird. You feel the familiar texture of a futon beneath your body and the heady smell of fresh tatami.
It was a dream, you think with a mix of relief and disappointment. The goddess, the throne, the choice... just a particularly realistic nocturnal delusion.
— Young Master? It is time. Wake up, today is the big day. Your departure for the exorcism school cannot be delayed.
You jump up, your heart pounding wildly. The voice came from behind the sliding shoji paper door. But what chills your blood is that the sentence was spoken in Japanese. Yet, you understood it with the same ease as your native tongue.
You look at your hands. They are yours, but the environment has radically changed. Your modern room has given way to a stripped-down room in a traditional Japanese house. You feel in the air that invisible tension, that spiritual heaviness that Gege Akutami described so well in his panels. Cursed energy is no longer an abstract concept; it is there, pulsing all around you.
It was not a dream. You are really here.
You leave your room, still staggering, only to run into your "parents." They are waiting for you for breakfast, sitting with the stiffness of statues. What follows is the most boring sermon you have ever heard: honoring the lineage, not tarnishing your family name, remaining dignified in all circumstances.
Your clan... No matter how much you search your memories of the original work, nothing corresponds to this house or these people. It is as if the goddess grafted you onto a forgotten branch of history, a lineage of exorcists that no one has ever heard of, undoubtedly to discreetly insert you into the setting.
The departure is not emotional. Your mother doesn't hug you, your father simply gives a curt nod. Here, everything is governed by the cold formalism of the old exorcist families. You don't show your feelings, you fulfill your duty.
A black car with tinted windows is waiting for you in front of the estate. A man in a dark suit, looking as expressive as a jail door — the spitting image of a school "Window" — gets out to take your luggage.
— I will escort you to the station, he says, bowing respectfully.
Once you are settled in the back, he hands you a small pouch. Inside is your exorcist card. Your eyes widen. In the upper right corner, a red letter shines arrogantly: Grade S
You suddenly feel privileged, a member of the elite. You even have a first-class ticket reserved on the Shinkansen. Everything seems to be unfolding exactly as in your fantasies. Throughout the journey, you daydream with your eyes open. You recall the anime scene where Gojo comes to pick up Yuta Okkotsu, with his legendary confidence and provocative smile. You already imagine your meeting with him, your future mentor, the strongest man in the world.
You are so lost in thought that you don't pay attention to the announcements on the intercom. It is only when the train stops and the conductor announces the terminus that you snap out of your daze.
— Kyoto Station. All passengers are asked to disembark.
Kyoto?
You frown, your suitcases in hand, as you step onto the platform. Why Kyoto? Tokyo is at the other end of the line. You scan the crowd, looking for a white mop of hair or a black blindfold.
— So you're the new one?
The voice comes from behind you. You turn abruptly and freeze. It's not Gojo.
Standing before you is a severe-looking young woman, dressed in the traditional miko attire, with a distinctive scar across her face. Iori Utahime.
— Welcome to Kyoto, she says, crossing her arms. You are lucky to be here. This is the sacred land of exorcism, far from the vulgarity of the capital.
She immediately notices your expression of disappointment, which must be quite monumental.
— Where is Gojo-sensei? you ask without thinking. Why am I not at the Tokyo school?
At the mention of Gojo's name, Utahime's eyebrows furrow dangerously. A vein seems to pulse on her temple.
— Satoru? Why would that idiot be here? You are supposed to know. Since Satoru Gojo insisted on personally recruiting another "Grade S" named Yuta Okkotsu in Tokyo, the hierarchy decided to assign you here to maintain the balance between the two schools.
She takes on a proud, almost contemptuous expression, shaking her head.
— And believe me, it's a blessing for you. Satoru Gojo is the worst possible role model. He is irresponsible, arrogant, and has no pedagogical fiber. Here, you will receive a real education.
You remain rooted there, your suitcases in hand, your brain overheating. This was absolutely not what was planned. Goodbye training with Gojo, missions with Megumi or Nobara...
In your mind, the image of the silver-haired goddess suddenly appears. You can perfectly imagine her, with an expression of "Oops, I forgot to mention that little detail..." while shrugging casually.
The scam was real, then. You are in Jujutsu Kaisen, true. You are Grade S, okay. But you are in the strictest and most conservative school.
Welcome to Kyoto. Your ordeal is just beginning.