Your Life As A Tokyo Jujutsu High Background Student - Chapter 52 - sincerelyamee - 呪術廻戦 (2025)

Chapter Text

Nanami Kento was a good man.

No, actually – he was one of the very best men, the finest specimens who’d ever graced this mortal plane. The kind of man you’d expect to find in a storybook, rescuing kittens from trees and helping little old ladies cross the street. In a world where the bar for decency was so low it’s subterranean, Nanami soared above and beyond. Which meant among the fundamentally messed-up breed of jujutsu sorcerers, he was a deity.

No one quite understood how that was even possible, given the toxic work environment and the general lack of common sense that permeated this profession. Maybe he was secretly a unicorn in disguise. Or an angel sent from the heavens to suffer through Gojo’s shenanigans for the sake of humanity.

Whatever the case, one thing was crystal clear: Nanami’s name was spoken with respect, even reverence, throughout the jujutsu world.

And being the kind, responsible soul that he was, it came as no surprise that Nanami couldn’t sit his perfectly toned ass in the infirmary and recover properly as Shoko had (repeatedly) ordered him to. Not with Tokyo teetering on the brink of utter annihilation, cursed spirits running amok, and his juniors risking life and limb on the frontlines.

Of course, Nanami was itching to leap back into the fray ASAP. He would have done so already, if there hadn’t been one tiny logistical issue: he couldn’t find his goddamn blade. Or his impeccable suits. Or even a single one of his socks. Every item from his emergency stash – hidden in three separate locations on campus, for just such an occasion – had vanished into thin air.

Now, Nanami’s worldly possessions had been reduced to: (1) a collection of flimsy hospital scrubs – the kind that tied at the back and was decidedly not conducive to running, jumping, or engaging in any kind of activity that required even the slightest hint of mobility without exposing one’s backside to the world; (2) a set of teddy bear print pajamas – a truly hideous gag gift from Gojo that was currently serving as a constant reminder of his predicament and Gojo’s twisted sense of humor; and (3) a pair of plastic flip-flops that screamed “retirement home chic” he’d acquired from the lost and found bin.

Suffice it to say, Nanami was ill-equipped to even leave campus at this point, let alone go on any kind of mission. And his frustration was reaching critical mass.

In a last-ditch effort that reeked of desperation and poor life choices, Nanami had recruited his trusted junior, Ino, to aid in what would later be known as The Great Gear Hunt of 2018. Taking advantage of Shoko’s relative inattentiveness and the general chaos reigning at the school, the duo had spent the entirety of yesterday, and even the better part of this morning turning the place upside down.

They’d dug through every conceivable hiding spot: storage rooms, broom closets, training rooms, bathrooms – they’d even checked the gardens, just in case his stuff had somehow decided to sprout legs and join Panda for some quality photosynthesis time. But it was all for naught. Not a cufflink, not a wayward sock, not even a whiff of his signature cologne. Nanami’s stuff was nowhere to be found.

“It has to be around here somewhere,” Nanami groaned as he and Ino trudged back to his room in the infirmary after yet another fruitless morning.

“I’m out of ideas. We’ve searched everywhere. Twice. Maybe three times in some places. I’m starting to know the dust bunnies by name.” Ino said, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

The poor guy looked like he was about to burst into tears. This whole situation was rapidly spiraling into a surreal nightmare.

“Not everywhere,” Nanami corrected.

Ino recognized that expression on Nanami’s face. It was the warning sign that a man was about to engage in a dangerous, potentially life-threatening course of action. The kind of action that spelled imminent doom for anyone caught in the crossfire.

“Nanami-san,” he pleaded, hands raised in preemptive surrender. “I’m NOT poking around Ieiri-san’s lab. Or, god forbid, Spices’ room. Especially not Spices’ room.”

Nanami crossed his arms, his expression hardening. “I need my gear, Ino. I can’t sit around in these ridiculous pajamas while Tokyo is falling apart. This is important.”

Ino shook his head firmly to dislodge the very thought from his brain. “Not as important as my continued existence, Nanami-san. I’m telling you, Spices will kill me. And then bring me back to life, just to kill me again. Slowly. And painfully.”

Nanami sighed. Before he could call Ino out for being dramatic – surely no one would resort to resurrection just to inflict a second round of pain, right? Right? – you spoke up from your spot:

“Damn right, I will.”

Both Nanami and Ino whirled around, startled, to find you leaning against the doorframe with a casual smile on your lips.

“Spices? What… How long have you been standing there?” Ino stammered, taking an involuntary step back as if your mere presence was radioactive.

“Long enough,” you snickered, sauntering into the room and invading Ino’s personal space as you so often did, your casual smile widening into a predatory grin.

“I can explain,” Ino offered weakly.

“Oh yeah? Please do,” you huffed. “Explain what the hell you two have been up to. I explicitly told you to keep an eye on Nanami-san, to make sure he rests, and definitely, absolutely not do anything reckless. Last time I checked, helping him orchestrate a campus-wide treasure hunt was not in the job description.”

“Spices, it’s not his fault—” Nanami attempted to throw himself on the grenade, but you steamrolled right over his noble sacrifice.

Your laser focus remained on Ino as you closed the distance and hip-checked him with enough force to make him understand just how incredibly displeased you were.

Ino stumbled, barely regaining his balance. He righted himself with an unsteady laugh, then flashed that infuriating bright grin as he gestured to his eye patch.

“Well, I did keep exactly one eye on Nanami-san. Technically…”

The remaining words died in his throat under the weight of your glare.

“One more one-eyed joke, Ino, I swear to god, I will shove your jokes so far up your ass you’ll be tasting those stupid punchlines for weeks—”

Ino didn’t wait to hear the rest of your creative threat.

“I, uh… I’ve gotta go now. Catch you all later!” he managed a final terrified giggle before turning tail and making a desperate break for the nearest exit – which happened to be the window.

Without warning, he vaulted over the windowsill and launched himself into the sweet embrace of gravity. Apparently, Ino had decided that taking his chances with a three-story drop was a more appealing option than facing the wrath of a pissed-off Spices. You had to admire his survival instincts, if not his common sense.

Nanami massaged his temple, exhausted by the turn of events. He briefly considered following Ino’s example and making a break for it, dignity be damned. But then, he caught the wicked gleam in your eyes, and he knew something was up.

“What’s with that face?” Nanami asked warily.

You didn’t need to answer him. The sound of Ino’s squealing echoing up from the courtyard below was telling enough.

You and Nanami went over to the window and peered down to see Ino sprinting across the lawn, arms flailing, legs churning like a cartoon character on fast-forward, with a massive wolf on his tail. The damn thing was the size of a small car – a furry, fanged embodiment of “you fucked up.”

From a distance, under the shade of a sprawling tree, Megumi sat on a wooden bench, calmly reading his book. The picture of tranquility. He hadn’t even looked up from the page.

“I can’t believe you got Fushiguro to sicc his shikigami on Ino,” Nanami sighed, though he was too used to your petty tactics to be truly surprised by this development.

You shrugged, unapologetic. “It’s good exercise for him. That puppy loves Ino. He’ll be fine. They’re just playing.”

Calling Megumi’s Divine Dog, especially the monstrous Totality version, a “puppy” was an understatement. Even after all this time, after countless napping sessions with Megumi and his oversized canine companion curled up around you both, the sight of those huge fangs and glowing eyes still sometimes sent a shiver down your spine. Which was exactly why you’d set it loose on Ino. Serve the bastard right for conspiring with Nanami behind your back. You were that petty, and you weren’t remotely sorry about it.

You and Nanami perched on the windowsill. Below, the Ino vs. Divine Dog spectacle continued. Nanami narrowed his eyes as he noticed Ino’s continued struggle to shake off his pursuer.

“That’s odd. Ino could just summon his own shikigami to get away. Why doesn’t he…?”

His words trailed off as you held up Ino’s signature ski mask – the one he needed to summon his shikigami.

“Actually, he can’t.” You grinned, looking like the cat who not only got the cream but also framed the dog for it.

Nanami stared at you. “When did you… Nevermind.” He chuckled, the sound warm with fond resignation. “How do you even know these things?”

“Let’s just say I was a problem child,” you shrugged. “Picked up a few questionable skills during my stint in that psych ward, too. Some of my roommates were out of this world. I wonder how they’re doing now.”

Nanami’s gaze softened. “I wish I could have been there for you,” he murmured. There was a genuine sadness in his voice, a hint of regret for a past he couldn’t rewrite.

“Nah, I would’ve driven you crazy,” you assured him with a wry smile, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Probably would’ve ended up sharing a padded cell with me.”

“You say that like you’re not driving me crazy on a regular basis right now,” Nanami countered, his lips twitching.

You laughed, because really, truer words had never been spoken. Your mere existence was responsible for at least half of Nanami’s premature gray hairs.

For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what might have been. What would’ve happened if Nanami had been the one to stumble upon you all those years ago instead of Gojo? Would he have taken you in, too? Or would he have found you a good adoptive family – the kind with a white picket fence and a golden retriever named Spot? A home that smelled like vanilla and fabric softener instead of disinfectant and burnt coffee.

Nanami wouldn’t have taken you with him on those missions. That much you knew for sure. He’d nearly had an aneurysm when you let it slip that Gojo had dragged you along on all kinds of batshit special-grade missions for a solid year before Headquarters had gotten wind of it. The man had practically choked on his coffee, muttering about child endangerment and Gojo’s blatant disregard for human decency.

Perhaps, Nanami wouldn’t have let you become a sorcerer at all. He’d have found a way to keep you out of the madness, shielded you from this world that devoured innocence. He’d have insisted on a normal life – sent you to college, made sure you studied something sensible, like accounting or… dentistry?

You imagined a parallel reality where Nanami was just another salaryman, working his nine-to-five, meticulously organizing his life with color-coded spreadsheets and to-do lists that included entries like “Remember to relax” and “Schedule time for spontaneity.” Meanwhile, you… Well, you weren’t quite sure what a “normal” version of you would look like. It probably involved a lot less bloodshed and mind games. Maybe you could’ve had a cat. A fluffy one with an absurd name, like Admiral Whiskers von Fluffington III.

It could’ve been a good life. A mundane life filled with quiet joys.

With Nanami.

The thought was surprisingly appealing.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, side by side, watching the sky shift from morning blue to a pale, overcast gray, mulling over the paths not taken. All the while, Ino’s distant shrieks provided a bizarrely fitting soundtrack to your introspection.

Eventually, Nanami spoke up.

“You know I don’t need my blade to use my technique, right? If you don’t give it back, I’ll just… punch curses with my bare fists. Inefficient, but it’ll get the job done.”

You made a show of looking him up and down, taking in the silly pajamas, the plastic flip-flops, the frustrated resignation etched into his handsome features.

“You’re seriously considering going into the city and fighting curses looking like… that?” you snorted.

Nanami, however, answered with unwavering conviction. “If I have to.”

The mental image of Nanami throwing hands with a horde of vengeful spirits while sporting teddy bear pajamas and flip-flops was almost too much to bear. You were sorely tempted to let him do just that, if only for the sheer entertainment value. Maybe you could sell tickets.

But you remembered you did actually like Nanami and the man deserved better. So, you sighed dramatically and said, “Look, I appreciate the enthusiasm. But you need to rest, Nanami-san. Seriously.”

Nanami scowled. “Ieiri said I’m good to go. She nearly kicked me out of the infirmary this morning. Said I was taking up valuable bed space and that my brooding was depressing the other patients.”

“Yeah, well, she meant you’re good to go back home, binge-watch documentaries, and live a peaceful existence without her constant monitoring,” you rolled your eyes. “She did not mean you were good to go galavanting around Tokyo, punching curses in those pajamas.”

“I’m fine, really,” Nanami argued. “My injuries are completely healed. If Maki can fight, so can I.”

“Maki is built different than the rest of us mere mortals,” you pointed out, unimpressed with Nanami’s logic. “She’s superhuman at this point. Could wrestle a whole fam of crocodiles with one finger and still make it back for dinner on time. That doesn’t mean you should be doing the same, grandpa.”

Nanami let out a defeated grunt. “I can’t just sit around doing nothing, Spices. What you’re doing… It’s dangerous. Things could go south real fast. You asked me to have your back. I have to be ready.”

There was an underlying note of fear threading through the worry in Nanami’s tone, a tremor of helplessness you hadn’t expected. With a soft sigh, you scooted closer and slipped your arm through his.

As you clung to his arm – a gesture you’d done countless times, whether to irk him or seek comfort – you realized just how tense he was. His muscles felt like coiled springs beneath the flimsy fabric of the pajamas. But slowly, as you leaned into him, his body relaxed, tension easing. It was as if he’d been holding his breath since the moment you walked into his life, and only now could he exhale.

“I know you’re worried,” you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder and trying not to focus on how comfortable it felt. “But we’re not going into wars, not in the traditional sense. You won’t have to fight an army. Or anything like that. Be here for me. Support Gojo-sensei. That’s all I need.”

Nanami tilted his head, resting it gently against yours. “I know,” he said quietly. “I remember what you said. I just… I’m worried. Worried that I won’t be strong enough when it matters. When you need me.”

You laughed, squeezing his bicep. The muscle beneath your fingers was as solid as ever.

“Oh, you’re plenty strong, Nanami-san. I’ve seen your biceps, don’t underestimate yourself. You could bench-press a car if you had to. But you still need rest. Gotta be at your full strength for our vacation in Kuantan, remember? And that sushi date you promised me. You can’t weasel out of those just because half of Tokyo got destroyed.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nanami chuckled indulgently. “But give me back my blade. And my clothes. Seriously, how did you even know where I kept those?”

“I can’t reveal all my secrets,” you replied with an impish grin.

“Spices, give me back my stuff," Nanami repeated, sounding desperate now. “I’m begging you. Just give them back. I’ll… I’ll take you anywhere you want after that sushi date. Anything.”

You hummed thoughtfully, pretending to consider his words. “Hmm, how about some super fancy dining at one of those upscale restaurants? You know, the ones with the candles and live music and everything. Where the waiters look down their noses at you if you don’t pronounce the menu items correctly?”

“Deal,” Nanami agreed immediately, not even hesitating.

You could see the relief washing over him at the prospect of escaping his teddy bear prison. You decided to take pity on him.

“It’s under your bed. I taped it to the bed frame.” You jerked your chin toward the bed behind you.

Nanami’s eyes widened in disbelief. He sputtered, incredulous, “Really? There?”

You snorted. “You didn’t actually check, did you?”

“Ino did! He… he looked. Twice. I distinctly remember him muttering about dust and how he was never, ever having children.” Nanami huffed, offended by Ino’s incompetence and his own oversight.

You smirked. “Ino couldn’t find the saltshaker if it was glued to his forehead. And that was before he lost an eye. You honestly thought he could find something I went through the trouble of hiding?”

“Damn it, Spices,” Nanami groaned. “I’ve spent days combing through this place. Ino is traumatized. My reputation is in ruins. Gojo hasn’t stopped laughing since he saw me in these pajamas. And you’re telling me it was under my damn bed this whole time?”

“You should’ve known I wouldn’t keep your weapon too far away from you. Just in case you really needed it,” you smiled innocently, batting your eyelashes for good measure. “I’m not completely heartless, you know. Just mostly.”

You thought Nanami would immediately dash off to retrieve his confiscated belongings and liberate himself from Gojo’s fashion sense. But instead, he remained seated beside you, a pensive frown creasing his brow. The playful banter had faded.

“I guess, this means you’re not retiring anytime soon, huh?” he asked, his voice almost hesitant.

It seemed that every choice you made, every path you took, ultimately led you back to the same inevitable crossroads.

“Afraid not,” you sighed. “I made a promise. I’m sticking around to see this through.”

You pulled away slightly, meeting his gaze. The concern in his eyes made your chest ache in a way you weren’t comfortable examining.

“But you don’t have to stay because of me. You know I’ll be alright. You should go, Nanami-san. Live the life you want. After everything settles, of course. I’ll visit whenever I can. We can still hang out. Try out new dishes. We can still… be us.”

“Spices,” Nanami interrupted. “I’m not leaving you behind. Not now. Not ever. We get out together, or not at all. That’s non-negotiable.”

You shook your head. “No. That’s not fair to you. I’m not your responsibility. Don’t tie yourself to me. I don’t want to be the reason you—”

“It’s my decision. No, it’s not even a choice, it’s what I want.” He stated firmly, cutting off your protests. Then, his expression softened and a playful twinkle appeared in his eyes. “However, if you really want to make it up to me for all the trouble, extend our vacation to a full year. We’ll both take a proper break from this whole cursed life. Travel the world. Get some perspective. Who knows, maybe by then, you’ll change your mind.”

This impossible man. Always trying to fix things. Always trying to fix you. Determined to see you happy. Even if it meant dragging you kicking and screaming toward a life you hadn’t yet learned to envision.

A small laugh escaped your lips. “Alright, a year it is,” you nodded, hugging his arm tighter.

After sitting with Nanami for a moment longer, you deemed Ino had endured enough cardio for the day. The guy had probably run more laps around the building than he had in his entire career as a jujutsu sorcerer. You turned to Nanami.

“Well, I should go rescue your hapless accomplice before he needs to be hospitalized.”

You stood up, stretching your arms over your head with a satisfying pop.

Nanami’s hand instinctively hovered near your elbow as you stood, always ready to catch you, should gravity decide to stage a surprise attack. He treated you like a toddler learning to walk and not the destructive agent of chaos you truly were.

“This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” you continued, wagging a finger at him. “I’m prescribing you a strict rehabilitation regimen. Training room, three hours a day minimum. And don’t even think about slacking off – I’ll be testing you later with some serious sparring to determine if you’re fit for duty. I expect to see those biceps in tip-top shape, understood? I’m talking peak performance, Nanami-san. No excuses.”

“Yes, sensei,” Nanami replied dryly, his deadpan delivery perfect as always. “I’ll make sure to do my push-ups and eat my vegetables. Anything else? Should I start meditating under waterfalls?”

You snorted. “Don’t tempt me. I might just add that to your regimen.” You gave his arm one last squeeze before heading out to assess the damage and, more importantly, to revel in Ino’s suffering.

As you stepped outside, the sounds of battle (or rather, panicked screeching) drifted from the nearby courtyard. Ino was still (mostly) alive.

The sight in front of you confirmed that you were just in time to prevent Ino from becoming a chew toy.

Megumi’s Divine Dogg had already claimed victory. The oversized good boy sat majestically atop a sprawled-out Ino, his massive paws pinning him to the ground – a furry monument to “don’t test Spices.” He thumped his massive tail against the ground as you approached, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Ino, on the other hand, resembled a discarded rag doll that had been put through a washing machine set to ‘utter defeat and maximum spin cycle,’ then hung out to dry in a tornado.

“Call it off, Spices, please!” Ino whined from beneath the mountain of canine muscle. “I’m sorry! I’ve learned my lesson, I swear! Never again! I’ll never question your methods ever again!”

You couldn’t help but snicker as you reached down to scratch the Divine Dog behind his massive ears. “Who’s a good boy? Yes, you are! You did a great job! Such a good puppy! The goodest boy in all of jujutsu society!”

The wolf nudged its massive head against your hand, letting out a contented rumble that probably registered on the Richter scale and had seismologists scrambling to check their equipment.

Satisfied that Ino had suffered sufficiently for his transgressions (and maybe just a tiny bit more for your own amusement), you signaled Megumi to dismiss his shikigami. With a soft poof, the dog dissolved into a pool of shadows, leaving a disheveled and thoroughly humbled Ino to peel himself off the ground.

You extended a hand to help him up, barely containing your laughter at his bedraggled appearance. His hair was a mess, his clothes were covered in grass stains, and he had the shell-shocked look of a man who had just been schooled by a magical doggo. You knew, of course, that he would be sporting an epic bruise on his ass tomorrow.

“Next time,” you warned, your tone light but your gaze serious, “I’ll tell Gumi to drop his elephant on you.”

Ino winced, looking appropriately chastised as he dusted himself off and tried (in vain) to straighten his rumpled clothes. “I said I’m sorry. Forgive me, boss. I was just trying to help. Nanami-san seemed really stressed. I thought... Well, I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“I know,” you relented. “Just… maybe trust that I know what I’m doing, yeah?”

“Point taken,” Ino mumbled sheepishly, accepting your hand with a grateful nod.

“Good,” you grinned, patting him on the shoulder. “Come on, you drama queen. Let’s get you something to drink before you expire from excessive dog-sitting.”

You glanced across the courtyard to where Megumi sat, still absorbed in his book. He hadn’t moved an inch since you last saw him.

“Hey, Gumi!” you called out. “You want a snack or something to drink? I’m heading to the vending machines.”

Megumi barely looked up, giving a small shake of his head before returning to his reading. Was it the same book he’d been glued to for the past two days? Seriously, how long could one read about ancient agricultural practices in medieval Japan before their brain melted? You’d ask later. One disaster at a time. You already had a whiny, slightly traumatized Ino to contend with.

As you and Ino made your way to your destination, he kept throwing nervous glances your way. You figured you’d cut him some slack – for now. Watching him squirm was only fun for so long before it became sad.

“So,” you began, deciding to put him out of his misery before he sprained something from excessive flinching. “Fill me in on the state of things. How’s the cleanup going?”

Ino relaxed at the change of subject, slipping into his role as your informant with visible relief. “Well, it’s a real mess out there, boss,” he admitted, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “The damage from Shibuya is extensive. We’ve secured most of the affected areas, but there’s still a lot of work to be done.”

Once you reached the vending machines, you gestured for Ino to continue while you perused the selection. He leaned against the wall, his playful grin fading and his expression growing more serious.

“The civilian casualty count is... higher than we’d like,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping to his shoes. “The authorities are still working on identifying all the victims. The hospitals are overwhelmed, and they’ve had to set up temporary medical stations in some of the less damaged areas. And all the death, the fear… It’s causing a spike in cursed energy. That’s why curses keep appearing. We exorcize one, and two more pop up in its place. It’s an endless battle.”

You nodded grimly, selecting a can of coffee for yourself and tossing a sports drink to Ino. He caught it reflexively, looking surprised at the gesture of goodwill.

“Good catch,” you smiled. “Your reflexes are still intact.”

“Thanks, boss.” He cracked open the can, taking a long, appreciative gulp. “That’s the first time I’ve tasted anything other than lukewarm tap water in, like, twenty hours. I’m going to die of thirst in this revolution.”

You chuckled. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe,” Ino grinned. “But hey, we need to stay hydrated while we’re changing the world. Gotta look our best for the inevitable press conference, right?”

“You’ll look fantastic with a shikigami slobber mark on your ass. It’ll be the hottest new fashion trend.”

Ino winced, theatrically clutching his backside. “Okay, okay, I get it!”

“Any high-grade cursed spirits?” you asked, popping open your own coffee.

“Some, but not as many as we feared. It’s like... it’s like they’re waiting for something. Regrouping. We’ve had a few skirmishes here and there, but nothing major.” Ino hesitated, chewing on his lower lip. “Yuuta’s been sensing something out there. He thinks something big is brewing. He isn’t sure exactly what yet.”

You frowned, processing the information. It was better than you’d expected, but still far from ideal. “And what about Headquarters? Any interference?”

Ino’s expression soured. "They’re being dicks, as usual,” he said. “There’s a lot of finger-pointing going on, but no actual action. Some are calling for stricter regulations on sorcerers, others want to increase our numbers, recruiting any newly awakened sorcerers they can find. Basically, it’s a complete clusterfuck over there.”

“When is it not with them?” you muttered, finishing your coffee and tossing the can into a nearby recycling bin. “Speaking of those useless old farts, any interesting rumors about Gakuganji’s absence? Or, uh… you-know-what?”

Ino shook his head. “Nope. Everything’s under wraps. Officially, he’s just… ‘indisposed’ Whatever the hell that means.” He lowered his voice, his gaze flickering around before leaning in closer. “But I’ve heard rumors that they might be considering some... unconventional measures to handle the current crisis. Something drastic.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Unconventional how? Define drastic.”

“I don’t know all the specifics,” he said with a helpless shrug. “But there’s been talk of… reaching out to the Ainu Society.”

“As if those guys give a damn about us!” you scoffed. “They couldn’t care less what happens outside their sacred land. They didn’t even bother to respond when Yaga-sama practically begged them for help during the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons last year.”

Ino fidgeted. “I know, I know. The Ainu folks are notoriously difficult,” he agreed. “They don’t play well with others. But they are strong. Scary strong, from what I hear. Could be a game changer. If we can get them on our side, that is.”

“I don’t need them meddling right now,” you grunted, returning to the vending machine for a second hit of liquid energy. At this rate, you’d need caffeine pumped directly into your bloodstream to survive this week. Perhaps you should ask Shoko for a custom IV drip. A double-shot espresso blend. Maybe with a dash of Red Bull for that extra kick.

Ino was understandably confused to see your hackles raised so abruptly. He wasn’t a politics kind of guy. His understanding of strategy extended as far as figuring out the optimal placement of his shikigami to maximize their cuteness factor (to be fair, it was a valid strategy in its own right). He didn’t grasp the balancing act required to keep multiple power players in check while simultaneously steering a massive, incredibly risky scheme toward a specific outcome.

Adding another faction to this delicate mix, especially one as unpredictable as the Ainu, could throw everything off course. Mentally, you added “cockblock the Ainu” to your rapidly expanding to-do list. You’d have to talk to Gojo and Shoko about this ASAP. With over half of the High Council in your pocket now, preventing this kind of deal from going forward shouldn’t be too difficult.

A stable alliance with the Ainu Society would be essential, of course. But that was a bridge to cross later. After you’d gotten everything else in order, solidified your own power base, and maybe had a nice, long nap. Or a coma. A coma sounded pretty good right about now.

“It’s just rumors. Don’t get all worked up over it, Spices. It’s not like anyone at Headquarters or the High Council actually likes those guys anyway,” Ino said soothingly, his hand hovering over your shoulder as if unsure whether to pat you or make a run for his life before you snapped and roundhouse-kicked the vending machine into oblivion. He opted for a nervous chuckle instead. “It’ll probably blow over. Nothing to worry about.”

You took a deep breath, counted to ten in your head (then to twenty, just to be safe), and forced a smile for Ino’s benefit. The man was already traumatized enough for one day. No need to give him a complex about causing your caffeine-fueled meltdown.

“Thanks, senpai. You’re right, probably nothing to worry about.” You hoped your voice sounded calmer than you felt. “Still, keep your ears open for me, okay? I need to know if you hear anything more concrete. About everything, not just this Ainu situation.”

“Got it, boss.” He saluted you playfully. “Always at your service. My ears are yours. And my one eye. Though I doubt you need it since you seem to see everything anyway.” He winked, or tried to, his one remaining eye doing a weird little twitch that made him look like he was having a localized seizure.

“Don’t push your luck,” you warned.

Before you could elaborate on the many creative ways you could unleash Megumi’s shikigami on his sorry ass should he dare to test you again, Ino had plucked the newly dispensed coffee can from your hand.

“Speaking of pushing your luck…” He shook the can in your face, his voice taking on a distinctly strict senpai-like tone. “Ease up on the caffeine, Spices. You’ll give yourself a heart attack.”

“It’s fine,” you argued, reaching for your stolen caffeine fix. “Ieiri-san can just resurrect me if I accidentally die of a caffeine overdose. Probably.”

Your feeble attempt at retrieval was, however, thwarted by Ino’s superior reach and long, lanky limbs. He easily lifted the can high above your head, his victory secured.

It was times like this that you were extra irritated about your unfortunate stature. You blamed it on a combination of genetics (thanks, Dad) and those crucial developmental years you’d wasted, first in an underfunded psych ward where proper nutrition hadn’t been a top priority (who needs vitamins when you have thorazine?), and then, trailing after Gojo, surviving on a diet that consisted of whatever sugary crap he happened to throw your way.

Not that Gojo had known better. He’d never had to raise a human – or any living creature – before. The man practically lived on mochi, candy, and the occasional Michelin-star meal. How could he be expected to understand the nutritional needs of a growing teenager? As far as he was concerned, if it wasn’t actively poisonous and tasted good, it was food.

As a result, you’d never quite caught up to your peers when it came to achieving your full growth potential. Now, you were condemned to a life of looking up – literally – to all these tall, long-limbed bastards who never missed an opportunity to lord their height over you.

Case in point: Ino, currently grinning like a smug asshole as he held your precious coffee hostage.

“Seriously, Ino,” you growled. “Give. It. Back.”

When words failed, you resorted to the time-honored tradition of resolving conflicts – a punch to his gut. It was a language all sorcerers understood fluently.

“Ugh. You savage,” Ino groaned, doubling over like a folding chair. Despite the assault on his internal organs, he refused to surrender the coffee. “Come on, listen to your senpai for once! You look like you’re about to vibrate through a wall and into another dimension.”

“I might,” you agreed, because that actually sounded kind of fun. Maybe you’d end up in a dimension where everyone was short and you were finally the tall one.

“And that’s exactly why we’re having fruit juice instead.” He shook the coffee can in a taunting little dance, then lowered it to eye-level. “So, what’ll it be? Apple? Orange? Or… the mysterious mixed berry blend? That one’s got antioxidants! It’ll do wonders for your complexion.”

You gave him the flattest, most unimpressed stare you could muster. Which, admittedly, was pretty damn flat.

“You do realize those so-called ‘healthy’ fruit juices are also full of sugar and preservatives, right? Probably some lab-grown abomination. For all we know, it could turn me into a mutant fruit bat.”

“Can’t be any worse for you than that third can of coffee. At least fruit bats are cute. Pick a flavor. I’m buying. And no complaining about the ingredients. It’s what we have. Unless you want me to go milk a cow for you right now.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll take the most expensive one. Three of them. And if you find a cow, I want that milk too.”

“Seriously? Three? That’s, like—”

“Don’t be stingy, senpai. Think of it as an investment in my continued good mood. You wouldn’t want me cranky, would you?”

“You’re evil, Spices. Pure evil.”

You merely hummed a cheerful tune in response, thoroughly enjoying the brief flash of desperation that crossed Ino’s face before he went over to wrestle with the vending machine.

A few minutes later, Ino stood grumbling, his wallet significantly lighter and his spirit crushed under the heel of fiscal responsibility. He bemoaned the inherent injustice of always having to treat his junior, the joys of crippling debt, and the general lack of appreciation for good deeds in this cruel world, et cetera. His lamentations rivaled those of a Greek tragedy, filled with modern capitalist angst.

Meanwhile, you were sprawled out on a bench, gleefully slurping three expensive boxes of mixed berry juice. It tasted like victory sprinkled with radioactive sludge. Not bad, actually. You’d consumed worse things during Shoko’s more... experimental medical treatments.

“Ah, refreshing!” You leaned back with a contented sigh. The caffeine withdrawal hadn’t kicked in yet, which was a definite win in your book. “Oh, before I forget, here’s something you’ll probably want back.” You flung Ino’s ski mask right at his surprised face.

“Where the hell did you…? So it was you?! The whole time?” Ino fumbled with the mask, baffled by your superior stealth skills. “But how did you even swipe this from my head? In front of Nanami-san?!”

You just shrugged with a sly smile. Nanami and Ino would just have to accept that some mysteries were better left unsolved. Like the Bermuda Triangle, Gojo’s love life (if he even had one, or if he just spent his nights whispering sweet nothings to his own reflection), or the secret ingredients Shoko used in her special herbal blends (definitely something illegal in there, you were certain).

With an exasperated laugh, Ino joined you on the bench, stretching out his long legs and nearly kicking over a trash can. Then, with a shameless grin, he chugged your stolen coffee before slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“Sometimes, Spices,” he said. “I wonder if you’re even real. You feel like an elaborate hallucination. Or a very detailed manic daydream. Like, did I accidentally lick a psychedelic toad and now I’m tripping balls in some dark alley?”

You let Ino pull you closer, tucking your head against his side despite the fact that he was a sweaty mess.

“Well, I kind of like it here,” you smiled. “In this daydream of yours. Where you buy me outrageously expensive juice and I get to torment you endlessly. So, keep dreaming then, senpai. Keep dreaming.”

Ino smiled back. “Don’t think I have much of a choice.”

After all, you were his daydream.

The best one he’d ever had.

And quite possibly the most terrifying.

Your Life As A Tokyo Jujutsu High Background Student - Chapter 52 - sincerelyamee - 呪術廻戦 (2025)
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