43. Suguru Geto
(A/N: Time to glaze the shit out of this arc.)
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The air crackled with cursed energy as Suguru Geto strode through the gates of Jujutsu High, his expression unreadable beneath the soft glow of the evening lanterns.
His dark robes fluttered with each step and as he raised a hand, the ground trembled in response.
From the depths of the shadows, countless curses slithered and surged forward—grotesque, writhing creatures with jagged teeth and numerous eyes.
They spilled across the stone pathways, climbing the walls like an unstoppable tide of living nightmares. Their low, guttural shrieks echoed through the silent campus, heralding his arrival.
The barrier shuddered as Geto's sandal pressed against the worn stone leading to the main hall.
A faint pulse of resistance, then it disappeared into nothing. The barrier had already been weakened.
This moment had been meticulously planned. By now, the entire metropolis had become a chessboard, each piece moving precisely where he intended.
The executives of his organization were keeping the Higher Ups of Jujutsu society occupied, dispersing their attention from the Jujutsu High so he could walk in unchallenged.
Objectively speaking, this battlefield was his role now.
His gaze swept across the familiar courtyard, where he had once trained, laughed, and fought alongside his peers. For a fleeting moment, nostalgia pricked at his chest—memories of shared laughter, reckless sparring sessions, and youthful dreams of protecting the weak.
But that boy, the one who clung to naïve ideals, had long since died.
No more of that stupid bastard who wanted to protect everyone. No more of a blind optimist who wanted to make the world a better place.
Geto shook his head, dismissing the spiral thought. His resolve remained unshaken.
He had had enough of that. Now he wanted nothing more than a petty revenge on this rotten society.
The world was sick, festering with corruption, bloated with the influence of the weak. And like an infection that had gone beyond cure, it had to be cut away so that the remains could thrive.
He knew full well what it meant. Understood that this path would brand him as a villain, a terrorist, the man who had shaken the fragile peace of society for his own ambitions.
To be honest, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle.
And yet to him, that didn't matter.
There would always be someone who appeared as a villain in another man's story. If no one else had the resolve to do what was necessary and take on the role, then he would gladly be the one.
Let history curse his name. Let them fear him…
Let us Curse each other.
As long as his actions carved a lesson into the future.
It'd be enough for the story of his insignificant self.
A stardust caught in the tapestry of things.
Geto stepped through the barrier with ease, a massive centipede-like curse slithering beneath him, carrying him forward.
The wind howled through the courtyard, the school looming ahead, unaware of the nightmare that had just entered its gates.
Today, Jujutsu High shall fall.
It wasn't about the perseverance of oneself nor it was an ambition of a tyrant.
No.
It was about the epilogue of the longest suicide note of a man named Suguru Geto.
Suguru Geto moved through the wreckage with calm, deliberate steps, his dark robes trailing behind him. His fingers flexed as curses coiled around him like obedient pets, their deformed mouths chittering in anticipation.
And then, he saw him.
Masamichi Yaga stood at the far end of the corridor, framed by shattered windows and dim lantern light. His expression was grim but unwavering.
The headmaster had always carried an air of quiet strength, but now, faced with his former student, there was something else, something heavier. Something that Geto knew too well.
Regret.
"So it's true." Yaga muttered, eyes shadowed beneath his signature sunglasses.
"You really did come back as an enemy."
Geto exhaled, tilting his head. "Enemy? That depends on your perspective, doesn't it?"
His voice was almost casual, but there was a weight behind it, an unyielding conviction. "I'm simply finishing what should have been done long ago."
Yaga didn't flinch. Instead, he raised his arm and got into a fighting stance. The air tensed as Cursed Energy surged through his body.
Yaga sighed, his shoulders shifting slightly as if a great weight had settled upon them. He had known this day might come, but deep down, he had hoped it never would.
He had hoped that the bright-eyed, idealistic boy he once knew would return.
But standing before him was not the student he had mentored.
"Then I have no choice."
With a single motion, Yaga activated his technique.
From behind him, the battlefield erupted as multiple puppets sprang to life, moving with inhuman movements. Pieces of broken debris shifted, revealing more Cursed Corpses warriors crafted not just from wood and cloth, but from Yaga's very will to protect.
Each one moved with unnatural precision, their eyes glowing with the cursed energy Yaga had instilled within them.
They weren't just simple mindless constructs. They were warriors and each one carried a part of his soul, his will to protect this place.
They were his army.
"You've always been talented, Geto." Yaga said, his voice carrying both steel and sorrow.
"But I'm not letting you destroy this school."
The puppets lunged.
Geto barely moved, his eyes gleaming. He lifted his hand, and the air itself seemed to ripple. From the shadows behind him, a wave of curses erupted. Dozens of grotesque things with elongated limbs and gnashing teeth.
The collision was instant.
Snapping jaws met splintering wood in a cacophony of destruction. Yaga's puppets fought valiantly, their movements precise, but they were outnumbered. Geto's curses swarmed them, a tide of relentless monstrosities.
But it was clear that Geto had an upper hand with his Curse Manipulate Technique.
His army quickly overwhelmed that of Principal Yaga with a devastating ratio of 4 Curses to every puppet.
It was the case that quality could not overcome sheer quantity.
Realizing the dreadful situation would only lead to his army being overwhelmed, Yaga acted. He shot forward, his fist glowing with Cursed Energy, aimed straight for Geto's chest.
Geto sidestepped at the last moment, his robes fluttering as the impact cratered the wall behind him.
"You have aged a lot, sensei."
Before Yaga could react, the ground beneath him trembled.
A monstrous centipede-like curse burst from the earth, wrapping around his arm, its massive fangs snapping at his face.
Yaga twisted his torso, barely dodging the attack before grabbing the creature's writhing body and slamming it into the concrete with all of his strength. The Curse shrieked before its exoskeleton shattered into a grotesque mess.
But the moment he broke free, another shadow loomed over him.
A hulking brute of a curse with a skull face roared, its massive fists already descending.
Boom!
Yaga barely had enough time to raise his arms to block, his muscles straining under the impact. The sheer force sent cracks spider webbing across the ground beneath him. His stance wavered for just a second.
And that one second was all Geto needed.
Hidden behind the massive frame of the Curse, Geto gathered several of his Curses into a massive ball. He muttered the chanting as he curled up his fingers, Cursed Energy surging forth.
"Twisted. Devour. Merge. Oblivion."
[Uzumaki.]
The words rang through the air like a death knell.
A vortex of pure, condensed cursed energy spiraled into existence, distorting the battlefield itself. The crushing force of it was an unstoppable storm of malevolence that tore through the skull face of Curse and rapidly approached Yaga.
Yaga barely had time to react before the attack struck.
The explosion swallowed him whole, light and force consuming everything in its path.
The building shook violently. Dust and rubble cascaded from above, the walls groaning under the force of the impact.
When the smoke cleared, Yaga lay on the ground.
Bloodied. Unmoving.
His right arm was gone.
Geto stepped forward, his gaze impassive as he looked down at his former mentor. Slowly, he crouched, studying the man who had once guided him, the man who had once believed in him.
"You should've known, Sensei." His voice was quiet, almost disappointed. "The strong will always prevail over the weak."
Yaga coughed, blood trickling down his chin. His vision blurred, but he forced himself to look up at Geto one last time.
"You were never weak, Suguru." he rasped. "In the act of trying to do good, you have lost your way."
A long silence stretched between them.
His fingers twitched, whether out of irritation or something else, he didn't know. His grip on his own certainty wavered, just for a second.
Then, with a quiet sigh, he stood up.
Geto turned away.
"When you wake up, get yourself to Shoko for treatment." His tone was neutral, but something lingered beneath it was left unspoken.
"…And thank you for the last teaching, Principal. But unfortunately, I can't turn back now."
Yaga's consciousness faded as Geto disappeared into the night, leaving behind nothing but the echoes of a battle that should never have happened.
But suddenly, he felt a rupture in the barrier. "Hmm, two? Looks like some rats got in here."
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(A/N: Next chap will be awesome. I have a really fun time writing it to the point I act like a fanatic lol.)