Ch.166 It’s Already Decided Up Top—You’re the One to Be…

Akira said he didn't want it, but Gojo Satoru wasn't buying it.

"You look like you're having a blast to me."

"That's just the thrill of smacking down old geezers. Once the system's fixed, I can kick back properly. If I had my way, I'd retire the second I hit adulthood—live it up, hit the Pokémon Centers every day—"

"Garde!"

"Oh?"

Gardevoir and Maki shot him glares from left and right, their eyes sharp as Razor Leaf.

Cold sweat beaded on Akira's forehead. "I meant Pokémon Breeding Centers."

Chatting with Gojo Satoru was like bantering with a bro—no filter, no limits. One slip, and he'd gone full motor-mouth.

Hayami shook her head, unable to watch.

His bio mom, though, had a sly, thoughtful look, like she was plotting something.

"Breeding Centers are dope. Regular clubs are boring as hell—playing with Pokémon beats playing with girls any day."

Gojo Satoru, blissfully unaware of the tension, dropped that gem. He wasn't your typical steel-spined straight guy—somehow, he was straighter. Instant aggro magnet.

And yet, you couldn't break his Infinity, so it all just fizzled out.

Classic Gojo Satoru move.

Akira gave a silent thumbs-up.

Gojo Satoru didn't get it, but praise? He'd take it—more the merrier, he could handle it.

He flashed a peace sign and stuck out his tongue. "Ehe!"

Cue a wave of ellipses.

Once the invisible crisis passed and Gojo Satoru's playful streak died down, Akira spoke up. "You don't wanna run things, I don't wanna run things—so what now?"

"Find someone who's willing and trustworthy, duh," Gojo Satoru said with a shrug. "I vote Megumi. Zenin Clan's no issue, I'll handle the Gojo Clan, you deal with the Kamo Clan. Honestly, he's a better fit than either of us."

"Fair point," Akira nodded. "Megumi's got the right vibe for it. He's a bit reckless sometimes, but he'll cool off and think things through. He's decent at the polite surface stuff too. Only hitch is—he might not want this mess."

Thanks to his dad's baggage, Megumi Fushiguro wasn't exactly a fan of mainstream Jujutsu society.

He held the key to taking over the Zenin Clan but refused to go back.

He could've joined the Gojo Clan, switched identities, and still said no.

"Even better, right?" Gojo Satoru snickered with a fufufu. "Megumi's grumpy face is a total charm point. All pouty and reluctant, but stuck doing it anyway. Then he blows up—adorable."

"Be a human for once…" Akira deadpanned.

Nearby, a Voltorb—er, no, a Marowak—bounced over, slamming into Gojo Satoru's head like a Hyper Beam.

Yep, Marowak, not Voltorb.

It had evolved.

During a mission with Gojo Satoru, it snagged second place in the Baby Cup Evolution Grand Prix.

Post-evolution, Marowak's ball grew from 0.5 meters to 1.2 meters. Its colors flipped—white on top, red below—and its face got an upgrade. Voltorb just had eyes; Marowak had eyebrows, a mouth, the works. It could smirk, cry, or pull goofy faces, though that signature menacing glare stuck around.

Best part? More juice in the tank and a sharper brain. It'd cracked the trigger limit of Gojo Satoru's Infinity and could headbutt right through.

No real damage, just a sting—then Gojo Satoru propped it up with his head.

Oh, so you're the human form of Electrode. Color scheme's a dead ringer too.

Akira waved Marowak off with a "go play" gesture. It glared back, only to get stared down by Gardevoir and Darkrai, the twin guardians. Grudgingly, it rolled away.

One, two, three, four—all picking on me. Is this world even worth living in?

Ugh, this ball's pissed! I wanna Self-Destruct so bad!

But over there, they've all got the muscle to pin me down. Can't blow up—even madder now.

Just wait till I level up, learn Explosion—Marowak "Deidara" Bomb's gonna show you what real art looks like!

For now, back to the baby squad.

"Marurururu—"

Marowak rolled between Snivy and Swablu, buzzing with electric hums to say, "No fighting, no fighting."

Too bad Snivy and Swablu, mid-tantrum, didn't even glance its way. A Leaf Blade and a Dragon Breath blasted over.

Marowak shot skyward, sparks flying.

You're pissing me off too? I'll let it slide with the big shots, but you two rookies dare mess with me?

Today, you'll see who's the real Baby Cup champ.

"Maruru!"

Electric-type GOAT move, Thunderbolt—nah, might fry these newbies. A quick Shock Wave'll do. (Thunderbolt's a level 31 move for Marowak. Swablu's at 28 with Sing, but Electric trumps Flying, and Snivy's even lower.)

Even so, it smoked 'em—Snivy stumbling, Swablu's wings frizzing. They geared up for a counter, but Marowak crash-landed, leaking volts and grinning like a nuclear saint.

"Maru! (What're you staring at? Blow up too, if you've got the guts!)"

"Tanga. (Can't.)"

"Dilu. (Too scary.)"

Satisfied, Marowak rolled off, tumbling into the still-intact HQ building to juice up at a free outlet. Free power's free power.

With Gojo Satoru, self-reliance was the name of the game. Basic stuff.

Poor kid's gotta grow up fast.

Akira didn't sweat the Baby Cup brawl. With papa Darkrai and big sis Gardevoir watching, it'd stay tame. The real talk was with Gojo Satoru.

His words were inhuman, sure, but Megumi was the next best pick after Akira. Skills, brains, and above all, duty and grit.

Gotta hand it to the Zenin Clan—talent pool's deep, in every sense.

Still—

"Locking Megumi in's fine by me—let him recite some poetry, whatever. But if he's really against it, don't force him. Backfire's not worth it."

"Obviously. If he bails, you and I can just trade off—run it for a bit, rest for a bit. That's doable."

"Guess that's the move. Then we scout for a proper successor."

If the Alliance HQ folks weren't snoozing, they'd probably keel over from rage hearing this. The power we've clawed for, dreamed of protecting—you call it a hassle?

If it's such a pain, stay out! Whining while screwing us over—you sure you're not unhinged?

Too bad there's no "if." To frogs in a well, the sky's just the well's rim.

Gojo Satoru twirled his marker. "What about this bunch? Just turtles? Too lenient—they'll get cockier."

"Turtles are the surface," Akira said, finishing his last doodle and capping the pen. He tossed it to Swablu. "Ever hear this one? Living's often worse than dying. Death's a clean break—life makes you carry the load."