Ch.169 One Who Cannot See the Light

Lots of folks wonder: what's the ultimate form of a shut-in?

Living alone, lights off all the time.

Shopping and chatting—all online.

Never leaving home unless it's unavoidable, and even then, solving everything indoors if possible.

Opening the door? Only for takeout or packages, timed perfectly for low traffic—can't waste a minute outside.

That's the widely accepted take, and Akira used to buy it too—until he met this guy.

"Living alone" doesn't cut it. In today's lingo, this dude's in the "underworld"—no shade intended. Think eighteen floors underground, physically over fifty meters below the surface.

That depth shrugs off most attacks and disasters short of a nuke or some fancy bomb.

Shopping and talking via the web? Check.

But here's the kicker: it's not your average internet. Dedicated lines, exclusive satellite links—zero chance of disconnecting, ever.

As for the third bit… this isn't about staying in or handling stuff at home.

This guy's place isn't small, but his world's crammed into a bathtub less than a square meter. Eating, drinking, bathroom breaks—all in that tiny tub.

Don't get it twisted—his hygiene's top-notch. High-tech, borderline sci-fi gear makes it work.

Food, cleaning, waste, supplies—all handled by machines.

Surrounding the tub are seven or eight robots with names Akira can't even guess, like he's stepped into a future episode.

This is Yorita Yoshikichi, the genius behind the Ultimate Mechamaru, Kyoto Jujutsu High's last first-year. The one Akira's been dying to meet but never could.

Also the reason Mai "snagged" him from Maki so easily.

"Finally meeting you, Mechamaru. I'm glad you changed your mind and invited me here."

By small-talk standards, it's a C-minus—nowhere near Akira's slick performance at Alliance HQ.

But back then was fake charm; this time, it's real.

Yoshikichi didn't see it that way, though. "No need to fake it. Say what you mean, like Mai does," he said flatly.

Mai, Akira's guide, came along. Seeing Yoshikichi in person, her face paled, words stumbling. "M-Mechamaru, you… how…"

"This is me. The real me. That's why I never wanted to meet you guys—I hate that look."

Yoshikichi wasn't soaking in a tub out of laziness or choice. It's survival.

Like Maki, he's bound by Heavenly Restriction, but unlike her straightforward curse-for-strength trade, his cost is rawer, crueler.

Born without his right hand, forearm, and everything below the knees.

Paralyzed from the waist down, no sensation.

Skin so fragile moonlight burns it—anything brighter than a flicker stings like needles in his pores.

The tub's not water—it's nutrient fluid and meds. Even then, he's wrapped in bandages head to toe.

He's not choosing to live in lightless depths—he has to.

In exchange, he's got a technique range covering all of Japan and Special Grade-level cursed energy output. With Puppet Manipulation, he runs everything without stepping outside—but he'll never live as a normal, whole person.

"Sorry," Mai bowed, apologetic.

Japan's traditional etiquette isn't all bad—it shines in moments like this.

Yoshikichi shook his head. "It's fine. I let you come, so I braced myself. I've shown my sincerity—hope you'll be straight with me too, Akira."

"Of course," Akira nodded eagerly. "But I wasn't faking earlier. I had a hunch, so I'm not as shocked as Mai."

"Figured out the truth from scraps, huh? Worthy of the chosen one who toyed with the Alliance brass like a Pokémon Gym puzzle. Guess I don't need to warn you—those old geezers aren't your match."

"You're too kind. Luck played a part—still, thanks for the heads-up, Mechamaru."

Akira pulled a badge from his pocket.

Same style as Mai's—wooden shell, metal core, one side etched with a mini Mechamaru head.

Every puppet Yoshikichi's made rocks that design.

The flip side housed spider-like claws for climbing and scooting.

The night Akira wrapped his seminar with a flex-worthy speech, this palm-sized badge crawled into his room.

"No need to thank me. I was asked, and I got my payoff," Yoshikichi said. His mostly intact left hand gestured, and a screen by the tub projected a clip.

A squinting kid in a Jujutsu High uniform bowed deep, saying, "Please, Mechamaru, get this message to him."

"Noritoshi…" Akira's eyes flickered, heart swelling.

His half-brother, Kamo Noritoshi—the most awkward pawn in Akira's clash with the higher-ups.

They'd agreed he'd stay out of it, play it safe.

But he didn't. Sensing the brass's dirty tricks, he risked punishment to get Mechamaru to pass the word.

Against HQ's tight defenses, only Mechamaru's curse-tech fusion could sneak a message through unnoticed.

And Mechamaru didn't let Noritoshi down.

Tokyo High's tight-knit crew was Akira's pride, but Kyoto High's bonds weren't shabby either.

Flaws aside, they helped each other out—except maybe Todo Aoi, whose rep might out-tank Gojo Satoru's.

So when Noritoshi bowed, Yoshikichi agreed on the spot—no terms needed.

Clip over, Akira's emotions settled, and the convo rolled on.

Akira asked, "The payoff—was my performance hitting your expectations?"

"Yep. Last time, I underestimated you and your Pokémon's quirks. Maybe you can pull off my wish. This HQ mess proved your 'Pokémon' have near-infinite potential. Given time, they might even replace sorcerers."

"Wha—huh?!" Mai, sidelined till now, finally piped up, horrified. "A-Akira, are you seriously—"