Ch.174 Geto’s Struggle

The Pan-Star Cult.

A bizarre outfit.

For starters, they don't worship a god but the ancient sorcerer "Lord Tengen."

Fair enough—a millennium-old big shot with an "immortality" technique could pass as superhuman.

What's whack is their hardcore, borderline unhinged fundamentalism.

They demand Tengen stay "pure," no foreign taint—despite Tengen's own will to merge with the Star Plasma Vessel.

To enforce that, they hired "Sorcerer Killer" and "Heavenly Tyrant" Toji Fushiguro to sabotage the ritual, pitting him against pre-Special Grade Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru.

Toji lost and died, but he nailed the job—killed the then-Star Plasma Vessel, Amanai Riko. Ritual kaput, karma's cycle snapped, fate's gears kicked off everything.

Mission success, sure—but pissing off Gojo and Geto? Pan-Star Cult's fate was sealed.

First, they got chased underground, barely scraping by.

Then, after Geto defected into a Curse User, he "ate his own"—blitzed the cult, retooled it as his cash and curse-collecting front.

Self-crowned leader, Geto swapped for monk robes better suited for preaching. Ran it near a decade, up to now.

Barring surprises, he'd ride that throne to his grave—or finish his grand plan of wiping out all non-sorcerer "monkeys."

Impure motives aside, Geto took the gig seriously—dedicated, diligent.

Surface-level con—er, confessions—plus covert curse-busting outpaced the Jujutsu Alliance's efficiency. Cult biz boomed.

Helps that Japan's nuts for gods and prayers—faith's a hot trend.

Fun fact: Japan's janky, off-brand cults rank second in East Asia, behind South Korea. Globally? India's ahead, duking it out with Korea for "cosmic origin" bragging rights.

Beyond growing the cult, Geto was intel-obsessed—plants in the Alliance, ties to the quirky Jujutsu High crowd, bribed or promised favors.

Yoshikichi, Mechamaru's master, was one such link.

Every big Jujutsu shake-up, Geto pinged him. Today's no different.

Except—

"Weird. He's usually quick to reply. Even a 'no deal' comes fast. What's up today?"

"Something happen? Like our connection got sniffed out?" A blonde, city-chic secretary-type beside him mused.

"Nah. If that were it, my HQ moles would've tipped me. Exiled sorcerers are prime recruitment fodder."

Geto knew his grand vision needed more than solo grit. He'd spent years scouting and grooming talent—core cult members, some hitting Grade 1.

Best buds think alike—Gojo and Geto, case in point.

"But HQ's gone dark too," the blonde said, worry creeping in.

"That's why we need contact. Mechamaru's technique is intel gold—I'd love him on my team, even if I had to drag him. Too bad he's cagier than I thought."

"You've done amazing, Lord Geto," she soothed, eyes mixing awe, admiration, and a buried flicker of affection.

"Not enough," Geto shook his head lightly. "This won't beat the Alliance. One Satoru's a headache already, my beef with Akira's a mess, and Yuta Okkotsu's moves need triple caution."

Geto's holed up in a residential cover base—traffic's handy, escape's easy, foot traffic's decent.

If push comes to shove, he'd unleash thousands of curses—human hell as a distraction while he and his crew slip out.

Gotta admit, Curse Manipulation is a terrorist's cheat code.

"I'll try reaching out again," the blonde said, near-blindly loyal.

"Thanks," Geto replied, ever polite, never lording it.

"Hey, Lord Geto, you done yet? Mimiko's bored stiff."

"Nanako too."

Off from Geto's desk, two girls lounged on a sofa.

Mimiko—black hair, quiet vibe, good-girl type—sat upright10ed against her phone.

Nanako—white hair, tanned skin, skirt hacked short, Shibuya gal style—sprawled, legs kicking.

"You two, Lord Geto's working, not playing," the blonde snapped.

"You're so annoying, Auntie," Nanako drawled.

"A-Auntie?!" A vein popped on the blonde's forehead. "Rude! I'm 27—same as Lord Geto. Call me that, you should call him Uncle."

"Mimiko's fine with it," the dark-haired girl said. "Geto's like a dad to us."

"Oh…" The blonde's face flickered.

Nanako, sharp-eyed, leaned in. "Auntie, you want us to call you Mom?"

"W-What?!" Her voice jumped an octave.

"Bullseye?"

"Keep it down."

Geto, smiling sidelines, finally stepped in.

"Intel says the Alliance is in deep shit. We need the full story for our next move. Nanako, Mimiko, a bit more time, okay?"

"Sure~" Nanako plopped back.

Pan-Star's core crew was family-tight, rivaling Tokyo High's bond.

Mimiko stood suddenly. "Lord Geto, this the mess you mean?"

She flipped her phone—newly uploaded emojis, all turtle-faced people.

To normies, it's a gag. To Geto—

"These… Alliance brass. What the hell happened?"

Even years apart, he knew those geezers wouldn't pull this. This chaos vibe…

Satoru, you? Finally hitting the top dogs?

"Lord Geto, word's in—Alliance is screwed," the blonde said, handing over a tablet with a mole's text dump.

Geto snatched it, scanned fast.

After a beat, he passed it back, hands cradling his head, sighing deep. "Akira's plan. Worst-case hit. I fucked up last time—now… our goal."

"No worries, Lord Geto. Whatever goes down, Nanako's got your back."

"Mimiko too."

"And me, and everyone not here. You're not solo."

Geto looked up—three worried faces, his dearest family.

Right. I'm not alone anymore.

For them, I'll carve out tomorrow.

I won't quit. Hope's not dead yet.

Special Grade Cursed Spirit, Rika Orimoto.

Facing three Special Grades at once is suicide—but what if they're split?

His eyes drifted to a report line.

Hokkaido.

The promised land.

Trial-ground earth.

A spot even Satoru finds annoying.

If it's there…