CHAPTER 8: BLUE SUN HAS SET

The silence that followed the news of Gojo's sealing was a silence not even the cries of cursed spirits could pierce.

Across the battlefield, phones and radios began ringing—

And with them, so did the sound of panic.

Nanami Kento, still covered in the blood of transfigured humans, stood rigid with a hand clenched around the radio receiver. The voice on the other end was shaking, the static trembling.

"Satoru Gojo… has been sealed."

Megumi was beside him, expression hollowed.

"Nanami-san…" he asked cautiously, "Is it true?"

Nanami didn't speak at first.

He lowered the radio.

Closed his eyes.

"…If Satoru Gojo is gone," he finally said, voice devoid of emotion, "then Japan is doomed."

Megumi felt his heart sink.

Nanami continued, already moving. "We have to find the Prison Realm. Whatever they've trapped him in, it's here—somewhere in the subway."

He pointed toward the shattered tunnel to the left.

"We split up. I'll take the east corridor. You take the northwest line. If you find anything remotely resembling cursed metal or a barrier field, you alert me immediately."

Megumi nodded. "Understood."

As they parted, there was a weight in the air heavier than any curse:

The weight of a world without Gojo Satoru.

High above, on the edge of a crumbling rooftop, Yuji Itadori stood in stillness.

His fists were clenched so tight, they were bleeding.

"…Gojo-sensei," he whispered.

The wind rushed around him, blowing the scent of blood and concrete and death. But Itadori wasn't listening to any of it.

"Why didn't I get there in time…"

He exhaled—slow and furious.

Resolve flared in his chest like wildfire.

He leapt.

A flash of pink light trailed behind his feet as he dropped toward the broken city below, diving into the subway at full force.

He landed with a thud, sending rubble scattering—

And was immediately surrounded by cursed spirits.

Some crawled along the walls like roaches. Others had malformed limbs, twitching eyes, and claws of bone and fire.

But Itadori didn't hesitate.

He threw himself forward, punching through a curse's core with a single blow. Another lunged at his back—he twisted, elbowed its jaw off, and shattered it against the wall.

Each spirit was a blur of motion.

But Itadori wasn't just fighting them.

He was fighting to reach Gojo.

The spirits kept coming. One after another. Like Kenjaku had planned this choke point to slow him down. To keep him—of all people—away.

And still, he punched, kicked, slammed, and charged.

Blood dripped from his temple.

His knuckles were raw.

He didn't care.

Because in the back of his mind, a memory repeated:

"You don't need to become like me. Just be strong enough to protect the people you care about."

Gojo's voice echoed.

And Itadori pressed forward again.

He would find the prison.

He would rescue Gojo Satoru.

Even if it killed him.