Whispers in the Dark – Chapter 54

Whispers in the Dark – Chapter 54

Somewhere beyond the polished stone halls of Jujutsu High…

Deep inside a room carved in tradition, behind layers of sealed shoji doors, a circle of veiled faces spoke softly—too softly for anyone outside to hear, but loud enough to echo across the cursed political structure of the jujutsu world.

"He's an anomaly," one voice whispered, full of age and warning. "We need to get rid of him. Too strong. Too fast. He appeared from nowhere and threw everything out of balance."

Another voice responded, clipped and hesitant. "But he saved Utahime. And... Gojo seems to be on his side."

Silence.

Then came the sound of papers rustling—sealed reports, handed back and forth like forbidden artifacts. Documents written by none other than Satoru Gojo himself, stamped with the official Jujutsu High seal.

"His cursed spirit… Rika… is classed as special grade. The boy shows advanced cursed technique manifestation. Self-taught, no family ties, no clan… no allegiance. Unpredictable."

The last word tasted bitter in the speaker's mouth.

"Uncontrolled."

"And," another added, "uncontrollable."

The murmurs thickened like cursed smoke.

A judgment was being written long before a trial would ever be declared.

Far from the darkness of political chambers, somewhere else entirely—beneath a broken rooftop and half-lit temple—another voice spoke.

"Rika…?" The name curled off his tongue with slow venom.

The man stood beneath the arch of an old shrine gate, long hair tied into a neat low knot, adorned in black robes marked with old sigils.

"Cursed spirit…? Gojo had to fight him?" he said.

The scroll in his hand trembled slightly.

"And the boy kept up with Gojo?" he sneered.

His voice turned into a low laugh.

"What kind of fake report is this?"

The man stepped into the light.

Suguru Geto's expression was unreadable.

He let the scroll fall to the floor as he walked back into the shadow of the temple, deep in thought.

Meanwhile, in a much livelier part of Tokyo...

The morning sun streamed into a classroom at Jujutsu High, where voices were a little less quiet—and a lot more curious.

"You know," Panda said with a big grin, his paw tossing a snack to the back of his mouth, "our new classmate's like... a different breed. Took down a special-grade curse. Saved Utahime. And rumor is—he didn't even know cursed energy was called cursed energy when he did it!"

Maki pushed her glasses up her nose and frowned. "Huh? That's... kind of impossible. You're saying he didn't even know what cursed energy was, and he still managed to defeat a special grade?"

Panda nodded confidently. "Yup!"

Maki crossed her arms. "Sounds overhyped."

She wasn't dismissive—just skeptical.

"Though… he did save Utahime. That's not nothing."

From the far end of the room, a quiet kid with unkempt hair suddenly said, "Kelp."

The room went quiet for a second.

Panda glanced over. "Thanks, Inumaki. As always… helpful."

Inumaki nodded with sage-like confidence.

And where was the center of all this rising curiosity and controversy?

Where was the boy who'd flipped Gojo's world upside down and made the elders sweat through their ancient robes?

He was sitting on the floor.

In his brand-new room.

Reading.

Ren's back rested against the clean white wall of a student dorm. It was three times bigger than his old apartment, with soft tatami flooring, shelves lined with scrolls, and a traditional futon folded neatly in the corner. A breeze flowed in from the window, stirring the sheer curtains.

But Ren wasn't looking outside.

He was looking at the thirty cursed energy manuals stacked in front of him like sacred tomes from another world.

Some are thick and cracked. Some are thin and sharp. Some practically humming with sealed cursed energy.

His fingers flipped through a passage on cursed energy reinforcement techniques.

It wasn't flashy.

But it was everything.

This, Ren thought, is what I was missing.

The book broke things down line by line, something the manga and anime never truly did—how cursed energy is controlled at the cellular level, how to push it into the skin to create resistance, and how to refine the "flow" of emotions into raw power without letting them overflow.

This... this is it. These are the missing keys. The ones I didn't even know I needed.

He didn't even notice the open door.

"Uh, you're supposed to have class, you know?" Gojo's voice called.

Ren didn't look up.

"Get out before I file a case on you, old man."

Gojo blinked.

Ren continued, "Let me study. Go teach the others. I learn best when I'm alone."

Gojo leaned against the doorframe.

He looked at the open books. The one Ren was holding was written in old kanji. A second-year wouldn't even touch that book, let alone understand it.

Gojo grinned.

"Fine," he said. "I'll give you today off. But tomorrow, you come to class. No excuses."

He pointed two fingers at his eyes and then at Ren. "Also, call me Sensei. I'm your teacher now."

Ren rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Sure."

Gojo's smile stayed even as he shut the door behind him.

Click.

Silence.

Ren dropped the book in his lap and exhaled deeply.

He didn't realize how good the quiet felt.

No explosions.

No cursed spirits.

No rooftop sparring matches with living demigods.

Just...

Learning.

It was something Ren hadn't had a chance to do since waking up in this world.

This new room, this new life, this new school—it was all overwhelming in theory.

But in practice?

It was perfect.

He glanced over at the open windows.

Beyond the curtains, the world of Jujutsu sorcerers moved on.

But he wasn't just part of it now.

He was a ripple in it.

A growing one.

He didn't know that elders were plotting.

He didn't know Geto was interested.

He didn't know classmates were gossiping or that Gojo had written a fake report to protect him, claiming the "battle" had been inconclusive and that Ren's cursed technique seemed "stable but unpredictable" and that Rika was "under complete control (for now)."

He didn't know Gojo had omitted almost everything—the Red Stitch, the gas explosion, and the calculated analysis Ren made mid-fight.

All of that?

Swept under a polite, political rug.

Because even Gojo knew:

If the higher-ups knew the truth…

They'd panic.

And panicking people do stupid things.

Gojo stared out the window from across campus, his blindfold pulled slightly up over his forehead as he sipped from a juice box.

He watched Ren's window for a moment.

Then smiled.

"Stay under the radar, kid," he muttered.

"You'll get your time."

Inside, Ren flipped the next page.

His eyes gleamed under the warm light.

His fingers traced the diagram of a cursed domain formula.

He was finally beginning to understand.

Not just cursed energy.

But the language of sorcery itself.

And in that moment?

He didn't care about the whispers.

He didn't care about Geto.

Or the elders.

Or Utahime's glare.

Or Gojo's nonsense.

He had thirty books.

A window.

And a shadow that wriggled happily under his desk.

"Let's get to work," Ren whispered.