"The Six Eyes Twins of the Gojo Clan."
"A bounty of over one hundred million yen on each head. It's enough to make anyone drool, isn't it?"
"What do you think, old man?"
"Old hag, as a curse user, focusing only on money lacks style."
Through the crackle of a hidden earpiece, Ogami frowned and took a sip of her coffee.
"You're one to talk. You spend all your earnings on idols. Half of the last job's payout went to buying handshake tickets."
"That was for the third anniversary of Maiden's Love! You wouldn't understand art."
"Disgusting old man... They're here."
As Ogami spoke, Jiro Awasaka looked down from the high-rise rooftop.
Two white-haired children, roughly six or seven years old, were walking side-by-side down the busy street. Behind them, a respectful middle-aged man followed at a set distance.
"Intelligence says that's the Gojo Clan's Grade 1 sorcerer, Gojo Genso."
"The two kids in front... no doubt about it. The Six Eyes."
Awasaka grinned, a predatory expression stretching his face. "I'll handle the twins. Old hag, you keep the bodyguard busy."
In the cafe below, Ogami set down her cup, her eyes narrowing with malice.
"Don't mess this up."
Just as the two curse users prepared to strike, the flow of the street seemed to stutter.
Down below, Souma and Satoru stopped walking at the exact same instant.
In perfect synchronization, they tilted their heads up.
Two pairs of sky-blue eyes pierced through the distance, the crowds, and the concealment, locking directly onto the hidden assassins.
Thump.
In that split second, Ogami and Awasaka felt like prey that had just stepped on a tiger's tail. Their hearts skipped a beat, a cold jolt of adrenaline flooding their systems.
By the time they snapped out of it, they realized their collars were soaked in cold sweat.
Fear.
It was the primal, bone-deep terror of a rat spotting a cat.
Just one glance. That was all it took to convey a clear message: We see you. And you are already dead.
"Old... old man..." Ogami's voice trembled over the comms.
"Plan canceled!" Awasaka rasped, stepping back from the ledge.
They both gasped for air, their bodies shaking with the visceral relief of having narrowly avoided a cliff edge.
"Small fry," Satoru muttered, looking away with a bored expression.
Souma stretched his arms casually. "Small fry are good for a warm-up, though."
Satoru looked at him, surprised. "You want to fight?"
"Want to join me? You can pick the stronger one."
Satoru sighed, as if choosing which candy to buy. "I'll take the old guy on the roof, then."
Souma turned to their bodyguard. "Uncle Genso, handle the trash in the back alley, will you?"
"Understood, Young Master Souma," Genso replied, bowing slightly.
In the next instant, all three figures vanished from the street.
...
In a dark alleyway, a group of low-level curse users preparing to ambush were suddenly blocked by a single man.
Gojo Genso adjusted his tie, his face cold. "Targeting Young Master Satoru and Young Master Souma... you lot must be tired of living."
A massive surge of Grade 1 cursed energy flooded the alley, sealing their fate.
...
On the rooftop, Jiro Awasaka was about to turn and run when he saw a small figure standing in his path.
Satoru Gojo was only a meter tall, a child by any definition. But to Awasaka, he looked like a towering giant.
The pressure radiating from the boy was suffocating. It forced Awasaka's heart rate to over two hundred beats per minute.
"Hey, small fry," Satoru said, lazily scratching his ear. "Have you decided how you want to die?"
Awasaka trembled. It was fear, yes, but also a burning humiliation at being looked down upon by a kindergartner.
"Don't get cocky, brat! You're just a six-year-old kid!"
Awasaka roared to hype himself up and charged at Satoru, his fear converting into desperate aggression.
"Boring."
Satoru didn't even take a stance. He simply threw a punch wrapped in cursed energy.
Thwack.
The small fist connected squarely with Awasaka's face.
But to Satoru's mild surprise, Awasaka didn't fly backward. Instead, the man grinned, blood leaking from his teeth but seemingly unfazed.
"Die!"
Awasaka drew a knife from his waist and thrust it viciously toward Satoru's heart.
But just inches from the boy's chest, the blade stopped. It hit an invisible wall—the Infinity—and refused to move a millimeter further.
"Damn it!" Awasaka cursed.
Satoru raised his right hand, fingers splayed. His Six Eyes glowed with analytical light.
"Your technique is 'Inverse,' isn't it?"
"Huh?"
Awasaka's eyes widened in genuine shock.
His technique, Inverse, flipped the logic of damage. Strong attacks became weak, and weak attacks became strong. It was a gimmick that allowed him to survive heavy hits from strong sorcerers. He had relied on Satoru not knowing this to survive the first hit and find an opening to escape.
He never planned to win. He just wanted to survive.
But Satoru had seen through it instantly.
"It's not a perfect inversion," Satoru continued, his voice clinical. "If it were, basic things like air pressure or gravity would kill you when you activated it. So there's an upper and lower limit to the strength you can invert."
Satoru's palm began to glow with a ominous blue light.
"So... let's find out where that upper limit is."
"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."
A sphere of condensed negative space formed in Satoru's palm. The laws of physics in the immediate area screamed as reality tried to fill the void.
The attractive force was like a black hole.
Awasaka tried to run, to brace himself, to invert the force—but it was useless. The sheer output overwhelmed his technique's capacity.
His body was dragged forward, twisting like a wet rag.
Bones snapped. Muscle tore.
Like meat fed into a grinder, Awasaka was crushed into a grotesque sphere of debris and blood before he could even scream.
Satoru watched the red mist settle, unimpressed.
"Looks like your limit was lower than I thought."
...
"Granny! Help me!"
Splats.
Souma stood over the headless body of a summoned grandson, shaking blood off his hand.
"Ten seconds? You didn't even last one."
Ogami stared at the boy in horror. Her seance technique—summoning the information of the dead into a willing vessel—was fearsome. Her grandson was a capable vessel.
But Souma had simply walked through him.
"Seance technique... calling down the dead?" Souma looked at the trembling old woman with cold eyes. "If you have nothing better to do, don't disturb the rest of the deceased. It's bad manners."
Souma raised a finger.
Blue.
Space distorted around Ogami's head.
There was a sickening crunch, and then silence.
...
"You're slow, Satoru."
By the time Satoru returned to the street corner, Souma was already there, holding two cups of fruit juice.
Satoru took one and took a sip. "I was fast. That guy's 'Inverse' technique was a little interesting, so I tested it out."
A moment later, Gojo Genso reappeared. His suit was slightly rumpled, and he was wiping a speck of dust from his sleeve.
"Apologies for the delay, Young Masters."
Souma and Satoru waved him off.
"Let's go. The game shop is still open."
The three of them merged back into the crowd as if nothing had happened.
The first battle of the Gojo Six Eyes Twins had ended before anyone realized it had begun.
For the twins, it was a warm-up. A light stretch.
But for the curse user underworld, the news would hit like a magnitude-ten earthquake.
Curse users lived by their own rules. They killed for money, for fun, for freedom. They were the predators of the jujutsu world.
But today, the food chain had changed.
The "freedom" to hunt the Gojo clan was gone. Even walking in the open was now a death sentence.
The Six Eyes Twins were no longer just a bounty. They were a nightmare.
And the balance of the jujutsu world began to tip, heavy and inevitable, toward the two boys walking casually down the street.