Chapter 3 — Third Punch
"Special Grade, huh…"
The slices of Special Grade wagyu in the pot trembled gently as the broth bubbled and simmered. Saitama sat at the table, staring unblinkingly at the meat while briskly stirring the raw egg in his bowl with his chopsticks.
"Yeah. Special Grade."
Satoru Gojo's thoughts briefly drifted back to the alley. There was no doubt—the one that had been crushed with a single punch had been a Special Grade Curse.
The two of them were currently seated in a private room at a sukiyaki restaurant in Ginza. In the center of the table, the hot pot bubbled energetically, surrounded by neatly arranged ingredients and dipping sauces. The air was thick with the fragrance of beef and shiitake mushrooms.
"Anyway, let me introduce myself properly. I'm a teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu High—Satoru Gojo," he said. "The glasses guy earlier was my colleague, Assistant Supervisor Kiyotaka Ijichi. Saitama, come be my student."
"Oh… huh? What do you mean?"
Holding his bowl of egg, Saitama looked up blankly. The vacant look in his eyes somehow made him seem even more comical.
"Right now, you can defeat a Special Grade Curse, but you don't possess any cursed energy… With just that, you can't immediately become a true jujutsu sorcerer."
Gojo leaned back lazily in his chair, draping an arm over the backrest. One polished shoe tapped lightly against the table leg. "The jujutsu world is rigid and rotten. If you have no cursed energy and no background, it's not uncommon to be unacknowledged. At the very least, you'll need backing from Jujutsu High before you can officially step into the world of sorcerers."
"Ah, but I don't want to be your student," Saitama replied as he placed a fully cooked slice of beef into his bowl. "Didn't I say? I only defeat those things you call 'Curses' as a hobby."
"And besides, that High School or whatever… isn't that for teens? I'm already twenty-five. It'd be embarrassing to study alongside a bunch of kids."
"Our school runs a four-year program. Past students have ranged from fifteen to their early twenties," Gojo said easily. "Jujutsu High is a specialized institution that recruits individuals with sorcerer potential. Age restrictions aren't strict. Even at twenty-five, you can enroll."
"But I have no intention of becoming a student." Saitama pointed at the meat in the pot with his chopsticks. "The beef's done. Aren't you eating? Also, you said there'd be sea urchin later?"
"Saitama-kun."
Gojo, who had been acting carefree until now, suddenly straightened up. He leaned forward slightly, and the lower half of his face beneath the black blindfold grew serious.
"The monthly stipend for Jujutsu High students is 200,000 yen. Free dormitory housing. Discounted meals at the cafeteria. A chicken hotpot set with rice costs only 399 yen there. On top of that, if you secure an internship, there's additional income."
"Ha…" Saitama let out a small breath.
"Also, given your special circumstances, I can make an exception. You won't need to complete the full four-year program like the others. As long as you pass all required exams, you can graduate and become a jujutsu sorcerer. For reference, the job is basically what you did in that alley—but the average monthly salary is 853,000 yen."
The slice of beef suspended in Saitama's chopsticks froze midair.
He stared blankly at Gojo's solemn expression, silent for a long moment.
"…What do I need to prepare for enrollment?"
---
They followed a mountain road to the outskirts of Tokyo. Compared to the bustling city center, the towering skyscrapers and noisy crowds had completely vanished. All that remained was dense greenery and the faint chirping of birds.
"Pretty remote…" Saitama muttered, lightly scratching his cheek with his index finger as he walked.
"Well, it's not exactly a school that can be exposed to the public," Gojo said casually. "Ah, we're here."
Before them stood an expansive complex of majestic traditional Japanese buildings. White walls and blue tiles stretched outward, dotted with vibrant green trees. It looked more like an exquisite garden estate than a school.
"Enrollment was just my personal invitation," Gojo explained as they ascended the steps into the campus. "Whether you're officially admitted depends on whether you pass Principal Yaga's test. But with you, Saitama-kun, it'll be fine."
"Oh, of course!"
For once, Saitama clenched his fists, a spark of fighting spirit igniting in his expression. Gojo glanced at him and smiled faintly.
If this guy really becomes an ally… That'd be something. Still, he has to pass Yaga first.
They approached the building ahead. Gojo stopped at the entrance and gestured toward the pitch-black interior.
"The person you're meeting is inside. Principal of Tokyo Jujutsu High—Masamichi Yaga. He's the one who decides whether you're officially admitted."
"I see. So I just go in and convince the principal, right?"
Saitama peered into the darkness, completely lacking any sense of tension, and stepped inside.
Within was a vast dojo. Unlike ordinary dojos, the surrounding walls were completely sealed, allowing no light in. At the center stood hollowed pillars holding white candles, casting a dim yellow glow.
At the far end, in front of an entire wall of calligraphy, sat a large, broad-shouldered middle-aged man with a thick beard and sunglasses. Scattered beside him—utterly mismatched with his imposing appearance—were several felt dolls.
"Gojo. Is this the one you mentioned? The one who defeated a Special Grade Curse?"
Only after Saitama and Gojo stood before him did the bearded man speak.
"Yep. This is Saitama-kun."
Gojo raised both hands and theatrically presented Saitama. Then, smiling, he introduced, "This is the principal of Tokyo Jujutsu High—Masamichi Yaga."
"Oh, so you're the uncle who decides whether I can enroll." Saitama grinned in realization.
Yaga silently examined the bald man before him.
Though aware he stood before the principal, the bald man wore a foolish smile and stood casually, completely unbothered.
Worse, according to his file, he was twenty-five years old. Yet knowing this was an entrance interview, he hadn't bothered dressing appropriately at all—just a red-and-white hoodie with "OPPAI" printed across the chest and black pants.
"…Gojo."
Yaga ignored Saitama's words, his voice dropping lower than before.
"Are you joking? You said you found a once-in-a-millennium prodigy. I expected someone extraordinary. But this man has no cursed energy whatsoever."
"Did you make a mistake?"
Yaga's face was stern with anger—less directed at Gojo, more at Saitama himself.
"No mistake. The one who one-shotted the Special Grade was definitely Saitama-kun," Gojo replied lightly.
He glanced at Saitama.
No reaction at all.
Looks like Yaga's usual pressure interview isn't working…
"Is that so…" Yaga studied Saitama thoughtfully. "Heavenly Restriction… perhaps?"
"That's possible," Gojo said offhandedly.
"He looks like an ordinary person. If he truly had Heavenly Restriction—having sacrificed immense cursed energy—he would instinctively have learned to defend against cursed energy through physical ability alone. It would show in his posture, how he stands, sits, walks. But this man is full of openings. In the half-minute he's stood here, I could've knocked him down thirty times."
"…That probably still wouldn't work," Gojo replied.
"…."
Seemingly fed up, Yaga turned sharply toward Saitama. Though his sunglasses concealed his eyes, his gaze clearly fixed on him.
"You come to an entrance interview yet wear such an indifferent expression?" Yaga's voice rose. "Why did you choose this path?"
Saitama blinked. "You're asking why I get rid of Curses?"
"That's right!"
"…If I really have to say…"
His slack, vacant expression suddenly sharpened. His brows drew together. Clenching his fists, he met Yaga's gaze and answered loudly:
"Because it's a hobby!"
Yaga stared at him in silence for several seconds. Then his expression turned oddly speechless.
"…What kind of careless reason is that?"
Clearly dissatisfied, Yaga raised his hand.
"Fine."
A taiko-shaped felt doll lying beside him suddenly floated into the air. Its cute face twisted into a ferocious snarl, baring sharp teeth. Its tiny arms waved drumsticks menacingly.
"Whether you have the ability or not—let's test it with the Cursed Corpse I created."
"Of course…"
No matter what style of interview Yaga chose, it always ended in combat with a Cursed Corpse. Gojo sighed softly and retreated to the corner, crossing his arms to watch with interest.
"Uh… why is that doll moving?"
Saitama pointed in confusion.
Suddenly, the taiko Cursed Corpse vanished.
A red afterimage streaked above Saitama's bald head, reflecting crimson light across his scalp. He glanced upward—but it had already leapt away again.
The dojo's dozens of pillar stands became its footholds. It bounced between them like a red laser reflecting endlessly between mirrors.
"That's not a doll," Yaga said coldly. "It's a Cursed Corpse infused with my cursed energy. If you lack cursed energy, then this is the trial you must pass."
He looked down at Saitama.
"You must convince me that you can defeat my Cursed Corpse without cursed energy. Prove yourself."
The taiko Cursed Corpse accelerated, red afterimages multiplying midair. Then, rebounding off a pillar, it shot toward Saitama's head like a cannonball, drumsticks raised high, its face twisted viciously.
"About that…"
Saitama's voice echoed faintly through the dojo.
"I don't really get what you're doing, but if it's a drum…"
The Cursed Corpse was less than a meter away.
In a flash, Saitama spun at a speed thousands of times faster and threw a punch.
"Then you just hit it, right?"
He said cheerfully, his fist meeting the charging taiko.
For an instant, the world seemed muted—an eerie silence.
Then came an explosion that nearly shattered eardrums.
The taiko Cursed Corpse, the candlelit pillars, the sturdy walls and ceiling—all disintegrated like scraps of paper.
Reflected in Yaga's sunglasses was the sight of the dojo tearing apart like a paper house. With a crack, the lenses shattered from the pressure.
Behind the broken frames, his stunned eyes were illuminated by daylight.
The Cursed Corpse was completely obliterated. The shockwave continued forward, demolishing half the dojo before blasting into the open sky as a violent gust.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
The dark ceiling had been entirely blown away. Sunlight flooded in, banishing all shadows.
Yaga stood amid the ruins, unable to maintain his principal's composure, staring at the bald figure still standing at the center, bathed in sunlight.
"No cursed energy… purely physical strength… to this extent…" he murmured. Then suddenly, his eyes lit up.
In the corner, Gojo lowered his head slightly, thumb rubbing the edge of his blindfold strap, unable to suppress a silent smile.
"Ah…"
Saitama withdrew his fist, staring at the wrecked dojo. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Crap… ended it in one punch again… and I wrecked the building…"
"…They're not gonna make me pay for this, right?"