Nobara leaned in close to the two of them, her eyes wide as if she had discovered some rare animals. "You two... One is the best-selling light novel author, Utako Kasumi-sensei. The other is a genius artist who looks like a refined lady and draws well enough to debut."
Eriri's face turned red, and she said in a small, embarrassed voice, "B-but... this is also very important work. Besides, drawing these... helps me better understand those Cursed Spirits and Cursed Techniques. It helps with training too."
She tried to find a rational basis for her and Utaha's behavior.
Utaha sighed and rubbed her temples. "To some extent, this is indeed work. Moreover, it's a task forcibly assigned by a certain Party A who cannot be refused."
She thought of Sukuna's "reminders" in her dreams, and her tone became even more helpless.
Looking at the two of them—one with a red face but stubborn eyes, the other weary with a resigned calmness—Nobara suddenly burst out laughing.
She waved her hand and plopped down into a nearby empty chair, crossing her legs.
"Alright, alright, stop looking like I caught you red-handed. I'm not a teacher, I'm not going to report you for 'illegal publishing' in the dorms."
Nobara grinned, revealing her canines, her eyes showing a bit more interest and curiosity. "But seriously, it's pretty cool."
"In this hellhole, having something else to think about and do besides fighting and killing is a good thing."
"It's better than those guys whose brains are only filled with muscles and Cursed Energy."
She pointed at the imposing Sukuna line art on Eriri's screen. "That's not bad at all. Is this manga of yours an adaptation of true events from around here?"
Seeing that Nobara wasn't mocking them but was instead showing interest, Eriri breathed a sigh of relief. Her energy returned, and she began to give a brief introduction to the setting and general plot direction of Jujutsu Kaisen. Of course, she omitted the details of Sukuna personally "providing material" and pressuring them, only saying it was a creation based on the background of the Jujutsu World.
Nobara listened with great interest, occasionally chiming in with quips or questions, and the atmosphere actually became harmonious. When she heard that Satoru was also portrayed as a key character in the manga, with many exaggerated yet fitting descriptions, she slapped her thigh and laughed.
"Hahaha! The strongest teacher and a problem child? That's a great setting. Does Gojo-sensei know? Won't he sue you for violating his portrait rights?" Nobara asked with a laugh.
Utaha calmly tapped the keyboard and pulled up an electronic file. "Gojo-sensei has already seen the initial settings and outline. He said 'It's very interesting, go ahead and draw. Ask me if you need any materials, but make sure to draw me very handsome,' which counts as tacit permission."
At the end of the document, there was even a doodle from Satoru—a little smiley face.
"...That's very Gojo-sensei."
Watching this rare, relaxed scene that even carried a bit of a school club vibe, the gloom in Nobara's heart—born from high-intensity training and her companions' serious injuries—seemed to dissipate a bit.
She leaned back in her chair, watching the two focused creators. She suddenly felt that perhaps in this Jujutsu High filled with the unconventional and the dangerous, having such a sliver of seemingly "abnormal" normalcy, and having a group of companions who had other passions and persistence besides fighting, wasn't a bad thing at all.
Nobara suddenly spoke, addressing Eriri, "Hey, blonde lady, when you get to the part with my role, you have to draw me extra cool. The hammer and nails should be gleaming with a cold light. And maybe add some explosion effects."
Eriri nodded vigorously, her eyes shining. "No problem. Leave it to me. Your fighting style is cool and sharp, I'll definitely represent it well."
Utaha watched the two of them, who had instantly reached a "character image consensus," and the corners of her lips curled up into a very faint arc.
She turned her gaze back to the screen, where the cursor flickered at the descriptive paragraph for Domain Expansion: Malevolent Shrine.
— — —
Inside Dagon's Domain
Night tides surged gently, lapping against a nameless, desolate shore.
Four figures sat scattered across the beach, or leaned against black reefs polished smooth by the tide.
Jogo's body's surface was covered in slowly regenerating new tissue, resembling cooled lava—a "souvenir" left behind from his brief clash with Satoru.
Hanami—a tall, slender humanoid Cursed Spirit composed of countless withered flowers, vines, and twisted trees—stood silently at the edge of the tide a little further away.
Beneath their feet, several strange plants stubbornly sprouted from the sand, growing rapidly before immediately decaying in a repeating cycle, as if silently performing some paradox of life.
They had no facial features, yet the sorrowful aura of nature interwoven with death that they radiated spoke more clearly of their mood than any expression could.
Mahito—a Cursed Spirit in the form of a young man with long blue hair, stitches all over his body, and a smile so innocent it was hair-raising—was running around barefoot near the tide line, using his toes to draw twisted, grotesque patterns in the wet sand, letting out light, meaningless laughs from time to time, as if the recent setback and his companions' solemnity had nothing to do with him.
And sitting on the highest reef was a "human" wearing dark monk robes, with a prominent stitch across his forehead and a refined, elegant air that felt extremely unsettling—Kenjaku.
He toyed with a pale seashell he had picked up from somewhere, his gaze looking far out toward the sea, as if admiring the scenery, or perhaps calculating the ebb and flow of the tide.
Silence persisted for a moment, broken only by the sound of the waves and the rustling of Mahito playing in the sand.
Finally, it was Kenjaku who broke the silence.
"I believe you all now have a more direct understanding of Gojo's strength."
He did not look at Jogo's injured body, but the implication of his words was self-evident.
"I'm not trying to undermine our morale, just stating facts. In our current state, the chances of winning against him in a direct confrontation are slim. His Limitless, paired with those Six Eyes, has already reached a level that is nearly unsolvable."
Jogo's single eye suddenly burst with a more intense fire, and the temperature of the surrounding air skyrocketed, but in the end, he only vented a cloud of thick smoke mixed with sparks from his volcano head and gave a dull, cold snort, offering no rebuttal.
That brief but heart-pounding clash with Satoru had made him clearly realize the despair-inducing chasm between them. It was not a gap that could be filled by anger or conviction.