Chapter 110: Final Words
"Don't worry."
"When I return, that will be the day Gojo-sensei is unsealed."
The voice was calm.
Too calm.
It passed through Mechamaru's remaining miniature communicator, crossing the distortion of Shibuya's barriers and the screaming static of collapsing cursed energy, and reached everyone's ears with terrifying clarity.
There was no fear in it.
No despair.
Not even hesitation.
It almost sounded as though Yami was not being dragged to the edge of time itself, but merely stepping onto a train bound for some distant station, leaving behind one last farewell before departure.
On the outskirts of Shibuya, every sorcerer froze.
Yuji Itadori stood in the middle of the ruined street, one hand still clenched into a fist. Blood ran down the side of his face, but he did not wipe it away.
Megumi Fushiguro's shadow trembled beneath his feet.
Nobara Kugisaki's grip tightened around her hammer until her knuckles turned white.
Kento Nanami, Mei Mei, Takuma Ino, Maki Zenin, Panda, Toge Inumaki, Choso, Kechizu, Eso, Mechamaru…
For one breath, everyone stopped moving.
That was Yami's voice.
The voice of the person who always stood at the front.
The voice of the classmate who smiled gently during meals, trained them until they cursed his name during the day, and at the most dangerous moments became more reliable than any god they had ever prayed to.
But now, that voice carried something final.
Something that made the blood in their veins turn cold.
"Yami…?"
Yuji's voice cracked.
The only answer was an ear-piercing burst of static.
Kzzzzzzzt!
The communication cut off.
At the same instant, Yami's presence disappeared.
Not faded.
Not moved away.
Disappeared.
As if some unseen hand had erased him from the world.
The silence that followed was heavier than any curse.
Deep beneath Shibuya, on the fifth underground level of the station, the violent space-time vortex finally settled.
The golden storm collapsed inward, devouring the last traces of distorted light. The air stopped twisting. The pressure that had been crushing the platform vanished all at once, leaving only ruined concrete, melted tracks, scorched pillars, and the faint smell of blood burned dry.
Yami was gone.
The Prison Realm was gone with him.
Only Shiranui remained.
The pitch-black katana stood embedded in the cracked floor, its blade half-buried in stone. Crimson flames clung to the edge, burning quietly despite the absence of its master.
Kenjaku stared at the empty space for a long moment.
Then he laughed.
"Hah…"
His shoulders shook.
"Hahaha…"
The laughter grew louder, uglier, until it echoed through the ruined station like the cry of a broken bell.
He struggled to his feet.
Half his body was charred. One arm was gone. The wound in his chest had been seared open by Yami's blade, and even with cursed energy stitching the flesh together, every movement brought a fresh wave of agony.
But Kenjaku had never felt more delighted.
"Finally…"
His lips stretched into a smile full of madness.
"Finally, both of them are gone."
Satoru Gojo, sealed.
Yami, exiled.
The two greatest obstacles to his plan had been removed from the board in a single night.
The result had not been perfect. The Prison Realm had not remained in his hands. It had been swept into the turbulence of time together with Yami, leaving him unable to control Satoru Gojo's sealed body as he had intended.
But after a moment's thought, Kenjaku's smile only deepened.
Perhaps this was even better.
"The Prison Realm can be opened under the right conditions," he murmured. "No seal is truly absolute."
His eyes narrowed, gleaming with cold satisfaction.
"But banishment to the end of time…"
That was not a seal.
That was a sentence.
Without the Prison Realm in the present world, no one could locate Satoru Gojo. Even if the man inside remained alive, even if his Six Eyes continued to function, he could not simply tear through spacetime and return on his own.
As for Yami…
Kenjaku looked at the empty air where the boy had vanished.
A faint chill crawled up his spine.
That final sentence still lingered in his ears.
When I return.
What an absurd thing to say.
The Sands of Time did not send people away for a few days, a few years, or even a few centuries. It removed them from the current era entirely. No coordinates. No trace. No anchor.
By every law Kenjaku knew, Yami could never come back.
And yet…
Kenjaku's smile faded slightly.
That boy had broken too many laws already.
He had no cursed energy, yet stood among monsters.
He cut through domains.
He wounded souls.
He burned curses with sunlight and carved apart space with moonlight.
Logic said he was gone.
Experience told Kenjaku not to trust logic when it came to that brat.
"Uraume."
His voice turned cold.
"We speed up the next phase."
Uraume stepped out from the drifting steam, one hand pressed against their abdomen. Their face remained composed, but their breathing was heavier than before. Yami's slash had not landed directly, yet the residual heat alone had burned through their defenses and left damage deep inside their body.
Still, Uraume bowed without complaint.
"Understood."
"We cannot give Jujutsu High time to recover," Kenjaku said. "Not after this."
Uraume's eyes lowered.
"Shall we begin collecting Sukuna-sama's fingers?"
"Yes."
Kenjaku glanced toward the upper levels, where Shibuya was still drowning in screams.
"But before that…"
He reached into the wide sleeve of Geto Suguru's robe.
Several cursed objects appeared in his remaining hand, each one wrapped in talismans blackened by age. The air around them curdled as soon as they were exposed, as though the objects themselves resented being bound.
Kenjaku smiled again.
The expression was almost gentle.
"Since the stage has already been built, it would be rude not to fill it properly."
He crushed the cursed objects in his palm.
Snap!
A wave of cursed energy erupted outward.
Throughout Shibuya, black portals tore open in alleys, subway passages, department stores, rooftops, underground malls, and crowded streets.
For a moment, the city itself seemed to inhale.
Then came the roars.
Thousands of cursed spirits poured out from the portals like beasts released from cages. Some crawled across walls. Some dragged their bellies along the pavement. Some flew through broken windows, shrieking with joy. Their shapes were grotesque and varied, born from greed, terror, resentment, disease, violence, and all the filth humans tried to forget.
Shibuya, already a battlefield, became a true hell.
"Go on," Kenjaku whispered.
His eyes shone with feverish anticipation.
"Run wild."
"Turn this city into the womb of a new era."
He turned away.
"Let's go, Uraume."
Though badly wounded, his aura was recovering little by little. The more chaos spread, the more the night seemed to favor him.
"Take my arm and the remaining special grade cursed objects."
Uraume moved silently, collecting the severed limb and the objects scattered near the rubble.
Kenjaku looked toward the darkness ahead.
"The Culling Game…"
His smile returned.
"It is time to raise the curtain."
Uraume supported him toward a teleportation array hidden beneath the collapsed platform.
Just before stepping into it, Kenjaku stopped.
His gaze shifted.
Shiranui still stood in the cracked ground.
The flames along the blade had not weakened.
If anything, they burned brighter now.
A thin crimson glow pulsed through the sword's edge like a heartbeat. The fire did not spread, did not consume the rubble, did not waver in the windless station. It simply burned, quiet and stubborn, as if waiting.
As if watching him.
Kenjaku's face darkened.
"That blade…"
Leaving it behind felt wrong.
A masterless cursed tool of that caliber was dangerous. Worse, this was not merely a weapon. It had become an anchor, a symbol, perhaps even a path.
For a person like Yami, Kenjaku did not want to leave behind anything that could become a path.
"This should be destroyed."
He raised his hand.
Cursed energy gathered at his fingertips.
But the moment his malice touched the air around Shiranui, the blade reacted.
Boom!
Crimson flames erupted.
The fire surged upward like a pillar, forcing Kenjaku back several steps. The heat scorched the edge of his robe, and even Uraume narrowed their eyes as frost instinctively gathered around their fingers.
Within the flames, there was no cursed energy.
Only a pressure so pure and sharp it felt divine.
A sword intent left behind by Yami.
And behind it, the faint shadow of something older.
A man with hanafuda earrings.
A sun that never set.
Even without its master, Shiranui would not allow filth to touch it.
Kenjaku's expression twisted.
"Damn thing."
He could destroy it.
Perhaps.
But not now.
Not in his current state.
Doing so would require a price, and tonight he had already paid enough.
His gaze lingered on the blade for several seconds.
Then he clicked his tongue.
"Fine."
He turned away.
"A sword without a wielder can do nothing."
The words sounded reasonable.
They did not make him feel any better.
Kenjaku took one last look at the blade burning in the ruins, then stepped into the teleportation array with Uraume.
Their figures vanished.
The fifth underground level fell silent.
Only Shiranui remained.
Alone in the shattered station.
Burning.
Waiting.
Above Shibuya, the night sky trembled.
For a single instant, the black clouds split apart.
A ray of golden sunlight pierced through the darkness and fell over Tokyo.
It lasted no more than a breath.
Yet in that brief moment, the light touched the ruined streets, the collapsed station entrances, the frightened civilians, the wounded sorcerers, and the broken city that had become the center of a catastrophe.
Then the clouds closed again.
Darkness returned.
But those who saw that light would remember it.
Because it did not feel like sunset.
It felt like dawn arriving too early.
A warning.
A promise.
Satoru Gojo had been sealed.
Yami had vanished.
Shibuya was burning.
And yet, the last words he left behind continued to echo in the hearts of everyone who heard them.
Don't worry.
When I return…
The story had not ended.
It had only begun.
At the same time, far away in Kyoto.
Inside the headquarters of the Jujutsu Higher-Ups, a group of old men sat behind screens, staring at the latest intelligence displayed before them.
The room was silent.
Not peaceful.
Hungry.
"Satoru Gojo has been sealed?"
One of them spoke at last, his voice trembling.
"And Yami…"
Another old man leaned forward, eyes wide.
"He has disappeared?"
For several seconds, no one said a word.
Then the air in the room changed.
It was not panic that spread among them.
It was ecstasy.
Dark, sticky, and rotten.
"A great opportunity."
An aged voice broke the silence.
"This is a once-in-a-thousand-years opportunity."
The old man's fingers trembled against his cane.
"Without Satoru Gojo suppressing us…"
Another voice continued, filled with barely restrained excitement.
"And without that lawless anomaly named Yami…"
The screen reflected their wrinkled faces.
Greedy.
Fearful.
Exultant.
"The Jujutsu World can finally return to its proper order."
.....
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