Chapter 112: The Vanishing of Yami
Shibuya, Underground Level Five.
After Kenjaku and Uraume left, silence swallowed the platform again.
Not peace.
Silence.
The kind that came after something had been torn apart so violently that even the echoes were afraid to remain.
Rubble carpeted the floor. Broken concrete, twisted steel, scorched tiles, melted rails, and dark stains marked every corner of the underground battlefield. The air still carried the scent of burned curses and frozen blood. A few sparks drifted through the dust like dying fireflies, briefly lighting the wreckage before fading into ash.
And at the center of it all, one blade remained.
The Special Grade cursed tool, Shiranui, stood embedded in the cracked ground.
Its master was gone.
Yet the sword still burned.
A faint crimson flame coiled around the black blade, quiet and stubborn, as though it refused to accept what had happened. As though it had been left behind not as a relic, but as a final warning.
Even without Yami, the blade guarded the ruins.
Kenjaku had retreated.
Uraume had disappeared.
But their plan had not stopped.
Far above Tokyo, hidden from ordinary eyes, countless invisible threads of Cursed Energy were still weaving through the night. Barriers overlapped. Binding conditions folded into one another. Rules were being prepared, compressed, and stretched across Japan like the first strands of a spider's web.
The Culling Game had not yet begun.
But its foundation had already been laid.
Even after losing the Prison Realm along with Satoru Gojo, even after being forced to expend the Sands of Time on Yami, Kenjaku's scheme continued to move. A thousand-year-old plan did not collapse from a single setback.
It only changed shape.
"Heh…"
In a dark passage far from the destroyed platform, a one-armed figure moved quickly through the shadows.
Kenjaku clutched the charred wound where his arm had been severed. The pain was severe enough to twist the nerves of any ordinary sorcerer into madness, but the smile on his face refused to fade.
"Finally…"
Yami had been swallowed by the chaotic turbulence of time and space.
There was no coming back from that.
The Sands of Time were not a simple cursed object that killed through force. They were a rule, an exile, a sentence cast upon a person's very existence. Once marked and swept away, the target would be thrown beyond their proper era, beyond any stable point in history.
Living, dead, trapped, erased.
It barely mattered.
Not even Satoru Gojo could have resisted that force without preparation.
As long as Yami was gone, the remaining children were not worth worrying about.
Kenjaku believed that.
Completely.
But there was one thing he did not know.
At that very moment, on the other side of time and space, countless light-years from the ruins of Shibuya, or perhaps nowhere near light-years at all, in an era already buried beneath memory…
The boy he believed to be dead opened his eyes.
And began an adventure no one in 2018 could imagine.
"This world…"
Kenjaku's smile deepened as his figure vanished into the darkness.
"…will eventually belong to us."
The scene shifted.
Tokyo, 2006.
The city was alive.
Not with screams. Not with Cursed Spirits. Not with the suffocating pressure of Curtains and blood-soaked battlefields.
Alive in the ordinary, noisy, careless way only a peaceful city could be.
People flowed through the streets in waves. Neon signs blinked above storefronts. A massive billboard played a concert trailer for a rising idol group, its speakers spilling cheerful music into the evening crowd. The smell of takoyaki, oden, cigarette smoke, and summer asphalt mixed beneath the lights.
A group of students in loose uniforms laughed as they passed by a convenience store. Office workers loosened their ties while checking flip phones. A mother tugged her child away from a capsule toy machine. Somewhere nearby, an old man complained about the price of canned coffee.
It was Tokyo.
But not the Tokyo Yami knew.
No collapsed buildings.
No Transfigured Humans.
No curse-blackened sky.
No Shibuya turned into a grave.
Just a city standing at the edge of tragedy, still ignorant of the abyss waiting ahead.
"Ugh…"
In a narrow alley away from the main street, a boy lying against the wall slowly opened his eyes.
His head throbbed as if someone had split his skull open, shaken his brain around, and put everything back in the wrong order. His stomach lurched. The world spun.
He turned to the side and dry-heaved twice.
Nothing came out.
Only air.
"…Where am I?"
Yami pressed a hand against his temple and forced himself upright.
His legs nearly gave out beneath him.
The alley was dim, cramped, and smelled faintly of rainwater and garbage. Beyond it, the street glowed with color and noise. At first glance, it should have been familiar. Tokyo was Tokyo, after all.
But the details were wrong.
The fashion was outdated.
The billboards were wrong.
The phones in people's hands were wrong.
Even the city's atmosphere felt different. Less suffocating. Less exhausted. As if the whole world had not yet learned how cruel it was supposed to become.
Yami stood there, breathing slowly.
He reached for his waist out of habit.
His hand found nothing.
Shiranui was gone.
His fingers brushed only empty air.
The blade that had accompanied him through death battles, domains, curses, and monsters had been left behind in the future.
For a moment, Yami said nothing.
Then a middle-aged office worker passing by the alley noticed him and stopped.
"Hey, young man?"
The man peered at him with mild concern. "Are you all right? You look terrible. Heatstroke?"
Yami slowly turned his head.
The man had no cursed energy to speak of. No guarded posture. No suspicion. No terror hidden behind practiced calm.
Just concern.
Ordinary, simple concern.
A kindness so casual it almost hurt.
"Do you want me to call an ambulance?" the man asked.
Yami blinked once, then shook his head.
"No. I'm fine."
His voice came out rough.
The office worker still looked doubtful. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure." Yami paused, then asked, "Sorry, but… what year is it?"
The man stared at him.
For a second, he seemed to wonder whether this strange boy had hit his head harder than he thought.
"What year?" he repeated.
"Yes."
"It's 2006." The man frowned. "Heisei 18. Did you sleep so long you forgot the calendar?"
"2006…"
Yami had already suspected it.
Still, hearing the answer aloud made his heart stop for half a beat.
He had gone back.
Not a few hours.
Not a few days.
Twelve years.
Back to 2006.
Back to the summer before everything broke.
"Thank you."
Yami lowered his head in a slight bow.
The man waved awkwardly. "No problem. Seriously, though, take care of yourself. Young people these days push themselves too hard…"
He walked away while muttering under his breath.
Yami remained at the mouth of the alley and looked up.
Above the wires and buildings, the sky was a deep, almost unreal blue.
No Curtain.
No smoke.
No cursed storm.
Just a summer sky.
Then a clear sound rang inside his mind.
[Ding!]
A familiar translucent panel appeared before his eyes.
[Detected that the host has entered a special space-time node: 2006, Hidden Inventory Arc.]
[Current location: Tokyo, Shibuya Ward.]
[Main quest updated.]
[Quest Name: Slash Across Time]
[Quest Objective: Rewrite regrets. Prevent tragedy from taking root.]
[Specific Requirements:]
[Objective One: Rewrite the destined death of the Star Plasma Vessel, Riko Amanai. Incomplete.]
[Objective Two: Prevent Suguru Geto's complete fall and avert the tragedy of the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. Incomplete.]
[Objective Three: Ensure Yu Haibara's survival and change Kento Nanami's fate as a "laborer." Incomplete.]
[Quest Reward: Synchronization increased randomly to 40-50%. Permanent Demon Slayer Mark unlocked. Key to return to the future acquired.]
[Failure Penalty: The host will be banished forever into chaotic time-space turbulence, unable to return to 2018. Host's existence will be erased.]
Yami stared at the bright red lines.
For a long while, he was silent.
Then the corner of his mouth slowly lifted.
"As expected…"
This was not only exile.
It was a chance.
A journey of redemption.
A chance to reach the beginning before the blade fell.
The massive electronic screen across the street changed programs. The idol trailer ended, replaced by a news broadcast.
"Today's news. Recently, several unusual gas explosions and building collapses have occurred across Tokyo. Police are urging citizens to remain alert and avoid restricted areas…"
Most pedestrians ignored it.
A few glanced up, then continued walking.
"In addition, according to information from an anonymous religious organization, a private ceremony concerning the Star is expected to take place soon…"
Yami's smile faded.
The noise of the city seemed to dull around him.
Gas explosions.
Building collapses.
A religious organization.
A ceremony concerning the Star.
Ordinary people would hear those words and forget them within minutes.
Yami understood them immediately.
The Jujutsu World was already moving.
The Star Religious Group.
The Star Plasma Vessel.
Riko Amanai.
Tengen's assimilation.
His fingers curled slightly.
The Hidden Inventory incident had not yet reached its conclusion.
Riko had not died.
Suguru Geto had not yet fallen.
Yu Haibara was still alive.
Kento Nanami was still a student, still carrying justice in a quieter, more tired form.
Satoru Gojo was not yet the lonely strongest of the modern era.
And Toji Fushiguro…
That monster was still out there.
Yami lowered his gaze to his own hands.
They were empty.
No Shiranui.
No weapon.
No direct connection to the future.
But they were still his hands.
His body was still here.
His breathing still worked.
And the path ahead was not yet carved in stone.
"This is really…"
His voice trembled, not from fear, but from something far more dangerous.
Hope.
"The past."
The Hidden Inventory Arc.
The summer that became the first crack in everything.
Yami suddenly laughed.
It started low, almost disbelieving, then grew brighter.
The people passing by glanced at him strangely, but he did not care.
For the first time since Shibuya, the weight crushing his chest loosened.
He had been late.
Gojo had been sealed.
Kenjaku had escaped.
He had been forced out of the future before he could finish the job.
But now?
Now the board had changed.
He had been thrown not into death, but into the source.
The place where regrets began.
If the world was cruel enough to send him back here, then he would be cruel enough to rewrite it.
"This time…"
Yami slowly clenched his fists.
He had no blade, but the light in his crimson eyes burned brighter than steel.
"I won't let anyone die."
Not Riko Amanai.
Not Yu Haibara.
Not Suguru Geto.
Not the future Satoru Gojo who laughed too loudly because silence had become unbearable.
Not the countless people whose lives had been broken because one summer had gone wrong.
"Whether it's Riko…"
His gaze sharpened.
"Haibara…"
The wind rose, tugging at the edges of his uniform.
"Or even that lost idiot, Suguru Geto."
Yami adjusted the black guitar bag on his shoulder and stepped out of the alley.
The crowd swallowed him.
The city lights flickered overhead.
Somewhere in this peaceful, noisy Tokyo, two young men who still believed they were the strongest were laughing beneath the same summer sky.
Somewhere, a girl who had been born to become a sacrifice was still alive.
Somewhere, an assassin who had abandoned the Zenin name was waiting for his chance.
And now, something that never existed in the original flow of fate had arrived.
A blade without a sword.
A future without permission.
A man who had already watched the world burn once.
Yami walked into the crowd with steady steps.
His back looked thin beneath the city lights.
But it carried the hope of an entire ruined future.
This summer, the story would be written again.
.....
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