The Honored One, Chapter 65

Satoru meandered through Shibuya’s streets, hands in his pockets, cloak pulled close. He avoided main roads near the fortress, not wanting to draw attention. Instead, he stuck to mid-level districts where shops clustered in narrow alleys, each storefront draped in vibrant banners. The morning was still fresh, the artificial sky tinged with pale gold.

He walked at a leisurely pace, gazing at the people around him. Sorcerers bustled everywhere—teenagers summoning harmless cursed spirits to impress their friends, adults hauling crates with telekinesis, elderly women humming while conjuring little helper shades to carry groceries. The mundane use of Jujutsu made him smile.

He paused by a stall selling sweet rice balls. The vendor, a stocky man with a faint glow of cursed energy around his hands, shaped the rice with a flick of his fingers, not touching it at all. It floated and formed perfect spheres, then dropped into wrappers. A small, playful spirit darted around the cart, fetching ingredients from high shelves.

“That’s neat,” Satoru remarked, stepping closer.

The vendor glanced over. His face tightened warily for a second, but then he nodded. 

“We do what we can,” he said. “You want one?”

Satoru gave a short nod, letting a coin clink onto the counter. The vendor’s spirit plucked it, handing it to him with a flourish. Satoru raised a brow. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen such casual mastery of cursed energy.

He bit into the sweet rice, tasting the sugary bean paste within. The flavor was simple, but it hit the spot. He chewed slowly, scanning the crowds. Sorcerers in matching uniforms left a nearby academy, chatting about “Domain expansions” and “Kiryuin techniques.” A group of older men sipped tea in a corner, illusions swirling around them in the shape of dancing koi fish.

Walking on, Satoru inhaled the city’s air. It carried the smell of incense, street food, and faint residue from thousands of Cursed Techniques used daily. He found it strangely comforting. The politeness of the Aeldari had been nice—almost too nice—but this was home. Human hustle. Human chaos.

I miss this, he thought. Never realized how much until now.

He wove around a pair of children playing with conjured paper birds. One soared overhead, flapping tiny wings made of cursed paper. They squealed in delight. Satoru let out a low chuckle. He pictured what life might’ve been like if he’d arrived here before meeting the Aeldari, before becoming tangled in cosmic threats. Maybe he’d have settled down, taught at some local sorcerer school, made a difference in small ways. Or maybe he would’ve been content to live in relative obscurity, practicing other things that were unrelated to Jujutsu, like writing poetry–haikus to be exact. 

He slowed by a large fountain, shaped like a stylized dragon coiling around a pillar. Streams of shimmering water sprayed from its jaws, glinting under overhead lights. A teenage Sorcerer stood beside it, practicing a water technique that made droplets float in delicate patterns. Satoru paused to watch. The kid’s movements were clumsy, but determined. He bobbed his head as if following instructions from a teacher who wasn’t there.

Satoru remembered his own teenage days, training at Jujutsu High, bickering with Shoko, playfully teasing Geto. A pang settled in his chest. He looked away, swallowing down the memories. 

Focus on the present, he told himself. The fortress. The brood. The mission.

He headed into a side alley, stepping around stacked crates that smelled of fish. A trio of Sorcerers passed by carrying large rods brimming with cursed inscriptions. He guessed they worked for a minor clan, performing street-level exorcisms or cleaning up minor curses. They didn’t spare him a glance. Everyone had their own tasks.

Time slipped by. He realized he’d spent hours just walking, letting the city’s current pull him along. But it felt good. He wasn’t scouting for infiltration routes or rummaging for clues—he was simply being here, among humans who used cursed energy like second nature. The day was calm, so far. No sign of the Genestealers. No mass assassinations yet. Perhaps it was too soon.

He found himself drifting into a quieter quarter, where older buildings stood in neat rows. The architecture here resembled old Japan—wooden shutters, sloping eaves—yet reinforced with Imperium materials for load-bearing. Painted talismans hung from door frames, fluttering in the breeze. Each one a ward against lesser curses.

He inhaled, savoring the faint spice of wards. The day was bright, street corners lit by small, floating orbs of light. He guessed these wards were family traditions, passed down for generations. People walked slowly, greeting neighbors with small bows, politely acknowledging each other’s cursed presence.

Satoru stopped at a tea stall set up under a centuries-old cherry tree. Its blossoms glowed with a faint pink luminescence, an effect of repeated infusions of cursed energy over centuries. The tree’s trunk was gnarled and thick, engraved with protective runes. A woman sat at a low table, ladling tea from a steaming kettle into small cups. He sat on a cushion opposite her, paying a few coins.

She nodded with a gentle smile, handing him a delicate cup. The tea was fragrant, slightly sweet. He sipped, letting the warmth spread through his body. A breeze rustled the cherry blossoms overhead, petals drifting in lazy swirls. He let out a contented breath, ignoring the tension in his shoulders for a moment.

Maybe I could've lived here, he mused, glancing at the passersby. A father leading a young daughter by the hand, both practicing small illusions in their palms. A pair of teenage Sorcerers bickering about clan politics. A vendor showcasing protective talismans shaped like small foxes. All ordinary, in a uniquely extraordinary way.

But I have that fortress waiting, he reminded himself. And a brood that might strike any day.

He finished the tea, placed the cup down, and offered a polite dip of his head to the woman. She returned it, her eyes warm, as though sensing his appreciation. Then he rose and moved on, stepping back into the broader avenues. The city’s hum enveloped him once more.

Suddenly, a commotion caught his ear. Shouts. Scampering footsteps. He turned, spotting a small figure darting through a sparse crowd, followed by a group of older, taller Sorcerers wearing matching jackets. Satoru recognized the boy’s scrappy form: Toji.

Ah, he thought, smirking. Still picking fights?

He saw Toji’s face—set in a scowl, mouth tight as he sprinted, arms pumping. The older kids, maybe three or four of them, all brandished low-level cursed energy around their fists or legs to try and corner him. Toji skidded around a corner, nearly colliding with a kiosk selling spelled trinkets.

Satoru chuckled under his breath, stepping closer to observe. He hung back for a second, letting Infinity keep him unnoticed. The older kids cursed at Toji, hurling insults about him being “cursed energy-deficient,” mocking his “weak blood.” Toji said nothing, just glared, then kept running.

Satoru could’ve intervened, but he wanted to see how Toji handled it. The boy darted into an alley, the older kids close behind. They turned a corner. Satoru heard scuffles, a yelp, and a clang of metal. Then more shouting.

He strolled in that direction, controlling his pace, curiosity piqued. If Toji was cornered, maybe Satoru would step in. But if the kid fought them off? That’d be fun to watch.

He found them in a cramped back alley piled with crates. Toji’s back was to a wall, fists clenched, teeth bared. One older kid smirked, swirling a small cursed flame in his palm. Another brandished a spectral blade. A third sneered, flexing illusions that flickered around him. The last, the tallest, stepped forward with knuckles crackling with faint lightning.

Toji readied himself, stance low, eyes darting for an escape route. His limbs tensed, coiled like a spring. Despite lacking cursed energy, he brimmed with raw physical might from that Heavenly Restriction. Satoru could almost sense it thrumming under the boy’s skin.

The flame-wielding kid advanced first, hurling a quick burst of cursed fire. Toji dropped and rolled behind a crate, letting the flame fizzle against the wood. The kid cursed, conjuring more flame. The tall lightning user snickered, stepping around, trying to flank Toji.

Satoru watched from a small distance, leaning against a wall. The illusions guy conjured phantom spikes that lunged at Toji from behind. The boy twisted, slapping them aside with surprising speed. His motions were fluid, entirely physical, no cursed energy. But his reflexes were near superhuman.

They pressed him, a coordinated attack. The flame user feinted high while the illusions swirled in from the sides. Toji kicked off a crate, soared above the illusions, then slammed a fist into the flame user’s face. The older kid reeled, fire sputtering.

The tall one with lightning stepped in, jabbing at Toji’s ribs. Sparks crackled, zapping through the air. Toji grunted, skidding back, but stayed upright. He landed a solid punch in return, knocking the lightning user’s breath out. Yet the kid’s cursed charge stung Toji’s arm, making him hiss.

Satoru suppressed a grin. The boy was holding his own, but the group’s combined effort might overwhelm him eventually. He wondered if he should step in. Then he saw the illusions guy conjure a wide net of spectral chains, tangling around Toji’s legs. Toji tried to leap away but was snagged. The flame user, nursing a swollen cheek, stumbled up, flame coiling in his hand again.

The illusions guy cackled. “Caught you now, freak. Let’s see you punch your way out of a net of illusions.”

Toji growled, struggling to tear the chains with brute force. They flickered and wavered, but refused to snap. The flame user advanced again, raising a glowing hand, hatred gleaming in his eyes.

Satoru sighed. Time to intervene. He lifted a single finger, letting a tiny thread of Blue spool out. It latched onto the illusions guy from behind, yanking him off balance. The illusions flickered, weakening enough for Toji to pull free. The illusions guy hit the ground, stunned.

Flame user spun around, eyes wide, trying to see what happened. Satoru flicked another small burst of Blue, sending a crate rolling across the ground. It smacked into the flame user’s legs, knocking him flat. The lightning user blinked, confusion etched on his face, then Satoru gave a third nudge of Blue, toppling the last guy.

Toji blinked, glancing around, realizing his bonds were gone. He shot a quick look into the darkness where Satoru stood. For a second, their gazes met. Satoru shrugged, lips curling into a casual smirk, as if to say Don’t mention it. Then Infinity masked him again, rendering him invisible to the older kids.

Spitting curses, the older kids scrambled to their feet, dazed. They exchanged nervous looks, as if suspecting an unseen helper. The illusions guy hissed. “Screw this. Let’s go.”

They hurried off, muttering about curses or unseen guardians, leaving Toji standing alone. He breathed heavily, arms tense. After a moment, the boy wiped a smear of blood from his lip. Then he scanned the alley’s shadows.

Satoru let Infinity shimmer away enough for Toji to see him. He stepped forward, footsteps light. “You okay?”

Toji rolled his eyes, trying to hide a grimace from where lightning had grazed him. 

“I was fine,” he said stiffly.

Satoru’s grin widened. “Sure you were.”

Toji huffed, leaning against a wall, wincing slightly at the pressure on his bruised side. “Didn’t ask you to help.”

“Never said you did.” Satoru approached, peering at the faint burn mark on Toji’s forearm. “Lightning was a cheap shot. Hurt much?”

Toji jerked his arm away. “I can handle it.”

Satoru raised both hands in a show of calm. “Alright, tough guy. Just checking.”

They stood there, tension thick. Toji’s breathing steadied, and after a moment, he relaxed his stance. 

“Are you here to recruit me again?” he asked, voice edged with wary sarcasm.

Satoru shook his head. “Nah. Just roaming. Saw you in trouble. Decided to watch the show.”

Toji snorted, not quite a laugh. He glanced away, frowning. “I had it under control.”

Satoru nodded. “Sure.”

Silence settled, broken only by the drip of water from a busted pipe overhead. Toji wiped more blood from the corner of his mouth, checking his knuckles, which were raw from punching illusions. Satoru studied him, noting the bruises forming along the boy’s ribs.

Finally, Toji sighed. 

“Guess… thanks,” he muttered, almost too soft to hear.

Satoru’s grin flickered. He nodded. “Don’t mention it, kid. You did most of the work anyway.”

Toji looked away, rubbing at his arm. “Why are you still here? Thought you’d be off doing your fortress raid.”

Satoru shrugged. “Got some time to kill. My plan might take a while to set up. No rush.”

Toji eyed him warily. “You found a way in?”

Satoru gave a noncommittal shrug. “Working on it.”

Toji blew out a breath, stepping from the shadow of the alley into the faint light of a streetlamp. “Hope you have a death wish.”

Satoru laughed, stepping after him. “If I die, it’ll be spectacular.”

They walked side by side down the quiet alley. People passed the junction behind them, paying little attention. The city’s neon glow bathed the walls in shifting colors. After a minute, Toji stopped, turning to face Satoru.

“Can’t believe you’re strolling around like everything’s normal,” he said. “Aren’t you worried the clans will catch on to your plan?”

Satoru shrugged. “They might suspect something. But they have bigger worries. The clan heirs are always paranoid about each other. And Sukuna’s fortress has no shortage of foes. Another random Sorcerer won’t raise too many eyebrows.”

Toji narrowed his eyes. “And if you slip up?”

Satoru’s grin was lopsided. “Then I’ll fight my way out. Simple.”

Toji let out a quiet scoff. “Must be nice… being so sure you can beat anyone.”

Satoru lifted a hand, letting Infinity briefly shimmer around his fingers. “It has its perks. But it’s lonely, too.”

Toji’s expression twitched. “Lonely? You have all that power.”

Satoru sighed. “Power doesn’t fill every gap. Trust me. It certainly doesn’t fill the void of loneliness”

Toji’s gaze flicked downward. He didn’t reply. Silence lingered again.

At length, Satoru started walking, and Toji followed, albeit a step behind. They emerged onto a broader street where a few small stalls sold late-night snacks. The air smelled of sweet dumplings and grilled fish. Satoru’s stomach rumbled softly, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since that rice ball.

He glanced at Toji, who looked half-ready to bolt. “Hungry?”

Toji shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “I’m fine.”

Satoru chuckled, heading for a stall anyway. The vendor sold skewers of grilled meat and vegetables, each lightly enchanted to retain flavor. Satoru handed over a coin for two skewers, then offered one to Toji.

The boy hesitated, jaw tight, then snatched it, muttering a curt “thanks” under his breath. They ate in silence, leaning against a low railing that overlooked a lower plaza. People bustled below, Sorcerers practicing illusions, children chasing cursed fireflies.

Satoru swallowed a bite, scanning the scene. He loved watching everyday magic. It reminded him of what Jujutsu society could have been like in his old world. A place where curses were routine, not calamities.

He glanced at Toji, noticing how the boy tore into the skewer, devouring the food quickly. Probably starving. Satoru let a small smile tug at his lips.

“When did you last eat?” he asked softly.

Toji shrugged, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yesterday, I guess.”

Satoru nodded, not pressing. He finished his skewer, then tossed the stick into a nearby waste bin. “You got somewhere to stay tonight?”

Toji frowned. “Yeah, places. Don’t worry about it.”

Satoru didn’t push. The kid’s pride was ironclad, it seemed. They stayed quiet, letting the city’s hum wash over them.

Eventually, Toji sighed, gaze flicking up. “Why do you keep talking to me?”

Satoru tilted his head. “I enjoy your company.”

Toji gave him a disbelieving look. “I’m a street urchin with no cursed energy. You’re an off-worlder who could blow up the city. Doesn’t make sense.”

Satoru’s smile was faint. “Life rarely does. Besides, I like people who don’t fall over themselves to impress me.”

Toji scoffed, crossing his arms. “Whatever.”

They watched a group of young Sorcerers pass, giggling as they conjured small illusions overhead. One illusion took shape as a cartoonish Sukuna face, brandishing four arms in mock threat. The kids laughed, then let it fizzle away.

Satoru’s eyes lingered on that fleeting image. 

Sukuna, worshiped and feared, he thought, yet these kids treat him like a spooky story.

He turned to Toji. “Ever wonder what life would be like if you had cursed energy?”

The boy tensed, then shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. This is what I got.”

Satoru nodded. “And you make it work.”

Toji eyed him warily. “I manage.”

Satoru pushed off the railing. “Well, kid, I won’t hold you up. I got more roaming to do, see if anything interesting’s happening. Stay alive.”

Toji nodded, but his eyes held a flicker of something—maybe curiosity, maybe gratitude. He turned away, striding off into the crowd without a goodbye.

Satoru watched him go, feeling a twist of amusement and empathy. Then he stepped forward, letting the city envelop him again