Your Life As A Tokyo Jujutsu High Background Student

Chapter 43 - Damn it, Choso!

The High Council of Elders had governed the jujutsu world since time immemorial. With wrinkled fingers clutching the reins of power, their tried-and-true strategy was simple: ignore problems until they vanished into thin air, or until the troublemakers kicked the bucket (Natural causes or otherwise – they weren't picky). So, when these corrupt fossils suddenly sprang into action, seizing the opportunity presented by Gojo's precarious condition to pull some serious dick moves in a single morning, it caught everyone off guard.

Their first act: Raiding Shoko's research. The Council's goons stomped into Shoko's lab, only to be greeted by the absolute clusterfuck that was her natural habitat. Papers and equipment sprawled across every conceivable surface, engaged in what appeared to be a passionate orgy of disorganization. The air smelled of stale coffee, antiseptic, and a hint of "dear god, what died in here?"

Shoko's notes, scrawled in a chicken scratch that would make doctors everywhere feel better about their handwriting, were liberally decorated with coffee stains and unidentifiable smudges (definitely drool – those all-nighters were brutal). Equations and diagrams danced across pages like drunken spiders, occasionally interrupted by doodles of what might have been analysis of cursed techniques or just really angry potatoes.

Her so-called organization system (and yes, contrary to all visual evidence, she actually had one) was a mystery served with a side of "what the actual fuck." It made sense to exactly two people on the planet – Shoko and you. To everyone else, it looked like the aftermath of a tornado hitting a paper factory, then deciding it hadn't quite finished the job and circling back for round two.

Needless to say, you had zero interest in helping these jackboots rob Shoko of her life's work. And Shoko was probably busy sleeping off a hangover when the raid went down. The poor schmucks tasked with this unholy mission had no clue what constituted precious research and what was yesterday's takeout menu (hint: the menu was more legible). In the end, they just shrugged and carted everything away in boxes, figuring that somewhere in this paper avalanche lay the secrets they sought.

At least, they had the good sense to spare Beelzebub the squirrel. If a single hair on that furry little hellspawn had been harmed, Shoko's wrath would've been biblical. The High Council's corrupted asses would've been toast, extra crispy.

As the last box disappeared out the door, you slumped against the wall a good distance away. This was really happening. The Council was making its move, and things were about to get a whole lot worse before they got better.

The Council's second act of brilliance: Slapping Yuji with a death sentence once again – pinning all of Sukuna's Shibuya shenanigans on the poor boy. It was so predictable, it almost hurt. But like the bumbling old windbags they were, their genius plan hit a snag: Yuji was nowhere to be found. Why? Because you'd already shipped him off yesterday, one step ahead of these fossilized fools, for now at least.

As soon as the bait was cast, you'd gathered Yuji, Megumi, and Panda in your shoebox of a dorm room to lay out their mission. As you perched on your desk chair, your calculating gaze swept over the assembled crew. Yuji, a bundle of nervous energy. Megumi, shrouded in his usual emo-cloud. And Panda... Well, Panda was Panda.

Then, your gaze zeroed in on one particular oddity.

It was the hair, really. Black, stringy, pulled into two ridiculously high, spiky ponytails that seemed to defy the very laws of physics. Add to that a gloomy expression and a weird mark sprawled across his nose like one of Shoko's drunken doodles. He was all sharp angles and shadows, a human embodiment of impending doom. And the kicker? Somehow, this Emo Garu managed to out-gloom even Fushiguro Megumi. A feat you honestly hadn't thought possible.