Your Life As A Tokyo Jujutsu High Background Student

Chapter 44 - When you can't win the game, you change the rules.

Ieiri Shoko had always viewed politics as a pointless game, a rat race where the rats were wrinkly sorcerers with egos the size of Tokyo Tower. The jujutsu world was a festering wound, infected to its very core. And she'd long ago decided it wasn't her job to fix it. Live and let live – or in the case of those dinosaurs on the High Council, live and let die of old age. As long as they stayed out of her lab and left her alone, Shoko was content to let sleeping curses lie.

Time, after all, was a luxury in this line of work, too precious to waste on lost causes. Why tilting at windmills when there were lives to save and research to do? Not her circus, not her monkeys. It was a philosophy that had served her well... until it didn't.

Until Shibuya became ground zero for the apocalypse.

Until Gojo, for all his godlike power, fell into a trap like an overgrown child reaching for candy. His screw-up had shattered more than just the physical landscape of Tokyo; it had cracked the very foundations of the jujutsu world.

Until you, with your trademark blend of brilliance and batshit crazy, decided to pick up the pieces. To challenge the unchallengeable. To fix the unfixable.

Somewhere along this crooked path, Shoko had made the fatal error of giving a damn. About you, specifically. When exactly had you transformed from her eager unofficial assistant into the annoying little sibling she never asked for? The transition was as imperceptible as it was irreversible.

Now, she found herself grudgingly invested in your survival, in your shot at a future that didn't soon end in a body bag.

Now, as she surveyed the two of you – Gojo radiating his usual smug aura and you vibrating with poorly contained schemes, both sprawled out on her couch like a pair of lazy cats – Shoko felt a headache brewing. This was what she got for caring. A one-way ticket to the political thunderdome she'd spent years avoiding.

Your eyes met hers, sparkling with that dangerous mix of determination and mischief. Trouble. You were all kinds of trouble. Shoko sighed, already mourning her peaceful days of research and the blissful ignorance of jujutsu politics. "The things we do for family," she muttered under her breath, "even the family we never wanted."

"Alright, you lunatics," Shoko growled, yanking a chair closer with enough force to make the metal legs shriek against the floor. She plopped down, fixing you both with a stern glare. "Let's hear your idea to fix the steaming pile of shit we're in."

Gojo perked up, though "perky" probably wasn't the right word for whatever haunted gleam was in his eyes these days. "Oh, I've got ideas, Sho. Plenty of 'em."

His signature cocky grin was there, but it was a poor facsimile of its former self. The Shibuya Incident had carved its mark deep – his silver hair was a grimy, tangled mess, and a five o'clock shadow darkened the hollows beneath his eyes. Fine lines you'd never noticed before framed his mouth, etched there seemingly overnight. He looked broken. A far cry from the invincible force you'd always known. No wonder Mei Mei had taken the bait so eagerly. The bastard actually looked... beatable.

"How about," Gojo continued, his hands slashing through the air in sharp, agitated motions, "we cut out the cancer at its source? Those decrepit bastards on the Council – they've had their time. Caused enough damage. I say we take them out. All of them." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Clean slate."

Shoko's eyes blazed. "For fuck's sake, Gojo, we've been over this. Killing them solves jack shit. You'll just create a power vacuum, and guess what fills those?" She leaned forward, jabbing a finger at him. "More of the same. Different faces, same goddamn rot."

"Not if I don't let it," Gojo snapped back, his smirk twisting, more snarl than smile now. "I'll keep cleaning house until the message sticks. However long it takes."