Your Life As A Tokyo Jujutsu High Background Student

Chapter 52 - The art of keeping grown men in line

Nanami Kento was a good man.

No, actually – he was one of the very best men, the finest specimens who'd ever graced this mortal plane. The kind of man you'd expect to find in a storybook, rescuing kittens from trees and helping little old ladies cross the street. In a world where the bar for decency was so low it's subterranean, Nanami soared above and beyond. Which meant among the fundamentally messed-up breed of jujutsu sorcerers, he was a deity.

No one quite understood how that was even possible, given the toxic work environment and the general lack of common sense that permeated this profession. Maybe he was secretly a unicorn in disguise. Or an angel sent from the heavens to suffer through Gojo's shenanigans for the sake of humanity.

Whatever the case, one thing was crystal clear: Nanami's name was spoken with respect, even reverence, throughout the jujutsu world.

And being the kind, responsible soul that he was, it came as no surprise that Nanami couldn't sit his perfectly toned ass in the infirmary and recover properly as Shoko had (repeatedly) ordered him to. Not with Tokyo teetering on the brink of utter annihilation, cursed spirits running amok, and his juniors risking life and limb on the frontlines.

Of course, Nanami was itching to leap back into the fray ASAP. He would have done so already, if there hadn't been one tiny logistical issue: he couldn't find his goddamn blade. Or his impeccable suits. Or even a single one of his socks. Every item from his emergency stash – hidden in three separate locations on campus, for just such an occasion – had vanished into thin air.

Now, Nanami's worldly possessions had been reduced to: (1) a collection of flimsy hospital scrubs – the kind that tied at the back and was decidedly not conducive to running, jumping, or engaging in any kind of activity that required even the slightest hint of mobility without exposing one's backside to the world; (2) a set of teddy bear print pajamas – a truly hideous gag gift from Gojo that was currently serving as a constant reminder of his predicament and Gojo's twisted sense of humor; and (3) a pair of plastic flip-flops that screamed "retirement home chic" he'd acquired from the lost and found bin.

Suffice it to say, Nanami was ill-equipped to even leave campus at this point, let alone go on any kind of mission. And his frustration was reaching critical mass.

In a last-ditch effort that reeked of desperation and poor life choices, Nanami had recruited his trusted junior, Ino, to aid in what would later be known as The Great Gear Hunt of 2018. Taking advantage of Shoko's relative inattentiveness and the general chaos reigning at the school, the duo had spent the entirety of yesterday, and even the better part of this morning turning the place upside down.

They'd dug through every conceivable hiding spot: storage rooms, broom closets, training rooms, bathrooms – they'd even checked the gardens, just in case his stuff had somehow decided to sprout legs and join Panda for some quality photosynthesis time. But it was all for naught. Not a cufflink, not a wayward sock, not even a whiff of his signature cologne. Nanami's stuff was nowhere to be found.

"It has to be around here somewhere," Nanami groaned as he and Ino trudged back to his room in the infirmary after yet another fruitless morning.

"I'm out of ideas. We've searched everywhere. Twice. Maybe three times in some places. I'm starting to know the dust bunnies by name." Ino said, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

The poor guy looked like he was about to burst into tears. This whole situation was rapidly spiraling into a surreal nightmare.

"Not everywhere," Nanami corrected.

Ino recognized that expression on Nanami's face. It was the warning sign that a man was about to engage in a dangerous, potentially life-threatening course of action. The kind of action that spelled imminent doom for anyone caught in the crossfire.