Chapter 83: Obsession and Struggle
The Meditation Room was so quiet that one could hear the "crackle" of the kerosene lamp wick burning. A single lamp sat on the floor, its dim yellow light passing through the glass shade, casting a circle of flickering halo on the ground.
Geto Suguru sat cross-legged on the meditation cushion, his back no longer straight as usual. His entire body was loosely sunken in the shadows. He sat quietly, staring blankly at the flickering flame before him.
The flame flickered, bright and dim, reflected in his eyes, making him feel a sense of trance.
In a daze, the flame before him seemed to transform into the fluorescent light tubes of the Tokyo Jujutsu High classroom, emitting a cold white light.
He felt as if he were sitting behind his familiar desk again; next to him was Gojo Satoru, dozing with his head propped up. Silver-white hair fell onto the edge of the desk, and the collar of his uniform was loosely open.
Yu Haibara, sitting at the desk in front, was bowing his head to take notes, the rustling sound of his pen scratching the paper clearly audible.
Shoko leaned against the window, holding an unlit cigarette, her eyes calmly gazing at the plane trees outside the window.
Kento Nanami sat diagonally in front of him, his back perfectly straight, even the act of turning a page reflecting meticulous seriousness.
Principal Yaga walked in holding a pile of Cursed Corpse models, speaking loudly about the knowledge of Cursed Spirit grading. Sunlight streamed through the window, coating everyone in a warm golden hue.
Those scenes were too clear: going to eat ramen with Gojo Satoru after class.
The souvenir Yu Haibara brought back after a mission, warm with body heat.
Shoko frowning while bandaging his wounds after he got hurt, muttering "Be more careful," yet her movements were exceptionally gentle.
Kento Nanami patting his shoulder when he was confused, saying, "If it's something you want to do, stick with it."
The sky seemed eternally blue back then, and "protecting Non-Sorcerers" was still a conviction etched in his heart. Back then, he still believed in the possibility that "everyone could be happy."
The flame flickered again, and the scene suddenly switched.
This time, it was the Star Plasma Cult's base. Nanako and Mimiko surrounded him, offering him a greeting card with a crooked smiley face drawn on it, as if presenting a treasure.
Miguel patted his shoulder and said, "I will follow you until you become King."
Manami brought over freshly made Dorayaki, its steaming sweet aroma filling the entire room.
And Rin, the habitually quiet young man, who would quietly place a cup of warm water on the corner of his desk when he was working on plans late at night, or hand him a clean towel when he occasionally showed signs of exhaustion.
Those scenes were warm: the chattering laughter of the two sisters, Miguel's hearty teasing, Manami's gentle reminders, and Rin's silent companionship.
Everyone sat around a table eating, discussing plans for a vacation in Hawaii. Nanako said she wanted to learn to swim, Mimiko said she wanted to collect seashells, and Rin listened quietly nearby, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Back then, he seemed to have temporarily forgotten the burden of "the plan" and the obstacle posed by "Gojo Satoru," feeling that this kind of life was actually quite good.
Geto Suguru's fingertips twitched slightly, wanting to grasp the lingering images, but those scenes dissipated like smoke with the flickering of the flame, leaving only the jumping kerosene lamp wick and the silence of the room.
He slowly closed his eyes, a sense of bitterness rising in his throat.
It turned out that the past he thought had been covered by his "ideal," the warmth he deliberately ignored, had always been hidden deep within his heart.
Former comrades, current family—those vivid figures, those beautiful moments—pricked his heart like fine needles. He had always believed he was walking the righteous path "for his own kind," but only now did he realize that in the pursuit of "greater justice," he seemed to have gradually lost something far more important.
The kerosene lamp's light still flickered, but the silence inside the Meditation Room grew heavier.
Geto Suguru sat motionless on the meditation cushion, only the corner of his eye occasionally falling toward the doorway, as if expecting something, yet also running away from something.
Geto Suguru's fingertips moved slightly, as if trying to grasp something, but only touched the cold fabric of the meditation cushion.
The kerosene lamp's flame trembled, the light reflected in his eyes fluctuating between bright and dim. In a daze, he couldn't distinguish whether what he saw was a memory or a dream he didn't want to wake up from.
Those figures came and went within the flame, eventually transforming into a soft ball of light that merged with the kerosene lamp's glow before him.
He sat quietly, even his breathing softened, as if afraid of disturbing this brief reunion. It turned out that the times he had hidden in his heart, whether the exuberance of his youth or the later warmth of companionship, had never truly faded away.
As those warm scenes circulated before his eyes, Geto Suguru was nearly submerged in them—the laughter in the Jujutsu High classroom, the domestic warmth of the Star Plasma Cult base. Those moments, free from the burden of "ideals" and the need for choices, made him want to "stay here forever."
But the next second, the image suddenly warped, and the warmth was torn apart by the color of blood.
Amanai Riko's head suddenly exploded in a splash of dazzling blood, and the warm liquid seemed to splatter onto his face.
The sound of applause from the white-robed followers of the Star Plasma Cult instantly erupted in his ears. The applause was sharp and fanatical, like countless needles piercing his ears, making his brain buzz.
He saw Gojo Satoru holding Riko's corpse, his face under his silver-white hair tightly strained, his eyes filled with icy fury, yet he still turned and asked him: "Suguru, should we kill them?"
"Kill them!" The voice in his heart roared. How dare those people arbitrarily take lives for the sake of "faith"?
But the version of himself in the memory merely froze in place. That was the first time he felt powerless against the malice of the Non-Sorcerers, and the first time a rift appeared between "protection" and "slaughter."
The scene jumped again, and the frail figures of Nanako and Mimiko appeared before him.
They were confined in a rusty iron cage, curled up like livestock, their faces filled with terror, the light in their eyes nearly extinguished.
Rage instantly surged through his heart, burning through his limbs like wildfire. Those ordinary people who treated children as "monsters," those "monkeys" who wantonly harmed their own kind, did not deserve to live in this world!
Blazing fire suddenly ignited around him. The flames consumed the hateful figures; the sounds of burning and screams mingled together, yet they gave him a twisted sense of "liberation."
Finally, the "monkeys" were gone from his sight, and the grating applause was silenced.
But after the flames died down, what remained was not light, but endless darkness, surging from all directions like a tide and completely engulfing him.
The icy darkness wrapped around him; helplessness and loneliness pressed down on his chest like a boulder, making it almost impossible to breathe.
He wanted to struggle, to swim upward, but there was no support beneath his feet, and he could only flail uselessly in the darkness.
Just as he was about to give up, a faint light suddenly shone in the distance. He saw the figure of Gojo Satoru, the guy who was always so carefree, now frantically waving at him, his face filled with anxiety.
Behind Gojo Satoru, Shoko stood with a cigarette dangling from her lips, her brows tightly furrowed, yet still reaching out a hand. Principal Yaga stood nearby, his broad palm slightly open.
Rin, Nanako, and Mimiko were there too. The two sisters stood on their tiptoes, their small faces full of worry, desperately shouting "Geto-sama" at him.
Their hands were stretched far out, as if trying to pull him out of the darkness.
"Satoru..." Geto Suguru's throat tightened. He swam desperately toward that light, as if grasping the last straw.
He wanted to escape the darkness behind him, to return to those people. He was too tired—too tired to bear the "future of the Jujutsu Sorcerers," too tired, even, to abandon that unattainable plan.
But just as he was about to touch Gojo Satoru's hand, an icy cold palm suddenly grabbed his ankle.