I Died in a Knife Fight and Reincarnated into Jujutsu Kaisen

The room was colder than it should have been, an unnatural chill that seemed to seep into the very bones of those who occupied it. Nestled deep beneath Jujutsu Tech, the stone walls bore the weight of hundreds of years of history, layered with the echoes of incantations and the shadows of power struggles. The air was thick, pungent with the smell of incense burnt long ago, mixed with dust that had settled like a shroud over relics of magic long forgotten. Old grudges lingered here, palpable and heavy.

Three elders presided over the gathering, seated high upon ornate wooden platforms that loomed over the younger sorcerers below, their faces obscured by the dual veils of tradition and disdain. At the forefront sat the Zenin elder, her lacquered haori a canvas for such intricate embroidery, a twisted plum blossom that symbolised both beauty and decay. Her hair was pulled back into a tight silver coil, each strand in place with meticulous precision, and her lips bore a dark, striking shade that whispered of toxicity. Her eyes were deadly sharp, glinting like blades capable of cutting through any pretence.

To her right was a robust, broad-shouldered man from the Kamo clan, whose presence commanded respect. He rested an intricately carved cane across his knees, his crimson-stained robes pristine, reflecting an aura of authority and lineage. The deep hues complemented his furrowed brow and stoic gaze, suggesting a man who had witnessed the rise and fall of many.

The third elder, whose clan affiliation remained shrouded in ambiguous whispers, wore robes crafted from black-on-black fabric that seemed to absorb the light around him. His face was obscured beneath a shadowy hood, lending him an aura of mystery, a personification of death and the secrets it held.

Satoru Gojo, the youngest member and a force to be reckoned with, stood before them, arms crossed with an air of nonchalance, his ever-present sunglasses masking his eyes from scrutiny. He radiated a confidence that ran counter to the tension hanging in the air.

"He isn't bound to any clan," the Zenin elder broke the silence, her voice smooth yet laden with poison. "That alone is what makes him a threat."

"His actions make him dangerous," the Kamo elder interjected, leaning slightly forward, his eyes narrowing as he calculated his words. "There are patterns to his behaviour that cannot be ignored."

The hooded elder's dry voice scraped through the air like parchment cracking open. "He isn't just powerful. He's ungovernable."

Gojo's lips curled into a faint smile that didn't reach the depths of his azure eyes. "So what's the plan? Chain him up like some rabid dog?"

"If a dog bites too freely," the Zenin elder retorted sharply, her gaze unwavering, "we muzzle it or, if necessary, we put it down."

The Kamo elder leaned in further, his interest piqued. "We aren't asking for his execution. Not yet. However, the clans are watching your every move, Gojo. You vouch for this… Alex. You bear the consequences that follow."

Gojo's smile faltered, the light slipping from his expression like sand through fingers. "You're making a mistake."

The hooded elder shifted slightly, the air around him growing denser. "The only mistake would be to overlook what he could become. You know the results of allowing individuals like him to roam unchecked."

Silence fell heavily, and Gojo turned away, the weight of their warnings hanging in the atmosphere like a noose preparing to tighten.

Outside, the grass rustled softly in the evening breeze. The leaves stirred gently, whispering secrets to one another. Alex sat alone on a stone bench, elbows resting on his knees, gazing up into the fading sky. The last vestiges of orange light were bleeding into deep purples, painting a fleeting canvas as day slipped quietly into night.

Gojo stood a few meters behind him, an imposing presence in the dimming light, but he remained silent.

Without turning, Alex broke the stillness. "What the hell are you staring at?"

Gojo took a few deliberate steps forward, the gravel crunching softly beneath his sandals, until he was close enough to speak without raising his voice. "They want you leashed."

A snort escaped Alex, filled with mock. "I figured."

"And I'm supposed to be the one holding the leash," Gojo stated evenly.

This made Alex turn his head just enough to gauge the sincerity in Gojo's expression, his eyes a mix of curiosity and challenge. "Going to?"

Gojo shook his head slowly, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. "No. But I had to come tell you face-to-face. When they come for you, you'll know I didn't instigate it."

"Comforting," Alex muttered, his tone laced with sarcasm. "You going to try to stop them?"

Gojo offered a soft, sad smile that hinted at more than just regret. "I might blink. Once."

Within the chamber bathed in shadows, the atmosphere pulsed with an unnatural rhythm, like a heartbeat that thrummed beneath the surface. Cursed energy crept across the floor like a ghostly fog, thick and alive.

Choso stood barefoot before an altar carved of bones, hands stained crimson as he meticulously traced intricate spirals into the stone's cold surface. Behind him, two glass incubation tanks contained veiled shapes, their forms barely discernible yet vibrating with latent energy.

"They're awakening," Choso murmured, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "They sense movement. They are stirring."

From the deeper shadows emerged a figure, calm, composed, cloaked in ceremonial robes that rustled softly as he approached. It was Kenjaku, his presence weighing heavily in the cursed air.

"Patience," Kenjaku's voice was low, almost indulgent, like a warm whisper that pricked at the skin. "Everything must unfold in its proper time. When they finally awaken, they will require guidance. Rage without direction becomes wasted potential."

Choso pivoted sharply, his eyes glowing with fervent intensity. "They are my brothers. They do not need your guidance."

Kenjaku's smile was thin, almost predatory. "And yet, they rest in tanks of my design. Remember that."

He strolled past the vessels with an unsettling grace, one hand brushing against the glass as if caressing the latent energy inside. Within, faint silhouettes twisted and turned, restless yet unsynchronised.

"Alex," Kenjaku mused, his tone shifting to one of intrigued curiosity. "What a fascinating anomaly he is. I wonder… when the time arrives, will he cast his lot with the exorcists, or will he embrace the path of evolution?"

Choso fell silent, his gaze unwavering but filled with unspoken defiance.

Kenjaku turned to leave, a final suggestion hanging in the air. "Prepare yourself, Choso. Soon they will awaken, and a war will follow."

Back in his quarters, Alex received a scroll neatly laid out on his desk, sealed with red wax that promised essential tidings. He broke the seal with disinterest, unfolding the parchment to read its contents.

**Mission:** Suspected Cursed Womb – Western Detention Centre 

**Team:** Itadori. Fushiguro. Kugisaki. Alex. 

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he folded the scroll back up. 

Just then, a knock echoed from the door behind him. 

"You coming, Tiger?" Nobara leaned against the doorframe, half-dressed and exuding a playful smugness that instantly raised the atmosphere.

Alex turned slightly, his grin widening. "Let's see if this one screams better than the last."