Three months later, Kamo Itsuki's temporary residence near Jujutsu High.
He straightened up from his workbench with a languid stretch, the faint ache of prolonged focus receding. Since sending the Zen'in sisters back, he'd remained here, immersed in the deep integration of his recent acquisitions. The plan was clear: solidify his gains, then seek out Itadori Yuji for leads on Sukuna's fingers.
Now, the work was complete. The principles of the Prison Realm, Construction Technique, and Projection Sorcery had been dissected, understood, and seamlessly woven into the ever-expanding tapestry of his Blood Manipulation.
The lab, once crammed with equipment hauled from his island base, now stood nearly empty. With a satisfied smile, he raised a hand. "Collect."
At his command, the remaining apparatus—scanners, containment units, analytical arrays—lifted into the air. As they flew toward him, they shrank, compressing into points of light that were swallowed by a single, unblinking crimson eye that had opened on the back of his left hand. When the last item vanished, the eye closed and faded, leaving unmarked skin.
Blood Manipulation: Blood Prison. A fusion ability. A sealed space within his own biology where time crawled. It could preserve, it could imprison, and it could be unsealed using the nullification properties he'd engraved into his blood, a refined echo of the Inverted Spear of Heaven.
He was ready to depart. The doorbell chimed.
Puzzled—who visited unannounced?—he opened the door to find Fushiguro Toji and a boy with defiant, spiky hair: Fushiguro Megumi.
'How did he find this place?' Kamo wondered. He'd kept Toji on retainer, a loose end for gathering intelligence, but hadn't expected a social call.
"Fushiguro-kun. To what do I owe the visit?"
"Megumi," Toji grunted, nudging the boy forward. "Call him Kamo-sensei."
"I haven't agreed to be his student," Megumi muttered, looking away.
"What was that?!" Toji's large hand came down to ruffle his son's hair roughly.
Kamo watched the domestic scene with mild exasperation. "Now, now. When did I ever agree to be a teacher? You're being rather presumptuous, Fushiguro-kun."
"Got no choice," Toji shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I can't teach him. Thought about it. You're the only one qualified for a kid this… particular."
'Huh?' Kamo was genuinely taken aback. Megumi's potential was immense, but the claim that only he could teach him was hyperbolic flattery at best.
"He doesn't look that strong," Megumi mumbled under his breath, his pride stung. "Is he even qualified to teach me?"
Thwip.
A needle-sharp spike of blood materialized, its tip kissing Megumi's neck, a single red bead welling up.
"Don't. Move." Toji's voice was flat, his eyes locked on Kamo, the command for his son.
'Ten Shadows Technique acquired,' Kamo thought, a spark of intellectual avarice igniting. A supreme cursed technique delivered to his doorstep? He'd be a fool to refuse.
"Kamo Itsuki," Toji said, his tone a low warning. "Ambushing a kid is a bit low."
"Ambush?" Kamo's voice was light. "I'm telegraphing it. Do you think he could react even if he knew?"
Before Megumi could even form the first seal for Divine Dog, the world went dark. Kamo's form flickered—a micro-teleportation—and a precise, controlled impact to a nerve cluster dropped the boy into unconsciousness.
Toji caught his son as he slumped.
Kamo's voice came from the now-empty doorway, leaving only words hanging in the air:
"Your son needs proper discipline. Otherwise, by the time you can no longer overpower him, you'll have no way to guide him at all."
The message was clear: he'd accepted the student. But on his own terms. The education of Fushiguro Megumi, heir to the Ten Shadows, had just begun—and it would be a curriculum designed by Kamo Itsuki.
When Fushiguro Megumi came to, he was back in his own bed, the familiar ceiling of his room overhead. He walked out to find his father sprawled on the sofa, watching a baseball game.
"Awake? How're you feeling?" Toji asked without looking away from the screen.
"You're my dad, and you just stood there while I got bullied," Megumi grumbled, rubbing his sore neck.
"You think I didn't want to move? I couldn't move," Toji stated flatly. The moment Kamo made his intent clear, Toji's body had locked up—not out of fear, but due to some imperceptible pressure or technique. He hadn't sensed any cursed energy, just… absolute dominion over the situation. Kamo was operating on a level beyond what Toji had witnessed before.
The truth was, Kamo's movement hadn't been particularly fast. Toji had seen it coming. The problem was his son's perception was still too underdeveloped to register the threat until it was too late. If Megumi had been sharper, he might have understood the gap and accepted the teaching opportunity. He'd failed the unspoken test.
"Megumi," Toji said, finally turning his head, his expression serious. "Kamo Itsuki is probably the strongest sorcerer alive right now. Show him some respect when you see him next."
"Him?" Megumi's youthful pride flared. "If he pushes me too far, I'll just take him down with me."
"Don't bank on Mahoraga being a trump card. That kind of thinking will get you killed." Toji felt a familiar headache coming on. His son had inherited his stubbornness in spades. No wonder the man was so hard to teach.
'Tsumiki is so much easier,' he thought, a wave of relief washing over him. His gentle, obedient daughter was a blessing, a quiet reminder of her mother. Without her, dealing with Megumi would be pure misery.
Still, Kamo's parting words had stuck with him. The man had outright stated that Megumi's future strength would rival, if not surpass, his own Heavenly Restriction. Toji chose to focus on that part. The potential was there; it just needed to be… properly managed.
Meanwhile, Kamo Itsuki, having left his residence, altered his course. The encounter with Toji had triggered a memory from the jigsaw puzzle of "future" knowledge in his mind.
Fushiguro Tsumiki. The Eighty-Eight Bridge test of courage. Kenjaku's mark.
And more importantly—one of Sukuna's fingers was supposedly sealed beneath that very bridge.
His original plan to seek out Itadori Yuji was put on hold. A confirmed lead on a finger took precedence. If he could secure it, that would be one less fragment in the wild, one less piece for an enemy to use.
His destination shifted. He would visit the Eighty-Eight Bridge first. Perhaps he could achieve two objectives at once: investigate the location for the finger, and, if the timeline was already in motion, assess the status of Tsumiki Fushiguro. Preempting one of Kenjaku's schemes while collecting a key ingredient for his own long-term containment strategy was an efficient use of time.
The hunt for Sukuna's fingers had officially begun, and the first target was conveniently linked to the family of his newest… project.
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