(THO) CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

It was a stupid idea. Gojo knew that.  Not the kind of stupid that got people killed, he could handle that. Not the reckless kind either; he

It was a stupid idea, Gojo knew that. 

Not the kind of stupid that got people killed, he could handle that. Not the reckless kind either; he was reckless by profession. This was different.

This was sentimental.

And somehow, that was worse.

He sat cross-legged on the edge of his favorite rooftop, high above the west end of Brockton Bay. One hand rested lazily on his knee, the other flicked pebbles below. He didn’t look down to follow them, just his spatial awareness, the feel of the forces of gravity acting upon them and pulling them towards the center of the Earth. 

It was a small distraction. It didn’t work.

No matter how many times he tossed a stone down, the thought kept surfacing.

Vista.

Young, yet strong-willed and focused. She spoke with the posture of one used to being overlooked due to her age, but when she used her power—really used it—the world bent around her in a way that Gojo felt in his bones.

At first glance, it looked like clumsy terrain manipulation, a dime a dozen Shaker power. But the more he studied the public footage online—watched how projectiles could be distorted or redirected at a whim, how the very space could be smudged around like wet clay—the more the possibility called to him.

She was in essence manipulating space-time, and with a versatility that even surpassed Limitless. 

That had stuck with him.

He’d always seen Limitless as the peak of Jujutsu sorcery. It took the abstract—the idea of infinity—and made it real, gave him control over space, and made him virtually untouchable. But seeing Vista in action, seeing what she was capable of, showed him there was more to space manipulation than what he could do. 

And instead of feeling threatened—or worse, jealous—he felt something else.

Glad.

Because for the first time since coming to this world, he saw someone who could learn.

And Gojo missed his students.

Yuji, with his idiotic bravery and unbearable kindness. Megumi, too serious for his age, enforcing his own brand of justice. Nobara’s unshakable character. And even Yuta’s subtle pragmatism. All of them, loud, reckless, and brilliant. 

They were his.

And now they were gone, either dead or out of reach. A literal world away. 

And he was here.

A sigh left his lips as he let his body fall back, arms coming up to cushion his head, and legs now dangling over the edge. 

He hadn’t planned on caring about this place. Hadn’t meant to involve himself. This world was supposed to be a layover, a detour. A place where he could drift, unburdened. Where the stakes weren’t his, wasn't meant to be his. 

But Contessa had relayed the consequences of his inaction to him clearly: Scion rampaging through Earth Bet and then to the other Earths in every dimension. Nowhere would be safe if the alien wasn't dealt with. 

So he had to act. 

Not just out of duty as an adult. Not just for glory. Not even just to save anyone. But because it felt right. Because not doing something would gnaw at him longer than the consequences ever could, if he even survived that.

And this? Training someone again? Teaching and shaping a future instead of waiting for whatever came next? 

It felt right in a way that surprised him.

The truth was that Gojo didn’t decide on students lightly.

He could appreciate raw power—admire it, even—but he had never cared about power for power’s sake. He was power. What interested him, what always had, was what people did with it. What it said about them. How they broke, or refused to. How they fought anyway.

The possibilities. 

Vista was one future student. Maybe the most important. But not the only one.

Three of the four had been chosen. They didn’t know yet. Would resist, probably. Push back, and ask why them. And he would tell them the truth. That they were interesting. That he had seen the potential in all of them, the outline of something dangerous and beautiful just beneath the surface.

Not just because of their power, but because of what they hadn’t learned to do with it.

And if there was one thing Gojo had always done well, it was showing people how much more dangerous they could be. Sometimes cruelly. Often selfishly. But undeniably effectively.

He rolled his neck, let out a breath, and smiled. The expression was faint, but genuine, and with the weight of something almost like peace.

“Alright,” he said to no one in particular. “One more team.”