6 Dolls, Death, and Dorm Rooms

A low light flickered to life in the center of a large, open room, revealing a scene that ripped a surprised chuckle out of me. Seated on a straw mat, surrounded by an assortment of bizarre-looking dolls, was a tall, muscular man with a short, spiky black hair and a thick goatee. Despite his imposing frame, there was a gentleness in the way he handled a needle and thread.

"You're late, Satoru," the man's voice boomed through the room. "Eight minutes late to be exact. As usual, not enough to chastise you for. I told you to fix that habit."

This old man is sitting here making cute things? My thought was cut short by Gojo's retort.

"If it's not enough to chastise me for, then don't chastise," Gojo replied. "Besides, you just sit around making dolls anyway so what's eight minutes?"

Turning towards us, Gojo made the introductions. "Murakami, Itadori, this is Masamichi Yaga, the principal of the school."

"So, these are the ones you told me about?" Yaga's gaze swept over us, sharp and appraising.

Itadori bowed deeply. "Yuji Itadori. I'm into girls like Jennifer Lawrence," he announced. "This is an honor."

I threw him a sidelong glance. Really, Jennifer Lawrence? With a slightly less enthusiastic bow, I added, "I'm Kaito Murakami. It's nice to meet you, Principal."

Yaga didn't so much as twitch a muscle in response. "Cut the flattery," he rumbled. "You're here for a reason. Let's hear it."

""Are you asking me or Itadori?"

"You first," Yaga's eyes bore into mine, unwavering.

"Apparently," I began, "I have a lot of cursed energy. And not being able to control it could be dangerous. So I'm here to…" I hesitated, trying to find the right words. "I'm here to learn how to harness it."

"So, what after that? What will you do after you learn how to control it?" Yaga's voice was deceptively calm, the question hanging heavy in the stillness of the room.

"I… I don't know," I admitted. "But this power, this energy… it could be used for something. I want to figure out what." I met Yaga's gaze head-on, "I want to make sure it's used for protection and not… destruction."

The old man studied me for a long moment, his expression impossible to read. The faint tick… tick… tick of an unseen clock filled the silence, each second feeling like an eternity. Just when I thought he would dismiss my non-answer, his lips twitched ever so slightly. It might not have been a smile, but it wasn't quite a frown either.

"Intriguing," Yaga finally rumbled, his gaze shifting to Itadori. "And you, boy? What reason do you have for being here?"

"I'm here to collect the remaining fingers of Sukuna," he declared firmly. "It's dangerous to leave them as is."

Yaga raised a bushy eyebrow. "Why?" he challenged.

"People you don't know die every day from incidents," Yaga continued dismissively. "That's how life is."

"Here he goes again," Gojo muttered under his breath, but Yaga ignored him.

"So you're telling me," Yaga continued, his eyes locked with Itadori's, "that if it's curse-related it's inexcusable all of the sudden?"

"That's…" Itadori faltered, then rallied. "That's the last request I was left with. I'm not concerned with the details, I just want to help people."

Yaga abruptly rose to his feet, a flash of anger darkening his face. "Last request?" he barked. "So you're gonna fight curses based on someone else's will?" With that he held his hand out, one of the dolls on the ground suddenly jumped to life, bouncing up and down.

My eyes widened as the "doll" sprang to life. "Wait, those aren't dolls?"

"In a way, they are dolls that I've infused with my cursed energy..." Yaga's gaze was cold and calculating as he explained.

The creature's blinding speed took me by surprise. It zipped towards Itadori, a blur of green and brown, its tiny fist aiming for his face. Barely reacting in time, Itadori fumbled for his backpack, shoving it in the path of the oncoming punch. The impact sent him crashing into a pillar, the force rattling the entire building.

"Itadori! You alright?" I called out.

"Yeah, I am," Itadori winced, getting to his feet. "That doll packs one hell of a punch!"

The creature bounced across the floorboards, taunting Itadori with a cocky flex.

"A person's true nature is shown at a time of crisis," Yaga boomed. "I'll keep attacking until I get an acceptable answer."

Itadori's frustration boiled over. "Look, man. It wasn't just 'someone else', it was my grandfather's dying request!" He lunged at the green doll, his fist connecting solidly.

The force of the blow sent the doll careening against the wall. It ricocheted back, bouncing between the pillars with blinding speed. The wind it generated gusted through the room, snuffing out the candles and plunging us into dimness.

"Where is it?!" Itadori spun wildly, desperately scanning the shadows.

"Behind you!" I shouted, catching a fleeting glimpse of the green blur.

Itadori whipped around just in time for a forceful headbutt. The impact sent him tumbling into the wall.

Yaga strode towards a large candle, completely ignoring the chaotic scene. "Family is still just 'someone else,'" he declared, striking a match and lighting the wick.

"A jujutsu sorcerer constantly faces death, and not just their own," he continued, his voice echoing in the darkened room. "Sometimes you have to ignore the victims and rend the flesh of the victims from the curse's mouth. It's an unpleasant job, something you have to be highly motivated and a little crazy to handle. And you come here saying you're doing this because someone else told you to? Don't make me laugh. It would be more believable if you said you were doing this to escape execution."

"Screw yo-"

"Are you gonna blame your poor grandfather if you get killed by a curse too?!" Yaga thundered, his question silencing the room.

"Damn, old man. You cut deep." I said reflexively.

Yaga stroked his goatee, his expression unreadable. "Teaching is making people realize truths," he said finally.

Itadori hesitated for a long moment, clearly pondering Yaga's question, before he was suddenly cut off mid-thought. The cursed doll, as if given some silent signal, zipped forward, a tiny green fist blurring into an uppercut. Itadori did a full backflip, landing awkwardly against a pillar.

"DAMN!" I couldn't stop the shout from escaping my lips.

Yaga remained impassive, as if the surprise attack was part of the lesson plan. "It's not easy to imagine how you'll feel on the verge of death," Yaga boomed. "But at the rate you're going, you might end up cursing your beloved grandfather for his dying wish. Jujutsu sorcerers rarely die without regrets, so I'll ask you one last time – why are you here?"

Itadori's face hardened, and in that split second, I saw something in him change. He leapt forward, tackling the doll to the ground and forcing it into a rear-naked chokehold. "Consuming Sukuna is something only I can do!" he declared. "So even if I could escape my execution, run away from my responsibility... someday I'll be relaxing, and the moment I stop to think, right then, someone is dying because of Sukuna."

His voice took on a mocking tone. "'But that doesn't concern me. It's certainly not my fault.'" His tone changed abruptly. "I refuse to do that! I don't know how I'll feel when I die, but I won't regret how I lived!"

A flash of approval flickered in my eyes, and I gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

The room seemed to hold its breath, and for a moment the only sounds were Itadori's labored breathing and the tick-tock of an unseen clock. Then Yaga moved, a slight quirk of his lips that somehow felt more significant than any grand gesture.

"Satoru, show these two to their dorm rooms. Be sure to explain the security arrangements and curfew as well."

Itadori blinked. "Huh?"

Yaga's faint smile broadened ever so slightly. "You're both admitted. Welcome to Jujutsu Tech."

I didn't process the words at first. We were in? Just like that? Before I could celebrate, Itadori let out a shout of victory, fist pumping the air and promptly releasing the doll in his excitement.

The cursed doll, seemingly taking this sudden freedom as its cue, delivered a fast sucker punch straight to Itadori's jaw. Yaga sighed.

"Sorry, I forgot to release the curse."

The tension that had been strangling me vanished like smoke. That sucker punch was the last straw. I collapsed onto the floor in a fit of laughter.

(5 minutes later)

"All the second and third years are out at the moment," Gojo explained. "But you'll meet them soon enough. There aren't too many of us."

As we navigated the quiet stone paths, the sheer size of the campus hit me. Buildings old and new sprawled in all directions, nestled among lush trees and vibrant gardens.

"Hey, Gojo Sensei, do we have a training room?" I asked.

"Yeah, there's a gym and a dojo about three buildings to your right," he replied. "And going down those steps, you can see an outdoor track."

Gojo kept walking, his footsteps echoing a bit in the quiet hall. He was either oblivious to my silence or didn't care. Whatever. It gave me a chance to look around. The dorm building seemed...nice. Clean for one, and surprisingly modern-looking for a sorcerer school.

"So...gym, dojo, track..." I mumbled, keeping just a step behind Gojo's long stride. "Got anything else worth checking out?"

He paused right in front of a door. "Rec room's down a floor. They are prepared to watch movies or you can hook your game consoles to the projector." He shrugged. "You'll figure it out. Anyways, this is your room," he announced, gesturing to the door in front of us. "And Itadori, yours is two doors down."

The room wasn't much to look at from the outside. Plain door, a faded brass number. But when I pushed it open, I couldn't help but let out a low whistle. The place was huge. My old apartment would've fit two times over in just the bedroom.

There was a desk in one corner, a laptop perched neatly. A walk-in closet, empty but still impressive. And, best of all, a door that looked like it led to my own bathroom.

"Wow," I said, louder than I meant to. "They don't shortcut anything around here."

My duffel bag sat in the middle of the floor, almost comically dwarfed by the room itself. Next to it was a cardboard box labeled with my name. Equipment, probably.

"No wonder folks stay around even after graduation," I muttered. "If the dorms are this sweet, imagine the apartments."

Unpacking my clothes was quick. Even with all of it hung up, my side of the closet looked pitifully empty. Guess it was time to add "shopping spree" to my mental to-do list.

That framed photo of Kaito's parents was at the bottom of the bag. I pulled it out, using an old t-shirt to wipe off the dust. My fingers traced the edges of the frame, pausing on Kaito's dad's face. I squinted, trying to will a memory into existence, some flicker of recognition from my time as Kaito.

Nothing happened. I set the photo on the nightstand. Maybe with time, something would come back to me. Or maybe not. Time would tell, I guess.

Deciding to check on Itadori's progress, I put on the blue slippers that I saw on the closet floor. Padding down the hall, I headed toward Itadori's room.

"—Fushiguro, Murakami, and I can retrieve Sukuna's fingers while you just stay here and chill out," Gojo's voice echoed down the hall.

Itadori scoffed. "Yeah, nice try, guy. I said I'd do it, and I will."

Amused, I rounded the corner and stepped into Itadori's room. "I knew you wouldn't do tha—'' My words died in my throat.

Itadori's room was almost identical to mine. What wasn't similar were the walls. They were covered in posters. Bright, colorful posters of women in bikinis.

"Itadori," I said slowly. "What will you do if you bring a girl over, and the first thing she sees are posters of almost-naked women?"

Itadori jumped – literally jumped – and whirled around. He flushed a bright red, his eyes darting from me to the walls as if he was only just now seeing the posters.

"Murakami! You gotta knock!" he spluttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and resolutely staring down at the floor.

Gojo leaned in the doorway beside me, "Oh, I don't know," he drawled. "Seems like a good way to figure out someone's...preferences."

The flush on Itadori's face was so bad, I thought he might actually burst a blood vessel. "Dude, shut up," he mumbled. Then he seemed to remember I was there. "A-and these aren't even mine!" He jabbed a finger towards a corner, where a cardboard box sat. "Never even opened the box!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, those screams 'unopened.'"

"Well, maybe..." Itadori faltered. "Maybe a little peek. Just to see what was inside..." He trailed off, the blush somehow managing to get even darker.

"Listen, it's your room," I said with a grin. "Decorate it however you want. Just try not to scare any potential girlfriends away, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Itadori muttered. But then he straightened, that serious intensity back in his eyes. "So, about Sukunas fingers..."

Gojo leaned back, hands behind his head. "If the fingers were that easy to find, we would have them all already. Some have a presence that's overwhelming, some are extremely quiet, and some have already been absorbed by cursed spirits. Those are the challenges we've dealt with when it comes to searching for them. But, we now have you."

"Me?" Itadori blinked.

Gojo nodded. "The Sukuna within you will try to regain his power. That will lead us to the fingers."

I nodded slowly. "So Itadori will be acting like a beacon...and a sonar to attract and sense Sukuna's fingers."

"Exactly, Murakami! 100 points!" Gojo exclaimed

We all stepped out of Itadori's room, and Gojo continued, "Oh, I'm sure we can come to a win-win agreement there."

Just then, the door in front of us opened. Fushiguro stepped out of his room, yawning. "So, you're next door." He didn't bother to hide his lack of enthusiasm.

"Yeah," I replied, "Seems like your room is between both of ours."

Fushiguro's scowl appeared instantly. "There's lots of empty rooms, ya know?"

"Sure, but isn't it better to have company?" Gojo chimed in, "I thought that–"

"Classes and missions are enough," Megumi interrupted. "This is not welcome."

Itadori chose that moment to peek into Fushiguro's room. "Wow, it's so organized in here!"

I leaned over Itadori's shoulder, peering into the room. "You're right, it looks like one of those minimalist hotel rooms," I said.

Fushiguro's face contorted in anger. "Back off, I told you you're not welcome!" he yelled, attempting to slam the door shut.

Before it could hit us, I shot out my hand to stop the door's momentum. "Watch it, asshole," I hissed.

"What did you say?" Fushiguro's voice dripped with hostility as he turned to face me, looking up slightly.

Just when it seemed like the situation might devolve into a full-blown brawl, Gojo's boisterous laughter cut through the hall.

"Alright, alright!" he declared, clapping Fushiguro and me on the shoulder which we both promptly shrugged off. "Enough excitement for one day. This is a dorm, people, gotta learn to get along! Or at least tolerate each other," he added under his breath.

With that, Gojo strolled towards the stairs. "Come on, let's get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be a long day, we have to pick up the two first years that will be joining us. Oh, and don't stay up too late unpacking, Itadori," he called over his shoulder.

Itadori's cheeks flamed as he gave a meek wave. I stifled a chuckle of my own and turned towards Fushiguro.

"Listen," I started, but he held up a hand, stopping me.

"No. I'm not interested in making friends." Fushiguro stated flatly. With that, he shut the door firmly, leaving me to stare at the empty hallway.

"Well, so much for that," I muttered, heading back towards my room.

As I entered, I thought back to Yaga's questions. He was right, it wouldn't be easy, and there were sure to be deaths I couldn't prevent. But thinking back to Itadori's words, having the ability to prevent something or to help people and deliberately decide not to is something I couldn't do.

Sighing, I collapsed on the already-made bed and slipped under the covers. My eyelids grew heavy and I knew this would be the end of my first official day as a Jujutsu Sorcerer. And if the days are just as chaotic as today then Gojo was right: I was in for a hell of a ride.