The sun was setting over the coastal city of Erisen, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and purple. The salty sea breeze carried the scents of fish, spices, and the faint aroma of exotic flowers from the nearby markets. It would have been a delightful scene, if not for the sound of violent retching coming from a nearby rooftop.
Yue, her golden hair messed and pale face even more pale, was bent over the edge of a building, emptying the contents of her stomach for what felt like the hundredth time. Hajime stood beside her, rubbing her back in soothing circles, while Satoru Gojo looked on with a mix of amusement and mild concern.
"You know," Satoru mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "I really thought you two would have gotten used to the Warp Drive by now. It's not that bad, is it?"
Hajime shot him a glare that could have melted steel. "Not that bad? We just traveled halfway across an ocean in the blink of an eye. Our insides feel like they've been turned inside out and back again!"
Satoru shrugged, his ever-present smile widening. "Well, it was either that or spend weeks at sea. I thought this was the more efficient option."
Yue, having finally stopped heaving, turned to face them. Her crimson eyes, usually sharp and alert, were slightly glazed over. "Efficient, yes. Pleasant? Absolutely not."
Hajime helped Yue to her feet, supporting her as she swayed slightly. "Next time, we're taking the long way. I don't care if it takes months. No more of your space-bending shenanigans, Satoru."
"Oh, come now," Satoru chuckled, "Besides, look at the bright side - we're back in civilization!"
As if to emphasize his point, Satoru gestured grandly at the sprawling city below them. Erisen was a bustling port town, its streets a maze of colorful buildings and winding canals. The harbor was filled with ships of all sizes, from small fishing boats to grand merchant vessels. The air was alive with the sounds of haggling merchants, laughing children, and the occasional squawk of seagulls.
Hajime had to admit, it was a welcome sight after their harrowing experiences on the nameless island and at sea. "Fine," he conceded, "I guess it is good to be back among people. Even if they're not exactly our people."
Yes. It's a fairly organized city for one half populated by Dagons—a race of beastmen which is discriminated by humankind. Yue, having regained some of her composure, nodded in agreement. "We should find an inn. Rest, gather information, and rest."
"Excellent idea!" Satoru clapped his hands together. "And perhaps we can sample some of the local cuisine. I'm particularly interested in trying whatever that delightful aroma wafting up from the market is."
The trio wove through the crowded streets, drawing curious glances from the locals. Their odd appearance - Hajime with his white hair, patched eye, and mechanical arm, Yue with her doll-like beauty, and Satoru with his blindfolded eyes and otherworldly presence - marked them as clear outsiders. Unordinary ones.
"We should probably try to blend in more," Hajime muttered, noticing the stares. "The last thing we need is to draw unwanted attention."
"Tell that to yourself, gundam."
Yue nodded in agreement, her eyes scanning the crowd. "Perhaps we can find some local clothing. And we'll need to exchange some of our valuables for the local currency."
Satoru, seemingly relishing the attention they were attracting, was busy examining a street vendor's wares. "Oh, look at these!" he exclaimed, holding up a gaudy, feathered hat. "Wouldn't this look splendid on me?"
Hajime pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Satoru, focus. We need to find lodging, not play dress-up."
As they continued through the streets, the sun dipped below the horizon, and the city's nightlife began to stir. Lanterns were lit along the canals, casting dancing reflections on the water. The smell of grilled seafood and exotic spices grew stronger, making their stomachs growl.
They eventually found themselves in front of a modest inn called "The Siren's Rest." The building was old but well-maintained, with a warm glow coming from its windows and the sound of laughter and music spilling out from within.
"This looks promising," Yue said, her strength seemingly returning at the prospect of a proper bed.
Hajime nodded, reaching for the door. "Let's hope they have rooms available. And that they accept whatever form of payment we can scrape together."
As they stepped into the inn, the warm atmosphere enveloped them. The common room was filled with a diverse crowd - sailors, merchants, and what appeared to be visiting adventurers. The air was thick with the smell of ale, roasted meat, and pipe smoke.
The innkeeper, a portly man with a bushy beard and a friendly smile, looked up as they entered. "Welcome to The Siren's Rest, travelers! What can I do for you this fine evening?"
Hajime stepped forward. "We're in need of lodging for the night, and perhaps some information about the city."
The innkeeper's eyes twinkled with interest. "Ah, newcomers to Erisen, eh? Well, you've come to the right place. I've got rooms available, and there's no better spot in the city for gathering information than right here in my common room."
As Hajime began negotiating for their rooms, Satoru's attention was drawn to a group of rough-looking men in the corner. They were speaking in hushed tones, but his enhanced senses picked up fragments of their conversation.
"...shipment arriving tomorrow night..."
"...boss wants it dealt with quietly..."
"...could be trouble if the guard catches wind..."
Slave traders? Satoru's smile widened imperceptibly. It seemed that their arrival in Erisen might prove more interesting than he had initially thought. As Hajime finalized their lodging arrangements, Satoru made a mental note to share his observations later. After all, what was a grand adventure without a little intrigue and danger?
With rooms secured and the promise of a hot meal, the trio settled into a corner table.
.........
......
...
As the moon climbed high over Erisen, casting long shadows across the sleeping coastal city, Satoru Gojo silently slipped out of The Siren's Rest. His movements were fluid, impeccable and refined, as he masked his presence with a level of skill that would have impressed even the most seasoned assassins. Neither Hajime's nor Yue's inhumanly sharp perceptions stirred as he vanished into the night.
The cobblestone streets, still damp from an earlier rain, reflected the moonlight in patches of silver. Satoru Gojo's footsteps were soundless as he meandered through the winding alleys and broad avenues of Erisen.
To any late-night reveler or watchman who happened to catch a glimpse of him, he would have appeared as nothing more than an unrecognizable silhouette of a man, there one moment and gone the next.
Gone was the carefree smile and playful atmosphere that his companions had come to associate with him. In its place was an expression of emptiness—pure nihilism—a blank texture that revealed the true nature behind the mask he so often wore. His unseeing eyes were still hidden behind his ever-present cover of bandages.
His aimless wandering soon brought him to one of the seedier districts of Erisen. The smell of unwashed bodies, cheap alcohol, and desperation hung heavy in the air. It was here that Satoru Gojo's true purpose for the night revealed itself.
In a narrow alley, barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast, Gojo came across a group of men surrounding an unmoving figure. The glint of knives caught the moonlight, and the muffled sounds of their depravity reached his ears, mingled with the rustle of clothes and the clanging of belts. Their words directed on a night well-spent.
"Well, well," Satoru said, his voice carrying a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. "What do we have here?"
Four men turned, startled by his sudden appearance. Their leader, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, sneered at Satoru. "Mind your own business, pretty boy. Unless you want to join this bitch here."
Satoru's lips curled into a smile that never reached his eyes. "Oh, but this is my business. You see, I've been feeling a bit... restless lately. And you gentlemen look like just the cure for my boredom."
What happened next was nothing short of a massacre. Satoru moved with inhuman speed and grace; his Limitless technique wasn't even needed to render him untouchable as he tore through the group of four. Bones shattered, flesh tore, and screams were cut short as Satoru unhinged.
In mere moments, it was over. The alley was painted red, the broken bodies of the criminals scattered like discarded dolls. Satoru stood in the center of the carnage, not a drop of blood marring his pristine white hair or clothes.
Satoru's gaze finally shifted to the unmoving figure on the ground. The woman, lifeless, desecrated, and violated, lay crumpled like a broken doll. A flash of something dark flickered in Gojo's hidden eyes before it was replaced by his usual detachment.
He turned away from the scene, his face once again an emotionless mask. He sighed. "Such filth," he muttered under his breath, his voice devoid of warmth. "At least they won't harm anyone else."
As he walked away, the stench of death clung to him, but Satoru felt no remorse for his actions, no moral quandary about the lives he had just ended and the one they killed. In his mind, he had simply removed a few more pieces of filth from the world. It was a cold, calculated act, justified by his own twisted sense of right and wrong.
The night was still young, and Satoru's bloodlust was far from sated. He continued his macabre journey through Erisen's underbelly, leaving a trail of eerily silent destruction in his wake. Drug dens were emptied, their occupants broken and lifeless. Illegal fighting rings fell silent, their champions reduced to whimpering wrecks in the face of Satoru Gojo's sheer might.
With each act of violence, Satoru felt a sense of satisfaction that had nothing to do with justice or righteousness. It was the simple pleasure of exerting his will upon the world.
As the first hints of dawn began to color the eastern sky, Satoru found himself in yet another dingy alley. But this time, the scene before him gave him pause. A group of men, their faces hidden by hoods, were surrounding a small figure. Even in the dim light, Satoru could make out the scales and fins that marked the child as a member of the Dagon race.
"Come on, little fish," one of the men sneered. "You'll fetch a good price in the right market."
The child, a girl no more than four or five years old, whimpered in fear. Her large, luminous blue eyes darted around, searching for an escape that in the back of her mind, she knew didn't exist.
Satoru watched the scene unfold with mild interest. Human trafficking was nothing new to him, and under normal circumstances, he found it more trouble than its worth. But something about the girl's terrified expression was unsettling – especially in those vulnerable eyes that mirrored his own.
With a sigh that was equal parts resignation and annoyance, Satoru stepped into the alley. "Gentlemen," he called out, his voice carrying a hint of its usual playful tone. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the child."
The traffickers turned, their expressions a mixture of anger and confusion at this unexpected interruption. "A kid? Who the hell are you?" their leader demanded.
Satoru's smile was razor-sharp. "Me? Oh, I'm just a concerned citizen. Now, are we going to do this the easy way, or the bloody way?"
What followed was the usual — a display of power so overwhelming that it bordered on the absurd. Satoru didn't even need to use his techniques as a few casual flicks sent the traffickers flying into walls, their bones shattering on impact. Those who tried to flee found themselves back again into the alley, trapped by Satoru's Blue.
In less than a minute, it was over. The traffickers lay broken and unconscious, their plans of selling the Dagon child thoroughly derailed.
Satoru turned to the girl, who was staring at him terrified and surprised. "You're safe now," he said, his voice lacking any real warmth. "Run along home."
But the child didn't move. Instead, she took a hesitant step towards Satoru, her large eyes brimming with tears. "I... I don't know how to get home," she whispered.
Satoru Gojo suppressed a groan. This was exactly the kind of complication he didn't need. He had hoped to wrap up his night of violence and return to the inn before Hajime and Yue woke up. But now he was stuck with a lost Dagon child.
"Fine," he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. "What's your name, kid?"
"M-Myu," the girl stammered.
"Alright, Myu. Let's see if we can find someone to take you off my hands."
As Satoru led the child out of the alley, he was surprised to find her small gentle hand slipping into his. He looked down at her, perplexed by the gesture of trust from someone who had just witnessed his casual display of violence.
She's strange, he thought. Satoru's mind was laden with confusion. Why isn't she afraid of me? He had seen that look in her eyes—vulnerability, desperation. Yet, she chose to stay close to him, the very source of violence she had witnessed.
His reputation as an invincible sorcerer was well-known. People either revered him or feared him, often both. He thrived on that fear. But this child, this fragile Dagon girl, seemed to defy that pattern.
He remembered the countless times he had judged others solely by their strength, and he still does to this day. The strong earned his respect, while the weak were dismissed, their existence barely registering in his mind. Yet here he was, escorting a child who, by all his standards, should have been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
Myu's trust in him was unsettling, almost disturbing even, her hand gripping his with a surprising firmness. It wasn't the grip of someone who feared for her life but rather one seeking protection—comfort. This child had seen the worst humanity had to offer, yet she clung to him, her supposed savior.
Satoru knew he wasn't a hero, despite what others might think. Saving Myu had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, driven more by a need to alleviate his own restlessness than any true sense of justice.
Even accounting all his pride and ego, his strength and position, his status as the Legacy, Satoru Gojo was still nothing more than a sixteen-year-old boy. He had always believed himself to be above such trivial matters, but the small hand in his own forced him to confront a side of himself he rarely acknowledged—a side that might actually care, even if just a little.
As they walked, Myu began to chatter, her fear apparently forgotten. She told him about her mother, Remia, who worked as a seamstress in the Dagon quarter of the city. About her dreams of becoming a person that could make her mother proud. About her favorite foods and games.
Satoru found himself listening, despite his best efforts to remain detached. There was an innocence to Myu's words that stood in complete contrast to the blood-soaked night he had just went through on his own volition.
Finally, they reached the city guard's headquarters. Satoru explained the situation to the officer on duty, carefully omitting the details of how he had come across Myu. The guard promised to locate the girl's mother and ensure her safe return home.
As Satoru turned to leave, he felt a tug on his sleeve. Myu was looking up at him, her eyes wide and pleading. "Will you stay?" she asked. "Until my mama comes?"
Satoru hesitated. The sun was fully up now, and he knew Hajime and Yue would be waking soon. They would undoubtedly have questions about his absence. And yet...
"Alright, kid," he sighed as he unknowingly ruffled Myu's hair. "I'll stick around for a bit longer."
The hours ticked by as Satoru waited with Myu. He found himself regaling her with heavily edited stories of his adventures, carefully tailoring them to be suitable for young ears. Myu listened with rapt attention, her eyes shining with admiration.
It was nearly midday when a commotion at the entrance caught their attention. A woman burst in, her fan-like fin ears shimmering in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. "Myu!" she cried.
"Mama!" Myu leapt up, running into her mother's arms.
Remia hugged her daughter tightly, tears streaming down her face. After a moment, she looked up, her eyes locking onto Satoru. "Are you the one who saved my daughter?" she asked, her voice thick with emotion.
Satoru shifted uncomfortably under her grateful gaze. "It was nothing," he muttered.
But Remia wasn't about to let him downplay his actions. She approached him, Myu still clinging to her side, and took his hand in both of hers. "Thank you," she said fervently. "I don't know what I would have done if anything had happened to her. If there's ever anything I can do to repay you..."
Satoru gently extracted his hand from her grip as he stood up, his tone nonchalant. "Really, it's fine."
As Remia continued to express her gratitude, Satoru found himself feeling increasingly out of place. This outpouring of genuine emotion was something he was ill-equipped to handle. These kinds of things aren't my cup of tea.
For the first time in a long while, Satoru Gojo found himself questioning his place in the world, and the path he had chosen to walk.
He had saved Myu on a whim, not out of any real concern for her wellbeing. And yet, seeing the joy and relief on Remia's face, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of... something. Something he couldn't quite name. It was a stir in his sense of responsibility.
"I should go," he said abruptly, cutting off Remia's thanks. "My friends will be wondering where I am."
Myu's face fell at his words. "Will I see you again?" she asked, her voice small and hopeful.
Satoru hesitated. The smart thing would be to say no, to make a clean break and forget about this strange interlude in his night of violence. But looking at Myu's expectant face...
"Maybe," he said finally, and with a surprisingly genuine smile at that. "If you're lucky."
As he left the guard station, Satoru could feel Myu and Remia's eyes on his back. He quickened his pace, eager to put distance between himself and the unexpected emotions their gratitude had stirred in him. This is not the way of a jujutsu sorcerer, he mused. It was, actually, but the values his clan members had enforced within him still stuck to him like a parasite.
The streets of Erisen were bustling now, the city fully awake and going about its daily business. Merchants hawked their wares, fishermen brought in their morning catch, and the air was filled with the sounds and smells of a thriving port town.
Satoru made his way back to The Siren's Rest. As he approached the inn, Satoru schooled his features back into their usual carefree expression. Hajime and Yue would be awake by now, probably wondering where he had disappeared to. He would come up with some plausible explanation, some story that didn't involve mass murder or rescued Dagon children.
With a deep breath, he pushed open the door, trying to forget the lingering thoughts of his unsettling night.