After that day, Tokyo Jujutsu High was declared the victor of the event, as the Kyoto team unexpectedly forfeited the second day. Officially, they claimed "internal injuries" and "team instability." Unofficially? No one wanted to be near the Tokyo students.
As for Naoya himself… things didn't settle down.
Even after Naraku woke up, bruised and bandaged, he flat-out refused to undo the transformation.
"I'm not reversing it," he said, voice low but firm, eyes never leaving Naoya's furious glare.
"You think this is a game?!" Naoya roared, lunging at him.
It took the combined force of Gojo, Geto, Yaga, and even Mei Mei—who clearly did not get paid enough for this—to restrain him. Barely.
Naraku stood his ground. Calm. Resigned.
"I won't," he said. "Because even if I did… you'd kill me anyway."
And he wasn't wrong.
Gojo leaned in behind Naraku, whispering: "Smart."
Naraku had enhanced his cursed technique with a Binding Vow in the heat of battle.
A vow that came with two severe conditions:
—He could only use the gender reversal technique once a year.
—And only on someone he truly, deeply hated.
And now… Naraku couldn't undo it, even if he wanted to.
Not until next year.
…
Naoya sat on the examination table, arms crossed, legs bouncing impatiently. Across from him stood one of the most renowned doctors in the Jujutsu Society—a man known for his cursed technique, Eye of Wisdom.
"So?" Naoya asked, voice cold.
The doctor adjusted his glasses, the glow from his cursed technique fading slowly.
"Your body is almost completely transformed into that of a female," he said. "And it's still… adapting."
Naoya's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean adapting?"
"Psychologically," the doctor clarified. "The technique is still rewriting you on a deeper level—hormonal shifts, neurochemical pathways, subconscious alignment…"
He hesitated for a second.
"…It's trying to adjust your sexual orientation. Soon, you'll start feeling attraction to males."
Silence fell.
The Eye of Wisdom flickered once more before fading entirely.
Naoya's expression didn't change. He stared forward, expression unreadable.
He ignored the doctor's words about attraction—shoving it into a box in the back of his mind—and asked something else:
"If there's a technique that nullifies all cursed techniques… could it undo this too?"
Now that thought stuck in his head like a splinter.
Something that could rewrite him…
Could something else erase it?
The doctor let out a thoughtful sigh.
"I don't think there is something like that," he said. "But… if it did exist—something that could nullify all cursed techniques—then yes. In theory, it could undo this as well because the effect of the technique is still going."
He looked at Naoya again, his expression grim.
"But from my calculations, you'll be a hundred percent biologically female in two months or less. Maybe even sooner."
Naoya didn't flinch. He didn't respond. He just stared blankly at the floor.
And then, without a word, he vanished.
…
Now, standing atop a skyscraper in Tokyo, the wind brushing through his short, layered bob, Naoya pulled out a battered flip phone from his pocket. His new form made the device feel slightly larger in his hands, and the tightness of his clothes—especially around the chest and thighs—was maddening. But none of that mattered right now.
He dialed.
One ring.
Two.
Click.
"…Naoya?"
The voice of Naobito Zenin, calm and weathered, crackled through the speaker.
Naoya opened his mouth to speak—but hesitated for a moment.
Then, he let the words fall out in his now undeniably feminine voice.
"It's me."
Silence.
Longer than expected.
"…What the hell is wrong with your voice?" Naobito finally asked, suspicion cutting through the static.
"You sick or something?"
Naoya's eye twitched.
"I don't want to talk about that."
Another pause.
"Wait—don't tell me…"
"…I said I don't want to talk about it," Naoya repeated, venom creeping into his tone.
"…Hah."
Naobito chuckled—deep and slow, like a man hearing the best joke he never expected.
"You sound like your aunt, rest her soul. Damn. So someone finally humbled your arrogant ass?"
Cursed energy sparked faintly around Naoya, the glass beneath his hand cracking.
"I didn't call to be mocked," he said coldly. "I called because I need your help."
Naobito's tone shifted. Serious now.
"Go on."
"I need you to find someone for me," Naoya said, voice like steel. "Toji Fushiguro."
The other end of the line went silent.
"…What the hell do you want with him?"
"One of his special grade cursed tools."
That was all Naoya said. But it was enough.
Naobito understood instantly.
He didn't say a word.
"As soon as possible," Naoya continued. "I'm running out of time."
"…Anything else?" Naobito asked, low.
Naoya glanced at his reflection in the glass—a beautiful woman with cold eyes and a dangerous smirk.
"Yeah," he said.
"It's about a Kyoto student. His name is Naraku."
A beat.
"I want you to take care of his grave."
…
A week passed quickly—and for Naoya, it was hell.
Every single day, both Gojo and Geto took great joy in tormenting him.
Whether it was teasing, flirting, or just showing up at the worst times, they didn't miss a single opportunity.
Today was no different.
Naoya was walking down the hall in his new Jujutsu High uniform—tailored specifically for him now, since the old one was clearly… not compatible anymore. It hugged his new frame a little too well, much to his irritation.
That's when Gojo slid into his personal space, grinning like an idiot.
"Hey Naoya, do you know how to delete this app called Google?" Gojo asked suddenly.
Naoya sighed. "Why the hell would you need to delete Google?"
Gojo leaned in with a sparkle in his eye. "Because my search was over the moment I met you."
He even tried to smolder. Like he thought he was on the cover of some romance manga.
Naoya stared at him for a long second. Then blinked.
"…I hope you choke on your own pick-up line."
"Damn," Geto said, appearing from behind a pillar with a drink in hand. "Rejected again. Tragic."
Gojo pouted. "One day she'll smile at me like I'm the only one in the world."
"She?" Naoya snapped, his eyebrow twitching. "I'm still me, damn it!"
"Sure," Geto nodded, sipping. "But you're 'you' with better hips now."
Naoya raised a hand glowing with cursed energy.
"I will end both of you."
Gojo took cover behind Geto like a child hiding from consequences.
"Geto, shield me with your love!"
...
Later that evening, Naoya sat atop the school's rooftop, legs crossed, wind tugging at his hair. The setting sun painted the sky in golds and purples, but he didn't care. His fingers drummed impatiently on his thigh.
One week wasted.
And nothing from Naobito yet.
with each passing day, he could feel the cursed technique's effect crawling deeper into him. His reflection now looked more like a stranger than ever.
The door to the rooftop creaked open.
He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
Geto.
"You always were dramatic," Geto said casually, walking over with two canned drinks. He held one out. "Tea?"
Naoya didn't answer. He took the can but didn't drink.
"Still thinking about the body thing?" Geto asked, sitting down beside him. "Or are you thinking about how Gojo keeps finding new ways to hit on you?"
Naoya's fingers clenched around the can. "…Both."
Geto chuckled. "what's the experience then?"
"I feel like I got nerfed 10 times in this body," Naoya responded.
Geto let out a laugh, the kind that was equal parts amused and sympathetic.
"Damn. That bad, huh?"
He took a sip, then stared off into the skyline.
"And don't even get me started on Gojo. If I hear one more line, I will expand his domain."
The rooftop went quiet again. Just the wind and the low hum of the city.
Then, Geto's voice dropped a bit, calm and serious. "Do you think you'll… get used to it? If you can't find a way to change back?"
Naoya didn't answer at first. His eyes flicked toward the sky, unreadable.
"…I don't know. I don't want to. But If I have to live like this, I'll find a way to make it work. Stronger, better, even in this form."
Geto looked at him with something rare in his eyes—genuine respect.
"Now that sounds like the Naoya Zenin I know."
Naoya finally smirked, cold and sharp. "Don't get sentimental on me."
Geto raised his hands. "Wouldn't dream of it, Bitch."
Naoya snorted. "You kiss your curses with that mouth?"
Geto smirked, tilting his head. "Only the attractive ones."
Before Naoya could fire back, the rooftop door burst open with a bang, and Gojo strolled out like he owned the skyline.
"Ahhh~ I knew I'd find you two up here having a moment," he said, sunglasses already halfway down his nose. "Geto, bro, you better not be stealing my screen time."
"Gojo…"
"Relax, relax," Gojo waved dismissively. Then he looked Naoya up and down in that maddening way of his. "God, even your sulking is hot now. How unfair is that?"
"Why are you even here?" Naoya snapped, his tone sharp and tired.
"Oh, right! Plot reasons." Gojo grinned and pulled out a folded map from his coat like some magician revealing the finale of a cheap trick. "You wanted to return to normal, right? According to this map, there might be a special grade item that could help you."
Naoya didn't light up. Didn't even raise an eyebrow. He just stared blankly, unimpressed. "Where?"
Gojo raised the map just out of reach like a child teasing a sibling. "Ah ah ahhh~ First, say 'pretty please.'"
Naoya's eye twitched.
Geto, who had been quietly sipping from his drink nearby, groaned. "And this is why we don't let Gojo deliver critical intel."
Naoya exhaled slowly, gripping the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. Then muttered with venom-dipped calm, "Arguing with a fool proves there are two."
….
One month passed quickly.
Turned out, in the end, that the map Gojo had brought was completely fake. The three of them—Naoya, Gojo, and Geto—had chased it halfway across Honshu, only to come back with nothing but wasted time and bruised egos.
Today Naoya felt off . Restless. Wrong.
That's why he called Gojo.
"Martial arts practice?" Gojo asked, already cracking his knuckles. "You sure? I've been working on some new moves."
"Shut up and fight me," Naoya replied.
They cleared the rooftop training space. Gojo dropped his infinity, just like always, and the spar began.
It didn't last as long as usual.
Gojo was sharper, faster—maybe just a bit luckier. He found a gap in Naoya's stance, spun in, and twisted Naoya's arm into a lock before slamming him down to the mat.
Naoya's breath caught.
Gojo leaned in, grinning like an idiot, his face close—way too close.
"Gotcha," he whispered.
And for some stupid reason—maybe the heat, maybe the closeness, maybe just everything—Naoya's face flushed pink. His heart kicked in his chest. For a moment, his eyes locked with Gojo's… and it was like his whole body reacted before he could stop it.
He pushed him off and walked away without a word.
Shoko had been watching from a distance, leaned against the wall with her usual lazy stare. She didn't care that Naoya was a woman now. She made jokes about it, sure—called him "Zenin-chan" when she was feeling extra smug—but deep down, she was secretly annoyed that Naoya was prettier than her as woman.
Naoya didn't think. He walked right up to her, grabbed her wrist, and pinned her against the wall.
Shoko's eyes widened, caught off guard.
Naoya's face was inches from hers. His breath hitched. Their lips were almost touching—
And then his head turned away.
A deep, bitter disgust washed over his face.
"…Tch."
Shoko blinked, frozen. "…What the hell was that?"
Naoya let go of her arm and stepped back, his expression unreadable. He didn't answer—not at first. He just stood there, breathing heavily, avoiding her gaze.
Then it hit him.
The realization.
Before the weight of that thought could settle—
Riiing. Riiing.
His flip phone buzzed in his pocket. The sound snapped him out of his haze.
He pulled it out, answered.
Naobito's voice crackled on the other end, low and gravelly.
"It's me."
"We made a deal with Toji.... we are waiting for you"