You ever woken up one day and realized you've completely changed as a person? Yeah. That was me, trudging down the same old dirt path, kicking rocks like they personally ruined my life.
Koko Island was still Koko Island. Same dusty roads. Same rickety wooden houses. But the people? Oh, they were different. The whole village had this weird, haunted silence, like everyone was waiting for the next catastrophe to drop out of the sky. Which, to be fair, was a reasonable concern. When you spend years terrified of pirates, only for some white-haired maniac (hi, that's me) to show up and wipe them out in a couple minutes, your whole sense of "what counts as a threat" gets a little scrambled.
So there I was, walking along the usual beaten path—because apparently, in this village, roads are just a fun myth—and thinking. Not in a deep, philosophical way. More like, "What the actual heck just happened to my life?" kind of way.
A little while ago, I was just a normal guy, living a normal life, doing normal things. Then—bam!—everything flipped upside down. And when I say upside down, I mean tossed into a tornado, spun around like a figure skater on caffeine, then launched through a flaming hoop for good measure.
And, you know, I thought I was handling it okay. Until I remembered something: I had killed dozens of people. Dozens. And the only thing I'd ever killed before that was a pig on some family friend's farm when I was, like, six. I cried for hours. Now? Pirates? No tears. Just a vague, unsettled feeling in the back of my brain, like, "Huh. That happened."
Not that I felt bad for them. They were scumbags. But still, it all happened so fast. One day, I'm just a guy. The next, I'm a guy with a body count.
And with that fun little thought rattling around in my skull, I reached Joe's house.
It was the same.
I stepped inside, my boots creaking against the floorboards, and made my way through the narrow hallway.
Nothing had changed. Same dim lighting. Same wonky floor tile that tried to trip me every time I passed it. Same door to my so-called "room," which I peeked into for old time's sake.
Yep. Still a disaster.
The tiny excuse for a bedroom had exactly two pieces of furniture: a bed that looked one bad decision away from collapsing, and a nightstand covered in dust. The whole place felt like an afterthought, like someone once said, "Oh yeah, I guess guests need somewhere to sleep" and then immediately forgot to care.
I let out a breath. Good riddance. I wasn't spending another night in this dump.
Shaking off that little burst of nostalgia, I made my way to the kitchen. It was empty, save for a few chairs, a battered table, and the faint smell of something burnt. My stomach voted against investigating whatever had been cooked in here last.
Then, my eyes flicked toward Hana's room. The door was closed, but that didn't mean much to me. I could see right through it.
And what I saw wasn't great.
Hana was sprawled on her bed, looking like someone had drained her last bit of life. She wasn't asleep, but she might as well have been. Just lying there, eyes open, staring at nothing.
Yeah. Not touching that.
I wasn't about to waltz in there and start a heartfelt conversation. Some things you just let be. Instead, I dropped into a chair at the table and—
Boom.
Everything went dark.
I didn't fall asleep, exactly. I slipped. Like gravity just stopped applying to me, and my consciousness tumbled backward into someplace else.
The inner world.
I opened my eyes and found myself in a place so cozy and beautiful I would've called it home every time. If only it weren't also a nightmare gym from hell. Seriously, it had all the warmth of a luxury Japanese apartment but none of the actual peace.
But that wasn't what was bothering me right now.
The so-called stable sanctuary of my mind looked like someone had flipped it over, shaken out the contents like a giant snow globe, and decided-Yeah, this is fine. Furniture was floating at weird angles. Walls were floors. Floors were walls. My sense of direction had just rage-quit on me.
And then came the voice. The Voice.
"Something happened?," said my ever-smug sensei, Satoru Gojo, standing at the end of the hallway—upright.
Wait.
That meant I was the problem here.
I looked down (which was technically up?) and realized I was standing on the ceiling like a human chandelier.
"What? Why am I?" I asked, my brain still buffering.
Satoru grinned like I was his favorite court jester. "You're already walking on the ceiling, that's cool."
"No. No, it is not cool. Now, how do I—" I flailed my hands, trying to gesture at the whole 'being upside down' thing, "—become normal again?"
Satoru shrugged, like he hadn't just shattered my entire sense of balance. "You don't. But if you wanna get off the ceiling, just unhook yourself."
Oh, sure. Just unhook myself. Like if I would ask him for help if I could do it
"So this is my fault now?"
He just kept smiling.
Oh, I hate this man.
I sighed. Fine. I could handle this. Just gotta unhook my foot. How hard could that be?
Turns out? Very.
I twisted. I wiggled. I focused very hard on not being stuck. And guess what? I was still stuck.
"Okay, you'll learn later," Satoru announced, and before I could protest, he snapped his fingers.
And suddenly, gravity remembered I existed.
I plummeted like a dropped phone, headfirst into the floor. From the outside, it probably looked like one of those gruesome fail videos where a gymnast wipes out mid-flip and lands like a dying star.
I groaned, rolling onto my back. My skull was on fire, my neck felt like it had aged fifty years, and my ego had taken critical damage.
I looked up (down?) at Satoru, who was still standing there with the same smug expression.
Freaking sadist.
"What was that!?" I demanded.
"Limitless," he said, as if that explained anything.
"Huh?" I blinked. That sounded completely unrelated, like he had just thrown a random word at me to see if I'd accept it. But then… oh. Right. His technique.
"Wait… so I can use it now?" I sat up, ignoring the migraine forming in the back of my head.
"Of course. You've been able to since day one."
I squinted at him. Since day one?
Don't think I have goldfish memory. I knew I had Gojo's powers, but up until now, I thought I was defective. Like, "Congratulations, you have the best abilities in the world! Oh, but they don't actually work. Sucks to be you."
Still sitting on the floor, I pressed my palm against the ground and tried to unhook it—and it actually worked. I was unstuck. I blinked in surprise, staring at my hand like it had just betrayed me by keeping secrets.
"Huh."
Satoru clapped his hands. "Look at that! Baby's first steps!"
"Okay, so how do I actually use it?"
He shrugged. "Eh, the technique itself isn't hard. But that's for later."
"What? Why?"
His grin stretched wider. "Because I saw your fights."
Oh, oh no.
"And?" I asked, desperate for praise. Like a puppy waiting for its owner to say it did a good job.
His response? A dagger to the heart.
"Terrible."
I gasped. "But—"
Satoru raised his hand. "But that throw wasn't bad. You used cursed energy instinctively, which means you've mastered controlling cursed energy."
I latched onto that one positive thing like a lifeline. "So what was I bad at?"
"Pretty much everything else."
Oh.
"But," Satoru continued, tilting his head, "you're not bad at running."
"Well…" I scratched my cheek. "Yeah, I guess." Because let's be honest, I sucked at everything except speed and being really hard to kill. My entire success rate against the pirates was just brute force and broken stats.
But Satoru? He didn't look disappointed. In fact, he looked pleased.
"Come on," he said, turning on his heel and walking straight through a solid wall.
I scrambled to my feet and hurried after him. "Where are we going?"
"We're gonna work on your weaknesses," he said, stopping in front of a tall, flat door painted in the Isabelline color.
The door creaked open.
"Step inside," Satoru said. "Time to fix that."