The morning air was crisp and still. A thin veil of fog clung to the trees surrounding the Jujutsu High training grounds, and dew glittered across the stone path like shattered glass. Xavier stood barefoot in the open courtyard, heart thudding against his ribs. His uniform was loose-fitting, borrowed, and just tight enough to remind him he didn't belong.
Gojo stood on the steps behind him, arms lazily folded behind his head, sunglasses in place even though there was barely any sun.
"Today's your first real day," he said. "The others won't be holding back."
Xavier glanced to the side. Maki stood across from him in a ready stance, staff already spinning slowly in her hand. Toge leaned against a pillar, eyes half-lidded, and Panda sat cross-legged near the edge, watching like a silent judge.
Gojo grinned. "No cursed energy, no technique, no safety net. Just your instincts. Impress me."
Xavier exhaled and dropped into a stance—shaky, untrained, but centered. His body still ached from yesterday. Muscles sore. Wrists bruised. But he wasn't about to roll over.
Maki struck first.
She didn't hesitate. The staff cracked forward like a bolt of lightning, and Xavier barely raised his arm in time. The wooden shaft slammed into his forearm, pain blooming instantly, but he stayed upright.
He stepped back, dodged the second swing, caught the third. Her eyes narrowed. She swept low, trying to take his legs, but he leapt—clumsy, reactive, not graceful, but fast enough to evade.
"Good," Gojo muttered. "He learns."
Maki advanced, faster now. Each strike was meant to teach a lesson through bruises. Xavier blocked what he could, took the rest. His arms burned, ribs flared with old pain, but something in him refused to fold.
She faked high, went low, and landed a hit to his thigh. He buckled, stumbling back. Another hit to the shoulder nearly dropped him.
"Don't rely on pain to keep you awake," Maki snapped. "Use your senses. Read me."
Xavier ducked the next strike and lunged forward, grabbing her staff. She twisted out of reach and slammed the butt of it into his stomach.
He dropped to one knee, gasping.
Then, without meaning to, he felt it—a flicker deep in his chest, like embers catching wind. Something ancient and soft, warming and warning all at once.
Not yet.
Maki stepped back as Gojo raised a hand.
"Alright," Gojo called. "Let's pause before we break him."
Xavier coughed hard, one hand gripping his side. He felt bruised in a dozen places, lungs scraping for breath, but he hadn't passed out. That counted for something.
"Get him water," Gojo said. "Panda, help him sit down."
Xavier let himself be guided to the edge of the courtyard, sweat dripping from his brow. Panda handed him a towel. The others gave him space, but not kindness.
"You lasted longer than I expected," Maki said bluntly, "but that doesn't mean anything. Don't get comfortable."
"I wasn't planning to," Xavier muttered.
Gojo crouched in front of him, resting his chin on one hand. "That little flare at the end… Did you feel it?"
Xavier nodded. "I didn't call it. It was just there."
"It's always 'just there' at first," Gojo said. "Next time, try to reach for it before it reaches for you."
"I don't even know what it is," Xavier said through clenched teeth.
Gojo stood. "Then let's find out."
An hour later, they moved to a secluded chamber beneath the school—an older training hall buried beneath layers of history. The walls were marked by old combat burns, charm paper nailed to crumbling wood, and quiet echoes of spiritual weight.
Xavier sat in the center of a chalk-drawn ring, cross-legged, palms on his knees. Gojo paced nearby while Yaga stood silently at the door, arms folded.
"Focus inward," Gojo said. "Don't try to grab anything. Just observe. Let whatever's inside come to the surface naturally."
Xavier closed his eyes and breathed.
His heartbeat slowed. The pain from earlier faded to the edges. He tried to let his thoughts go, but they clung to him—memories, fears, unanswered questions.
Then, beneath all of it, there was light.
Not harsh or searing. Not cursed or warped. But steady. Soft. Patient.
He focused on that glow. Let it draw closer.
And then—
A rush of heat. A noise like a bell being struck underwater. A sound that wasn't a sound but a feeling, reverberating through his chest.
The world spun. The ground beneath him vanished.
He opened his eyes and—
He was not in the dojo anymore.
He was somewhere else entirely.
A field stretched before him—charred black, windless, dead. Ash fell like snow. The sky was gold and fractured like broken glass catching the sun. Trees twisted into shapes they shouldn't hold. And in the center of it all was a figure.
Tall. Shrouded in white robes that moved like smoke. No face. No eyes. But Xavier knew—somehow—that it was watching him.
The figure raised a hand.
The ground beneath Xavier cracked. Light poured from the breaks, but it wasn't fire—it was order. A wave of serene, golden flame that burned without consuming. He felt it touch his skin, and it didn't hurt. It calmed him.
And then he heard something.
His mother's voice.
"Get the fuck out of here."
He turned sharply. There was no one. Only echoes.
"You think anyone gives a damn about your feelings?"
His knees buckled. He saw her—just for a second—her face contorted with rage in the wind, mouth spitting venom, then gone.
Another voice, softer.
His own.
"I don't want to be alive."
The world shuddered.
He screamed—but no sound came out.
The figure walked toward him, each step burning the ground clean. It reached for him. Not to strike. To offer.
He looked into the light and saw everything.
Pain. Hope. Shame. Memory. Death.
And something else—
Entropy.
He snapped back into his body with a violent gasp, collapsing forward into Gojo's arms.
"Whoa—easy, easy," Gojo muttered, catching him. "What the hell was that?"
Xavier's skin was glowing faintly, gold threads pulsing beneath the surface. His eyes shimmered with a metallic shine before dimming again. Sweat rolled down his face like he'd been submerged.
"I saw it," Xavier said, voice breaking. "Something. I saw it all."
"Be more specific," Yaga said sharply from behind.
"There was a figure. A spirit or something. It didn't speak, but it showed me memories—mine. Things I didn't even think I remembered."
Gojo looked at Yaga, his expression finally losing its smirk. "He's not just reacting anymore. This is evolving."
Yaga stepped forward, examining Xavier without touching him. "Was it hostile?"
"No," Xavier said. "But it was… absolute. Like it was made of everything I tried to forget."
"Sounds like a domain," Gojo muttered. "Or the birth of one."
"Impossible," Yaga said. "He's untrained. And this energy—"
"—isn't cursed," Gojo finished.
They helped Xavier sit back up. He clutched his chest where the light had bloomed. It didn't hurt, but it felt raw, like skin after a burn had healed but not faded.
"What do I do?" he asked.
"Now?" Gojo said. "You rest. Then tomorrow, we do it again."
That night, Xavier sat in his room, legs pulled up to his chest, notebook open in his lap. He didn't write anything.
He just stared at the blank page, hands still faintly warm, the memory of golden fire burned behind his eyes.
He didn't know what he was becoming.
But something inside him did.
And it was waking up.