Rebirth In The Days When Curse Gao Was The Boss Chapter 18

The Eighteenth Day of Crossing Over

Gojo Satoru’s special training was highly effective, and Xue Yang’s understanding and application of his own power reached a new level. The feeling of controlling Cursed Spirits and strategizing was far more captivating to him than simply hacking and slashing with Calamity. It also better satisfied the malicious nature deep in his bones—the desire to manipulate and toy with his prey. Of course, all of this operated within the “rules of the game” set by Gojo Satoru: no wanton killing, no attacking ordinary people, and no causing trouble for Jujutsu High. Xue Yang scoffed at these rules but obeyed them for the time being, as the cost of defying Gojo Satoru (mainly on the physical level and the level of dessert deprivation) was a bit too high.

As Xue Yang spent more time at Jujutsu High, his interactions with his classmates gradually increased, though the methods were often… unconventional.

On the training grounds, Kugisaki Nobara was once again taken down by Xue Yang’s tricky martial arts, which focused on low blows and joints, leaving her grimacing in pain.

“Xue Yang! Can’t you fight fair and square?!” Kugisaki complained, rubbing her numb wrist.

Xue Yang squatted beside her, poking her swollen joint with a finger, a look of undisguised malice on his face: “Fair and square? When you’re dead, will the enemy talk about fighting fair and square? Survival by any means necessary is the only truth on the battlefield. Your roundhouse kick just now had good force, but the wind-up was too obvious, and your midsection was wide open. I have at least three ways to disable your leg before you even hit me.”

As he spoke, he gestured with his hand, indicating positions so insidious that a chill ran down Kugisaki’s spine.

“You…!” Kugisaki was furious and wanted to punch him, but recalling their exchange, she had to admit Xue Yang had a point. This guy’s fighting style was practically etched with the philosophy of “doing whatever it takes.”

“However,” Xue Yang changed the subject, tossing her a small porcelain bottle, “rub this on it, and the swelling will go down by tomorrow. I mixed it myself; it works much faster than Miss Shoko’s slow healing techniques.”

Kugisaki took the bottle, momentarily stunned. Was this considered… giving a sweet after a slap? She suspiciously opened it and took a whiff, smelling a cool, pungent herbal scent.

“Th-thank you,” she awkwardly said.

Xue Yang waved dismissively, stood up, and looked over at Itadori Yuji, who was sparring with Fushiguro Megumi. Itadori’s martial arts were broad and powerful, but when facing Fushiguro Megumi’s flexible Shikigami coordination, he occasionally seemed overwhelmed.

“Hey, Pinky,” Xue Yang called out loudly.

Itadori stopped moving and looked over, confused: “Are you talking to me, Xue Yang?”

“Your fists are hard enough, but your brain is too straightforward.” Xue Yang walked over, pointing at the traces of Fushiguro Megumi’s Shikigami on the ground. “That guy’s Shikigami attacks are patterned. Divine Dog is for close combat, Nue controls the field, and Rabbit Escape is for distraction. You always charge straight in and let him lead you by the nose. Next time, try feigning an attack on Divine Dog, but actually target Nue, or use Rabbit Escape’s cover to approach his body. Combat isn’t just a collision of strength; it’s a game of wits.”

Itadori’s eyes lit up as he listened, nodding vigorously: “Oh! I get it! Thanks for the advice, Xue Yang!”

Fushiguro Megumi listened silently nearby. Although he was slightly annoyed by the term “Pinky,” he had to admit that Xue Yang’s observation and tactical advice were spot-on. This guy, despite his terrible personality, was truly an undeniable genius (or perhaps, a demonic talent) when it came to combat.

Panda was also full of curiosity about Xue Yang and often came over to ask questions.

“Xue Yang, how do you manage that ability to control Cursed Spirits? Is it similar to Cursed Speech?” Panda asked curiously, stroking his furry chin.

Xue Yang was playing a mobile game and didn’t look up: “Cursed Speech? That kind of language-based binding is too inefficient. My method is to ‘reason’ with them directly.” He paused, then added, “In a way they can understand.”

Panda looked confused: “Reason? How do you reason with them?”

Xue Yang finally looked up, flashing a brilliant but spine-chilling smile: “It’s simple. I tell them: disobey, and you die.”

Panda: “…” Well, that was very Xue Yang.

Inumaki Toge rarely participated in high-intensity sparring because his throat needed rest, but there was a strange understanding between him and Xue Yang. Sometimes, when Xue Yang was studying a newly controlled Cursed Spirit, Inumaki would sit quietly nearby and occasionally express his opinion using rice ball filling names.

“Salmon roe.” (Well done)

“Tuna mayo.” (Be careful)

“Mentaiko!” (Danger!)

Xue Yang could somehow roughly understand him, sometimes replying with, “Got it, you’re noisy,” or “That idiot can’t hurt me.”

This cross-linguistic communication struck everyone else as quite miraculous.

Of course, Xue Yang’s interactions with the Jujutsu High students weren’t always harmonious. His self-centered, sharp-tongued style occasionally led to friction.

After one mission report, an assistant manager sent by Principal Gakuganji, who probably disliked Xue Yang’s casual attitude, stiffly criticized him for writing an overly brief mission report that didn’t comply with regulations.

Xue Yang was preoccupied with the new dessert Gojo Satoru had promised to take him to eat, and the interruption instantly soured his mood. He narrowed his eyes, looking at the assistant manager, a flicker of cold malice passing through his amber pupils.

“Regulations?” He chuckled softly, his voice low, yet the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. “My mission is complete, the target is exorcised. That’s enough. As for the report… do you think I need to explain to you how I made those Cursed Spirits line up themselves to jump into a trap?”

As he spoke, an invisible pressure, thick with resentment and malice, spread out from him. The assistant manager’s face instantly turned pale, cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He felt as if he was being targeted by something utterly terrifying, finding it difficult to even breathe, unable to utter a single word.

“Xue Yang.” Gojo Satoru’s voice sounded at the right moment, carrying his usual lazy tone, but instantly breaking the suffocating pressure. “If you don’t want to write the report, don’t. I’ll handle it. Let’s go, that shop has limited stock, we’ll miss out if we’re late.”

He draped an arm over Xue Yang’s shoulder, practically forcing him out of the room, leaving the shaken assistant manager slumped in the chair, gasping for air.

Once outside, Gojo Satoru looked down at Xue Yang: “Is it fun to scare an ordinary person who can see Cursed Spirits?”

Xue Yang scoffed: “He provoked me first.”

“I know,” Gojo Satoru ruffled his hair. “But next time, use a more ‘civilized’ approach. For example, you could smile and tell him that if he keeps complaining, you’ll have him transferred to Hokkaido to guard a cursed object warehouse for the rest of his life.”

Xue Yang imagined the scene and actually found it amusing, a slight curve appearing on his lips: “I might consider that.”

This was Gojo Satoru’s method. He wouldn’t forcibly change Xue Yang’s personality; that would be a pipe dream. He was more of a guide, pulling Xue Yang back when he was about to cross the line, while simultaneously offering him alternative ways to “be mischievous within the rules.” He was subtly conditioning Xue Yang to adapt to the operational rules of this world, or rather, the rules Gojo Satoru had set around him.

And Xue Yang seemed to be gradually getting used to this pattern. He knew where Gojo Satoru’s bottom line was. As long as he didn’t cross that line, Gojo Satoru generally turned a blind eye to his various minor actions, sometimes even encouraging them.

Their “cohabitation” (mostly Gojo Satoru unilaterally invading Xue Yang’s room) also developed a strange understanding. Xue Yang’s room gradually accumulated many of Gojo Satoru’s belongings: piles of dessert wrappers, various models of game controllers, and even a few of Gojo Satoru’s clean shirts (casually tossed onto Xue Yang’s chair).

Xue Yang had protested, but each protest resulted in Gojo Satoru invading with more random clutter, under the pretense of “adding life to the place.” Eventually, Xue Yang stopped caring. As long as he didn’t take his bed or his game console, he could do whatever he wanted.

At night, Gojo Satoru still invariably came to sleep while holding Xue Yang. Xue Yang went from fierce resistance initially, to passive resistance later, and now… semi-reluctant acceptance. Sometimes Gojo Satoru returned too late from a mission, carrying the chill and scent of blood, and Xue Yang would even grumble impatiently, “You’re noisy, go take a shower,” when he burrowed under the covers, then turn over and go back to sleep, tacitly allowing him to get into bed later.

Late one night, Xue Yang was woken by the sound of thunder outside the window. He found himself tightly encircled in Gojo Satoru’s arms. The man’s chin rested on the crown of his head, his breathing steady and deep; he was fast asleep. Lightning flashed and thunder roared outside, and rain poured down, but within this embrace, there was a strange, inexplicable sense of safety, isolated from the world.

This feeling was too foreign to Xue Yang. He had grown up amidst malice and slaughter, maintaining a third of his vigilance even in his sleep. When had he ever experienced such a moment of complete relaxation, being protected while he slept? He stared at Gojo Satoru’s close-by Adam’s apple for a while, his expression complex. Finally, he closed his eyes again, unconsciously snuggling closer to the source of warmth, and drifted back into sleep.

During a holiday, Gojo Satoru made good on his promise and took Xue Yang to an onsen. In wintery Hokkaido, the open-air hot spring was steaming, surrounded by white snow. Xue Yang soaked in the warm water, watching the snowflakes melt instantly upon hitting the surface, feeling all his pores open up.

Gojo Satoru leaned against a nearby rock, wearing a steam eye mask and humming an off-key tune.

“Hey, Gojo Satoru,” Xue Yang suddenly spoke.

“Hm?”

“Why did you become a teacher?” Xue Yang asked. He always found it incredible that someone with Gojo Satoru’s personality and power would choose to be a teacher.

Gojo Satoru lifted a corner of his eye mask, revealing his azure eyes. He looked at Xue Yang’s cheeks, slightly flushed from the heat, and smiled: “Because I was bored.”

“Bored?”

“Yeah, being at the top for too long is pretty dull. Isn’t it interesting to watch talented kids grow, pave the way for them, and see how far they can go?” He paused, looking meaningfully at Xue Yang, “Especially when you meet some particularly ‘troublesome’ and interesting little guys.”

Xue Yang snorted, not replying, and submerged his head in the water to blow a few bubbles. He was no “little guy.”

After the hot spring, they returned to the room in their yukata. Gojo Satoru enthusiastically pulled out his phone to take a selfie. Xue Yang didn’t resist much this time; in fact, when Gojo Satoru pulled him close, his lips even held a trace of the lazy smile left over from the onsen.

Gojo Satoru looked at the photo of the unusually docile (relatively speaking) Xue Yang, saved it with satisfaction, and casually sent it to the student group chat.

Itadori Yuji: “Wow! Hot springs! I’m so jealous!”

Kugisaki Nobara: “Xue Yang is actually smiling?! Gojo-sensei, what did you do to him!”

Fushiguro Megumi: “…Be mindful of appearances. (Read, but doesn’t want to reply x2)”

Panda: “Satoru! Taking Xue Yang to enjoy himself again! We want to go too!”

Gojo Satoru laughed triumphantly at the instantly exploding group chat. He enjoyed this feeling of pulling Xue Yang into his circle of life, watching Xue Yang’s sharp edges gradually wear down (or rather, hide), and savoring this subtle process of “taming.”

And Xue Yang, watching Gojo Satoru giggle foolishly at his phone screen, then looking at the heavy snow still falling outside the window, picked up a prepared strawberry daifuku from the table and took a bite. It was very sweet.

He seemed to be… getting used to this life of being managed, accompanied, and even occasionally having someone act foolishly around him. He didn’t know if this habit was good or bad for him. But at least for now, the sweetness in his mouth and the warmth in his body were real.

He licked the sugar powder from the corner of his mouth, thinking: Perhaps, continuing like this for a while isn’t so bad. Anyway, if he ever got bored, or if Gojo Satoru became uninteresting, he could leave whenever he wanted. He had the ability and the confidence.

However, this “for a while,” under the daily routine of dessert feeding, fighting side-by-side, sleeping together late at night, and that near-indulgent guidance, seemed to be unconsciously stretching out indefinitely.