Rebirth In The Days When Curse Gao Was The Boss Chapter 40

The downfall of Kenjaku was like removing a deeply embedded poison thorn from within Jujutsu High; even the air seemed to become lighter and clearer. The pressure from the mountain of accumulated missions drastically decreased, and smiles of relief appeared on everyone’s faces. Itadori Yuji no longer had the shadow of a death sentence hanging over him, training with greater focus; Maki and Fushiguro Megumi were less tense, occasionally even participating in the silly games Panda initiated.

As for Gojo Satoru, it was as if a final restraint had been lifted. His pursuit of Xue Yang, which had previously been a slow boil, instantly escalated to a raging inferno.

He displayed his presence and possessiveness almost constantly, infiltrating every aspect of Xue Yang’s life.

When Xue Yang trained, Gojo Satoru would stand nearby, holding iced juice, “observing.” His gaze was so intense that Xue Yang nearly misdirected his Cursed Energy. When Xue Yang ate, Gojo Satoru would pile every dish he thought Xue Yang might like from his own plate onto Xue Yang’s, creating a small mountain. Even if Xue Yang merely rested under a tree, he would inevitably wake up with an extra jacket draped over him, carrying Gojo Satoru’s scent.

Even more exaggeratedly, he began to “clean up” potential threats around Xue Yang. A young assistant supervisor, newly transferred to Jujutsu High, who was completely unaware of the situation and had only exchanged a few extra words with Xue Yang, was sent by Gojo Satoru the next day to the most remote observation point in Hokkaido with a stack of “urgent missions.” Even Panda, attempting to sling an arm around Xue Yang to discuss a new game, received an “amiable” stare from Gojo Satoru that sent shivers down his spine, causing him to silently retract his paw.

“Gojo-sensei… isn’t he being a bit too much?” Even the most oblivious Itadori couldn’t help but complain privately.

Kugisaki rolled her eyes. “That’s not courting, that’s marking territory!”

Fushiguro Megumi: “…Just get used to it.” (Internal thought: I absolutely cannot get used to this.)

Xue Yang, surrounded by this suffocating “enthusiasm,” felt utterly uncomfortable, like he was being roasted over a fire, yet also layered in soft spider silk. He was annoyed and resistant, but couldn’t bring himself to truly push the man away. Gojo Satoru’s touch still made his heart race, and behind the seemingly forceful “care,” he could sense meticulous observation and genuine, heartfelt protection.

He started suffering from insomnia. Even in Gojo Satoru’s reassuring embrace, he often lay awake until deep into the night. His mind was a mess, like a tangled ball of yarn. He craved this unique warmth and indulgence—a light he had never dared to wish for in his dark life. But the more he craved it, the more he feared it. Did someone like him, with blood-stained hands and a twisted heart, truly deserve such “goodness”? If Gojo Satoru knew his entire past, knew how he had crawled out of the mire, how much indelible filth and sin clung to him, would he still look at him with those eyes?

This agonizing state of being caught between gain and loss, unable to advance or retreat, was nearly driving him mad.

That afternoon, Gojo Satoru forcibly pulled him away from the training grounds and took him to a dessert shop famous for its dreamy cream cakes. Xue Yang listlessly ate the cake before him, which was as exquisite as a work of art, feeling only a sickening sweetness.

“Not good?” Gojo Satoru noticed his distraction.

Xue Yang put down his spoon, looked up, and stared directly into Gojo Satoru’s eyes. His amber pupils churned with complex emotions: struggle, anxiety, and a hint of desperate resolve.

“Gojo Satoru,” his voice was dry. “Take me to that apartment of yours.”

Gojo Satoru paused, then a flicker of surprise and understanding crossed his eyes. He didn’t ask anything, simply paid the bill and took Xue Yang’s hand. “Alright.”

Arriving once more at Gojo Satoru’s spacious apartment overlooking the Tokyo nightscape, Xue Yang didn’t look around curiously as he had last time. He walked straight to the massive floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the city lights below, which sparkled like a river of stars. His silhouette, reflected in the glass, appeared thin and tense.

Gojo Satoru closed the door and left the lights off, leaning against the wall by the entrance, quietly watching him, waiting for him to speak.

The silence stretched for a long time, long enough that the lights outside seemed to freeze. Finally, Xue Yang slowly turned around. His face was hidden in shadow, but his voice came through clearly, carrying a deliberately suppressed calmness that was more alarming than any cry.

“When I was little… I was an orphan,” he began, his voice flat, as if narrating someone else’s story. “I didn’t know who my parents were. As far back as I can remember, I was fighting stray dogs for food on the streets. During the coldest part of winter, I wrapped myself in scavenged burlap sacks and huddled under a bridge, thinking I would freeze to death.”

Gojo Satoru listened silently, his hands, tucked into his pockets, subtly clenching.

“Once, I was so hungry I couldn’t stand it. I saw a man at a roadside tea stall eating a plate of pastries. They looked beautiful and smelled wonderful.” Xue Yang’s voice paused, as if he could still smell the sweet aroma of the pastries. “The man saw how much I wanted them and called me over. He said if I delivered a note to the person at the first table in the teahouse across the street, he would give me the pastries.”

“I delivered the note. The man who read it got very angry and punched me. It took me a long time to get back up off the ground.”

“But I really wanted that plate of pastries. I stood up and went back to the first man to ask for them.” At this, Xue Yang scoffed, as if mocking his own young, ignorant self. “That man denied ever asking me to deliver a note. Of course, I didn’t get the pastries. Instead, I was beaten again and thrown onto the roadside.”

His tone remained even, but Gojo Satoru could imagine the despair of that skinny, bruised child lying on the cold street, staring at the sky, waiting to die.

“Later… a carriage came by.” Xue Yang’s voice trembled almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t dodge it… my left pinky finger… was crushed.”

He raised his left hand. Moonlight streamed through the window, faintly illuminating the hand missing its pinky. The missing digit silently recounted the cruel past.

“I didn’t die. I was picked up by a passing… a rogue cultivator, I suppose.” Xue Yang continued, a hint of mockery entering his voice. “He saw I had some talent and taught me some messy things, mainly the Ghost Path—controlling resentment and corpse energy… to help him do things that couldn’t see the light of day. Delivering messages, killing people, stealing… I did everything.”

“Later, he provoked someone he shouldn’t have and was killed. I was alone again.” Xue Yang’s voice gradually took on a trace of malice. “I found the man who beat me and threw me on the roadside that day, and the rich young master whose carriage crushed my finger.”

He lifted his head, looking toward Gojo Satoru. In the darkness, those amber eyes shone terrifyingly bright.

“I killed them.” He spoke each word distinctly, with a cold satisfaction. “Not just them, but their families, their servants, everyone connected to that day… I didn’t spare a single one.”

“After that, to survive and to acquire cultivation resources, I pledged allegiance to many people and betrayed many people. Until I met Jin Guangyao…” Xue Yang sneered. “He was smarter than the others before him, better at using people. He gave me what I wanted, and I did the dirtiest, most dangerous work for him… mutual exploitation, that’s all it was.”

He laid his past—full of blood, betrayal, pain, and sin—barely concealed and completely exposed before Gojo Satoru. There was no embellishment, no hiding, only the most genuine, cruel darkness.

After he finished speaking, the room fell into a deathly silence. Only the distant, muffled noise of the city outside served as a background hum.

Xue Yang stared intently at Gojo Satoru. Although he couldn’t make out the other man’s expression, he could feel the gaze fixed upon him. His heart lodged in his throat, and his blood seemed to run cold. He was waiting for judgment, waiting for the other man to show disgust, fear, or pity.

However, Gojo Satoru moved.

He didn’t turn on the light, but simply walked, step by step, toward Xue Yang. The moonlight gradually illuminated his figure. His face showed none of the negative emotions Xue Yang had anticipated, only a deep, suffocating heartache.

He stopped in front of Xue Yang, reached out, and instead of touching Xue Yang’s face, he gently, and with extreme reverence, took hold of the left hand missing its pinky finger. His fingertips carefully traced the missing part, as if caressing a fragile treasure.

“It must have hurt so much,” Gojo Satoru’s voice was low and hoarse, thick with suppressed emotion. “Back then… you must have been so scared, and in so much pain.”

No questioning, no judgment, just a single sentence of sympathy that transcended time and space.

Xue Yang’s body violently trembled. The accumulated grievance and sorrow, which he hadn’t even realized he was holding onto, burst forth at this simple statement. He bit down hard on his lower lip to prevent the embarrassing sob from escaping his throat.

Gojo Satoru raised his other hand and cupped Xue Yang’s cheek, his fingertips meeting cold dampness. His little wild beast was trembling.

“It’s all over now,” Gojo Satoru gently pulled him into an embrace, holding him tightly, as if trying to merge him into his own flesh and blood, using his body heat to drive away all the coldness from the past. “Those who hurt you deserved to die. You did nothing wrong.”

Xue Yang was held stiffly, his voice muffled against Gojo Satoru’s chest, thick with a nasal tone and a hint of disbelieving tremor. “You… you don’t mind? That I killed their entire families for revenge?”

Gojo Satoru chuckled softly, his laugh carrying a sense of arrogance and disdain. “Mind? Why would I mind? The rule of this world is the survival of the fittest. They harmed you first, so they should have been prepared for retaliation. Cutting the grass and pulling the roots, eliminating future trouble—that is the way to survive. Should you have waited for those so-called ‘righteous cultivators’ to preach about justice and leaving a few survivors who would come back to trouble you later?”

His tone was matter-of-fact, filled with the dominance and protectiveness belonging to “The Strongest.”

“Xue Yang,” Gojo Satoru cupped his face, forcing him to look up. His pale blue eyes, like the deepest ocean under the moonlight, reflected Xue Yang’s disheveled but authentic appearance. “The person I like is exactly this you. The ruthless, the cunning, the vengeful, the one who stops at nothing to survive… the complete you.”

“Your past created the person you are now. And I like the person you are now.” His thumb wiped away the wetness near Xue Yang’s eye, his voice gentle and firm. “So, stop tormenting yourself with the past. From now on, your grudges, I will remember them for you; your hatred, I will bear it for you; the people you want to kill, I will kill them with you.”

“All you need to do is stay by my side and be yourself.”

These words, like the most powerful curse technique, utterly shattered the last and most solid defense in Xue Yang’s heart. All the fear, all the anxiety, all the self-doubt, crumbled at that moment.

He looked at Gojo Satoru’s face, so close, and saw the unreserved sincerity and affection in those eyes. His tightly wound body finally relaxed completely, leaning softly into the other man’s embrace.

“…Mn.” A faint, choked response escaped Xue Yang’s throat, like a lost young beast finally finding a safe home to rest.

Gojo Satoru felt the response from the person in his arms, and his heart was filled with immense satisfaction and joy. He lowered his head, and a gentle, cherished kiss, like a vow, lightly touched Xue Yang’s forehead.

Outside, the Tokyo night view remained brilliant. Inside the apartment, two souls, once solitary and powerful, finally clung tightly to each other, with no barriers remaining.