“It rains 35 days a month on Yakushima.”
Six years ago, those words were an exaggeration. A jest commonly spoken by locals towards tourists as a way to make their small island look even more enticing to visitors.
Gojo Satoru looked at the small island city from his spot above the deck, a small smile on his lips and his head tilted down, allowing him to peer at the coastal city over the rim of his glasses.
Eerie blue eyes stared at the island in fascination. It was often said his birth changed the world, altering the fragile balance of it. It took the world some time to find its response, but looking at the everlasting rain that fell ahead of him, he recognized it for what it was.
A response.
“Oy, Satoru-san. We’re getting in range; we should start feeling the raindrops in a few minutes. Come inside.” Ijichi called out from his seat in the cockpit of the speedboat they had loaned, and Satoru only turned slightly to give him a smile and a response.
“It’s just a little rain, but you should stop the boat here; I’ll continue alone.”
“Ah, are you sure, Satoru-san?” His personal manager inquired, and Satoru’s smile widened in response as he turned back to the island.
“Yes. After all, this rain is a technique. I don’t want you in it before I understand it better.”
The boat slowed to a stop, the sea stilling around them as the roaring of the engine reduced to a vibrating hum that Satoru could only hear but not feel. The island stood before them, a menacing image partially hidden from view by the mist that rolled off its coast. Four lighthouses stood at its edge, new structures built six years ago, the first time the rains started.
A gulp rang out from behind him as Ijichi considered his words and what they meant. It was a consideration that brought a thrill down Satoru’s own spine. If the rain before them was caused by a technique, the question became a matter of who. Who was powerful enough to wield a technique that spanned and covered an entire island?
“S-Satoru, a-are you sure about t-this?” Ijichi’s stuttering nearly made his voice unintelligible, but Satoru was used to the younger man and recognized the panic and concern in his words, so he turned, fully this time, and gave the dark-haired man a wide grin.
“Why’re you worried, Ijichi-san? I’m Gojo Satoru.”
His pride was a near physical thing. His grin was bright, his stance straight and unbothered. His charisma and humor near infectious. Ijichi saw all this, and the fear he felt reduced slightly. Satoru noticed this, and that was all the confirmation he needed. The manager would be fine without him. Then, with a quick application of Blue, Gojo Satoru disappeared from the deck of the speedboat called "Evermore."
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Walking through the city was a strangely surprising affair. Despite the adverse weather that should have sent everyone indoors, that should have turned the coastal city into an abandoned ruin, the city was surprisingly in good shape.
Satoru walked through the city with a hand in his pocket, his free hand holding a stick of fried chicken. He took a bite, chewing softly and taking all of a second to immerse himself in the taste before his attention drifted once more to the city.
For a city that had been raining for six years, it looked remarkably good. People still walked about, some with umbrellas for shade and protection, and others simply walked, unbothered by the rain itself. Cars drove past him, and children ran along the sidewalks without any real care. Satoru noted the number of foreigners as well.
Yakushima was originally a tropical island located off the southern coast of Kyushu. It was a beautiful island, according to what he had heard. He had never had any reason to make his way there. It had its attractions: its lush vegetation and wildlife, Mount Miyanoura in the middle, an ancient Jomon Sugi tree beside the Shrine at its peak, and the towering Ōko-no-taki waterfall. All the attractions culminated in making it a prime tourist location.
The presence of continuous rain had surprisingly reinforced that tourist attraction. It had drawn attention from all over the world: scientists, meteorologists, and random people who simply wanted to see the island with rainfall that never stopped. Six years later, people continued to troop in, yet surprisingly, not everyone that came left. It took Satoru stepping foot on the island itself to understand why.
Like he told Ijichi, the continuous rain was a result of a technique, and walking beneath it, he could tell even further that it was not just a simple technique. He could see the cursed energy in the droplets around him, and the more he peered into it, giving his Six Eyes free rein to look deep into the water that hung midair around him, the more the shiver returned to his spine. The rain was formed from cursed energy. He tilted his head up to observe the dark clouds above them.
Despite the rumors, the rain was not always so heavy. According to the locals, it was only heavy on Sundays. For the rest of the days, the rain was usually light. It also had a strange characteristic of drying off quickly. All in all, it contributed to making it a fascinating occurrence, one that, despite all the experts who had visited, no one had been able to explain.
Yet there had been one group of experts who had kept their distance from the island: sorcerers. The appeal had come straight from Master Tengen herself, and the immortal sorcerer was respected enough for her words to be taken at face value, until now, that is. For some reason, one of the focal points of the pure barriers that Master Tengen had placed across Japan was here, and it was slowly growing weak. There had been some hesitation, but finally an agreement had been made, and here he was.
Something hit Infinity and slowed. Satoru spun, hand lashing out, fingers spread wide just in time to catch a ball that would have hit him in the chest if he didn't have the protection of his cursed technique.
“Hey mister, nice catch!”
A kid called out to him, and he let out a natural smile in response as he looked down at the completely mundane ball that he had mistaken for an attack. “Hey kiddo, be careful with this.” With a flick of his wrist, he sent the ball flying back, reuniting it with the four kids who had been looking at him with puppy eyes. They fell upon it like puppies that had been thrown a bone. His presence was all but forgotten, and he chuckled in response as he turned back to the rain.
The rain was an annoyance. The cursed energy present in every single drop of water was a distraction. The Six Eyes made the true identity of the technique clear: the rain was a real-time surveillance system, and Satoru was forced to track every single drop of water across a massive area, millions of raindrops at every moment.
He could do it. Annoying as it was, with Reverse Cursed Technique refreshing his eyes and brain, he could keep using the Six Eyes indefinitely. Yet there was another sort of fatigue: information overload. It was not exactly Unlimited Void, but he assumed this was what it felt like for the people trapped in his domain, at least some false semblance of it.
Satoru was forced to reduce his range as he walked forward. He could not afford to be distracted again. His feet took him forward until he had left the coastal city behind and was walking up the trail leading to the mountain. That is where Master Tengen had instructed him to go. His only job here was to refresh the barrier, then leave. But Satoru was curious.
Who was doing this?
The trail took him higher and higher up the mountain path. He waved past two different groups of tourists. An old local man looking for herbs had been worried to see him walking alone, but again, a pleasant smile and some assurance that he could take care of himself had been enough to continue the journey until he finally got to the top of the mountain, and the shrine placed there.
It was the work of a few seconds to refresh the barrier. His Six Eyes picked up the erosion the rain had caused to the wooden structure, so Satoru brought out a pen, hardened it with his cursed energy, then inscribed fresh seals across the base of the shrine. Its mountain base should retain the seal for longer. A chant later, and voilà, he was done.
He let out a clap after peering at his work. He did good work, if he did say so himself. Now to deal with his remarkably patient guest. He turned just as a child’s voice called out from behind him.
“Who are you?”
Gojo Satoru turned and shot his trademark grin at the red-haired kid who had been standing behind him and at the base of the Jomon Sugi tree since he had started the inscription. “You’re awfully polite and patient for a kid, aren’t you?”
His grin widened as he stared at the boy. His red hair was styled long, hiding his eyes, yet there was an intensity to his presence, despite his small frame and the extra-large sweater and shorts. Satoru tipped his glasses down low and whistled at the sheer amount of cursed energy he could feel packed into the frame. The kid had more cursed energy in his pinky than most sorcerers had in their entire body. “Awfully powerful too. Say, what’s your name, kid?”
The boy looked up at him, his hair parting slightly, enough to reveal his left eye. Purple. A vivid purple with black rings where the iris should be and a simple black dot for a pupil.
“Nagato,” the boy replied, and Gojo's grin widened as he looked at the world's response to him.