Agent 47 walked with purpose through the narrow lanes of Tokyo's quieter districts—shoulders squared, steps measured, eyes forward. The crowd parted around him naturally. His presence, while striking, exuded something unsettling—something dangerous.
A few steps behind him, Gojo Satoru chewed on a lollipop, hands in his pockets, strolling as if he were just out for a walk with friends.
"You know," Gojo said, "you've got a very particular way of walking. Like a predator in a suit. Did anyone ever tell you that?"
Silence. 47 didn't even glance back.
Itadori walked just behind Gojo, whispering to Megumi, "Is it just me or does this guy seriously look like someone straight out of a video game?"
"You said that ten times," Megumi muttered. "Shut up already."
Nobara kept her eyes locked on 47's back. "He hasn't even twitched. I'm starting to wonder if he's some kind of cursed doll."
"He's not a curse," Gojo replied lightly. "Cameras caught him driving into the western sector two hours before Mahito and that rogue sorcerer were found carved up. After that, total blackout—every CCTV feed in a six-block radius got scrambled. Professionally. You'd need an expert to do that. Or a ghost."
"I'm leaning toward 'expert ghost'," Itadori said.
Megumi sighed. "Even if he's not our enemy, he clearly doesn't want us around."
47 slowed as he reached a quiet intersection. The others stopped too. He turned his head slightly—just enough.
"If you're trying to tail me," he said, his voice low, without looking, "you're doing a poor job."
Gojo grinned. "Not trying to hide it. I'm just curious. You're not Japanese, not a sorcerer, not from Jujutsu Tech, and yet two extremely dangerous individuals ended up dead after you walked into that neighborhood."
47 glanced at him now—calm, razor-sharp eyes behind that cold exterior. "I told you already."
Itadori blinked. "You mean like seriously?… freelance killing? That's a thing here?"
"Not here," 47 replied. "Everywhere."
"Yikes," Nobara muttered under her breath.
Gojo's smile faded slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to reveal the calculating mind beneath the playful mask. "And who exactly hands out these contracts of yours?"
"A system," 47 replied flatly. "Not relevant to you."
Megumi, arms crossed, stepped forward. "You're dangerous. Maybe more than most curses we've seen. So why not eliminate you now?"
Before his foot could even fall forward, 47's hand moved.
In a single instant, Nobara froze. A cold barrel pressed against her forehead, so sudden she hadn't seen the draw—his arm extended from the sitting posture he hadn't even abandoned, one knee casually resting over the other.
She didn't even blink. Couldn't. Her breath hitched. Her soul felt the phantom sting of death.
Megumi reached for his shadows. "Hey—"
47 didn't move. Didn't waver.
"Move again," he said to Nobara, "and you'll find out what silence feels like."
A tense beat.
Gojo raised a palm. "Alright, alright. Everyone relax. Let's not get our brains painted on the walls over a little curiosity."
47 holstered the gun in one fluid motion.
Nobara staggered back half a step, visibly rattled. "What the hell was that?"
"Control," Gojo said, looking more serious now. "And the kind of control that only comes with decades of killing."
47 stood up, adjusting his tie. "I have no reason to eliminate you."
"Good," Gojo said. "Because I don't want to eliminate you either. In fact… I'm interested in watching how far a non-sorcerer can go in our world."
47 walked past them again. "Then stay out of my way."
"You say that like you think we will," Itadori mumbled.
They followed him still, like shadows trailing a much darker one.
And 47 hated it.