I Was Kidnapped by a Book and Ended Up Saving the World - Chapter 12

Gojo Satoru usually didn’t get so curious about people, but it was rare for someone to repeatedly get distracted right in front of him.

The smile on Mitsutani Hikaru’s face instantly disappeared. The moments Gojo had pointed out coincided exactly with the times when the “narrator” was speaking, and once… with that incident. His expression control should have been fine, so why…

“My eyes are different from everyone else’s, so I can pick up even the smallest changes,” Gojo said with a grin, as though reading Hikaru’s thoughts.

“And I’m also curious—why did the mafia refuse contact with the jujutsu world before? This place is unusual, true, and sorcerers don’t show up much here, but such a firm rejection is rare.” He shifted the topic with genuine curiosity.

Hikaru glanced at him in surprise, his expression this time completely sincere: “The higher-ups of the jujutsu world raised the previously agreed price for jobs five or six times. It was too unreasonable, so the mafia cut ties.”

They exchanged looks in silence.

Hikaru noticed the white bandage shift slightly, as if the man had blinked lightly. “I see,” Gojo said.

So he really doesn’t know… Hikaru suppressed his inner complaint. He had assumed the higher-ups’ arrogance was because the strongest stood unconditionally on their side—but apparently not.

Snow began falling in thicker flakes, swirling on the wind like a winter dance. Neither of them used umbrellas. Snow settled on Hikaru’s black coat, the white crystals strikingly clear.

He looked toward Gojo. Snow drifted down, but not a single flake landed on him. It was as if an invisible barrier isolated the tall man from the world.

Casually, Gojo said: “Tell your boss this—payment for exorcism requests from the jujutsu world to the mafia will continue as usual.”

When Hikaru lifted his gaze, Gojo’s smile deepened: “My word counts for more than those old men’s, right?”

Of course it did. Mori Ōgai had already told him to ignore the jujutsu higher-ups. His mission was simply to establish a connection with the strongest.

And so far, the mission seemed to be going well.

Hikaru strolled easily beside Gojo. Mori had given him three days for this, but Gojo had solved the cursed spirit the moment he arrived, and within half an hour they’d formed a good rapport.

Looking at the melting snowflake on his fingertip, Hikaru thought he might even get two and a half days of vacation.

“Mitsutani-san, your egg tart.” Oda Sakunosuke handed him a steaming tart and a slice of Black Forest cake. Since Hikaru once asked him to run errands during free time, he now occasionally used him again.

It depended on when his cover identity got cravings. Oda, pleased with such “side earnings,” usually bought little treats for the kids with them.

As soon as Hikaru took the food, he noticed Gojo’s eyes on his hand. Testing, he asked: “Do you like sweets?”

Three minutes later, Hikaru found himself sitting with Gojo in his favorite dessert shop in Yokohama. Mori had even approved that all expenses with Gojo could be reimbursed.

While waiting for the desserts, Hikaru didn’t forget his other task.

【Do I need to ask Suzuki Haru for the photo with Gojo too?】 A kid couldn’t possibly have a connection with Gojo, let alone a private photo—it was nearly impossible.

【No.】 The book denied it.

Unlike last time, when it threw him directly into an identity, this time it asked: 【I’ll craft a cover identity tailored for you again. Give me a keyword, and I’ll generate one at random.】

Hikaru whispered in his heart: 【Sorcerer.】

If he was a sorcerer, it would be easier to approach. At least not as hard as Suzuki Haru trying to get close to Gojo.

The dizziness of entering another identity was easier this time. Stirring two sugar cubes into his coffee with a golden spoon, everything seemed normal—except the sharp scent of snow filling his nose.

In a quiet forest, Hikaru crawled out from a pile of leaves, shaking snow off his body and brushing dirt from his clothes.

“I’m pretty sure the keyword was ‘sorcerer,’ not ‘wild man.’” His tattered outfit said otherwise. Worse, his arm bore strip-like scars, as if from abuse.

With no reflective surface nearby, he judged from his height and body details that he was now in his early teens—malnourished and thin. His hair was a dry, brittle white.

【On what basis did you make this cover?】 he asked while examining his new body.

【I replicate the identity of someone around the protagonist with the least human connections.】 The book’s answer was as clear as ever.

So Suzuki Haru’s orphan background had been taken from someone who lost family in the Dragon Head War. Whose life was being replicated now—someone around Gojo?

No clue. But not important.

Even with only ragged brown cloth draped like sackcloth, Hikaru still tugged at the hem, straightening it.

Snow kept falling, blanketing the world. Hikaru decided to follow animal tracks to find water.

Halfway, he spotted a wooden bench. An artificial thing in this wilderness looked out of place. But Hikaru’s eyes widened: a man sat there.

Hair in a bun, wearing a monk’s robe, head lowered like a statue. Since Hikaru noticed him, the man hadn’t moved an inch.

Hikaru froze. Only his own footprints marred the snow, while around the bench, untouched pristine snow lay smooth. Clearly, the man couldn’t have been sitting there during the snowfall—his robe was spotless, without a single flake.

Good news: he’d met someone in the forest. Bad news: the man looked like a ghost.

Weighing his options, Hikaru tried retreating quietly.

But the man slowly lifted his head. Their eyes met in the cold air.

“No offense. I’m just trying to find my way back,” Hikaru quickly explained his harmlessness.

The man’s long, narrow violet eyes showed faint confusion. “You can see me?” He rose and walked over.

He moved impossibly fast and soundless. Hikaru had no time to dodge—suddenly the man loomed above, blocking the winter sunlight, casting the frail boy into shadow.

Looking back, Hikaru realized the path the man walked left no footprints.

He knew many things, but for a moment even he was stumped. What do you do when you see a ghost again?

The man stood about 1.89 meters, features cold as winter frost. Yet his violet eyes churned with unspoken emotion.

Hikaru stepped back. Even in this body, his intuition screamed danger.

The man finally asked: “What time is it now?”

Like a ghost awakened from endless snow, lost to human years.

Hikaru weighed their strength difference, then quietly answered: “It’s January 10th.”

The man chuckled lowly. “Not even a month…”

Hikaru didn’t know why he laughed. Taking another step back, he asked: “Who are you?”

The man in the monk’s robe lowered his gaze, then smiled faintly. “Kasha Gojo Gojiko.”

“And you?” He bent closer, violet eyes waiting for an answer.

“Yuki.” Hikaru glanced at the falling snow. He was bad at names, and this was his second identity—he couldn’t use another drama reference. So he chose one inspired by the weather.

Suguru Geto’s smile faded. For the first time, his gaze fully focused on the boy. Ever since becoming what he was now, he could no longer sense cursed energy—like an abandoned shadow of the world. He couldn’t tell if the boy was sorcerer or human.

A white-haired, pink-eyed child shivering in rags, scarred beneath coarse cloth. Likely just another monkey.

The man’s silence dragged on. Hikaru cautiously edged away.

A ghost with a strange name—but at least not hostile.

He continued toward his chosen path. Snow fell harder, and if he didn’t leave, hypothermia was a real danger.

“You’re wrong.”

The man’s voice sounded behind him. Hikaru turned. The tall man walked over, an odd mix of scorn and self-mockery on his face—then gone as he stopped beside him.

Suguru pointed back. “That’s the wrong way.”

He started ahead without waiting. “Follow me.”

Hikaru looked at his retreating back. No intent to slow down or wait. Quickly, Hikaru stumbled after him. Better than wandering aimlessly. And judging from his power, if this man meant harm, he wouldn’t need tricks.

So in the silent forest, Hikaru hurried along, chasing the back clad in monk’s robes.

In the Yokohama dessert shop, Hikaru was already full, but the sorcerer opposite him showed no sign of stopping—he looked like he could eat two more daifuku.

During the lull, Hikaru asked quietly: “Do ghosts exist in the jujutsu world?”

Gojo paused, tilting his head, waiting for more.

“My family died a few years ago. I just wanted to know.” Hikaru smiled faintly, the two beauty marks near his lips shifting slightly—a beautiful smile indeed.

Gojo already had a good impression of him, so he replied with a grin: “Nope. Don’t cling to unrealistic hopes—like using cursed tools to bring back loved ones. Anything revived would just be a twisted construct. And when people die, no ghosts remain.”

“I see.” Hikaru nodded.

So even Gojo doesn’t know ghosts exist, he thought.