I Was Kidnapped by a Book and Ended Up Saving the World - Chapter 20

Xue’s fingers trembled ever so slightly, the movement so small no one but himself would have noticed.

Geto Suguru was a truly dangerous figure. If he had remained a mere ghost, unable to interfere with reality, Xue could have allowed himself to relax somewhat. But this—this made Geto’s danger level in his mind skyrocket.

A cold breeze stirred Xue’s hair. His pink eyes seemed to deepen toward crimson. His first goal had already been achieved—having joined Jujutsu High, gaining Gojo Satoru’s trust and even taking a photo together would be child’s play.

Lowering his lashes, Xue pondered. Geto had once commanded the cult of the Star Religious Group. Even after his death, his followers would never skimp on offerings. So why had Geto looked so shocked?

Could it be that only the offerings Xue presented could reach him? That only he could see Geto? Another “unique exception,” as before.

Xue didn’t believe in coincidences. Since such things kept happening, it could only mean that this body of his was linked to Geto Suguru in some way.

Tearing things open between them would bring him no benefit now. But watching Geto’s connection to reality deepen was no good either. If Geto truly reappeared one day, Xue might be crushed by Gojo’s Hollow Purple before he could even think of keeping a photo souvenir.

Since nothing was certain, he would test the waters.

A faint blush rose on Xue’s face. Skilled at controlling his expressions, he let his pale lashes flutter, as if weighed down by embarrassment. In a soft voice, he said:

“Sensei, can I talk to my father for a little while?”

His hands twisted nervously at the hem of his uniform, his whole demeanor radiating unease. “Just for a little bit. I want to tell him about my life here.”

Gojo patted his head. The tall man leaned down to meet his eyes.

“Of course. From now on, just like today, don’t bottle things up—tell your teacher directly.”

Leaving those words behind, Gojo vanished, his teleportation faster than thought.

Staring at the empty gravestone, Xue noted that nothing here pointed to Geto at all. Even when he offered the banana earlier, he hadn’t thought of anyone. Yet the offering still landed before Geto’s feet.

Geto stood at his side, taller by nearly forty centimeters. That absolute difference in physique created an oppressive weight in the air.

A smile curved his lips, violet eyes holding a faint glimmer of amusement.

“Went out of your way to send him off—do you have something to say to me, Xue?”

The frail, underfed boy lifted his head, his soft voice asking:

“Are you really called Kashimo Satoru Sato?”

At such a direct question, Geto’s smile deepened, and his violet eyes glimmered with strange light.

“Good child. You figured out who I am.”

Xue had expected anger or further evasion—anything but this: Geto smiling at him with eyes that carried genuine encouragement.

“I don’t understand why you treat me so well. Is it because you want me to help you get revenge?” Xue forced himself to voice the prepared line.

Geto burst into laughter. For the first time, he laughed so openly in front of Xue, his whole figure swaying like a tree in the wind.

When the laughter subsided, he slung an elbow across Xue’s narrow shoulders with unrestrained familiarity, as though this boy truly mattered to him.

“Little snowflake, are you planning to use that scrawny body to assassinate Gojo Satoru inside Jujutsu High?”

He tapped a finger against the boy’s thin chest.

“Revenge requires hatred. I don’t feel that toward him—not even though I died by his hand.” He smiled as he spoke of his death, showing no trace of bitterness.

“Then… what is it you want from me, Mr. Geto?” Xue pressed. He felt close to uncovering Geto’s real intent.

Geto soon composed himself, his layered robes lending him an air of solemnity. Yet his violet eyes brimmed with a dangerous kind of allure.

“I want you to see the world for what it truly is.”

His voice cut like winter wind, sharp and cold.

“Why is it that children like you are always treated so cruelly? Jujutsu sorcerers risk their lives against curses to protect those worthless monkeys—yet the monkeys still lash out at you without restraint.”

Leaning down, Geto’s soft voice poured into the boy’s pink eyes, so young and innocent.

“My goal is to protect children like you… and to sweep those monkeys off the face of this world.”

The latter words he kept to himself—for now was not the time.

So it really was true, Xue thought with a wry pang. If it had been for money, power, or status, that would have been easier to stomach. But no—Geto had become a curse user for the sake of ideals.

After this brief exchange, their bond silently tightened.

Looking at him, Geto smiled again.

“No need to trouble yourself. I’ll always be with you, no matter what.”

The words were soft, yet carried the weight of a near-absolute vow. For an instant, Xue felt crushed within an embrace that was not real—Geto’s intangible body passing right through him.

But the sensation was suffocatingly vivid.

In his ear, the man’s low voice murmured:

“You are Gojo Satoru’s student, but you will also be my one and only disciple. I’ll give you everything I can.”

Xue kept running, forcing his breath steady, suppressing the tremble in his legs. Since that day Geto had spoken those words, their training had turned into hell. Just the way Xue liked it. Now, he could be seen in nearly every training ground of Jujutsu High.

After finishing his laps, his pale face flushed red. Collapsing against a broken tree, he struggled to even straighten up, regulating his breath.

Once he had somewhat recovered, Geto’s fingers traced the edge of a weapon rack. Silver light flashed off sharp blades. Smiling, he asked:

“Which one do you like?”

He actually preferred guns… but swallowing the thought, Xue said quietly:

“I’ve never used weapons before. I don’t know what I’d like.”

The food at Jujutsu High wasn’t gourmet, but it was plentiful. Xue could eat his fill every day. With just one week of proper meals and relentless training, both his energy and body had already changed drastically. He even felt taller.

“If you don’t like weapons,” Geto said, “then focus on honing your cursed technique and your physical body.”

Xue nodded. He picked up a small stool to sit on—only for it to crumble into fragments in his hand.

Embarrassed, he put the remains down and stayed standing.

Geto chuckled softly, not unkindly. He even consoled him:

“You’ve never received systematic training. With your cursed energy this abundant, such things are bound to happen.”

Glancing at the shattered stool, he suggested, “We’ll need some way to keep your power in check.”

Xue stared at his own hand, then murmured:

“Gloves. If I wear them in daily life, it’ll be like binding myself. Taking them off will mean it’s time to fight.”

He was secretly borrowing Chuuya Nakahara’s idea from faraway Yokohama.

Geto nodded. “Not bad at all.” His violet eyes narrowed with seriousness. “But here’s the problem, little snowflake—we don’t have a single coin to our name.”

Ever since he’d whimsically given Xue that nickname, Geto often teased him with it.

Xue’s spirit deflated. He had already destroyed the stool—adding another debt on top of the tree he broke earlier. Principal Yaga hadn’t said much, but that had clearly been an expensive tree.

Raising his arms slowly in surrender toward Geto, Xue turned his head—just as Gojo Satoru stepped into the underground training hall.

He caught sight of his student with both arms up.

“What’s this?” Gojo grinned.

Switching from Geto’s direction to Gojo’s tall, striking figure, Xue used the same serious tone Geto had just used:

“I’m surrendering to my poverty.”

“Oh?” Gojo tilted his head. “What did you break this time?”

“The training stool…” Xue pointed weakly at the pile of wood chips, head drooping.

The training hall was a raised wooden platform, about half a meter above ground. Gojo sat on its edge, patting the spot beside him.

Xue obeyed, sitting at his side. Geto joined him as well, taking the seat on his right.

Sandwiched between two men nearly one meter ninety, Xue felt his height was being crushed. Side by side, they looked like a pair of massive bread slices—and he, the tiny filling in between.

“You’ve been working hard lately,” Gojo said, tilting his head as he pinched the boy’s now slightly plump cheeks.

Since coming to Jujutsu High, Xue’s condition had visibly improved. Even his hair had regained its sheen.

“I want to become a strong sorcerer as soon as possible,” Xue said seriously.

Gojo clapped enthusiastically. He had even consulted a licensed psychologist after asking Shoko about Xue’s mental state, since she had no background in psychology. Now, he felt confident he could gauge the boy’s condition fairly well.

Smiling under his blindfold, Gojo asked:

“Can you still see your father?”

Xue nodded.

“And does he scold you in anger… or encourage you?” Gojo pressed.

On Xue’s other side, Geto suddenly cut in:

“You naughty little brat.” After a pause, he added warmly, “You’re my hardworking little snowflake.”

Hearing no reply from his student, Gojo frowned slightly.

“Or does he act sad… or happy in front of you?”

Geto tilted his head, violet eyes gleaming mischievously. Propping his chin in his hand, black hair falling across his pale neck, he performed:

“Ah, so happy.”

Then, resting his forehead on his hand, he lowered his voice to a deep tone.

“Ah, so sad.”

Xue couldn’t help but laugh. Scratching the stubborn cowlick at the back of his hair, he told Gojo:

“Sensei, my foster father is telling me bad jokes.”