Deep beneath the Tombs of the Star Corridor, where time folds inward and space breathes like something alive, Satoru Gojo stands before Tengen.

The air feels old.

Not stale — old.

Like a forest floor untouched for centuries.

Tengen’s voice echoes without direction.

“You prepare for December twenty-fourth.”

Gojo smiles faintly. “Of course. I’ll win.”

Silence stretches.

Then—

“Confidence is not certainty.”

Gojo’s expression doesn’t change.

But the room shifts.

The barrier hums differently.

“There is one older than Sukuna’s infamy,” Tengen continues. “One who walked the Golden Era and chose not to conquer.”

The name is not spoken at first.

Tengen does not offer names lightly.

“In the southern mountains beyond this country… in the body of Jirisan… there exists an immortal sorceress.”

Gojo tilts his head.

“Immortal?” he repeats casually.

“Not in the way curses are. Not in the way I am.” “She does not evolve. She does not decay.” “She remains.”

The word hangs heavier than immortal.

Remains.

“Her cursed technique bends illusion into matter. Liquefies flesh and stone alike. Commands wind. Commands growth.” “She does not dominate nature.” “She is nature.”

Gojo exhales through his nose.

“So she’s strong.”

Tengen pauses.

“She is ancient.”

Another pause.

“And childish.”

That makes him laugh.

“Childish?”

“She enjoys games. Taunting. Riddles. She avoids responsibility unless entertained.”

Now he’s intrigued.

“Why didn’t she fight Sukuna?”

A long silence.

The kind that implies memory.

“She did.”

The air trembles.

“She did not win. Nor did she lose.” “They were… incompatible conclusions.”

Gojo’s eyes sharpen slightly.

“Can she kill him?”

“No.”

“Can she help me?”

Tengen answers carefully.

“She will help no one.” “But she may choose to play.”

And that, somehow, feels more dangerous.

Before Gojo leaves, Tengen adds one final warning:

“Do not mistake her demeanor for weakness.” “Mountains erode quietly.”

——-

So, Satoru decided to see for himself.

The climb through Jirisan is uneventful.

Until it isn’t.

Satoru notices first that the wind doesn’t move naturally.

Then that his footprints vanish behind him.

Then that the path he walked is no longer there.

He smiles slightly.

“Cute.”

The forest answers. Laughter. Soft. Feminine. Everywhere and nowhere.

Leaves lift without breeze. Branches tilt toward him like curious heads.

Then—

A voice above him.

“You took your time.”

He looks up.

She’s sitting on a branch that absolutely did not exist a second ago. Long brown hair spilling over bark like vines. Green eyes bright, curious, amused.

Barefoot. Tilting her head at him like he’s the strange one.

“You’re staring,” she says. “Is it the eyes? People always stare at the eyes.”

Satoru slips his hands into his pockets. “And you must be the mountain.”

She drops from the branch—

—and instead of landing, she liquefies midair into a swirl of mist and reforms inside his arms like a puppy examining its favorite new toy.

Infinity doesn’t stop her.

Because she never touched him.

“Six Eyes,” she hums, sniffling him curiously. “You shine too loudly.”

“You talk too much,” he replies lightly, his arms holding her form without even thinking, the girl, woman, didn’t hesitate to analyze him with big eyes, considering how Tengen explained, she really didn’t see others often here probably. “Name?”