Gojo Satoru floated—naked, whole, and divine—above the shattered landscape of the Lands of Always Winter, silhouetted against the drifting Winter Moon. There were no clouds, no sounds, just the silence of awe and confusion.

  He felt like a god.

  No... something more.

  Invincible.

  He clenched and unclenched his fingers, testing his body—the one he had just rebuilt. The pieces of his former self had scattered into a million shards, crushed by the moon itself. And yet, here he stood.

  The Moon Shard’s eye—that cold, all-seeing, ancient thing—trembled.

  “How?”

  It echoed across the cursed winds.

  How had this man survived the unthinkable?

  Gojo smirked. “Long time no see.”

  His words were casual, even playful, but his voice carried the weight of something eternal. Something that had danced on the edge of life and death and come back sharper.

  He stared into the eye of the Moon Shard.

  “I was blind,” he said, “so blind.”

  He raised his hand, admiring the glow pulsing beneath his skin. So this is what it felt like… to walk above life and death.

  “If I could turn cursed mass into cursed energy… why couldn’t I do the reverse?”

  The Moon Shard stilled.

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  Gojo’s smile grew.

  “That moment—right before my brain was destroyed—I gambled everything. My technique… my soul… everything.”

  And then he whispered:

  “Cursed Technique Reversal.”

  He had taken all his cursed energy and, instead of using it to attack or defend, had transformed his body into cursed energy itself—pure essence, floating and untouchable. And then he reformed—atom by atom—outside the blast, immune to destruction.

  The Moon Shard had destroyed only his clothes.

  It had never touched him.

  The ancient eye twitched, furious, boiling with hate.

  Gojo winked. “You just made me stronger. You made me realize.”

  The sky darkened.

  The Moon Shard screamed, calling down every remaining moon fragment from orbit. Blades of light, of ice, of cursed stone—hundreds of them—rained down on Gojo like divine judgment.

  But…

  They didn’t land.

  Everything that approached Gojo slowed… stopped… froze in place.

  There was a ripple of disbelief from the Shard.

  Gojo tilted his head lazily. “You don’t get it yet?”

  He raised a finger and flicked it in the air. The attacks crumbled into dust before they could ever touch him.

  “I can convert cursed energy into mass,” he said. “And mass into cursed energy.”

  His Infinity was no longer a technique.

  It was now reality.

  The Moon Shard's ice vessel—its champion—roared and charged, fists shimmering with domain amplification, hoping to cancel Gojo’s technique by force.

  Gojo looked up one last time.

  He thought of Jon Snow. Of that quiet train station in the afterlife. Of that worn-out, kind smile. Of that ticket in his hand.

  “I hope your next life’s kinder than this one,” he whispered.

  And then he raised his left hand—calm, precise—and made a subtle, ancient gesture.

  Like a flick of the wrist. Like an invitation to destruction.

  “Throughout heaven and earth,” Gojo said, eyes glowing blue-white, “I alone am the honored one.”

  A surge of cursed energy gathered, swallowing the sky in violet light.

  “Strange,” he muttered.

  And then:

  “Purple.”

  The blast was instant.

  A beam of concentrated destruction—a convergence of Red and Blue—pierced the frozen air.

  It struck the Moon Shard's vessel mid-charge, and everything halted.

  Then—

  Half the Moon Shard was gone.

  Not just shattered—erased. Obliterated from existence.

  The Moon howled.

  The winds died.

  The cursed domain trembled.

  Gojo exhaled slowly, drifting in the air like a falling god.

  “I’m not done yet,” he said.