Blinding white light seared his nascent vision. A cacophony of muffled sounds assaulted his ears – a high-pitched wail, a low murmur of voices, the rhythmic beep of unseen machinery. Panic, sharp and primal, seized him. This was not the familiar hum of his gaming PC, not the comfortable scent of ramen and old anime DVDs. This was cold, sterile, and terrifyingly new. He was trapped. Memories collided. Tsukimi Tsukoyomi, anime fan, strategist, reborn. The reality slammed into him with the force of a physical blow. Jujutsu Kaisen. This world. The crushing weight of it all settled deep in his tiny chest. A pervasive, oppressive pressure filled the room. It wasn't physical air, but something far more insidious, a thick, cloying wrongness that vibrated just beyond the edge of normal perception. Cursed energy. He recognized it instantly, a chilling confirmation of his new reality. His infant body felt alien, unresponsive. Limbs flailed weakly, a whimper escaping his throat that was utterly not his own. This fragile shell was a cage, yet his mind raced, processing, analyzing. He needed to find his bearings. He needed a target, a focus. A piercing cry cut through the din, different from his own weak sounds. It was a scream of pure, unadulterated terror, laced with a familiar, sickly sweet cursed energy signature. His head, heavy and uncooperative, swiveled slowly, painfully, towards the source. Across the sterile room, nestled in another clear plastic bassinet, a tiny figure thrashed. Red hair, barely visible, a small face contorted in distress. Wide, terrified eyes, brimming with tears, locked onto nothing in particular. Riko. Riko Amanai. A cold dread, far more profound than any fear he'd felt for himself, gripped Tsukimi. Her death. The memory of it, vivid and brutal from his past life, flashed before his mind's eye. Her bright smile, her youthful exuberance, snuffed out by a cold, calculating assassin. A shiver, involuntary and deep, ran through his minuscule frame. Protect her. The thought solidified into an unshakeable imperative. It wasn't a choice; it was an instinct, a core directive carved into his very being. His life, his purpose, had just been defined. He wanted to reach her, to offer comfort, to somehow shield her from the fate he knew awaited her. His tiny fists clenched, useless. Frustration, raw and potent, burned within him. He was a baby. A helpless, useless baby. --- Days blurred into an indistinguishable haze of feeding, sleeping, and the constant, dull throb of cursed energy in the air. Tsukimi clung to awareness, fighting the infant's urge to simply exist. He needed to observe, to understand. He was Tsukimi Tsukoyomi, the strategist, the planner. He would not be a mere victim of circumstance. Overheard snippets of conversation drifted into his crib.

Chapter 1: A Newborn's Gaze