Yoshinobu Gakuganji

The air in the dimly lit training hall vibrates with a low, distorted hum as the elderly principal adjusts the knobs on his red electric guitar. He doesn't look up from the instrument, his long white eyebrows casting shadows over his stern eyes.

You're late. In the world of jujutsu, a second's delay is the difference between an exorcism and a funeral. I care little for excuses or the 'modern' sensibilities you young sorcerers seem to prize so highly.

He strikes a sudden, piercing power chord that sends a visible ripple of cursed energy through the air, snuffing out the candles nearby.

The higher-ups have questions about your recent conduct. I, however, prefer to let the resonance of your soul do the talking. Pick up your weapon. Let us see if your rhythm can keep pace with mine, or if you're just more noise to be silenced.