The compound reeked of blood. Lanterns flickered weakly, their flames shivering in the copper stench that hung over every broken wall and crumpled body.
Maki stood in the center of it all, her chest heaving as silence swallowed the last scream. The tatami beneath her feet was slick, streaked with crimson, but her eyes were fixed only on the shadow that moved through the hall.
Naoya Zen'in emerged from the darkness with unhurried steps. His robes were spotless, his posture infuriatingly composed. If the massacre unsettled him, he did not show it. Instead, he looked down at Maki with a sneer that barely curled into the shape of a smile.
The world around Maki fractured into frames, reality skipping as Naoya's form blurred. To ordinary eyes, he vanished, yet within the technique's rhythm, he was everywhere, tracing movements already predetermined in the space around them.
A fist snapped toward her throat, faster than the blink of an eye.
Maki's body twisted aside, her reflexes sharpened to a knife's edge. The strike grazed her collar instead of crushing her windpipe, sparks flaring as the speed tore fabric apart.
Naoya reappeared behind her, foot already descending in a ruthless kick. She rolled with the blow, her body rattling against the wooden wall, then came up in a crouch, sword flashing.
The clash began in earnest.
Their movements tore through the compound, splintering beams and shattering screens with every exchange. Naoya's speed stretched the limits of perception, his Projection Sorcery allowing him to move like an unstoppable film reel. Every motion was perfect, every strike executed with mechanical precision.
But Maki was no ordinary opponent.
Her body, freed of cursed energy, operated with a clarity that defied reason. She did not track Naoya with her eyes alone, but with the subtle shifts in air, the instinctive understanding of intent. With each frame he created, she learned, adapting in real-time.
A palm grazed her shoulder. The technique snapped, freezing part of her body for an instant. Naoya's grin widened as his blade sliced down toward her chest.
At the last moment, her muscles screamed and tore, forcing her body free from the bind. The blade cut shallow instead of fatal, blood streaking across her arm. Her counter came immediately, a brutal swing that cut the railing in half as Naoya flickered backward, the wood collapsing in his place.
"You are quicker than I expected," Naoya admitted, his breath calm even as sweat traced his temple. "But you are still clumsy. You're no Toji!"
His voice grew sharper with every word. "You are nothing, Maki. Nothing but a reminder of failure. And yet here you are, barking at me."
Maki spat blood on the floor. "Keep talking. I'll shut you up soon enough."
She lunged.
The compound buckled as they collided again, her strikes carrying the weight of a hammer, his evasion refined to a razor's edge. Each second stretched, filled with flashes of steel and the crack of bone against wood.
Naoya's confidence never faltered. He moved with the arrogance of a man convinced of his superiority, his Projection Sorcery painting the battlefield in movements that seemed impossible to counter.
His hands lashed out again, grazing her side, freezing her frame for an instant. His blade, hidden until now, flashed from his sleeve in a strike meant to gut her.
Maki twisted, pain ripping through her as the steel traced her ribs but failed to bite deeper. Her own blade screamed upward in response, slicing through the air.
Naoya flinched too late.
Her swing cut across his arm, flesh and bone parting in an arc of blood. His right hand fell limp, the blade clattering uselessly to the floor.
"Wha-" His words cut short as her knee drove into his chest, ribs snapping under the force. He staggered back, his smirk shattered, his technique stuttering as the pain overwhelmed him.
Maki did not hesitate. Her sword danced again, carving through his other arm, severing tendons before he could react. Naoya howled, dropping to one knee, blood soaking the tatami in violent pools.
"You call this pride?" Maki hissed, her voice trembling with fury. "You call this strength? You're nothing... Worthless and pathetic like every other man in this clan..."
Naoya's breath came ragged, his once perfect composure unraveling into desperation. Yet his eyes still burned, hatred more alive than fear.
Maki turned away. She did not need to finish him; he was not deserving of her time. Not when Mai still waited.
She sheathed the sword, walked past his broken form, and picked her sister into her arms. The weight was light, far too light, as if Mai hadn't even been properly cared for... No surprise there.
Naoya's voice rasped behind her. "You think… this is over?"
Maki ignored him, her steps steady as she left the chamber.
And from the shadows, another figure stepped out.
Mahito's clone stepped forward, crouching before the broken Naoya. His smile gleamed in the faint lanternlight, delighted, curious, hungry.
"What a fascinating amount of hatred you have in you," Mahito said softly, almost tenderly. "You hate her. You hate yourself. You hate everything. That kind of hatred… oh, it is fertile soil for something far more interesting."
Naoya snarled, his blood staining his teeth. "Get away from me, you freak."
Mahito chuckled, unfazed. "Oh... You'd be more agreeable without a mouth."
His fingers clasped around Naoya's neck, immediately freezing him, before he could even whimper, his lips sewed themselves shut, and the wounded Zen'in froze, too weak to fight back.
The muffled gurgle that came from Naoya's stitched lips made Mahito laugh. "Oh, don't pout. You were so chatty a moment ago. Isn't silence much more dignified?"
The horror in Naoya's eyes was indefinable, his anger fully replaced as his very body was mutilated once again.
"Yes, you look better now~" Mahito whispered. "You will be perfect~"
-
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Days later, Principal Yaga sat in his office, his desk buried beneath reports. The paper in his hand felt heavier than stone.
Maki Zen'in had destroyed the clans. She had carved through the Zen'in and the Kamo alike, leaving nothing but corpses and ruin.
The Three Great Clans, a cornerstone of jujutsu society for centuries, no longer existed as they once had. Two had been shattered beyond repair. Only the Gojo name remained, and even that was fractured.
For the council, it was a chance to consolidate power. For Yaga, it was nothing less than tragedy.
He leaned back, sighing, his fingers pressing against his brow. The council had made its decision. Publicly, they would denounce Maki. They had to. No matter what the truth was, the smaller clans and the families needed stability, not a figure who embodied rebellion.
"Damn it, girl," Yaga muttered, his voice low and pained. "You never gave yourself a chance."
Outside those halls, Maki carried Mai on her back, her steps steady but uncertain. She had nowhere to go. No clan to claim her. No council to shelter her.
Thankfully, Maki was already strong enough to stand on her own. But in the end, who would she turn to for support?
The former peers that were judging her and the ones that stopped her from saving her sister in time, or the curse that had backed her up without hesitation?
Even worse, he had helped her in the past as well, and she had been forced to resort to asking him for yet another favor.
At least now she was more confident in her newfound strength. The Zen'in were never a threat to begin with...
Only time would tell.