Gojo Masajin, a name that carried power across all the jujutsu world. For decades he had stood at the pinnacle of sorcery, none to rival him. The great clans had cowed to him, curse users had hidden away in fear, and cursed spirits had become lambs for slaughter.
But if one were to look upon him now, with no sense of his cursed energy, they would see nothing but a deteriorating relic of the past. He sat atop a chair next to a desk of ancient oak facing the glass-paned windows in the Gojo clan headquarters. A blindfold covered his eyes, as it had for years now. He had no reason to take it off and couldn't afford to do it in vain regardless. Such was the cost of old age; even his reversed cursed technique could not afford to keep a strained mind refreshed for long. The long years of constant healing had left their mark; now, all it could do was prolong his stay in combat. Even still, none dared to stand against him; he remained the strongest, and the fate of those who faced him in battle was already sealed. Now, his mind fluttered with thoughts of past regrets and waning hope for the future.
During his youth, he envisioned a future of peace, an era rivaling the Heian in its infamy—not for its ruthlessness but for its tranquility, where conflict between sorcerers would be a rarity. Yet, here he sat, a reluctant guardian of a fragile peace that seemed to face an imminent collapse.
His clan had urged him to act decisively against all opposition. They wanted him to unleash his might and destroy any forces that might threaten them. But he had staunchly refused, believing that violence would only give rise to another era of conflict. Instead, he had reduced himself to the role of an enforcer over the sorcery world, leveraging his strength to maintain the uneasy balance.
For a time, it seemed to be effective. The great powers had yielded, most notably the Kamo clan, whose head had become a powerful ally. Together, they had begun to build a lasting peace, but that partnership had collapsed with the Kamo head's death two decades ago. Now, he was among the few of his generation left, alongside the cursed Zenin clan, who had been a constant thorn in his side.
They had refused to acquiesce, wandering the line between defiance and caution, ensuring he could never justify an attack on them.
He sighed; the weight of his decisions had begun to press down upon him. He had been soft with the Zenin clan, not out of mercy, but from concern that any direct actions would cast him as a tyrant. They had been careful, always waiting for him to reveal a weakness. It left him weary, wondering whether the ideals he clung to were ever achievable.
As he began to feel his mortality, he started to question if his approach had been wrong. He wanted a world free of conflict between sorcerers, but now he had to watch as the seeds of unrest were planted, waiting for his time to pass so they could grow forth again. He was but a wall, holding back the coming avalanche.
Once a man driven by dreams of a perfect future, he now would settle for a flawed one. Yet he hesitated to act. He still stood by watching; this balance he created might be false, but he still stood and wanted to keep it, if but a moment longer. As much as he understood the naivety of his youth, he still felt reluctant to cast it aside. Acting now would mean acknowledging that everything he stood for was a mirage.
That was also why he refused to step down, allowing his son and the clan's next generation to take the reins. The boy wasn't ready yet; he considered himself clever, sneaking behind his back and laying out his own agenda. The boy believed his cunning would allow him to succeed in the world of sorcery. And he may be right if those like himself did not exist. But that was reality; for all his intellect, he wasn't powerful enough; yes, the boy was a strong first-grade sorcerer bordering on higher, but that would only suffice for now, with himself being the only special grade alive. Soon, another would rise; with the birth of a Ten Shadows user, it was all but confirmed. And when that occurred, no amount of cunning would be enough to ensure the safety of the Gojo clan; only the decisions of the strong would decide that. He could hear the boy approach now, his steps out of rhythm, seemingly in a rush, a rare event. Alongside him came Isamu, one of the few he still trusted, both in loyalty and capability. He had been his right hand for some time since his grandfather passed. Little Isa had filled in well, taking over the role his grandfather had done.
As he turned to face his desk once more, the door was swung open by force, slamming into the walls, announcing their presence as if he had somehow missed it. His son barged in; he could feel the roiling cursed energy; the boy was angry. Even Isa looked disheveled, holding onto a stack of files not fully organized, and seemingly out of sorts.
They approached him, and Kiyo roughly took the files from Isa's arms and slammed them onto the desk. "Look at them, father! Look what your indecision has brought forth. The death of our clan members!"
As the accusation struck him, he narrowed his eyes, "What do you speak of, boy?"
"Those accursed old evils of the Zenin clan," Kiyo spat, his voice rising, "they attacked those of ours, not seasoned sorcerers, but the children. They seemed to have targeted the talented among them, no doubt for fear of their future growth."
A silence settled between them before he spoke back, "Do you know what you accuse them of? As stubborn as they may be, they have always been careful not to antagonize us outright."
"And they were careful this time as well," Kiyo countered, "the children had left on a mission a few days ago when they were killed. We would not have known they were missing for a few days yet. It was only through Raizo Zenin that we found out."
His brows rose, "Raizo Zenin, the former clan head? Then the incident—"
"Yes," Kiyo nodded, "it occurred when their operations were revealed to him; before he could act, they struck him instead. But he didn't escape with nothing; his men retrieved the dead bodies of the children and the culprits. It was a group of curse users employed by the Zenin elders; the elders killed them off once the mission was done. We already checked the corpses; the wounds match the techniques of the curse users."
He turned to look at Isa and received a nod of confirmation.
"Then we must decide on a resp—"
"No," Kiyo's voice cut through, "it is too late for that, father."
He frowned, "What?"
"Those of my generation tire of waiting on the sidelines while allowing others to walk over us. And now they harm our children? The first-class sorcerers have already set off and surrounded the Zenin clan's inner grounds. Tonight, the Zenin elders will fall no matter the sacrifices we must make."
"You think the Zenin clan so weak?" he asked as he rose. "How many have you sent to their deaths with your impulsiveness?"
"I have met with Raizo Zenin; even the Zenin clan does not condone such actions; harming children is a line that should not be crossed. The first and second-class sorcerers of the Zenin themselves have trapped their elders in the core of the compound. The Kamo clan has agreed to hunt down any other curse users connected to the elders that might interfere in this conflict.
"This isn't impulsiveness, Father. This is decisiveness—something which you seem to lack. It is you that brought us to this point, Father."
"Why have you come then?" he asked, his voice quiet. "Why tell me now?"
"Because, as you said, many will die even still. But not if you stepped in and eliminated those elders. And—" he paused, "as much as I criticize you, father. I understand that the ideal you have is as beautiful as it is unattainable. I wanted to give you a chance to salvage even a fraction of this peace you have achieved, not to watch it fully shatter away before you pass."
He felt himself wrestle with indecision once more, but Kiyo continued on, "This is the best I can do for you as a son. I'm not strong like you. I cannot ignore reality and live in the visions of a perfect future, but I admire you still, Father."
Something shook loose from him as realization dawned, a chain that had tied him down. This was his last chance to see his ideal stand; if he removed those Zenin elders while the Gojo, Zenin, and Kamo clans had come together for this purpose, he might be able to give life to his vision again. But before he could leave, Kiyo grabbed him, "Father, tell me, if you ever came to know without a sliver of doubt that the ideal you seek cannot be achieved, would you still cling to it, or would you sacrifice it for the future of the clan, even if it may be in a fallen world? You don't need to answer now, Father; you'll have the opportunity to give me a response later."
He didn't stay to decipher the meaning behind the words; he had a purpose after all these years. He felt his cursed energy surge in response. He would make this count. As he disappeared from the room, he heard a soft whisper from his son.
"Goodbye, Father."
Why did Kiyo sound—so sad?
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The suffocating atmosphere, like a storm, was on the horizon. It happened without warning—their usual routines were shattered by the betrayal. Their own sorcerers now encircled them, containing them to the heart of the compound. Three elders had been sent to negotiate with the first-class sorcerers, both to uncover the truth and search for a peaceful resolution.
But as he stood among the five other remaining elders, he felt a deeper undercurrent at play.
"This has to be the work of Raizo," he was sure of that.
"Are you certain? He barely managed to flee, all while suffering losses. If he had so many accomplices, there would have been no need—"
He cut in. "He tricked us. He didn't flee because he thought he stood no chance, but instead to keep his hand hidden. The question is: why now? What gave him the confidence to stand against us now that he hadn't before? And why haven't they attacked outright? Instead, they only encircle us. Either they genuinely plan to negotiate rather than wage a war, or they are waiting on something—something I fear we won't like."
He wished for a peaceful ending to this, even if it meant relinquishing power to Raizo. They had been preparing for the day when the sky would fall, when Gojo Masajin would die. They couldn't afford to fight a coup and weaken themselves; their strength had to be preserved for the moment that monster passed on.
Then, he felt it—like a flicker on the horizon, a familiar cursed energy. It closed in faster than he could comprehend. Gojo Masajin had arrived. Was that hypocrite attempting to play the savior again, imposing his will on both sides while masquerading as a figure of justice? Anger filled him but soon morphed into fear.
The elders sent to negotiate had seemingly vanished—no battle, no struggle; their cursed energy snuffed out. Panic surged as Masajin moved deliberately slowly towards them, with no doubts about his purpose. He hadn't attacked the traitors; instead, the encirclement only tightened. Raizo had allied with their worst enemy.
"There's no time to waste," he urged the other elders. "We only have as much time as his arrogance allows. Everyone to your positions. Ryu, retrieve the Crown and inform the boy to stay in his room."
Ryu nodded and split off as the remaining elders followed him. How had it come to this? In possibly just a few more years, that monster would have been a distant memory, and the reign of the Zenin clan would have begun.
They entered a large stadium containing a large combat arena; it bore an inner and outer circle. He walked past the outer circle, commanding two elders to stay behind, and stepped into the inner circle. The elders outside concealed themselves amongst the seats, getting prepared for what was to come.
Soon, Ryu returned with the cursed tool. "The boy?" he asked.
"I've informed him," Ryu confirmed.
"Then all that's left to do is here—our final act for the future of the clan." They stood, waiting for Gojo Masajin to descend upon them.
It wasn't long before Gojo entered the arena, exuding the same confidence as always. He tightened his grip on the Crown, blood trickling down his hands. The elders held themselves with focus; timing was crucial.
Gojo halted before the outer circle, turning toward one of the hidden elders. He almost cursed to himself, but instead took a deep breath, "How long have you been waiting for this, you monster? How long have you planned to paint the Zenin homes with our own blood?"
Gojo's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward. "You speak as if you weren't the one to—"
He was cut off as a barrier flared to life around the outer circle, followed by another around the inner circle. Gojo removed his blindfold, eyes gazing at the barriers. "An outer barrier to contain, and an inner barrier to deny—specifically attuned to me. How curious. It seems you've been planning for this, Hisamori."
There was no time for further talk. He lifted the Crown of Wisdom, a thorned circlet designed to drain the cursed energy of a sorcerer into itself, thereby concentrating it in the brain and amplifying mental faculties. It would weaken him physically and render him immobile in seconds, and soon after cause his death. But he wouldn't live past this either way—none of them would.
The two elders outside and two inside focused on maintaining the barrier, but there was no estimate of how long it could contain Gojo. Ryu cast his cursed technique to enhance his energy, and he felt his cursed energy begin to amplify, similar to the after-effect of a black flash. He pressed the crown down into his skull, the thorns digging through, and let out a quick breath before forming the necessary hand sign. This was it. He would drag down the monster before him, even if it meant descending into hell himself.
"Domain expansion—"
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