The first move in any war was information. Ryouta had learned that from countless strategy games in his past life, and it held true in this world as well. They needed allies, but more importantly, they needed to know who they could trust. The jujutsu world was a web of ancient alliances, blood debts, and shifting loyalties. One wrong move could expose their plans before they'd even begun.
Ryouta spent the next three days using his Primordial Omniscience to its fullest extent. He expanded his awareness across Tokyo, focusing not on cursed spirits or missions, but on conversations. He listened to the whispers in clan meeting rooms, the hushed discussions in auxiliary family gathering halls, the bitter complaints of lower-ranked sorcerers who'd lost friends to "miscalculations." He built a map in his mind—not of geography, but of grievances, frustrations, and suppressed anger.
The picture that emerged was both encouraging and terrifying. There were far more dissatisfied sorcerers than he'd expected. The system's corruption wasn't a secret—it was an open wound that everyone knew about but no one dared address. The higher-ups maintained their power through a combination of tradition, fear, and the appearance of invincibility. But that appearance was exactly that—an appearance. They were vulnerable to exposure, to collective action, to the kind of scrutiny that would make their financial manipulations impossible to hide.
He presented his findings to the others at their next meeting, this time held in Satoru's apartment where they could be certain of privacy. Satoru had installed several high-grade barrier seals, creating a space where even the most sophisticated surveillance techniques would fail.
"There are three factions we can potentially ally with," Ryouta explained, laying out his analysis. "First, the independent sorcerers—those without clan affiliations. They're the most exploited by the current system and have the least to lose by supporting reform. Second, the younger generation of the major clans—sons and daughters who've seen their friends die and are starting to question their elders' methods. Third, and this is riskier, we have some of the older Grade 1 sorcerers who remember a time before the corruption became this systematic."
"Who do we approach first?" Geto asked, his strategic mind already working through the possibilities.
"The independents are safest," Shoko said. "They have no family hostages the higher-ups can threaten."
"But they also have the least political power," Satoru countered. "We need someone with weight. Someone the higher-ups can't just dismiss as a troublemaker."
"There is someone," Ryouta said carefully. "Masamichi Yaga."
The name hung in the air. Their former teacher, now a full instructor at Jujutsu High, was respected by both the conservative and reformist factions. More importantly, he was known for his integrity—a rare quality in jujutsu society.
"Will he help us?" Geto asked.
"I don't know," Ryouta admitted. "But he's the best chance we have for a credible voice of authority."
They approached Yaga the next day, requesting a private meeting under the guise of seeking career advice. He met them in his workshop, surrounded by his cursed puppet creations, his expression as stern and unreadable as ever.
"All four of you, together, for 'career advice,'" Yaga said, his tone making it clear he didn't believe the pretext for a second. "What's really going on?"
Satoru, for once, let Ryouta take the lead. This required diplomacy, not bravado.
"Sensei," Ryouta began, "we've discovered evidence of systematic corruption within the clan system. Deliberate misclassification of curses, insurance fraud, financial exploitation of auxiliary families. We have documentation, patterns, proof. We want to expose it, but we need help."
Yaga was silent for a long moment, his hands still working on the puppet he was constructing. "And you think I'm going to risk my career, possibly my life, to help four idealistic teenagers pick a fight with the most powerful families in jujutsu society?"
"Yes," Satoru said simply. "Because you're one of the few people in this rotten system who actually gives a damn about doing the right thing."
Yaga's hands finally stopped moving. He set down his tools and looked at them—really looked at them—his expression unreadable. "Show me your evidence."
They spent the next two hours going through everything Ryouta had compiled. Yaga's expression grew darker with each revelation, his jaw clenching tighter. When they finished, he stood and paced the workshop, his cursed energy fluctuating with barely suppressed rage.
"I knew it was bad," he said finally. "I knew there was corruption. But this..." He turned to face them. "This is a systematic murder machine dressed up as tradition. And you four want to tear it down."
"We have to," Geto said quietly. "If we don't, we're complicit."
Yaga studied them for a long moment, then sighed—a heavy, weary sound. "You're right. You're absolutely right. And I hate that you're right, because this is going to be a nightmare." He crossed his arms. "Alright. I'm in. But we do this smart. We build an airtight case, we secure multiple testimonies, and we release everything simultaneously so they can't isolate and silence individual whistleblowers. This isn't just about revenge. It's about actually changing the system."
Relief washed through the group. With Yaga's support, they had credibility. They had a chance.
"There's something else you should know," Yaga continued. "I'm not the only instructor who's noticed the patterns. There are others—at Kyoto High, at some of the regional schools. If we coordinate, we can make this a unified movement, not just Tokyo rabble-rousing."
"How long will it take to build that coalition?" Ryouta asked.
"Months," Yaga admitted. "Maybe longer. We need to be patient. Rushing this will just get people killed."
They agreed to proceed carefully, to build their case methodically. But as they left Yaga's workshop, Ryouta couldn't shake the feeling that they didn't have months. His omniscient awareness was picking up disturbances, subtle shifts in the way clan representatives were moving and meeting. Someone had noticed their investigation. The backlash was coming.
It started small. Missions that would normally go to other teams suddenly being assigned specifically to the four of them—high-risk assignments in remote locations where "accidents" could easily happen. Their mail started being screened more thoroughly. Their phone lines began experiencing odd static. Nothing overtly threatening, just a constant, low-level pressure that sent a clear message: We're watching. We know what you're doing. Back off.
Satoru's response was characteristically defiant. He treated every dangerous mission as a personal insult and dismantled the curses with overwhelming, excessive force. His message back was equally clear: I'm not afraid of you. Try harder.
But Ryouta was more concerned. The higher-ups were probing, testing their resolve and their vulnerabilities. They were looking for weak points to exploit. And the most obvious weak point was—
"Nanako and Mimiko," Geto said, voicing Ryouta's exact thought during one of their strategy sessions. "They're not officially protected. They're still technically wards of the state, which means the higher-ups could reassign them to a different facility under the guise of 'better accommodations.'"
"They try to touch those girls, and I'll erase whoever gives the order," Satoru said, his voice cold.
"Which is exactly what they want," Ryouta said. "An excuse to brand you as a threat and neutralize you. We need to be smarter." He'd been thinking about this problem for days, using his omniscient awareness to trace possible futures. "We need to make them untouchable. Formal adoption, maybe. Or official enrollment under a specific instructor's guardianship."
"I'll take them," Geto said immediately. "I'm already their primary instructor. Making it official just legitimizes what's already happening."
"The clans will see it as you building your own power base," Shoko warned. "Young Special Grade sorcerer collecting talented students. They'll interpret it as a threat."
"Let them," Geto said, and there was steel in his voice. "Those girls have been through enough. I'm not letting anyone use them as leverage."
The paperwork was filed the next day, Yaga expediting it through his authority as an instructor. Nanako and Mimiko were officially made Geto's apprentices, which granted them certain protections under jujutsu law. It was a small victory, but it felt like a line in the sand.
Ryouta knew he needed to be prepared for the inevitable confrontation. The higher-ups wouldn't move overtly—they'd send proxies, hired assassins, or "concerned clan members" to deliver warnings that were really threats. He needed defenses that wouldn't reveal his full capabilities but would make him a hard target.
In his hidden dojo, he worked on refining his barrier techniques. Not the omniscient network he'd already mastered, but something more focused—personal defensive barriers that could be deployed instantaneously, that would protect not just against physical and cursed attacks but against more subtle threats like poison, surveillance, and mental manipulation.
He practiced for hours, creating layer upon layer of microscopic barriers around himself, each one tuned to deflect a different type of threat. It was exhausting work, requiring concentration so intense that his head throbbed. But gradually, he felt the technique solidify.
By the end of the week, he could maintain a seven-layer defensive array without conscious thought. It was subtle enough that most sorcerers wouldn't even notice it, but comprehensive enough that very few attacks could penetrate it. He'd become, in essence, untouchable—not through overwhelming power like Satoru's Infinity, but through meticulous, methodical defense.
The system appeared as he finalized the technique.
╔═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
║ ◇ PRIMORDIAL SYSTEM ◇
║
║ [TECHNIQUE MASTERED: Layered Aegis]
║ [CURRENT MASTERY LEVEL: EXPERT]
║
║ [10X PRIMORDIAL AMPLIFICATION AVAILABLE]
║
║ AMPLIFIED FORM: "PRIMORDIAL SANCTUARY"
║
║ Primordial Sanctuary transforms defense into absolute
║ inviolability. Within your sanctuary, you exist in a
║ state of conceptual protection where harm itself cannot
║ reach you. It is not a barrier that blocks attacks—it is
║ a declaration that within this space, you are untouchable
║
║ ► YES - Transform to "Primordial Sanctuary" forever
║ ► NO - Continue developing standard Layered Aegis
╚═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
Ryouta considered the offer. Absolute protection sounded tempting, especially with threats closing in. But there was always a cost to these amplifications, even if it wasn't immediately apparent. And something about the phrase "conceptual protection" worried him. Would he be able to touch others? Would he be isolated within his own defense?
NO.
He would keep his barriers as they were—strong, but not absolute. He needed to be able to engage with the world, not hide from it behind conceptual walls.
That night, Satoru found him on the roof again, as he often did when something was weighing on him.
"Can't sleep?" Satoru asked, sitting down beside him without invitation.
"Too much thinking," Ryouta admitted.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the city breathe below them. Finally, Satoru spoke. "Are we doing the right thing? Taking on the entire establishment?"
It was a surprisingly vulnerable question from someone who usually projected absolute confidence. Ryouta turned to look at his brother, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes.
"I think," Ryouta said carefully, "that doing nothing would be wrong. Whether what we're doing is right... we won't know until it's over. But at least we're trying. At least we're refusing to be part of the machine."
"People are going to die," Satoru said quietly. "If this turns into a real conflict, if the clans decide to make an example of us... people are going to die."
"I know," Ryouta said. "And I'm terrified of that. But people are already dying, Satoru. They're dying in missions designed to fail, for insurance payouts and property acquisitions. The blood is already on the system's hands. We're just making it visible."
Satoru nodded slowly, his jaw setting with determination. "Then we see it through. All the way. No backing down."
"Together?" Ryouta asked, holding out his fist.
"Always," Satoru replied, bumping his fist against his brother's.
The moment felt significant, like a vow before a battle. They were committing to a path that could destroy them. But they were doing it together, as they'd always promised.
The unexpected ally came from the most unlikely source. Three weeks into their careful coalition building, Ryouta received a message through an encrypted talisman—a method of communication he'd only shared with their most trusted contacts. The message was brief: We need to talk. Alone. Come to the old Zenin estate's eastern garden at midnight. I have information you need.
It was almost certainly a trap. But Ryouta's omniscient awareness, when he focused it on the Zenin compound, detected something genuine. Someone within that nest of vipers was actually on their side.
He went alone, his defensive barriers active, his Veil of Unbeing ready to activate at a moment's notice. The eastern garden was a neglected area of the massive Zenin estate, overgrown and forgotten. A perfect place for a clandestine meeting.
The figure waiting for him was surprising—a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, wearing the traditional robes of the Zenin clan but with the bearing of someone who'd seen combat. She had a scar running down her left cheek and eyes that held a deep, simmering anger.
"You're one of the Gojo twins," she said. It wasn't a question.
"I am," Ryouta confirmed, keeping his distance. "And you are?"
"Someone who's sick of watching this family profit from the deaths of sorcerers who trusted us," she said bitterly. "My name is Mai Zenin. And I want to help you burn this whole rotten system to the ground."
Ryouta's omniscient awareness read her emotions—rage, grief, determination, and beneath it all, a profound sense of betrayal. She was genuine. Somehow, impossibly, they'd found an ally within one of the most conservative clans.
"Why?" Ryouta asked simply.
"Because my twin sister died on a mission two months ago," Mai said, her voice cracking slightly. "A Grade 2 curse that was actually a Special Grade. The clan knew. They sent her anyway because the insurance payout was more valuable than her life." She looked at him with fierce intensity. "I found the documents. The calculations. The decision matrix they used to determine she was 'acceptable losses.' So yes, I want to help. And I have access to information you can't get anywhere else."
Ryouta made a decision. He extended his hand. "Welcome to the coalition."
She shook it, her grip firm. "When do we move?"
"Soon," Ryouta said. "We're building our case, securing testimonies. When we go public, we need it to be undeniable."
"Good," Mai said. "Because I'm done watching people die for profit."
As Ryouta returned to his apartment that night, his omniscient awareness picked up a disturbing pattern. The clan representatives were meeting more frequently. Resources were being mobilized. Curse users—mercenaries and assassins outside the normal jujutsu structure—were being contracted.
The higher-ups had made their decision. The subtle pressure had failed. The warning shots had been ignored. Now they were preparing for something more direct. More violent.
Ryouta immediately sent encrypted messages to Satoru, Geto, Shoko, and Yaga. They're moving. Be ready. Stay alert. Don't travel alone.
The response from Satoru was characteristically brief: Let them come.
But Ryouta knew it wasn't that simple. This wasn't going to be a fair fight. This was going to be assassination attempts, frame jobs, accidents that weren't accidents. The clans had centuries of experience in eliminating threats while maintaining plausible deniability.
He sat on his balcony, his omniscient awareness spread across the city, tracking threats, calculating probabilities, preparing for the storm he knew was coming. They'd lit a fire, and now they'd have to weather the inferno.
But as he sat there in the darkness, surrounded by his invisible barriers, his mind filled with the movements of his enemies, Ryouta Gojo allowed himself a small, grim smile. The higher-ups thought they were hunting dangerous reformers. They didn't realize they were backing a primordial force into a corner.
And cornered shadows had a tendency to bite back.