January 2nd, clear skies.
It was the second day of the Three New Year's Days, and this year's gathering of the Three Great Families was convened as scheduled.
The venue was provided by one of the Three Great Families, who took turns hosting; the family acting as host bore full responsibility for security throughout the duration of the clan assembly.
This time, the gathering was held at the Kamo estate.
The Zenin family's arrival was nothing short of grand. Roughly twenty to thirty attendants followed closely behind the direct heirs, forming an imposing procession.
At the head was the twenty-sixth head of the Zenin family, Zenin Naobito—an elderly man draped in a haori, vigorous in spirit, his strides wide and confident, moving with a briskness that belied his age.
One step behind him was his younger brother, Zenin Ogi, his features gaunt and sharp, eyes glinting with a cold, piercing light, a sword worn at his waist.
Behind them, two paces back, were members of the same generation: Zenin Jinichi and Zenin Naoya.
Zenin Jinichi, in his early twenties, had a rugged, rough-hewn appearance, his hair wild and bristling, like a ronin who had stepped straight out of the Edo period.
Zenin Naoya, still in his teens, appeared quiet and well-behaved by contrast. With short, straight hair and strikingly refined features, he followed closely at his father's side. When his green eyes swept over the Kamo household's servants—heads bowed, movements disciplined, every gesture precise—there was a faint flicker of approval in his gaze.
When the Zenin family arrived, the current head of the Kamo family personally came out to receive them, showing none of the arrogance he might have displayed toward lesser clans.
Compared to the Zenin family, who placed extreme importance on cursed techniques, the Kamo family valued tradition and ritual far more deeply.
Over a thousand years of inheritance had established the Kamo bloodline as the most orthodox among sorcerer families. They carried within them the lineage of the onmyōji families of the Heian-kyō era.
Following them came the Gojo family, descendants of Sugawara no Michizane—one of the "Three Great Onryō of Japan."
Because Sugawara no Michizane had been slandered in court during his lifetime and eventually died of illness, while his legitimate descendants were exiled, rumors later arose that the Gojo family descended from a collateral branch of the Sugawara clan.
The matter lay so far in the past that, after the Gojo family rose to prominence, no one dared to openly question the legitimacy of their lineage.
Compared to the Kamo and Gojo families, the Zenin bloodline was more mixed, having frequently absorbed sorcerers from outside the clan. Even so, their ancestry was no less illustrious, bearing ties to the once-renowned Fujiwara family.
Another family with an equally long history was the Inumaki clan, the famous lineage of Cursed Speech users. By now, however, it had fallen into decline, with only the occasional inheritor of that talent appearing from time to time.
"Has the Gojo family not arrived yet?" Zenin Naobito asked as he untied the gourd at his waist and took a drink.
"It's the same every time," replied the head of the Kamo family, himself an elderly man. His hair was slicked straight back, and his gray robes resembled Zenin Naobito's in their subdued tones, lacking any bright coloration. His features even bore a faint resemblance to members of the Japanese imperial household.
Among the Three Great Families, the Kamo clan was the sorcerer family most closely connected to the Japanese imperial house and the political world.
There was still no sign of anyone from the Gojo family.
Secure in their status, and with the times no longer what they once were, the Gojo family made a habit of arriving late on every such occasion.
"And your son?" Zenin Naobito asked, gesturing with his arm. "The heir to the Blood Manipulation technique."
"My unworthy son is still young—only four years old. He awakened his technique not long ago. I'll introduce him to you all once he turns seven," the Kamo family head said. When he spoke of his successor, a faint pride shone in his eyes; among the Three Great Families, inherited techniques were a source of supreme honor.
Zenin Naoya played along on the surface, following his father's lead. "Three more years, then? I'm really looking forward to it."
In truth, he felt nothing but disdain for the old-fashioned Blood Manipulation technique.
As the Kamo family's inherited art, its details had been openly known within the Three Great Families for countless years.
By contrast, the technique he and his father possessed was a modern one, not part of the Zenin family's traditional inheritance. Information on Projection Sorcery was not disclosed to outsiders.
For that reason, only the two of them—father and son—knew that they naturally countered Blood Manipulation.
Among all of Blood Manipulation's techniques, the only move that posed any real threat to them was Piercing Blood, a strike defined by extreme speed and penetrating power.
Yet even this ultimate technique carried an obvious flaw: before using Piercing Blood, a member of the Kamo family had to first employ Convergence, compressing the blood to build momentum. The charging process was conspicuous, making the attack easy for the Zenin father and son to predict. Taken as a whole, the Kamo family's Convergence–Piercing Blood suffered from an excessively long wind-up and was, in the end, nothing to be feared.
There was only one person who truly understood the intelligence behind those techniques, who grasped every detail of their mechanics—and whom they could not afford to oppose.
—Six Eyes, paired with the Limitless technique.
What Zenin Naoya admired most was precisely Gojo Satoru's cursed technique. Compared to it, even the Ten Shadows Technique was lacking; its offense and defense were far less comprehensive. Five hundred years ago, when a wielder of the Ten Shadows dragged a previous Six Eyes user to death alongside himself, it had not been through his own strength.
It had been because of Mahoraga—
the otherworldly shikigami, a demonic god from beyond, one that no sorcerer in the history of jujutsu had ever successfully subdued.
To summon it was to choose mutual destruction.
No matter how outsiders perceived it, the leaders of the two families spoke amicably, clearly trending toward alliance under the overwhelming presence of the Six Eyes. Even their occasional lighthearted talk of wind, flowers, snow, and moon subtly alluded to certain people, certain matters.
Among those of the same rank, once interests aligned, becoming temporary allies came all too easily.
"That chilling cursed energy… Gojo-kun has arrived."
Zenin Naoya's heart stirred. At this unbearably dull clan gathering, the only thing he had left to look forward to was Gojo Satoru's arrival.
"You used to have Toji's name constantly on your lips, and now you've switched targets?"
Zenin Jinichi sneered at him, his tone thick with mockery.
"Jinichi, you don't understand," Zenin Naoya replied coolly. "They are powerful in entirely different realms—and you don't even possess the qualifications to set foot in those realms."
With that sentence, Zenin Naoya verbally stepped on Jinichi, a Grade-1 sorcerer, without the slightest hesitation.
Among the Three Great Clans—those most feudal, most steeped in antiquated hierarchy—Zenin Naoya was paradoxically the one with the most expansive definition of strength.
Strength meant impact.
Strength meant awe.
And if someone was both beautiful and powerful, then that person was a rare aurora, dazzling enough to shake the heart.
In this world, Naoya loathed being looked down upon by anyone. The only people he permitted to gaze down at him were Fushiguro Toji and Gojo Satoru.
Zenin Naoya longed to chase after strength like theirs—to run in the shadows of Toji and Satoru.
"..."
Before he had even made his entrance, Gojo Satoru had already caught sight of the Zenin family's "rotten little mandarin" twisting himself into praise.
He had always ignored Zenin Naoya and had never once imagined that the boy was, in fact, his admirer.
Rotten as he is, at least his mouth is sweet, Gojo Satoru thought to himself.
As for the Kamo family's overall state, he offered no commentary. Expecting the Three Great Clans to have clean hands was wishful thinking at best.
"Alright, let's get this over with," Gojo Satoru said lazily. "I'm not staying long."
He was dressed in a formal kimono, yet the dark sunglasses perched on his face looked utterly out of place.
Still, he refused to switch to sheer gauze or silk. Anything that brushed against his eyes made him acutely uncomfortable, and he had never bothered to hide that aversion.
Most importantly, the sunglasses were stylish enough. If there was no fight to be had, then the sunglasses stayed on.
The head of the Gojo clan followed behind him, willingly and without hesitation yielding the leading position to the highschooler.
Sixteen-year-old Gojo Satoru stepped into the clan assembly hall with a cold expression, taking his place as the leader of the Gojo family. His presence was fierce and overwhelming; frigid cursed energy surged outward, carrying a domineering force that crushed everyone in attendance, engraving the thought of "cannot be made an enemy" deep into the hearts of all who participated in the clan meeting.
["Lord Divine Child..."]
After rumors from the Higher-Ups spread, the two clan heads of the Three Great Families had both heard whispers of them.
The people of the Higher-Ups cursed the entire Gojo clan as insane, accusing them of elevating a mere mortal child into a Divine Child—but was Gojo Satoru truly unworthy?
If Gojo Satoru did not speak, he was genuinely peerless in elegance and brilliance.
The moment he opened his mouth—
"Old man from the Zenin clan, did you crawl out of a wine jar or something? You stink of alcohol—absolutely reeking."
"Hahaha! Gojo Satoru, this old man is a drunkard!"
Zenin Naobito was not the least bit surprised to be skewered once again by the sharp tongue of the Gojo clan's brat.
Had he not been verbally stabbed, Zenin Naobito might instead have begun to doubt whether his own strength had declined, whether the bearer of the Six Eyes no longer deemed him worth acknowledging. That aloof, godlike arrogance was simply a trait born of overwhelming power, and that bit of willfulness was entirely understandable.
Zenin Naoya watched the exchange with a smile.
Sooner or later, he would reach his father's level of strength, and when that day came, Satoru-kun would acknowledge him.
Next, Gojo Satoru dumped the most detestable part of socializing entirely onto the shoulders of the Gojo clan head. He was led indoors by the head of the Kamo clan and seated in a place reserved exclusively for him, with an antique screen set before him to block out discourteous gazes.
Gojo Satoru magnanimously had the Kamo servants remove the screen, propping his head on one hand as he freely displayed his beauty.
After all, the ridiculously handsome Gojo Satoru had that kind of confidence.
With cold detachment, he observed the undercurrents of intrigue among the great clans, the smaller families fawning over the larger ones, the discrimination men directed at women, and the sneers sorcerers cast at those without techniques, all while playing the role of a decorative mascot of the Three Great Families.
He did not place himself in anyone's position, nor did he feel the need to force others to acknowledge his will.
Gojo Satoru shifted slightly; he had already endured an entire hour.
The Gojo clan head promptly gave him a look that said, Please be patient and sit a little longer.
Two hours passed…
Gojo Satoru picked up a small mandarin from the fruit platter and toyed with it for a long while, never taking a bite. Instead, he used Blue to churn the inside into rotten pulp without breaking the peel, turning it into a perfectly intact mandarin that was thoroughly decayed within.
Then, seizing the right moment, Gojo Satoru hurled the small rotten mandarin at Zenin Naoya, who was chatting idly with someone nearby.
"Thud—" it struck squarely between his shoulder blades.
Zenin Naoya staggered forward two steps, pain flaring across his back, a bruise forming without question.
"Who was it?!"
Startled and furious at having failed to guard against an attack from behind, he looked down—only to see a mandarin rolling across the floor.
When he looked up again, he forced a stiff smile. "It's you, Satoru-kun… you really put too much strength into it."
Gojo Satoru removed his sunglasses and shot him a look he clearly thought was provocative, then tilted his head toward the exit and turned to walk outside.
Zenin Naoya hurried after him. "Satoru-kun!"
The Kamo clansmen who had been chatting with him moments earlier did not dare to follow, watching in confusion as the two young heirs left together.
The Zenin heir got hit like that and didn't even get angry?
The Kamo estate was vast, its wealth and grandeur accumulated over a thousand years, surpassing even the Gojo clan, whose fortunes rose and fell with the times. Finding a deserted spot was easy. Gojo Satoru avoided passersby, folded his arms, and waited for Zenin Naoya.
Five seconds later, Zenin Naoya arrived at full speed. When he stopped, he balanced on the tips of his toes in a perfectly upright stance, his movements elegant, like someone defying gravity as he hovered in midair. He walked toward the viewing platform, where the white-haired youth was already waiting.
The two heirs of the Three Great Families were still as statues when motionless and swift as startled hares when they moved. At top speed, they had shaken off the Kamo clan's watchful eyes, and when they met in private, they did not startle a single bird in the sky nor the ornamental fish leisurely drifting through the pond.
"Someone asked me to deliver this to you. Read it when you get back. Don't ask me—hell if I know what's written inside." Gojo Satoru pulled a letter from beneath his sleeve and tossed it to Zenin Naoya, never once mentioning the sender's identity.
The envelope was pitch-black, inside and out. The refined floral patterns along the edges and the faint scent of mandarin incense were proof that the sender had used high-grade stationery.
Having completed his covert courier job, Gojo Satoru brushed off his sleeves and turned to leave.
"Satoru-kun, on whose behalf are you delivering this letter?" Zenin Naoya stopped him.
"Secret," Gojo Satoru replied, honoring the agreement to keep it confidential.
"May I choose not to accept it?" Zenin Naoya was not some easily dismissed fool; he regarded the letter of unknown origin with caution. "Some methods of cursing people use paper as a medium."
"Hah? If I wanted to screw you over, would I really go through all that trouble?" Gojo Satoru snapped irritably. "There's no cursed energy on it."
"Of course Satoru-kun wouldn't harm me." Zenin Naoya rarely got the chance to see Gojo Satoru, and he seized on the other's eagerness to finish the delivery and leave, deliberately prolonging the conversation with the person he admired. "I'm just curious that there's someone out there who can get you to run an errand."
"No one ordered me around," Gojo Satoru refused to admit it. "I did it of my own free will."
Zenin Naoya tore open the seal on the letter.
Gojo Satoru flicked his eyes over it for an instant, then forcibly reined in the penetrating vision of the Six Eyes. "I promised I wouldn't look."
Zenin Naoya, indulging his mischievous streak, said, "You're not allowed to look? But I want Satoru-kun to read it aloud for me."
Gojo Satoru: "..."
When it came to people who pushed their luck and climbed all over his head, Gojo Satoru had only one response.
"Either I stuff that letter into your mouth, or you disappear from my sight right now."
"All right, all right, Satoru-kun's angry."
Zenin Naoya stepped off the viewing platform. "Can I tell my father that you called me out to meet you just now?"
"No," Gojo Satoru replied with open disdain. "I have absolutely no interest in being associated with you. Rotten mandarin, stay the hell away from me."
Zenin Naoya was deeply struck by those words. "I think I'm actually pretty up to date."
He read fashion magazines without missing an issue, had a piano set up at home, and even occasionally practiced chess under the guidance of a master.
Moreover, from childhood onward, in the hours outside his formal training, he had learned every refined skill expected of a scion of a great clan.
Set against his own diligence and eagerness to learn, his older brothers were nothing more than a pack of idle, useless layabouts.
"You reeks of hopelessness," Gojo Satoru muttered, vanishing from the spot.
Zenin Naoya held the letter between his fingers and said with open admiration, "The only thing faster than my technique is Blue."
Bound by the limits of physical laws, his speed could never compare to true instantaneous movement.
"Hopelessness, huh…"
"Satoru-kun really does hate the Three Great Families, just like always."
Zenin Naoya interpreted it in his own way, taking mockery as praise; as long as one was confident enough, there was no room for mental exhaustion.
On his way back, he took out the letter again and found that the paper itself was black as well.
"Is this to keep the Six Eyes from seeing it by accident?"
Holding the letter up to the sunlight, Zenin Naoya let the light pass through it and made out the elegant, refined handwriting.
The very first line read—
[To the young lord of the Zenin family, personally opened: Good day. I am of the Kamo clan, born of the main wife and legitimate line. Have you ever seen my illegitimate younger brother? If you have not, then it means his 'Blood Manipulation' is still unstable. After all, he is but a young child who has only just been separated from his mother, yet because he inherited our ancestral technique, his status was exchanged with that of the rightful heir…]
Zenin Naoya's heart jolted. He swiftly folded the letter, slipped it into his sleeve, and stopped reading any further out in the open.
He swept his gaze across the members of the Kamo clan around him.
This family upheld black hair and black eyes as a tradition, making it impossible to tell who among them had written the letter.
He returned to Zenin Naobito's side, and Zenin Naobito asked him casually, "What did you go off to do by yourself?"
"Gojo-kun asked me to chat for a bit," Zenin Naoya replied.
Zenin Naobito gave a half-smile, his mustache lifting as he spoke in a relaxed, almost careless tone, "It wouldn't hurt for you to learn a thing or two from him."
Zenin Naoya's mind was no longer on the clan gathering; his gaze searched for Gojo Satoru, only to find that he was already gone.
"Learn what from Satoru-kun, exactly?"
"Could you at least put a little thought into it when you talk to me? Stop going around all day with other men's names on your lips."
Zenin Naobito sharply pointed out what he considered his son's most unbecoming flaw.
"Yeah, yeah…" Zenin Naoya replied perfunctorily. Spoiled as he had been since childhood, he never quite managed to feel genuine reverence for his old man. "If I don't pay attention to men, should I spend my days prattling on about women instead? I don't want to turn into someone that pathetic."
"..." Zenin Naobito let out a drunken hiccup and mulled it over. "That… actually sounds like it makes a bit of sense."
Zenin Naobito gave the posturing Zenin Naoya a shove, his hand landing squarely on the bruise on Naoya's back.
Naoya sucked in a sharp breath, forcing himself not to reach back and rub it, as he heard his father say, "If you're some little brat who doesn't want to stay here anymore, then get back home. There's no one left here worth seeing for you."
Zenin Naoya could not have been happier to leave. The moment he was dismissed, he slipped away as fast as his feet could carry him, no longer sparing the beautiful women of the Three Great Families a second glance.
Beautiful women could be seen any day; the contents of that letter were what truly mattered.
Night fell.
A long while after finishing the letter, Zenin Naoya, his emotions tangled and unsettled, burned it to ashes over a candle flame.
"The Ten Shadows Technique…"
A wielder of a technique capable of pushing him out of the line of succession had actually been born?!
Had the letter come from anyone else, he would never have believed it, dismissing it as an enemy's attempt to unsettle him. But the one who delivered it had been Gojo Satoru.
Everyone among the Three Great Families knew just how proud and arrogant Gojo Satoru was.
"Which clan's bloodline was cast out and left to wander outside?"
Zenin Naoya's teeth ground audibly as he bit down on his finger, forcing himself to endure the surge of hatred; the pressure was so fierce that it left a bloodied mark seeping from his skin.
"Black hair, green eyes…"
Suspended between belief and doubt, he gradually tilted toward believing it.
Between his pale white teeth clung a smear of crimson, the color of the resolve with which great families fight to the death over the right of succession.
He had been raised and molded as an heir, power and desire fused into his very bones, and he had enjoyed countless privileges without ever needing to count them.
And now there might be some bastard from the outside world who could shake his claim to inheritance?
Not even the slightest possibility could be allowed to exist!
Outside the bedroom, the silhouette of a servant appeared, kneeling on the floor, and asked softly, "Young Master Naoya, do you require a servant to warm the bed?"
Zenin Naoya flew into a rage. "Get out! I don't need it! No one is allowed to come near!"
His hand closed around the dagger hidden snugly beneath his clothes.
Killing intent welled up unbidden.
Yet the moment he thought of the future described in the letter—of himself, the Kamo clan's legitimate heir, and Gojo Satoru forming an alliance of the Three Great Families—
a flush crept over Zenin Naoya's cheeks, his blood surging as his heart began to race.
"…That might not be unacceptable after all."
He struggled to maintain his composure, yet the excitement had already betrayed itself in his eyes.
This era should belong to the young; his old man and all those fossilized relics from the Kamo clan ought to be swept aside!
...
[Tokyo Jujutsu High Foodie Duo]
[Gojo Satoru: The letter's been delivered. Don't forget about Jie.]
[Asou Akiya: You didn't accidentally use the Six Eyes to peek at the contents, did you?]
[Gojo Satoru: It's just a Zenin Naoya, I couldn't be bothered to pay attention to your scheme. Just don't provoke the Zenin clan's old rotten mandarins. With your methods, I can't even imagine how he'd manage to escape.]
[Asou Akiya: Don't praise me like that, I'll get embarrassed.]
[Gojo Satoru: Embarrassed? Send me a photo, I can't see you otherwise.]
[Asou Akiya: My phone's out of battery. Good night.]
[Gojo Satoru: No way! Call me! You still haven't called me at eight p.m. tonight—]
[Asou Akiya: …We've already finished chatting by text.]
[Gojo Satoru: I'm gonna tell you what I ate at the clan meeting and what happened there, all the gossip about those mandarins.]
[Asou Akiya: Sure, I want to hear all their gossip.]
Asou Akiya switched over to a phone call.
While he listened to Gojo Satoru recount everything that had happened during the day, he quietly gauged whether Zenin Naoya had taken the bait.
Just to be safe, Asou Akiya added a patch of insurance on Gojo Satoru's end. "Gojo, after the clan meeting is over, if Zenin Naoya says anything strange to you, don't take it to heart. If you need to curse him out, curse him out. If you need to beat him up, beat him up."
Gojo Satoru fell silent, then asked coldly, "Did you drag me into that letter?"
"I described how strong you are and how trustworthy you are," Asou Akiya replied. "I persuaded him to behave himself and come be your underclassman."
Sweet-talked so thoroughly by Asou Akiya, Gojo Satoru let the matter go.
"No next time," Gojo Satoru stressed. "If you dare pull something like this again, I'll beat you up myself."
"Okay," Asou Akiya said.
Hearing the light, almost cheerful note in his voice, Gojo Satoru snorted. "You're not afraid of me beating you up anymore?"
"Gojo is such a good person," Asou Akiya said. "Only your enemies would ever be afraid of you."
Gojo Satoru sprawled across a soft couch at home, practically melting into a long, lazy shape, his chin propped on an oval cushion. "You're talking nonsense again. I don't consider myself a good person, and I've never had any intention of saving the world. Have you forgotten? The last time, and the time before that, when I hurt you, Shoko and Getou were furious with me."
"I don't blame you," Asou Akiya said, smiling with easy generosity.
A heart as pure as a child's, untouched by dust. Someone who could look upon all the ugliness in the world and yet remain unmoved by it, steadfast rather than corrupted—such people were, by nature, truly kind.
When 2018 finally came and Record of Ragnarok began serialization, he would definitely drag Gojo Satoru along to see its portrayal of Shakyamuni. That warm, exuberant Shakyamuni felt like another facet of Gojo Satoru himself.
"Gojo," he said softly, "I'm going to tell you something in secret. It's too embarrassing, so you absolutely can't tell anyone else."
"Huh? Sure."
"To me, you're the one who resembles Shakyamuni the most."
The Buddha is a resolute pioneer and protector; when it comes to breaking restraints, Gojo Satoru still falls short in many ways.
Asou Akiya remembered that the mudra Gojo Satoru used corresponded to Shakyamuni.
"..." Something this embarrassing—Gojo Satoru had no intention of telling anyone else either!
After a brief pause.
Gojo Satoru spoke in the same conspiratorial tone one uses when exchanging secrets. "Then I'll secretly tell you something too."
Asou Akiya listened with full attention. "Go on."
"I remember the day I was born," Gojo Satoru said. "I regret not shouting, 'Throughout Heaven and Earth, I alone am The Honored One'!"
Asou Akiya replied with solemn gravity, "I'll help you keep this secret until the day you come of age..."
Gojo Satoru eyed him suspiciously. "Why not keep it for a lifetime?"
"Because in the future," Asou Akiya said, "you'll be more confident than you are now, more arrogant, more utterly self-assured. By then, it won't be a secret anymore."
"Right," Gojo Satoru said with satisfaction. "I'll definitely become even stronger. Sooner or later, I'll be able to say that out loud." Pleased with Asou Akiya's emotionally intelligent answer, he immediately seized the chance to drag the conversation back to Getou Suguru's birthday plans. "So what's the theme for Getou's birthday?"
"Cosplay," Asou Akiya replied. "A class reunion ten years in the future."
Gojo Satoru laughed so hard he nearly choked. "With that face of Getou's, playing himself ten years from now wouldn't feel out of place at all, but you? You? Akiya, you're so short, and you look way too young!"
Of all people, Asou Akiya least wanted to be told he had a baby face by someone who would still look ten years younger a decade from now.
"In light of your atrocious remarks," Asou Akiya said coolly, "I've decided to write myself out of the script for one round and make you and Shoko the leads."
"I'm the lead? That's awesome!" Gojo Satoru crowed.
"Heh…"
Without realizing it, Asou Akiya had already started picturing a domineering, lone-king–aura, hot-blooded teacher.
No—he corrected himself—it was Gojo Satoru at twenty-six, ten years in the future.
What was supposed to be a ten-minute call stretched into half an hour. Not wanting to drag it out any longer, Asou Akiya wrapped things up briskly. "Gojo, could you work on building some muscle lately? You're way too thin."
"Hahaha, I'll give it a try!" Gojo Satoru replied.
"Okay, that's it then. It's eight-thirty—go to bed early. I'm hanging up!"
Gojo Satoru: "..."
"Living a healthy lifestyle?" Gojo Satoru said unhappily and 'maliciously', "Careful you don't turn into a little old man, Akiya."
This was the biggest difference between him and Getou. On the surface he seemed to go along with everything, but in reality, he wanted to manage Akiya's life even more.