"Hahahaha." Sōjun Minamoto burst into laughter, loud and carefree like a hundred-kilogram child.
The Five-Eyed bucket head's failure hadn't dampened his spirits—in fact, it left him feeling refreshed.
Desireless, therefore unyielding. And right now, he was unshakably so.
Amid the laughter, three strange noises echoed—odd and unsettling.
When Masamichi Yaga pushed open the door and saw the scene in the attic, he paused before stepping in. He gave the bizarre setup a glance, then quickly looked away—clearly used to it by now. He turned to Sōjun Minamoto and got straight to the point.
"The higher-ups want a word with you."
"Sure," Sōjun Minamoto grinned, revealing a neat row of sharp white teeth.
Technically, Masamichi Yaga was one of the higher-ups too—but only just. Some tasks were too important to assign to lower-level personnel, yet not important enough for the top brass. That left people like him—stuck somewhere in between—often running errands.
Yaga-sensei, when did you become Jujutsu High's number one?
Sōjun Minamoto looked at him, amused.
A month had passed, and the higher-ups finally ran out of patience.
He wasn't planning to keep dragging things out anyway, so he followed Masamichi Yaga deep into Jujutsu High.
Yaga felt the guy was getting more and more nonchalant, so along the way, he dropped some subtle warnings to behave when the time came. Sōjun Minamoto just nodded along.
They soon arrived in front of a pagoda-style temple. It stood alone, the only building in the area, eerily quiet.
Sōjun Minamoto paused at the entrance, sizing up the building, then stepped inside. They entered a large, empty room—its design rooted in traditional Japanese aesthetics. Wooden floors, wooden walls, and several iron candleholders on the walls, with flickering flames casting dim light throughout. A few shoji screens divided the room into separate spaces, forming a semi-circle around the entrance—an intentional design to create pressure.
He noticed shadows swaying behind the shoji as the candlelight danced.
Masamichi Yaga was sent out, and before leaving, he shot Sōjun a look. The message was clear—be patient.
"Sōjun Minamoto, you possess the technique of controlling flesh—possibly even the soul," came a calm, elderly voice, sounding almost like a grandparent chatting with a younger relative.
"Who would've thought the Minamoto family would come to this, and yet someone like you still emerged."
"But why have you always refused to come to Jujutsu High?"
The tone was difficult to read. Being invited to Jujutsu High was something most would eagerly accept.
"Fifteen years old—rebellious age. These brats are the hardest to deal with," another sharp, grating old voice chimed in, like stone dragging across glass.
"And you botched the Star Plasma Vessel incident too. You endangered the entire Jujutsu world just to protect it... Classic childish behavior—driven by emotion, caused us all kinds of trouble."
"Yeah, it's been like this for over a thousand years. Still too young. Doesn't understand that stability is everything—far too impulsive."
"Doesn't even know how to seize an opportunity."
"..."
More voices joined in—each adding their own criticism. What they all had in common were age, a decaying presence, and a clear intent to put Sōjun Minamoto in his place from the get-go.
So, behind those shoji, it was all old geezers?
Sōjun Minamoto stood in the middle, surrounded by shoji screens, listening to their chatter. He had expected a straightforward negotiation—you offer terms, I counter. Whether it worked or not, that'd be that. But instead, they were wasting time on this nonsense. He finally spoke up.
"Pinning your hopes on a kid—is that how you geezers operate?"
He cut them off.
Thud—a slap on the table rang out.
"Outrageous! If Tengen loses control, the whole nation could fall!" a forceful but aged voice thundered, clearly feeling deeply offended.
"If it really came to that, I'd stop it. And in fact, I did resolve Tengen's evolution issue," Sōjun Minamoto replied calmly, unhurried.
"...Don't forget, the Tengen barrier is a serious matter. What gives you the confidence to act alone? If you hadn't succeeded, execution would've been justified," one voice warned.
"But while you may have avoided death, punishment still stands. We even gave you a chance—told you to help the wounded in the Medical Department—and you refused? We—"
"Alright, alright, let's not get so worked up. Let's all just sit down and talk things through," a more conciliatory voice interjected, trying to play good cop.
Sōjun Minamoto scanned them coldly. The shoji might as well have been transparent—he saw them all clearly. He didn't lash out like some provoked animal. Their words didn't faze him anymore. They were like ants on the roadside—bite once and think they've done something, not realizing people don't even feel it.
"Think it over. We're not asking much. Rules exist for a reason—nobody can act on a whim. We're all working for the good of the Jujutsu world," the voice tried again to persuade him.
An elderly man in his sixties or seventies stepped out from behind a screen and approached him. He reached to pat Sōjun Minamoto on the shoulder, only to realize he was too short. His expression darkened instantly.
"Going to the Medical Department won't harm you—instead, it's a chance to contribute to the Jujutsu world. Everyone wins."
"Your assistant, that Mishima woman—Shiko something—she's close to you, right? She's been applying to become a bounty sorcerer. We can fast-track her, no problem. You know she doesn't really qualify."
"Think it over. Young people shouldn't be so headstrong."
Sōjun Minamoto narrowed his eyes. So that's what was going on. No wonder Shiko Mishima couldn't hide her grin when she brought up the transfer. She later got promoted but stayed behind as a support supervisor, saying the timing wasn't right... That woman...
With her Semi-Grade 1 strength, she didn't qualify? What kind of standard was that?
She really was in a tough spot at Jujutsu High.
The old man tried to pat his arm again. Getting no response, he looked up—and saw that half-smile, half-sneer. His face instantly drained of color.
A spot of red bloomed in his palm before vanishing beneath his withered skin. The man froze on the spot.
"You dare?!" several old voices roared behind the screens.
"Don't get worked up—it's bad for your health. New techniques are bound to be unstable. Can't blame me if his hands weren't clean," Sōjun Minamoto said casually, brushing his sleeve like dusting off something dirty. Only when it felt clean did he continue.
"You've been investigating me, right? I call this move the Bone Tree," he said, as a wisp of red rose from his fingertip. "What does it do? It condenses a massive amount of bone into a seed. Once planted, that seed quickly grows into a towering tree."
Right as he spoke, the old man let out a bone-chilling scream. Thick white roots burst from his seven orifices, branches erupted from his body, and in moments, all that was left was a withered skeleton tangled in roots. The bone tree kept growing, stretching upward, tearing through the pagoda...
A real giant tree.
Sōjun Minamoto had already flashed outside, rejoining Masamichi Yaga.
They watched as the pagoda collapsed and a few figures scrambled out in panic.
What a shame.
He'd accidentally stepped on an ant and killed it.
He felt a twinge of regret—but really, what was the point of playing noble when life was on the line?
Sōjun Minamoto stared ahead, eyes deep and unreadable. Where the pagoda once stood, now only a massive white bone tree towered into the sky. Even from the far corners of Jujutsu High, its ornate, gleaming silhouette could still be seen.