Sōjun Minamoto had arranged to head out on a mission with Suguru Geto, but he had no idea that, deep within Jujutsu High's newly built pagoda, a group of old men were currently huddled behind a shoji screen. Aside from the oldest one, who was absent, the rest hadn't changed since last time.
It was always the same few who couldn't stand him.
The candlelight on the walls flickered, casting shadows over faces already shriveled and worn. One of them slammed his hand on the table with a scowl.
Bang!
"I said from the start they should've sent someone from above to deal with him. And now look—he's Special Grade!"
"It'll be a lot harder to make a move now. Even the Supervisory Department is starting to pay attention."
"So? What do we do?"
His pause left the room in silence.
"Weren't you all so confident before? Didn't take him seriously? Now you're backing off? Letting that kid lord it over us—where's your pride?"
"..."
"Don't get so riled up," someone else said calmly.
"There's nothing we can do to him directly, but he did kill someone from the Zenin Clan. Do you really think they'll just let that go? Heh. Let them handle it."
"It's almost time. Let him enjoy his little victory while it lasts."
"Aren't you afraid he'll come knocking?"
"What's there to be afraid of? Personnel changes go through the Supervisory Department. The Zenin Clan will find out. What, are we supposed to stop them? Let them tear each other apart—mutual destruction."
"We just sit back and enjoy the show."
...
Sōjun Minamoto had stationed clones at the Medical Department and the White Bone Tree. Including himself, that made three. He was heading out on a mission, after all—better to play it safe and be ready to split if needed.
He arrived at the main gate of Jujutsu High fifteen minutes early.
Missions were such a great return on investment, he could hardly stop himself from taking more.
He'd already picked up the car keys and had rejected the new auxiliary supervisor assigned by the school. What was the point of dragging along an obvious informant—might as well write "spy" on their forehead.
He opened the door, got in, and took the driver's seat.
Not long after, Suguru Geto showed up—and headed straight for the back seat.
"Seriously?"
"Sit in the front, will you? You're making me look like your chauffeur."
"Huh? Mishima's not coming?" Suguru paused mid-step.
"She's not an assistant supervisor. She's busy. She can't be your personal driver every time."
Suguru got into the passenger seat.
"Buckle up."
"...Right, right."
"You seem out of it," Sōjun asked as he started the engine and pulled away smoothly.
Suguru just gave him a weak smile.
Sōjun didn't press. He turned on the music, shifted gears, and the car shot off down the road.
...
This time, their mission was in a remote mountain village.
It was surprising to find cursed spirits in such a quiet, secluded place—so far removed from the noise of big cities. But the target, a curse named "Aragami," had been handpicked by Sōjun. Supposedly, it was a fire deity that held dominion over divine flames.
Which kind of made sense. In desolate, harsh regions, people always ended up creating something strange. Even if the quantity of negative emotions wasn't high, if the quality was intense and clearly directed, it could still produce a Special Grade curse.
After a long drive, the two finally neared their destination.
The path ahead was too rough for the car, so Sōjun parked in the flattest spot he could find.
"We'll stop here."
Thud.
They got out, shut the doors, and looked around in silence.
The mission site was still some distance away. The area was deserted, surrounded by dark mountains and thick trees. Visibility was low, and it was hard to get a sense of direction.
Fortunately, they soon found a narrow, overgrown trail.
Following it deeper into the mountains, the landscape grew more desolate. Dense forest stretched all around, full of old trees tangled in thick vines. At the end of the trail, they broke through the brush, and the view opened up—a scattering of houses stood not far ahead.
Sōjun glanced up. A black cursed vortex loomed over the village, yet it didn't feel oppressive. This wasn't a cursed spirit's influence—it was a curse born of something else.
A spiritual curse, like the Chōchin-obake.
...
As they walked into the village, they began to hear faint voices, barking dogs, and crying children. It was already late, and the villagers were outside, busy tending fields—watering, fertilizing, weeding, keeping pests at bay.
They continued walking until they passed a farmer carrying a hoe and a bucket. The man glanced at them once, his face expressionless, and walked right by.
The two exchanged a glance.
That was… off.
This wasn't how farmers behaved. Even if they didn't know you, they'd usually greet you from a distance. "You're not from around here, are you?" "Where are you headed?" "Need help?" Even small talk would've been normal. But this guy didn't say a word. Just walked straight past like they didn't exist.
...
They made it to the center of the village.
There stood a shrine—barely fit to be called one—dedicated to Aragami.
Sōjun narrowed his eyes. He could sense something was wrong, but couldn't pinpoint it. Or rather, everything felt off.
He tried to step in for a closer look, but the moment he moved, a villager stepped forward and blocked his path.
"You're not welcome here. Outsiders aren't allowed."
Other villagers began to gather, slowly forming a loose circle around them.
Suguru tugged Sōjun back half a step and offered a polite smile.
"We'll just take a look from here. We won't go in."
The man stared at them coldly, saying nothing. Just kept watching.
Sōjun scanned the villagers. Every face wore the same expression—cold, even hostile.
...
In front of the main gate of Jujutsu High, a few old men stood along the roadside.
Vroom vroom—vroom vroom—
The distant roar of an engine grew louder, and their expressions instantly darkened.
A sports car raced up, heading straight for them, only screeching to a stop at the last second—its front bumper nearly brushing the gate.
A foot stepped out, clad in clean white sneakers that clashed with the dusty, yellow-brick ground. Its owner soon followed—a young man in his twenties. On his right arm, a black armband stood out, embroidered in gold thread with the character [Hei (炳)].
"Welcome, welcome. The [Hei] of the Zenin Clan—truly a name that echoes far and wide. You are…?" One of the elders stepped forward with exaggerated enthusiasm.
The young man waved him off. "No need to know who I am. I'm not interested in telling you my name either. Just answer one thing—where's the Special Grade?"
The elders exchanged stiff glances. Their expressions soured further. Men of their standing weren't used to being treated like air.
They dropped the pretense of courtesy and replied coolly, "He's currently out on a mission."
None of them mentioned that Sōjun Minamoto was still within Jujutsu High. Those two positions were far too important—he could die, just not yet.
A black sedan pulled up behind the sports car. A middle-aged man, around forty, stepped out in a neat suit.
One look at the scene was enough—he immediately understood the situation and cursed inwardly, Troublesome…
He casually walked forward, subtly placing himself between the young man and the elders.
With a light chuckle, he introduced himself, "I'm the Zenin Clan's newly appointed representative—"
He smiled politely at the elders. "From today onward, I'll be handling all official matters between the Zenin Clan and Jujutsu High."
The Supervisory Department strictly forbade internal conflict within the jujutsu world and didn't allow any clan to grow too dominant. All three major clans had allotted seats at Jujutsu High. The numbers couldn't be exceeded, but the seats had to be filled.
His role was obvious: a new upper-level official—Zenin Clan's representative at Tokyo Jujutsu High.
"I look forward to working with you."
The elders forced a few dry smiles and echoed back, "Of course, of course."
But after the reception they'd just received, none of them were truly in the mood for pleasantries.
(40 Chapters Ahead)
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