Deep within Jujutsu High, inside the temple compound...
Bang!
A young man slammed his palm onto the table, ignoring the grim expressions of the elders around him as he barked out:
"What kind of mission needs a Special Grade to waste an entire day? The location isn't even that far!"
He stepped into the center of the room, his gaze sharp and cold, but the corners of his mouth curled upward with a mocking smile as he swept his eyes over the gathered elders.
"You're not trying to screw with me, are you?"
Restless, the young man waved a hand, shook out his leg, then paced a few steps before abruptly turning and sitting sideways on the edge of a table in front of one of the elders. He grabbed the old man's collar, yanked him close, and growled each word:
"Who the hell do you think you are, huh? Trying to scheme against the Zenin Clan?"
The elder held his gaze for a moment before his eyes flicked away, the defiance fading. Still, he forced a blustery retort:
"Scheme? I didn't do anything out of line. Your Zenin Clan is just too overbearing!"
"Oh, so it's just a misunderstanding then."
The young man let go and gently smoothed out the elder's collar, carefully straightening every wrinkle. Once it was perfectly neat, he nodded in satisfaction. Then, with a grin, he reached out and wrapped his arms around the old man's head.
The elder blinked, confused.
Bang!
A sudden, brutal force slammed the elder's head down onto the table. He didn't even have time to react, let alone resist. His forehead crumpled, then split open from the impact, flesh and skin tearing into a bloody pulp.
Blood splattered everywhere.
"Ah—!"
The elder screamed, clutching at his head. His face twisted in rage and disbelief before it crumbled into defeat. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
A droplet of blood landed on the young man's lips. He licked it in with his tongue, narrowed his eyes, and savored the taste. Then he took a deep breath, visibly exhilarated. A flash of crimson shimmered deep within his pupils.
Cursed Energy surged around him as he glanced at the others.
"Non-Zenin, non-sorcerers... non-sorcerers aren't even people. You—"
"Enough!"
"That's enough."
Two voices rang out at nearly the same time, cutting him off.
The first came from the middle-aged man who had accompanied him to Jujutsu High.
He sensed the situation getting out of hand. As a fellow member of the Zenin Clan, he knew some things could be said, and others—especially in public—couldn't.
He had to step in. Not just for the elders' sake, but also to show the Zenin Clan that he understood how to navigate these situations.
The Zenin Clan was powerful, yes—but the Gojo and Kamo Clans weren't to be underestimated. And above them all stood the Supervisory Bureau.
Most of the people here had considerable backing. The younger generation could be arrogant—but only to a point. They had to know where the line was.
Some people could be trampled freely. Some had to be handled with caution. Others had to be shown due respect. In a place this politically tangled, stepping on one person meant affecting another.
That elder just now was the first type—a civilian faction member who'd climbed up and could be easily crushed.
But several others in the room, the ones he'd been watching closely—their faces weren't looking good anymore.
It was time to pull back.
The second voice came from the oldest man in the room—the leader of the group.
He belonged to the third category—someone to be respected. A representative sent by the Supervisory Bureau.
There was no expression on his face, only deep creases carved into his aged skin. His voice was just as withered—so hoarse and indistinct that everyone had to strain to catch his words.
"If it's about coordinating with Minamoto, then wait until he returns. Can't even manage that much patience?"
He paused, the tone of his next words carrying a pointed weight.
"The Zenin Clan's behavior… really is starting to regress."
His voice was so faint that everyone had to focus intently just to understand him.
He gestured toward the young man standing at the center, but his eyes were fixed on the middle-aged man instead.
"Don't bring unrelated people into these meetings again."
The middle-aged man nodded with a calm, composed expression and glanced at the younger one. The young man clicked his tongue, swaggered out of the room, and slammed the door shut behind him.
The old man didn't pursue it further. He swept a glance around the room and spoke in a soft, yet unmistakably stern tone:
"I know some of you have been making moves behind the scenes. I won't name names this time—I'll spare you the embarrassment…"
"But don't let it happen again."
"Jujutsu High is an institution for the entire jujutsu world. It's not your tool for purging dissent or forming factions. Maintaining stability is our top priority. If you can't handle that responsibility, then resign—make room for someone who can."
He locked eyes with several people in the room, the warning in his gaze unmistakable.
"And take these meetings seriously. This is where decisions for the jujutsu world are made. Bring the proper attitude, and speak only about matters relevant to the agenda."
The Directorate's core value was balance—no single faction was to dominate. The old man showed no favoritism toward Sōjun Minamoto, nor did he express support for the Zenin Clan.
After making his point, he fell silent for a long moment, as if tired. The others remained still, waiting in the tense quiet.
Finally, the meeting resumed in earnest, and the group began discussing official matters...
Knock, knock, knock.
A sudden knock echoed through the room.
The noise tapered off, and silence returned.
"Come in," the old man said.
His assistant entered swiftly, approaching his side and leaning close to whisper, "A message just came from Minamoto-sama…"
Though the assistant kept his voice low, it was just loud enough for the other jujutsu sorcerers to catch in the quiet room.
The old man's expression darkened. Over a hundred deaths—that exceeded the casualty threshold by more than one percent.
If you wanted to call it a small matter, you could. But if it were treated as something big...
It could become very big.
He clasped his hands atop his cane and gently twisted them. The aftermath needed to be handled carefully. Any further spread of this situation was unacceptable.
The atmosphere turned heavy. No one was eager to take on this volatile task.
Then, the middle-aged man stepped forward voluntarily, his tone warm.
"Why not let me handle this one?"
The old man looked at him for a long moment.
"I'd like to make a good impression on the Special Grade too," the man added. "We're all colleagues. We'll be working together for a long time."
After a moment's thought, the old man nodded.
"The matter's urgent. I'll leave it in your hands."
The man exited the meeting room and closed the door behind him. His face instantly relaxed.
He soon spotted the young man nearby, venting his frustration on the ground, blasting several deep craters into it.
What a handful, he thought with a trace of weariness.
When the young man saw him, his eyes lit up and he rushed over.
"Uncle, how'd it go?"
The middle-aged man's expression softened again.
"Come on. We're going to meet the Special Grade. Mind your attitude. Our primary goal is to recruit him, not make him our enemy."
"What if he refuses?"
"Then he's choosing to make us his enemy."
"Just handle it however you see fit..."
And how would he "see fit"? With a blade, of course.
Whether it was the young man or the Special Grade, there was only room for one to come out on top. That would make things a lot simpler.
The young man grinned, unable to contain himself. He waved his hand and blasted an even larger crater into the ground. Dust billowed out as the tower temple shook briefly before stabilizing.
"Then let's move."
Staying on the Special Grade's good side really was the smarter play. The middle-aged man gave him a gentle smile.
"Let's go."
...
Beneath the white-bone tree, Sōjun Minamoto slowly opened his eyes and looked toward the tower.
This was Jujutsu High, within his Barrier. Whatever happened—if he wanted to know, he would know.
He was about to stand but stopped, as if something came to mind. Then he closed his eyes again and leaned back against the trunk.
Leave it to the other self.
(40 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / PinkSnake