Two weeks had passed since Naoya woke up in this twisted world, and the bruises on his face were finally fading. Finally, he looked like a normal child again.
Appearances matter, he thought as he studied his reflection in the small mirror hung beside his window. A beaten boy invites pity. With this healed, I’ll truly become forgettable.
He turned away from the mirror and walked toward the reading room, where Hanaya would be waiting. Their daily meetings had become routine: she would report what she had found, and he would sift through her observations for anything useful. Most of it had been noise—gossip, speculation, and dead ends. But today, she had promised something different.
She sounded nervous, he recalled.
He slid open the door to the reading room and stepped inside. Hanaya was already kneeling at the low table, posture rigid. Her twin buns were perfectly symmetrical today—a small detail that told him she wanted to appear competent.
"Report," he said, closing the door behind him and settling onto the cushion across from her.
Hanaya took a breath. "I have been following the dowry transactions, as you instructed. Specifically, the ones involving sorcerers brought into the clan through marriage over the past five years."
"And I found something." She reached into her sleeve and withdrew a small piece of paper—not a stolen ledger page, just her own notes, written in a small cramped book. "There are three families that received dowries but have no record of the marriages being completed.”
Naoya's eyes narrowed. “The money was sent out, but the sorcerers never arrived or the sorcerers arrived, and the dowry was not sent. Which is it?"
Hanaya swallowed. "Both, I think. The records are… contradictory. One document says the dowry was paid. Another says the marriage was annulled. A third says the sorcerer died en route. None of them match."
Contradictory records, Naoya thought. It could just be incompetence, but so far, everything seems to point to it being deliberate.
"Who approved these transactions?" he asked.
Hanaya's hand trembled slightly as she unfolded the paper and scanned her notes. "Three different elders. Each one approved a different part of the process—the dowry, the annulment, the death certificate. No single elder appears responsible for the entire chain."
Multiple departments. Multiple signatures. Multiple elders, each covering a piece.
Naoya felt a cold satisfaction settle in his chest. This is it. This is the pattern.
"Which elders?" Naoya asked.
Hanaya glanced down at her notes, then back up at him. "Elder Natsuko, Elder Hideo, and Elder Chizuru."
The names meant nothing to him. He turned them over in his mind, searching for any flicker of recognition, but there was nothing—only the hollow silence where the original Naoya's memories should have been. Perhaps… he thought bitterly, this is his own way of cursing me. This child knew these people. He grew up hearing their names, their titles, their gossip. But that knowledge is locked away.
A lot of things would become easier if I could access his memories.
He kept his face neutral and looked at Hanaya. "Tell me what you know about them. Public reputations, rumors, anything. I need to understand who I am dealing with."
Hanaya nodded, grateful for a question she could answer. "Elder Natsuko is the oldest of the three. She has served on the clan council for over forty years and controls the eastern storehouses—the same ones you have been studying in accounting. Her public reputation is that of a traditionalist. She believes strongly in the matriarchy and has little patience for men who overstep their bounds. She is also known to be… frugal. Some say miserly."
Frugal, Naoya thought then let out an amused huff. Hmmph, more like greedy. There is a thin line between saving money and stealing it.
"What about the others?"
"Elder Hideo is… different." Hanaya's voice dropped slightly. "She is the youngest of the three, only in her late forties. She oversees marriage arrangements and negotiations with other clans. Her reputation is that of a pragmatist—she cares less about tradition than about results. She has been known to bend the rules when it suits her. Some say she is ambitious, that she wants a seat on the clan head's inner council."
Ambitious and pragmatic, Naoya noted. Quite the dangerous combination. She would be the most likely to turn on the others if it benefited her. Maybe she’s the one who did so in his original world.
"And Elder Chizuru?"
Hanaya hesitated. "Elder Chizuru is… difficult to describe. She oversees external relations—deals with the Jujutsu schools, the government, the other Great Families. She is charming and well-liked, even outside the clan. Her public reputation is that of a diplomat. But there are rumors, always whispered, never proven, that she has a cruel streak. That she enjoys the power she holds over the smaller families who depend on Zenin goodwill."
Charming, well-liked, and cruel, Naoya summarized. A good perfect mask, though quite bothersome to maintain.
Three elders, each with a different portfolio and contrasting personality. Natsuko the miserly traditionalist, Hideo the ambitious pragmatist, Chizuru the charming diplomat. Together, they covered every angle of the dowry scheme—storehouses, marriage arrangements, and external relations.
No wonder it has gone undetected, he thought. Each of them controls a piece of the process. No single person sees the whole picture. And if anyone outside the ring asks questions, they have plausible deniability.
"You said three names," he said finally. "But the pattern you described—contradictory records, missing sorcerers, phantom dowries—that requires coordination. How do they communicate without being noticed?"
Hanaya shrugged helplessly. "That I do not know. They rarely appear together in public. But they have served on the same council committees for years.”
Committees, Naoya thought. Another blind spot. That’s one of things I personally hate about them. They have authority to restrict and even give commands to the head, while the only people watching them are only themselves.
He looked at Hanaya. "Keep digging. Focus on the oldest transactions first—the ones that established this pattern. If we can find when it started, we can find who else might be involved. And be careful. If any of these three suspects realize they are being investigated, you will not simply lose your position. You will lose your life."
Hanaya's face paled, but she nodded. "Yes, Naoya-sama."
"Go. Report again tomorrow."
She rose, bowed, and left the room.
A moment after, he walked towards his room and stood on the small wooden balcony outside his room, waiting to be called for Yone's etiquette lesson. He had started this ritual several days ago—standing here, watching the courtyard, listening to the servants gossip below.
I am merely passing the time, he told himself. Nothing more.
The morning air was cold, but the snow had stopped falling overnight, leaving a thin white blanket over the compound. Servants moved through the courtyard below, carrying firewood and laundry. Their voices drifted upward, clear and careless.
"Did you hear what happened in the etiquette lesson last week?" one of them asked—a young man with a round face and eager eyes. "Yone-sensei was correcting his posture, and Naoya-sama just snapped. He said, and I quote, 'There is no need to respect women who cannot even have the awareness to give me respect.'"
Another servant gasped. "He said that? To Yone-sensei's face?"
"Right to his face. And then he said, 'Respect is a two-way street, not a one-way leash.' The entire room went silent."
Naoya's eye twitched. I do not remember saying that last part. Did I say that last part? I was very angry. Perhaps I did. Or perhaps they are adding their own flourishes.
"What happened next?" a third servant asked, leaning in.
"Yone-sensei just laughed. Laughed! And said, 'Bold words from such a small vessel.' And Naoya-sama said, 'Small vessel, enormous weight of existence and of superb quality. A dirty dog like you would not understand.' Then he sat down and continued the lesson as if nothing had happened."
I did say that, Naoya admitted. But I was not talking about principles. I was talking about my cursed energy reserves. It seems they did not understand that. They completely misunderstood his points!
The first servant shook his head in wonder. "A five-year-old boy, lecturing an elder about mutual respect. You think he’s speaking up for us?”
I am not speaking up for men, Naoya thought. I am speaking up for myself. There is a difference.
Another servant, a woman with a thick braid, chimed in. "That is nothing. I heard what happened during the history lesson last week. The instructor was going on about some great female ancestor, and Naoya-sama interrupted and said, 'Why do we only study women? Did men contribute nothing to this clan's strength?'"
The group murmured among themselves.
"And then he said, 'A clan that forgets half its members is a clan that will crumble from within.' The instructor did not know what to say. He just moved on to the next topic."
Naoya pinched the bridge of his nose. I was complaining that the history was boring. I said, 'Why do we only study women?' because I wanted to hear about men. I wanted to hear about warriors like Toji, like Naobito. But they do not exist here. And instead of realizing I was being petulant, these foolish losers turned it into a manifesto.
"He is braver than any man I know," the round-faced servant said. "And he is only five. Imagine what he will be like when he grows up."
"Braver or stupider," another muttered. "He is going to get himself killed. Or worse, married off to some distant clan to silence him."
The first servant scoffed. "He already survived Oiko and the Hei’s captain beatings. What else can they do to him? The boy is untouchable now with everybody watching.”
Naoya almost laughed. Untouchable. No. Just small and loud. But if they believe I am untouchable, that is useful.
He was about to turn away when his senses prickled.
Cursed energy. Multiple sources. Coming from the eastern gate.
He recognized the signatures—sorcerers returning from a mission. Their cursed energy was low, depleted, which meant they had been fighting. Which meant they were tired.
And tired sorcerers were irritable. Irritable sorcerers wanted to relieve stress. And the weakest, most accessible targets for that stress were the servants lingering in the courtyard below.
Idiots, Naoya thought, looking down at the gossiping servants. They have no idea what is about to walk through that gate.
The servants were still chattering, oblivious as their laughter carried by the winds. They were taking up space, making noise, drawing attention to themselves.
If the sorcerers see them loitering here, they will not simply tell them to get back to work. They will shout. They might shove. They might do worse, and no one would question it. Servants have no protection.
Naoya looked down and saw his fists were…clenched?
Not that I care what happens to them, he told himself. They are trash. Disposable. But if they get beaten or harassed, they will be unable to work. The compound will fall behind on supplies. That will fall on me.
Yes. That was the reason. Purely practical.
He stepped forward onto the balcony, making himself visible. The servants noticed him immediately and fell silent, their heads bowing.
Naoya glared down at them, his voice sharp as a blade.
"You fools," he snapped. "Standing around gossiping like old women when there is work to be done. Do you think the compound runs itself? Get back to your posts before I report every single one of you for idleness."
The servants scrambled, their faces pale. Bows and hurried apologies followed as they dispersed in all directions, carrying their brooms and buckets and bundles of laundry. Within moments, the courtyard was empty.
Good, Naoya thought. Now they are finally out of my sight. Those trash always ruin the scenery whenever they’re around.
He did not watch them go. He turned his gaze toward the eastern gate, where the first of the returning sorcerers was now visible—four women in dark uniforms, their weapons sheathed, their shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Their eyes were hollow. Their jaws were tight. They looked like they had not slept in days.
Exactly as I expected, Naoya thought. They are spoiling for a fight. And now there is no one here for them to take it out on.
Except him.
The scarred woman at the front of the group noticed him on the balcony. Her eyes narrowed.
"You there, boy," she called out. "What are you doing up there? Shouldn't you be in your lessons?"
Naoya's expression did not change. "I am waiting for my instructor. And you should be reporting to your captain, not interrogating a child."
The woman's hand twitched toward her weapon. The gesture was unconscious—a reflex. But Naoya saw it.
She wants an excuse, he realized. She wants someone to blame for her bad mood. And I am handing myself to her on a silver platter.
How conceited. Not even a grade 1 at that age and they thought they could take me on.
"The eastern storehouse needs some help, I hear," he said, his voice flat. "The western wall has not been patrolled since dawn. If you have energy to stand around asking questions, you have energy to work."
The scarred woman's lip curled. "You are not our commander, boy. Do not presume to give us orders."
"Then do not presume to waste my time with your presence," Naoya shot back. "Either go to your captain or go to your duties. Standing there glaring at me accomplishes nothing except proving that the Zenin clan now employs sorcerers who would rather argue with a child than do their jobs."
One of the younger sorcerers—a girl with wide eyes and a nervous expression—tugged at the scarred woman's sleeve. "Let's just go, Sen. He is not worth it."
The scarred woman—Sen—stared at Naoya for a long moment. Then she turned and led her group toward the captain's office without another word.
Naoya watched them go.
That was close, he thought. If they had arrived a minute earlier, the servants would still be there. I would rather there not be a commotion when I’m supposed to be relaxing.
.
.
.
.
Tsundere Naoya spotted? Yandere Naoya coming soon…?