The clan compound was bustling with activity.
Servants and even some sorcerers rushed past carrying armfuls of decorations. Paper lanterns in red and gold, woven ropes of rice straw, wooden plaques inscribed with prayers for the new year. The air here started to smell of grilled fish—not bad—and some sweets. But the sounds of children laughing carefreely was quite grating to hear.
No doubt because of the ceremony tomorrow. Well, it was also because New Year was the day after. Relatives and branch family members had returned to the main compound, filling the corridors with unfamiliar faces and louder-than-necessary conversations.
Naoya stood on the wooden balcony outside his room, watching the chaos below.
Even here, in the main house, he could feel the festive spirit. It was irritating, truly! All this noise, all these people, all this celebration for a ritual that was supposed to be solemn. But he didn't care. He had no reason to worry that anything might go wrong.
No, the opposite.
He had every reason to think everything was going to go right.
He had gained the support of two prominent elders—Natsuko and Chizuru. That could be said to be a step up from both of his siblings. Raika and Aika were still being "judged" by the other elders.
Just more proof they aren’t worthy of being the clan head. How could they even tolerate getting their worth measured in scraps? Are they so desperate for their approval? Pitiful, for the amount they were getting is likely no more than what one might give to a charity.
And even though Raika was the heir right now, Naoya didn't remember her actually having sponsors at this current moment in time. She was just seen as the most favorable to become the head. After all, she wasn't even a first-grade sorcerer.
Hah!
He let out a small, sharp laugh. The sound was lost in the noise below.
Meanwhile, look at him. He was genuinely being supported. He had access to the elders' resources, their networks, their secrets. Natsuko's people. Chizuru's connections.
And now, he thought, the only thing I'm searching for is the opportunity to reveal my amazing talent to the clan.
He turned the thought over in his mind, savoring it.
The Ten Shadows.
The technique that hadn't been seen in a male for over a thousand years.
He could summon them now. Right this moment. Walk down to the courtyard and let the shadows pool at his feet while the crowd gasped and whispered. But then, it wouldn’t leave the impact he desired. So then the question becomes, when?
He looked up at the pale winter sky. The sun was already beginning its descent toward the horizon. Tomorrow was the Night of Vengeance. Wouldn't it be better to do it after the grand purification ritual?
He tapped his fingers against the wooden railing.
If I do it before, he thought, the attention might disrupt the ceremony. Naobi would be furious. The elders would be distracted. And I'd be seen as a child throwing a tantrum for attention.
But if I do it after...
He smiled.
After the ritual, everyone will be gathered. The mood will be lighter. And I'll have Natsuko and Chizuru there to frame it properly. Not a disruption. A revelation. A blessing from the heavens on the eve of the new year.
He turned away from the balcony and walked back into his room. The futon was still unmade from the morning. A tray of half-eaten sweets sat on the low table.
Yes, he decided. After the ritual.
I'll wait one more day.
He picked up a cold rice cracker and bit into it. The sweetness spread across his tongue.
Then the whole clan will see what I really am.
Walking out of the room, he felt the corridor being a little warmer than usual. servants had been lighting braziers in preparation for the evening. The smell of burning charcoal mingled with the faint sweetness of incense drifting from somewhere deeper in the compound.
Two servants were hurrying past, arms full of folded linens. They stopped and bowed when they saw him.
"You," Naoya said, pointing at the taller one. "Prepare a warm bath for me. Not hot. Warm."
The servant blinked, clearly surprised by the order, but bowed again. "Yes, Naoya-sama. Right away."
They scurried off. Naoya continued walking.
Today, there's no lesson, he thought, so I might as well see how Chizuru is doing.
Heh. No doubt she was swamped with work. She was in charge of inter-clan relationships, and apparently the Kamo clan had accepted their invitation to partake in this festi—ceremony. He meant ceremony.
The corridors grew more crowded as he approached the western wing. Branch family members he didn't recognize. Distant cousins clutching children. Elderly women in fine kimonos, their faces filled with scars instead of white powder. Everyone was dressed in their best, as if the Night of Vengeance were a wedding rather than a purge.
Fools, Naoya thought, weaving through the crowd. Blind fools incapable of recognizing true strength.
His mind drifted to the Six Eyes. This must be the time in this world where everyone was realizing just how powerful that girl really was. He remembered in his first life, at this age, he was already starting to hear whispers of that Gojo kid being the strongest.
Fools!
Toji was around, and they got wary over a kid with no concrete control over his technique?
He scoffed, drawing a confused glance from a passing servant. He ignored them.
Now, Naoya knew wholeheartedly that Satoru-kun deserved his title of the strongest. But that's in the future! When he killed Toji—that was the moment he officially became the strongest in Naoya's eyes.
Right now, the strongest around was Toji.
But ah…
His steps slowed.
Toji didn't exist here.
His whole body felt cold despite the fact that the room he’s currently in is very warm.
He pushed it aside.
Whatever, he decided. I got lost in a tangent.
He resumed walking, his pace quicker now. The point was that right now, the Kamo and the Zenin were desperately trying to form an alliance because the Gojo clan was rapidly gaining unprecedented prominence—the likes of which had only been seen four centuries ago.
Let those fools fear the Gojo. After all, he too has something that hasn’t appeared in centuries.
He turned a corner and entered the western wing, where Chizuru's offices were located. The corridor here was quieter, guarded by two women in Hei uniforms who nodded at his approach.
Without bothering to wait for permission, simply walked past them and knocked on the sliding door.
"Enter," came Chizuru's voice, tired but still smooth.
Naoya slid the door open and stepped inside.
The room was cluttered, so much so that it’s unbelievable that this is an elder room. "I should," Naoya agreed, sitting down across from her without being invited. "But I wanted to check on you."
Chizuru's pen paused.
"Check on me?"
"Mm. Would be a damn shame if my sponsors died of exhaustion." Naoya folded his hands on the table. "The Kamo delegation arrived?"
Seto's eyes flicked up from his own scroll.
Naoya nodded.
"And the Gojo?"
Chizuru finally looked up. Her eyes were tired, but there was a flicker of amusement beneath the exhaustion.
"Declined the invitation. As expected."
"Good," Naoya said.
He paused, letting the word hang in the air. Then, as if remembering something trivial, he added,
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, but the Kamo heir actually doesn't have the Blood Manipulation technique. They just lied."
Chizuru and Seto both stopped breathing.
Chizuru dropped her pen in shock.
Seto's eyes widened—genuine.
"What?!" Chizuru's voice came out strangled, half-cough. "What are you saying right now?!"
Seto slammed his palm on the table, rattling the scrolls. "Don't go around saying such careless and baseless claims! Even if I'm an elder, if the wrong person heard this, our heads could go flying!"
"That's right!" Chizuru nodded rapidly, her crimson kimuno rustling. "And you haven't even met her yet! So how could you possibly know?!"
Naoya watched them flounder.
He let the silence stretch—just enough to make them sweat—and then he laughed.
"Hahahahaha…"
It was light and playful, but he was aware it sounded cold to everyone listening.
He leaned back on his cushion, resting his weight on his palms.
"What an amusing reaction."
Chizuru stared at him. Seto's jaw was clenched so tight Naoya could see the muscle jumping.
"Well," Naoya continued, waving a hand dismissively, "no need to worry. I'm just telling you this in advance. You might have some use for this information." He tilted his head. "And also, don't worry. This is getting exposed soon."
Chizuru's eyes narrowed. "…By who?"
"Well," he said, his voice light, almost casual, "if it's according to my predictions and plans—"
Bullshit.
Right now, he’s bullshitting to make an appeal point. So that Seto may see him as a genius with terrifying prediction ability. Borderline knowing the future.
But of course, he’s relying on his past life memory.
What a great feeling!
"The Kamo will try to make connections with the Gojo too. They'll set up a playdate for their heir to bond with the Six Eyes. And based on all the texts scattered around about that freak-eyed mutant…" He shrugged. "There's no doubt that the fraud Kamo heir will be exposed."
The room went still.
Chizuru and Seto exchanged a glance. Unnecessarily long one at that.
Seto was the first to speak.
"Naoya-sama," he said slowly, his voice careful, "if what you're saying is true…"
"It's true."
"Then the Kamo clan is about to suffer a catastrophic loss of face."
Naoya nodded.
"And the Zenin?"
Naoya's smile widened.
"The Zenin will be there to pick up the pieces."
Chizuru let out a long shuddering breath. Then while picking her pen, she said,
"Naoya-kun," she said, "sometimes you terrify me."
Naoya picked up a scroll from the pile—some irrelevant trade agreement—and pretended to read it.
"I get that a lot," he said. “So you better do your best to stay on my good grace.”
.
.
.
.
Damnit. Damnit all. Damn that old fox!
Touko walked aimlessly along the edges of the compound, where at least there was silence.
The main festivities had been left behind long ago. Here, near the outer wall, only the wind and the distant murmur of voices remained. Trampled snow that had turned into gray slush then refrozen again cracked beneath her weight.
She didn't care.
Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her dark kimono. Her hair had come loose from its tie, strands whipping across her face. She didn't brush them away.
Why?
She had done worse things. Killed more people than she could count. Betrayed, stolen, lied. None of it had ever weighed on her.
Feelings…she thought she lost that a long time ago.
So why now?
Why did Naobi's words cut so deep?
Abandon that man, and you shall be given the privilege to live among us freely.
A brief but hollow laugh escaped her and the sound echoed off the walls around.
Privilege. As if I want their privilege.
I want—
She stopped walking.
The wind screamed as it picked up the snow near.
What do I want?
….Keyama.
Three years ago, during a job, she had first met him there. A yakuza boss had hired her to eliminate a rival because some curse users had joined their side. And Keyama, the boss’s son, had been there to hand the payment. He had been young then. Twenty-two. Soft-faced and beautiful and yet, there’s the undeniable sign that he’s still kind and still hasn’t learned of the harshness of the world.
He hadn't flinched when she walked into the room.
He hadn't stammered or bowed or scraped.
"You must be tired. Would you like some tea?"
Now, thinking about it again, she’s the one who’s blind and naïve. How could she thought that he was ever naïve, let alone sane?
A hitman covered in blood, and he offered her tea.
She should have laughed in his face, take the money, and then left.
Instead, she had sat down.
And indeed…that was the beginning of everything.
Keyama was a being the farthest from the word strong. No, he may be the closest to the word weak. A civilian with affiliation to the Yakuza and yet he could barely throw punches. Lean and almost fragile body that dumb witted people would call refined instead of the truth that is breakable.
But he had something else.
He was kind.
It was genuine. So much more so than every single person she ever saw in this world. Not the performative kindness of politicians, not the desperate kindness of the weak seeking protection. Genuine kindness, for every deeds he ever did, he never asked anything in return.
And he was weak. But strong at the same time.
He was firm when he needed to be—she had seen him fire a man for mistreating a subordinate, his voice calm but his eyes like steel. At first, she thought of him as naïve, still believing that people could be reasoned with, that violence was a last resort. But oh, how mistaken she was. It was his conviction and proof of his strength.
Even though he was surrounded by evils of all kind, he managed to firmly cling on to his ideals. Even with all of the trials he’s gone through, he remained that way.
No, scratch that, he’s gotten worse!
What do you mean that the first thought that popped up on his head after she just rescued him from a stray curse user that kidnapped children to sell to the black market was to make an orphanage of all things?
She couldn’t control the slight tilt on her lips at that memory.
And his heart…
She had seen him sneak food to a stray dog in an alley, even when he had barely eaten that day. She had seen him visit a sick servant in the hospital, sitting by their bedside for hours. She had seen him cry at a funeral for a man that had betrayed him.
Big heart, she thought. Too big for this world. Too big for someone like me.
She should have walked away.
She should have told him she was poison, that everyone who got close to her died or wished they had.
But she hadn't.
And now… Naobi knew.
Now the old fox had her by the throat, and the leash was wrapped around his neck.
…Touko resumed walking.
Her footsteps were slow and she didn’t bother to care about the noise she’s making.
Her gaze ahead was listless, even though various thoughts were running around inside her mind.
Like a lifeless doll.
Is she grieving? Raging? Planning?
She didn't know herself.
.
.
.
.
Author's Notes:
Is this?! A yearning Toji?!
Man, I wished there was a spin-off starring Toji and his wife's romance. But hey, at least there's a horror novel of JJK coming in the future.
(Touko out here catching feelings and catching blackmail. The duality of a Sorcerer Killer.)