On the eve of the new year, it wouldn't be unusual to see Naobi chugging drinks while people licked her boots for even a drop of her favor.
The private booth overlooking the main stage was elevated, screened by bamboo blinds that let her see out without being seen. Cushions were piled high up behind her while a low table filled with snacks lay before her. Though she said snacks, it was mostly just sake flasks, small plates of pickled vegetables, and stacks full of empty cups.
Or for those who opposed her even after all this time had passed—Aoka, that stubborn sister of hers—would continuously antagonize her.
Really, what were they expecting her to do? Rise up to the obvious bait? Did her sister really think she was that easy?
Well, Naobi thought, lifting a fresh cup to her lips, she is, after all, a delusional person.
Aoka had been a thorn in her side for decades. The older sister by two years, yet passed over for the headship. She had never accepted it and thus, she never stopped trying to scheme.
Her Blazing Courage technique, Naobi mused, is respectable. But respectable is not enough.
Naobi's Projection Sorcery may have been a new iteration of the more traditional puppetry technique, but its ability and performance dwarfed Aoka's Blazing Courage by miles. And Aoka was delusional enough to think that the reason she got chosen to be the clan head was because she managed to get pregnant first.
Hmmph.
Naobi drained the cup and set it down with a sharp click.
Though it was pitiful, Aoka was nearing her late forties. No doubt she was blaming her husband for not getting her pregnant again.
If she's tried a dozen times and still hasn't gotten pregnant, no doubt it's her fault and not her husband's, right? She reached for another cup. It's common sense to think like that!
But Aoka's delusion didn't end there. She actually thought they were equal as sorcerers.
A short bark of laughter escaped her.
"Hahahahaha."
"Clan head?" One of her attendants, a young woman kneeling near the entrance, looked up with wide eyes. "What's wrong?"
Naobi waved a hand, still chuckling. "Nothing. Just bring me more snacks here!"
The attendant bowed and scurried away.
Equal as sorcerers, Naobi repeated in her head. That must be the funniest joke I've heard in a decade.
But realizing Aoka actually meant it only brought pity.
She was reaching for another cup when the bamboo blinds rustled. One of her personal attendants—an older woman, gray-haired and expressionless—knelt at the threshold.
"Clan head. The one without cursed energy… she's waiting outside."
Naobi's hand paused. Then she smiled.
"Tell her to come in."
The attendant bowed and withdrew.
Naobi set down her cup and straightened her kimono. The silk was deep blue tonight, embroidered with silver cranes in flight. One of her favorites, for it demanded respect, is commanding, and also formal. She could wear this on any occasion!
But now is not the time.
And finally, she arrives.
The person behind the reason I can't carelessly waste away in sake like usual.
The bamboo blinds parted.
Touko Zenin stepped inside.
Like a shadow, she moved with no sound or even any presence. Even though she was right in front of her eyes, it feels like the moment she stopped focusing on her would make her lose track of her existence. With loose, strands falling across her sharp cheekbones, she looked as if she had just gone through the wringer. Her eyes were empty, fixed on some middle distance that didn't include Naobi.
The monster, Naobi thought. The one who struck fear into the jujutsu world.
She had made even the prideful council of elders in Jujutsu society beg the only special grade in the world—Yuki Tsukumo—to subjugate her. Alas, that hadn't ended well. While Yuki did meet Touko, the boy hadn't done anything besides exchange a few words.
Or so the reports said.
Naobi didn't believe it for a moment.
Touko stopped in the center of the booth. Without kneeling or even bowing, she stood in front of her with those empty eyes finally meeting her.
There, Naobi thought. That flicker. That's not emptiness. That's suppressed rage.
Delicious.
"Why do you look so gloomy?" Naobi asked, her voice light, teasing. She reached for her sake cup and swirled the liquid. "You should be happy. The clan head is showing you a flooding amount of favor."
She laughed lightly after saying it.
"……"
Touko said nothing. But the muscles on her face were pulled taut and her arms faintly trembled every few seconds.
Hmm. Naobi took a slow sip. It truly surprises me, no matter how many times I see it.
This monster can actually feel human emotion.
The thought is almost inconceivable.
She had found Touko by a fluke—if Touko did not want to be found, she would not be found—because a lot of curse users had begun to suddenly disappear in that area. The trail had led to a small apartment. A man named Keyama. And a woman with no cursed energy who killed without hesitation.
Love, Naobi thought. She’s gotten sloppy, all because of love.
She set down her cup and leaned back against the cushions, folding her arms inside her sleeves.
"Love truly is the scariest thing in the world, don't you think?" She tilted her head, watching Touko's expression. Not that there was much to watch—the woman's face was stone. But the fists, the jaw, the barely contained tension—but it was a little entertaining. "Look at you. Rendered powerless just because I threatened some guy I probably will never meet."
She smiled.
"I'm really thankful I never got to experience it."
Touko's eyes flashed.
"…Don't push your luck."
The words came out rough and quietly, as if she scrapped every energy she has left to say that.
A loud and genuine laugh came out, bouncing off the walls and even scaring the attendants outside.
She waved a hand toward the cushion across from her.
"Alright. Sit. The performance is about to begin."
Touko did not move for a long moment.
Then she stepped forward and lowered herself onto the cushion. With a rigid posture, hands rested on her knees, palms down, fingers spread.
Like a predator pretending to be tame, Naobi thought. Beautiful.
Outside, beyond the bamboo blinds, the stage below was being lit with paper lanterns. Musicians were tuning their instruments—the twang of a shamisen, the low thrum of a taiko drum. The murmur of the crowd rose and fell.
Naobi poured herself another cup of sake.
"I know that you may harbor feelings of resentment towards me," she said, swirling the cup. "But I did this for you, don't you know?"
Touko's expression did not change.
Naobi took a sip. The sake was warm, slightly sweet.
"For starters, why don't you tell your aunt how you met that guy?"
Touko's jaw tightened audibly as the muscle jumped beneath her skin.
"Don't act like you don't already know everything."
Naobi laughed—a low, genuine sound that rumbled in her chest.
"What a prickly attitude." She set down her cup and leaned back against the cushions, folding her arms inside her sleeves. "I really wonder what that man saw in you." She tilted her head, and flashed a sharp smile. "And there's nothing wrong with an aunt wanting to get closer with her niece, is there?"
Touko's eyes flashed.
"Just say what you want to say, you despicable old fox!"
Naobi's smile widened.
There it is, she thought. The fire and the rage. Beneath all that ice, she's still the same wounded child who screamed at people for affections.
"Come on," Naobi said, her voice light, almost teasing. "No need to get aggressive. I was talking to you civilly, and this is how you treat me?"
"……"
Touko said nothing. Her breathing was shallow and controlled. But her fists, resting on her knees, had curled so tight the knuckles had gone white.
After a lingering pause, she spoke again.
"Fine." She reached for the sake flask and refilled her cup. "Touko. I did not forbid you to have a relationship with that man. Why are you so confused?" She took a sip. "I merely forbid you from meeting him right now. And the Hei? Just consider them to be bodyguards for now."
Touko's eyes narrowed.
"What are you playing at, old woman?"
"Nothing." Naobi set down her cup and spread her hands, palms up. "I'm being serious. I just wanted to talk to you about how I'm actually blessing your relationship."
Touko blinked.
"…What?"
Full of delight, Naobi laughed.
"Hahahahahaha." She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "As I said, I don't care whether or not you fuck some outsider and bear their child or anything." She waved a hand dismissively. "It's just… sometimes people can use these sorts of things to try and diminish my influence."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping.
"A member of the Zenin deserted, and the head did nothing? They'll send—or maybe even hire—people to take what's most precious to you." She paused, letting the words sink in. "But if I did this…" She gestured vaguely at the booth. "Surely you know what I'm going for, right?"
Touko stared at her.
The silence stretched.
Then Touko spoke, her voice low, hard.
"…I can't trust you. You just want something from me. You only want to use me."
Naobi tilted her head.
She's not wrong, she thought. But she's not entirely right either.
How refreshing.
"Though I can't lie—the prospect of having a killing machine at your beck and call is salivating—" A second to let the word hang, then she smiled. "—it's more beneficial to keep you happy."
She laughed again, softer this time.
"Hah! Don't look at me like that."
Touko's expression had not changed, but something flickered in her eyes. Doubt? Confusion? Naobi couldn't tell.
Doesn't matter.
"For now," Naobi continued, picking up her sake cup, "just enjoy your time here and don't worry about that man. I'll make sure my subordinates take care of him well."
She drank.
"And also, when there's a chance, I'll make reasons to banish you from this family so you can go on your happy, merry way overseas or whatever."
She set down the cup and looked at Touko.
The younger woman's face was unreadable again. But her fists had uncurled. Her shoulders had dropped, just slightly.
Hook, line, and sinker, Naobi thought.
Outside, the music swelled. The performance had begun.
Naobi turned her gaze toward the stage, visible through the slats of the bamboo blinds. Actors in elaborate masks moved across the wooden platform, their voices rising in the ancient cadences of the Night of Vengeance play.
"Watch," she said. "This is the good part."
Beside her, Touko said nothing.
But she did not leave.
And Naobi smiled.
“Now that you’re here. Why don’t you participate in the Grand Ritual? This is also a chance to show off, you know?”
The unsaid words of showing off that she had her under control went unsaid, but she’s certain Touko still heard it nonetheless.
“…Fine.”
"Excellent. Do impress me."
.
.
The Night of Vengeane had begun.
Uneven light glowed on the tatami as lantern flickered along the corridors. The distant sound of drums and shamisen drifted from the main hall, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or applause. The performance was underway.
Naoya sat in Taro's lap.
The old man's knees were bony, digging into his thighs, but the cushion beneath them was soft. A brazier burned nearby, pushing back the winter chill. The room was small, private, away from the crowds—Natsuko had arranged it for them.
"Hold still," Taro murmured, dabbing at Naoya's face with a damp cloth. "You'll make it worse."
"I'm fine," Naoya said for the fourth time.
With a flat voice, he sounds tired. His eyes were still slightly red, the rims puffy despite his best efforts to will the evidence away.
First, he thought, staring at the opposite wall, I cried over my patheticness. For getting scared over a woman.
The cloth pressed against his cheek. Warm. Damp. Taro's hands were gentle, annoyingly so.
Second, his internal list continued, I dared to develop PTSD. Over a woman.
He wanted to laugh. Or scream. Instead, he sat still and let Taro fuss.
Third, he thought, his jaw tightening, I cried because I thought I couldn't defeat a woman.
That one had been the worst. The tears had come hot and fast, streaming down his face as he gripped the edges of the wooden bath, his knuckles white, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
What am I? he had asked himself. What have I become?
He didn't have an answer.
But after all that crying—after the water had gone cold and his throat had gone raw—he had felt… lighter. Not better. Not fixed. Just… emptier. In a way that was almost refreshing.
"There," Taro said, lowering the cloth. "The swelling has gone down. But your eyes are still red." He peered at Naoya's face, his brow furrowed with genuine concern. "Naoya-kun, what happened? Did someone—"
"Nothing happened." Naoya cut him off, his voice sharper than intended. He looked away, toward the flickering lantern. "Nothing notable, anyway. I just…" He searched for a word. "…had a moment."
Taro was silent for a moment. Then he sighed—soft and weary, as if he knows there’s no use in pushing.
"A moment," he repeated.
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"In the bath?"
Naoya's eye twitched. "Why are you interrogating me?"
Taro chuckled, low and warm. "Because I'm old and nosy. It's my only remaining hobby."
He set the cloth aside and reached for a small jar of salve. "This will help with the puffiness. Close your eyes."
Naoya hesitated. Then he closed his eyes.
The salve was cool against his skin, smelling faintly of herbs and something floral. Taro's fingers were light and careful.
"You know," Taro said quietly, "you don't have to be strong all the time."
Naoya's eyes remained closed.
"That's where you're wrong," he said.
Taro's hands paused. Then continued.
"Maybe," the old man said. "Maybe not. But you're five years old, Naoya-kun. You're allowed to cry. You're allowed to be scared. Even the strongest people in the world have moments where they break."
Naoya said nothing.
Taro finished applying the salve and sat back. "There. Give it a few minutes, and you'll look almost normal."
Naoya opened his eyes. The room was still blurry—tears, maybe, or just fatigue. He blinked until the lanterns came back into focus.
"Thank you," he said. The words came out stiff, formal.
Taro smiled. It was a soft smile, grandfatherly, and it made Naoya's chest feel strange.
"You're welcome, little one."
Outside, the drums grew louder. The performance was reaching its climax.
Naoya straightened his back.
Tonight, he thought. After the ritual.
I'll show them all.
He looked at Taro.
"The ceremony," he said. "When does it start?"
Taro glanced toward the window. The sky beyond was dark, scattered with stars.
"Soon," he said. "Are you ready?"
Naoya nodded.
No, he thought. But I will be.
"I'm ready," he said.
Taro's hand found his shoulder and squeezed gently.
"Then let's go. Your grandmother is waiting."