The year 2001.
Six years had flown by in the blink of an eye.
By now, Kaito, along with his fellow prodigies Satoru, Shoko, and Tobu, had all reached the age of twelve—marking the beginning of a powerful transformation.
Toji was now a seasoned, rugged man of twenty-five.
Kaito’s daily routine at the First Elder’s estate maintained a terrifying level of discipline: eating, sleeping, training, purging cursed spirits, and working tirelessly at the forge.
On paper, he remained merely a Grade 2 Sorcerer.
This was a laughable rank, as Kaito’s actual combat strength had long since reached Grade 1 standards, if not vastly exceeding them.
The First Elder had pressed the higher-ups multiple times to hold an evaluation exam to promote him, but those stubborn old fools adamantly refused.
To those corrupt minds, Heavenly Restriction was still a “flaw” that needed to be contained.
They believed Kaito was strong only because of his Soul Cutter Blade—a tool they viewed as an irreplicable “lucky accident.” Keeping him at Grade 2 served to suppress his influence, preventing the Soul Cutter Blade from gaining too much prominence in the jujutsu world.
Little did they know that Kaito had evolved into a true master blacksmith.
The katanas he forged were exceptionally refined, fully capable of slaying cursed spirits, and highly sought after by young sorcerers.
The income from selling swords and completing missions rendered Kaito completely financially independent; he had even reimbursed the First Elder for all his upbringing expenses and amassed a comfortable fortune.
Yet, no matter how exquisite they were, those blades remained mere katanas infused with cursed energy—luxurious yet soul-less cursed tools.
Kaito had still not found that final missing piece to recreate a genuine Zanpakutō.
The promise he had made years ago to his friends remained unfulfilled.
Satoru had now completely mastered the Limitless and Cursed Technique Lapse: “Blue.” He was beginning to venture down the path of conquering the Reverse Cursed Technique and its corresponding Cursed Technique Reversal.
However, this journey proved to be filled with hurdles, simply because his teacher was none other than Shoko—a person who taught using explanations like “you just do it like this and it works.”
Ever since she moved permanently into the Gojo estate, the bond between Shoko and Satoru had grown strangely tight.
Shoko acted like an older sister, or even a “second mother,” constantly cleaning up Satoru’s messes and reining in his volatile temper.
Thanks to her presence, while Satoru retained his innate arrogance, he had learned to “read the room” and act far more maturely than before.
Now a young teenager, Shoko had blossomed into a striking girl with a distinctive bob haircut.
Yet, nobody understood where she had picked up the habit of drinking alcohol and smoking at such an early age.
Despite everyone’s earnest attempts to dissuade her, Shoko casually ignored them; with the Reverse Cursed Technique at her disposal, no one could use “health reasons” to convince this future doctor.
As for Satoru, he was now permanently seen wearing black sunglasses.
As his Six Eyes continued to develop, the overwhelming volume of information pouring into his brain from the world had become a heavy burden.
The sunglasses were not merely an accessory, but a item that helped lighten the sensory overload, removed only during serious battles.
Lady Otome’s health remained a complex puzzle that Shoko strove every day to manage.
While she could not be considered entirely healthy, the fact that she was still able to walk around was nothing short of a miracle.
At the Gojo main house, the conservative faction had ceased talking about confiscating Kaito’s Soul Cutter Blade.
With Satoru’s astronomical rise in strength, the Second Elder and the council decided to let Kaito keep that “mutant” sword.
In their pragmatic line of thinking: Kaito still bore the Gojo name, and having him wield a powerful weapon out in the field to slay curses at least wouldn’t bring shame to the clan.
Kaito’s existence had become like a phantom on the periphery—ignored, yet silently present.
Over at the Zenin family, Naobito remained firmly entrenched as the Clan Head.
Internal family affairs were relatively stable, save for the fact that Tobu’s name had become the ultimate “model child” standard in the eyes of her peers.
Entering her teenage years, Tobu possessed a slender yet far from fragile posture.
Smooth, pale skin served as the canvas for her long black hair, which fluttered gracefully with every movement.
She highlighted her distinct personality with a pair of large gold hoop earrings.
Her long hair fell softly over her neck, accented by two thin strands of bangs framing her face, creating a beauty that was both pure and serene.
Six years of relentless training had allowed Tobu to tame eight of the Ten Shadows Technique’s ten Shikigami.
Now, only two final hurdles remained: Tiger Funeral and Mahoraga.
In stark contrast to his younger sister’s rise, Toji remained stuck at the rank of Grade 3 Sorcerer.
This was not due to a plateau in his physical abilities, but entirely because of the laughable suppression by the Zenin higher-ups—who still could not accept a man lacking cursed energy within their ranks.
His official rank was even lower than Kaito’s.
However, Toji cared little for such meaningless titles.
Over the past six years, he and Tobu frequently visited the First Elder’s estate to spend time with Kaito.
Toji genuinely regarded Kaito as one of his few true friends in life.
He regularly “borrowed” defective swords from Kaito’s forge for his missions; though considered failures in Kaito’s eyes, they were still top-tier cursed tools.
The greatest turning point in Toji’s life occurred when he met a woman named Fushiguro Kuina—the daughter of a dojo master.
Their connection began in a most bizarre fashion: while Toji was drunk and asleep by the roadside, Kuina happened to “pick him up” and bring him home to care for him.
No one knew the exact details of what followed, but a month prior, Kuina sought out Toji and delivered groundbreaking news: she was pregnant.
This news detonated like a bomb over everyone’s heads.
Tobu, in a moment of sheer fury stemming from concern for her brother and his “irresponsibility,” pinched Toji’s ear hard and used Nue to send him “flying around the globe.” After venting her rage, she hurriedly dragged him to the Fushiguro household to apologize to her parents.
At this rate, Toji’s child—the descendant bearing the blood of the Heavenly Tyrant—would be officially born when Kaito turned 13.
At the Zenin estate, there were two humiliating scars that Ogi absolutely forbade anyone from mentioning: the first was being frozen by Kaito six years ago, and the second was his catastrophic defeat at the hands of his own daughter, Tobu, and her fierce Divine Dogs.
Ogi’s nature remained as rotten as ever.
He had recently fathered twin daughters with his concubines, naming them Zenin Mai and Zenin Maki.
Ironically, Maki was also born with the curse of Heavenly Restriction.
However, after witnessing the terrifying power of Toji and Kaito firsthand, Ogi no longer displayed blind rejection toward the condition.
Instead, a far more sinister scheme took root in his mind.
He resolved to “raise”—or more accurately, brainwash—these twin girls carefully, intending to turn them into his sharpest tools to secure his own control.
Ogi harbored a delusional dream: perhaps Mai would awaken the Ten Shadows Technique, while Maki would possess the absolute physical prowess of the Heavenly Tyrant.
Should that scenario unfold, he believed he would no longer need to rely on his disobedient daughter Tobu to seize the position of Clan Head.
Lady Sakura had passed away two years ago.
Ogi’s violent beating years ago had left not only unhealable physical scars, but had also planted a deep melancholy in her spirit.
Living in a suffocating environment filled with contempt at the Zenin house, she ultimately could not hold on any longer.
Tobu no longer harbored resentment toward her mother.
In death, all grievances faded away alongside the poor woman’s final breath.
Standing before the coffin, she shed no tears, merely whispering in her heart: “In your next life, I hope you have better judgment when picking a man.”
Kaito had now truly grown into a young man.
He retained his signature silver hair, which now stood up in sharp locks with his bangs neatly swept to one side.
His blue Six Eyes were cold and dignified, radiating a calmness and maturity far beyond his age.
Kaito usually appeared in a jet-black hakama topped with a pristine white haori—an outfit that exuded an undeniable aura.
By now, people could easily distinguish between the two Gojo brothers.
However, there was one glaring difference—albeit a slightly sensitive one—which was their stark disparity in height.
Despite being twins, while Satoru had already reached 162 cm, Kaito remained stuck at 133 cm.
Perhaps the excessive muscle density developed from his intense training caused his skeletal frame to require more time to catch up, making him a “late bloomer” compared to his peers.
For comparison, Tobu had grown to 165 cm, Shoko reached 155 cm despite her dainty frame, and Toji stood like a towering mountain at 188 cm.
Thus, despite possessing the most mature soul, Kaito was officially the shortest in the group.
Normally, Kaito was calm and serious, but whenever his height was brought up, he couldn’t help but bristle like an offended child.
It was hard to blame him, as Satoru and Tobu never missed an opportunity to tease him whenever they met:
“Ha ha, my little brother is as tiny and adorable as ever!” Satoru would laugh delightfully.
“If anyone bullies you, just call for big sister!” Tobu would tease, ruffling Kaito’s hair.
While Toji abstained from verbal teasing, simply standing beside that giant was enough to create immense pressure for Kaito.
The only person completely thrilled by this was Otome; looking at Kaito, she felt eternally young, lovingly wrapping him in her arms.
The fire in the forge burned weaker than usual today, leaving only tiny sparks dancing weakly over the red embers.
Kaito stood before the iron anvil, quietly staring at the newly completed sword.
Its surface was perfect to an extreme degree—not a single crack, nor the slightest flaw.
The cursed energy flowing within was remarkably stable, and the spiritual structure showed no signs of collapsing.
It was a resounding “success” by every forging standard he knew.
…Yet, he felt nothing.
No breath.
No response.
No trace of a “self” on the other side of the blade.
Kaito gripped the hilt tightly, his Six Eyes reflecting a profound weariness:
“Another…
lifeless corpse.”
He released his grip.
The sword fell onto the stone floor, emitting a dry, soulless clang.
That sound annoyed him greatly.
Not because he feared failure, but because this feeling…
had become all too familiar over the past six years.
He leaned down, picked up the sword, and brought it to eye level.
Activating his Six Eyes to their maximum limit, he analyzed everything with brutal clarity: Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
Cursed spirit core: Stable.
Outer shell: Complete.
Energy linkage: Absolutely precise.
A perfect structure, yet a dead one.
Why, then, was Hyōrinmaru different?
Over the past six years, alongside sharpening his techniques, Kaito had achieved a major breakthrough: he could summon the soul of Hyōrinmaru in the form of a quiet, blue-haired young man—the very person he had met in his subconscious years ago.
Occasionally, the two spent time conversing and sparring together.
Whenever Kaito voiced his frustration, Hyōrinmaru would offer only a single response: “I am I.”
I am I?
An individual self?
An absolute identity?
Kaito recalled the moment he forged Hyōrinmaru as a young child.
Back then, he acted purely on intuition, mixing materials through the instincts of a lonely soul longing for a friend, a companion.
Yet for the past six years, he had been forcing his blades into a predefined mold.
He was attempting to create a “second Hyōrinmaru.”
“I was wrong at the most fundamental level,” Kaito muttered.
“Hyōrinmaru is unique.
What I am trying to create is life, not a tool.
And how could lives ever be identical?
Even Satoru and I, though twins, are night and day…”
Kaito murmured softly, a flash of enlightenment bursting in his Six Eyes.
He gathered the remaining raw materials and threw them all into the roaring fire.
But this time, his hands no longer moved according to dry formulas or the rigid blueprints of the past six years.
He closed his eyes, letting the intense heat wash over his face, listening to the groaning of the steel beneath the flames, using his own soul to touch and merge with theirs.
At this moment, Kaito was no longer forging a sword.
He was shaping a soul.
The rhythmic strike of the hammer echoed.
Every blow compressed not only the steel, but also the blacksmith’s will and emotions deep into the blade’s core.
For three continuous hours, spiritual power poured out like a cascading waterfall, turning the air inside the forge thick and heavy.
A strange phenomenon began to occur: the water supply in the room—from the quenching tank to the moisture in the air—was violently drained dry.
White steam billowed upward before vanishing into the glowing red steel, as if the blade was desperately thirsting to quench its thirst before even fully taking shape.
Kaito swung his arm, pulling the sword from the furnace.
It was done.
A new Zanpakutō had been born.
It was not cold or lifeless like the pile of scrap metal behind the garden.
He could clearly feel a gentle pulse transmitting from the hilt into his palm—a beating heart, a breathing life.
It was observing this world through its own unique identity, entirely independent, bearing no shadow of Hyōrinmaru.
The blade remained in its Asauchi form.
But he believed it would soon reveal its true power.
Kaito looked around the forge room, which was now bone-dry and sweltering because every drop of moisture had evaporated.
He smiled faintly—a satisfied smile after six years of being stuck in a stalemate.
It seemed that with a “thirsty” nature like this, he should consider moving his forge near a large river or lake soon, unless he wanted every forging session to incinerate the entire room.
Just then, a sharp knock at the door shattered the steam-heavy atmosphere.
“Hey, Kaito.
I’m heading out on a mission, let me borrow a sword real quick.”
The person outside was none other than Toji.
Over the past six years, he frequently stopped by to “borrow” weapons.
Kaito smiled; suddenly, the new Zanpakutō in his hand vibrated gently, as if sensing a harmonious presence.
He knew it was time to show off his greatest achievement to his friend.
Toji stepped casually into the forge, initially maintaining his usual rugged, indifferent demeanor.
Yet the instant he crossed the threshold, the hyper-acute senses of his Heavenly Restriction flared to life.
He perceived an invisible pressure—a powerful life force rising right within this room.
Something unique only to a Soul Cutter Blade.
Toji scanned the room.
Hyōrinmaru lay quietly in the corner.
Then…
he looked toward Kaito’s hands.
A realization he had anticipated for six years suddenly materialized with utmost clarity.
“Could it be…
is it what I think it is?” Toji smirked, though shock glinted in his eyes.
“Yes, Toji.”
Kaito stepped forward gently, presenting the Zanpakutō with both hands, placing it into the hands of the man facing him.
“The promise I made years ago—I’ve finally fulfilled it.
And it seems…
from the very moment you walked in, it chose you.”
Toji carefully received the blade.
It was a bizarre sensation.
It didn’t stem from exquisite craftsmanship or flawless lines—those were qualities Kaito had mastered long ago.
What left Toji stunned was the soul transmitting through the steel.
Thanks to Heavenly Restriction, he perceived the world far more vividly than anyone else, and right now, the sword in his hands was breathing.
The moment Toji gripped the hilt firmly, an extraordinary transformation occurred.
The single katana suddenly split, morphing into a pair of razor-sharp dual blades.
“What…?” Both froze for a brief second.
This separation was the ultimate proof: this was a true Zanpakutō, a soul capable of altering its form according to its master’s identity.
“What capability does it have?” Toji asked, his eyes gleaming.
Kaito shrugged lightly, offering a mysterious smile: “You’re asking the wrong person.
The one you should ask is the blade itself.
Commune with it, sleep beside it, become one with it…
Then, when the time comes, it will whisper its name and power directly to you.”
“Sounds disgustingly sappy,” Toji scoffed, yet his movement as he sheathed the dual blades was remarkably gentle and cautious.
He turned and walked away, his tall silhouette outlined against the forge’s firelight.
“I’m off to my mission.”
“You’ve been working hard to make money lately.
I guess becoming a father changes a man,” Kaito teased.
“Hey, don’t bring that up!” Toji snapped, though his steps seemed considerably lighter.
Toji getting Kuina pregnant despite having known her for only a short time was still a massive shock to everyone.
Though he constantly complained about the hassle, Kaito knew that this man—once abandoned by the entire world—was currently living through the happiest, most peaceful days of his life.
Toji’s mission this time was assigned directly by his father and Zenin Ogi.
The objective: wipe out a group of curse users who had been repeatedly raiding the Zenin family’s key warehouses.
In truth, ever since the Six Eyes emerged, outlaw curse users had virtually vanished.
Six years ago, Satoru had frightened the two most prominent curse users of the era with a single glare, forcing them into the shadows.
Yet, for reasons unknown, this group of curse users had suddenly regained the confidence to rampage once more.
Normally, “human vs.
human” assignments were passed down to the Kukuru unit.
The arrogant Hei unit rarely deigned to touch such dirty work.
Initially, Toji intended to decline, but a despicable threat from the clan stating that Tobu would be sent in his place forced him to accept.
Toji refused to let his younger sister’s hands be stained by the filth of irredeemable trash.
Arriving at the meeting point near the Zenin warehouse, a few servants were waiting to receive Toji.
Contrary to their usual condescending attitude, they acted exceptionally respectful, even voluntarily handing him a map of the enemy base.
“If you already know their location, why didn’t you assemble a strike team first?” Toji asked coldly, his gaze razor-sharp.
“We…
Toji snorted in contempt and turned away.
According to the map, the curse users’ hideout was a cave system perched precariously along a treacherous cliff—an ideal spot for both plundering and hiding.
“Animals,” Toji cursed under his breath.
He patiently waited until complete darkness fell.
In the dark, the physique of Heavenly Restriction truly reached its absolute peak.
Toji planned to slip in and send every single one of them to eternity without making a sound.
However, upon infiltrating deep into the interior, an uneasy sensation began crawling up Toji’s spine.
Everything was going too smoothly.
Too easy.
No sentries, no traps at key choke points.
It was only when he stepped into the leader’s chamber that the truth was exposed.
Tap.
Tap.
Dozens of surges of cursed energy erupted simultaneously from the shadows, surrounding Toji from all sides.
The vengeful glares and triumphant smirks of the curse users were fully revealed under the flickering torchlight.
“I see…
so that’s why I felt uneasy earlier,” Toji stood calmly in the middle of the encirclement, his right hand already resting on the hilts of his new dual blades.
His eyes turned cold as he stared directly at the leader seated above: “Someone tipped you off about my arrival.”
The curse users sneered triumphantly as one of them ordered a subordinate to bring a large screen before Toji.
Displayed on the screen were the faces of the servants Toji had met at the warehouse earlier.
“Ha ha!
You realized it too late, you cursed-energy-less monkey!” one servant on the screen shouted with a twisted expression.
“Even though we had to share a considerable amount of resources with these curse users, taking your life in exchange is completely worth it!”
Toji narrowed his eyes dangerously.
He paid no mind to the shouting small fry; what concerned him was the hand operating behind the scenes: “Hmph, these arrangements aren’t something servants like you can orchestrate.
Who gave the order?”
“Ha ha!
On the verge of death and still so talkative.
Fine, out of pity, I’ll let you die knowing the truth,” the servant cackled.
“It was your father and Master Ogi!
They personally instructed us to find the strongest curse users to send you to your grave.
You are the single largest obstacle standing in the way of the Masters taking the Clan Head seat!”
The screen went black, leaving behind a chilling silence.
Toji stood motionless.
He had suffered enough of the Zenin clan’s corruption over the past 25 years, but their willingness to join hands with criminal trash just to murder him was a heavy slap to the pride of the Heavenly Tyrant.
More importantly, if they dared to strike at him, Tobu was undoubtedly in grave danger as well.
“Tsk tsk…
Betrayed by your own family, you get what you deserve, kid!” The curse user leader stepped forward, followed by a horde of subordinates and deformed cursed spirits baring their fangs.
“We’ve been paid in full, so bear with us.
We won’t make your death too painful.”
Toji said nothing.
He slowly unsheathed his new dual blades.
The steel reflected no torchlight, pitch-black and freezing cold like the abyss within his heart at this moment.
His instincts were boiling over.
The dual blades in his hands seemed to sense their master’s immense rage, vibrating as they radiated an invisible pressure that forced the nearby lower-grade cursed spirits to retreat in fear.
“Bear with you?” Toji smirked faintly, revealing the signature scar at the corner of his lip.
“How convenient—I happen to need a few lives to test out these new blades.”
Nearly a hundred curse users and deformed cursed spirits swarmed in, forming a dense sea of enemies within the dark cavern.
“Ha ha!
Talk big when you’re about to die!” A vanguard member yelled, swinging a heavy broadsword as he charged.
Swoosh!
A flash of black light gleamed.
The curse user’s head flew into the air, blood spurting like a geyser before his body even hit the ground.
The crowd froze in shock.
Before they could even see Toji draw his sword, the slaughter had already begun.
“ALL OF YOU, COME AT ME!”
Toji’s roar ignited the fuse of death.
The curse users charged wildly from every direction.
Some wielded spears, others fired guns, and some even desperately hurled smoke grenades.
Yet Toji fully lived up to his title as the Heavenly Tyrant.
He danced through a sea of blood: twisting his body mid-air to slice two men in front of him in half, then using his bare hand to gauge out the eyes of a man behind him the moment his feet touched the ground.
With acute senses surpassing human limits, every sneak attack was utterly meaningless before Toji.
He ducked to dodge a lethal sword slash, effortlessly grabbed his attacker by the neck, and hurled him into the oncoming crowd.
The man’s chest was impaled by his own ally’s sword in utter disbelief.
Half of the enemy forces were wiped out in mere minutes.
A desperate curse user activated a technique to form a solid defensive barrier, but the Soul Cutter Blades in Toji’s hands seemed to possess a mind of their own, piercing through the layer of cursed energy like paper to plunge straight into his heart.
However, amidst the chaos, a veteran curse user hiding in a dark corner spotted an opening.
Locking onto his target, he activated his technique: “Paralysis.”
Toji suddenly felt his muscles lock up.
Given his physical conditioning, this technique held him for merely a single second, but in a life-or-death battle, a second was more than enough to decide fate.
The leader standing nearby sneered, seizing the golden opportunity as he swung a poison-coated dagger straight toward Toji’s throat!
A piercing pain transmitted from the cut into his bloodstream.
Though the potent venom was insufficient to kill Toji instantly, it acted like invisible chains, binding the muscles of the “Heavenly Tyrant.” Toji’s movements gradually grew heavy, his lightning-fast strikes acquiring a fatal sluggishness.
Hundreds of enemies, like starved wolves sensing the weakening of a apex predator, charged forward maniacally.
Toji could no longer maintain the absolute upper hand.
He took more hits; new wounds continuously stacked upon old ones, fresh blood soaking his shredded attire.
“Heh heh!
Were you not arrogant earlier, you cursed-energy-less monkey!” The curse user leader, the strongest among them, stepped forward with a barbaric smile.
His technique resembled Ogi’s—the manipulation of flames.
Coating his blade in roaring fire, he thrust it forcefully into Toji’s chest.
In the nick of time, Toji twisted his body to avoid a fatal blow, but the fiery blade still grazed his ribs, causing him to cough up fresh blood and sink to one knee.
In a hair-trigger crisis, Toji was truly in peril.
Seizing the moment, another curse user activated his technique to summon a deformed, three-headed Shikigami, commanding the monster to leap forward and maul Toji’s exhausted body.
“This match…
ends here,” the leader declared coldly.
A barrage of attacks erupted, thick smoke and dust obscuring Toji’s figure.
As the final faint sounds of resistance died out, the curse users began to cheer triumphantly.
They assumed the beast of the Zenin family had officially been brought down.
The survivors began brushing off dust, casually turning to leave, abandoning the corpses of their comrades scattered across the floor.
They were mercenaries after all; the fewer survivors, the larger their share of the spoils.
However, just as the leader was about to step out of the cave, a bizarre sound echoed from behind, shattering the quiet atmosphere.
It was not the groan of a dying man, but a solemn, eerie, bone-chilling chant:
“Amidst chaotic flower winds, the Flower God weeps.
Amidst chaotic heavenly winds, the Heavenly Demon laughs.”
The entire group of curse users froze, goosebumps erupting across their skin.
The leader whipped around, his eyes wide with horror.
From the rubble and dust, Toji’s silhouette slowly emerged, but…
he was no longer the tattered assassin from before.
A pitch-black, sinister surge of spiritual pressure exploded, sweeping away everything in its path.
The dual blades in Toji’s hands vibrated violently, transforming from standard katanas into a pair of massive, pitch-black scimitars with blood-red hilts, radiating the breath of death itself.
Toji raised his head, his deep black eyes emitting a murderous aura so dense it threatened to suffocate all life.
The corner of his lip curled into a cold, merciless smile:
“Katen Kyōkotsu (Flower Heaven Crazy Bone).”