And remember, flies carry disease, so keep yours closed
Without any further to do, enjoy!
----------------------------------
(Thousand of Years Ago)
(?'s POV)
The air on Thriller Bark was thick with the stench of decay and despair. Shadows, ripped from their owners, shambled mindlessly.
The Straw Hat crew was scattered, tired. Their was strengths literally stolen from them.
Luffy, in a fit of rage and desperation, had made his last stand, allowing all of his remaining energy to be throw into Gecko Moria, the inflated the Warlord that was a monstruous shape, bulging with black-tendrils all over his body from the shadows stolen from his victims
The attack failed, and Luffy fell into his child-form, his power depleted completely
"SHISHISHISHI!" Moria's gargantuan form loomed over the broken landscape, his voice a seismic rumble. "This is the end! Your captain is nothing but a waste of space now! You're all finished!"
On the ground, Nami, Usopp, and Chopper could only watch in horror, their bodies weakened, filled with different wounds from their past battles.
Zoro and Sanji, the pair that keep the crew together, stood up with the last of their strength, ready to defend their Nakama
It was then that a calm, steady voice cut through the cacophony of Moria's glee and the moans of the shadows that he controlled inside his body
"That form is unstable, the amount of power that guy has right now is far beyond what he could maintain"
Everyone turned. Akira, the man they'd pulled half-drowned from a floating wreck weeks ago, who was standing atop a crumbled wall. His platinum hair was dirty, his clothes torn from the earlier skirmishes, but his crimson eyes were sharp, looking at the colossal form of Nightmare Moria without any shred of fear
"Akira, what are you talking about?" Nami cried, her voice trembling.
Akira didn't take his eyes off the monster. "Moria's body isn't built to hold that amount of power, he in truth is weak. Right now, he's like an overinflated balloon. His body is trying hard to maintain that form, look closely and you will realise who the shadows inside of him are trying to escape. So now, what we have to do is to pop him like the balloon he is"
They looked. And now that he pointed it out, they could see it. The gigantic form seemed to swirl his shade every second, the shadows inside moving to get a release. Tiny fissures of shadows sporadically appeared and vanished in the dark mass
"But Luffy's in no good" Chopper cried. "We can't just pop him! No one has the strength to do it"
"But I do, I haven't used much of my strength through this whole ordeal" Akira said, his voice low but carrying a newfound intensity. Ever since they met him Akira has been quiet, just like Robin, cautious of them, but it seems in this battle he has opened up to the crew "I've got a plan"
"What plan?"
"We are going to hit him as hard as we can"
"......Really?!" Nami shouted
"Sounds like a great plan" Zoro nodded
"My thoughts exactly" Sanji nodded
"Oh, Akira.....is.....smart" Luffy complemented
"Ahh, the trio of idiots increased to a idiot quartet" Usopp supplemented
"Can you think a true plan for once?!"
"Okay, we can hit him hard...."
"Grrr" Nami growled
"Together?" Akira added after a beat
"...You know what, I'll take it" Nami sighed "So, how are we doing this?"
"I was thinking we could each attack each part of his body individually, that we can overwhelm him with our remaining strength combined"
"Sounds good, what do we do?" Zoro ask
"Sanji," Akira's head snapped towards the cook. "Your Diable Jambe. Can you use it again?"
"Y-yeah? What of it?" Sanji grunted
"Zoro," Akira's gaze found the swordsman, who was readying his three swords "Do you have enough strength to use another one of your moves?"
"Tch. Obviously," Zoro spat, wiping blood from his mouth, a fierce grin forming. He saw where this was going.
"Alright, then Franky," Akira's eyes found the cyborg, who was trying to reattach a loose piston in his arm. "Ready you Coup de Vent. Target a single point, a bit above his centre. We will make him fall off his back"
"SUUUPER! Can do!" Franky roared, slamming his metal fists together.
"Robin. I need you to create a limb. A large one. Or as many limbs as you can, directly in his face. Obscure his vision completely. And then pull him down by the head"
Robin, who had been observing with her usual calm, gave a slight, intrigued smile. "Of course."
"Brook," Akira said, and the skeleton, who was trying to hold his own head on, snapped to attention. "I saw how you can use your music to disorient peopl, we will use it. Target his ears. Distract him enough for the rest of us to work him"
"Understood! A little concert just for him! Though I have no ears to hear it with! Yohohoho!"
"Usopp, the moment before Robin and Brook act, I need a flashbang. Something very bright and loud. Nami, the moment he's distracted, fog bank around his lower half. Obscure his vision of the ground. Chopper, Walk Point, move Luffy away since he is too weak to move. After being disoriented, Sanji and Zoro will aim for his limbs to throw him down. Now, let's move!"
Seeing the new guy of the group give the detailed plan, the group nodded, starting the plan to the letter
Zoro adjusted his bandanna with a grin "You'll fit right in"
"Thanks, I'm starting to like this crew as well"
"Usopp Special: Flash Ball!" Usopp launched a white ball that exploded right in front of the Warlord. A brilliant light shined in front of the giant. Moria instanly tried to soothe his eyes.
But before he could, he instantly received a new pain
"Lullaby Screech!" Brook's violin screeched a note so high and awful it made the very air vibrate. Moria Instantly was stopped, his eyes hurt by the flash, his eyes pained by the screech of Brook's violin.
Now, he was in a complete sense depravation
"Cyclone Tempo!" Nami shouted, and a thick, impenetrable mist erupted around the giant's legs and half torso
"Diable Jambe: Concasse!" Sanji became a blur of fire, his leg spinning like a drill. Launching himself towards the legs of the Warlord
"Three-Sword Style: Three Thousand Worlds!" Zoro's whirlwind slash pulled at the legs of the Warlord
Both the small legs of the disfigured Warlord were hit by an amount of power comparable to a mountain.
Moria's equilibrium was shattered, and like a piece of domino, it start tumbling back and forth, his eyes and ears hurting from the simultanius sensory attacks
"Mil Fleur: Gigantesco Mano!" A forest of arms sprouted from the giant's face, clawing and obscuring its vision. Adding to his disorientation and imbalance
"COUP DE VENT!" Franky unleashed a colossal blast of compressed air directly into the giant's chest.
The force was the final straw. The titan of shadows, blinded, deafened, and off-balance, began to topple backwards, just as Akira had planned, while Chopper ran away with the vulnerable, shrunken form of their captain that he picked while the attacks were being throw
With a sound like a mountain tearing in half, Moria's gigantic ankles buckled. Shadows exploded outwards, leaving hir form. The titan roared in agony and surprise, toppling backwards
The impact shook the entire island. And as he fell, the thousands of shadows he had absorbed were violently expelled, shrieking as they streamed out of him and back towards their original owners. But it wasn't enough.
Then, Akira jumped, his form holding back his right hand with his left one, like holding back a coiled spring
Then, punched forward, his first releasing a pressurised cannon of air going straight into the Warlord's centre.
"Daytime Tiger" Akira called the name of his attack. The air pressure morphed into the face of a tiger, hitting true into the body of the Shadow-user, and finally, releasing every shadow that he tried to contain inside of him.
The crew watched in stunned silence as the monstrous form deflated, revealing the panting, exhausted form of their captain, and the defeated, groaning heap that was Gecko Moria.
The battle was over.
As the adrenaline faded, they all turned to look at Akira. He fell right beside them. He was breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat on his brow, his fists slowly unclenching and releasing blood from the amount of force used. The intense focus that had hardened his features was melting away, leaving behind a profound fatigue, but also the faint, warm echo of the connection he'd felt in the heat of the fight.
Luffy, slowly returning to his normal size and energy, blinked up at him. A huge, wobbly grin spread across his face. "Akira... that was... shishishi... awesome."
The rest of the crew gathered around, a wave of relief and exhilaration washing over them.
"SUUUPER tactics, bro!" Franky boomed, tears streaming down his face. "That was some primo targeting! We did it!"
"My, I guess we now know what position you could have in the crew, that strategy was… impeccable" Robin added, her smile knowing. "You utilized everyone's abilities to their maximum potential. I quiet commend you, Akira-san"
"Yohohoho! That was a great fight, I'm getting an inspiration for a new song"
Sanji lighted a cigarette and turned towards the newcomer of the crew, nodding with respect.
"IT WAS ALL THANKS TO THE GREAT CAPTAIN USOPP'S OPENING!" Usopp yelled, before adding in a whisper, "...and your plan was pretty good too."
"SO COOL!" Chopper bounced, his eyes shining with tears of joy.
Nami smiled, a real, relieved smile, and something else "You saved him. You saved all of us, Akira. Thank you."
Zoro clapped a heavy hand on Akira's shoulder, making him stagger. "Not bad for a newbie."
In that moment, surrounded by their noise, their gratitude, their sheer, vibrant aliveness, Akira felt the last of his walls crumble. He looked at their faces
Luffy's blinding grin, Zoro's smirk, Sanji's approval, Usopp's bravado, Chopper's adoration, Nami's warmth, Franky's enthusiasm, Robin's quiet respect, Brook's joy
A feeling, foreign and warm, spread through his chest. It wasn't just satisfaction. It was belonging.
He was their nakama.
And for the first time, Akira felt not like a passenger in his own life, but like he was exactly where he was meant to be.
--------------------------------
(Present)
(?'s POV)
The conference room in Kyoto Jujutsu High was filled with a dozen of sorcerers all-around chating and mumbling between themselves
Stacks of reports covered the long table, printouts, handwritten notes, grainy photos from low-grade surveillance talismans and mundane surveillance cameras. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows under everyone's eyes
Utahime Iori sat at the head of the table, her kimono disheveled as was her hair, well, anyone could be the same after spending almost three full days in meeting after meeting.
A fresh stack of reports sat in front of her; she was on page seventeen of twenty-three and already developing a headache behind her right eye. Around her sat a half-dozen administrative sorcerer mid-level Grade 2s and 1s who spent more time filing paperwork than exorcising anything. They looked as tired as she felt.
She flipped another page, frowned, flipped back, frowned harder.
"Another one" She muttered. "Chiba, the same city as the others, residential district near an old shrine. Third-grade spirit reported manifesting at 02:47 a.m., window saw it after a patrol, and reported it immediately. Response team arrived at 03:12 a.m.. One Grade-1 and one Grade-2. Nothing. No residue. No lingering energy. No sign it ever existed"
One of the sorcerers, a thin man with glasses and coffee stains on his tie, nodded wearily.
"That's the eighth this week. All low-to-mid grade, and a couple of high grade curses. All in Chiba Prefecture. All vanished without a trace. No exorcism report. No cursed energy signature. Not even a cursed tools signature. Nothing."
Utahime rubbed her temple.
"What did our trackers say?"
"Same story" a woman across the table said. She was older, hair pulled into a flower bun, voice flat and slightly hoarse "They swept every site. Nada. Nothing. No residual cursed energy at all. Not even ambient decay patterns. It's like the spirits were quite literally, completely eradicated, not leaving even a speck of cursed energy behind"
Utahime let out a long, frustrated breath and scratched the back of her head hard enough to mess up her bangs.
"Why is it.....?" she said through gritted teeth, "That every single time I try to get one free day, one....some new shit happens? Every. Single. Time"
The room stayed quiet. No one wanted to be the one to answer that. No one dare to answer that.
The thin man with the coffee stains cleared his throat.
"Our best trackers also reported… no energy signature on any of the scenes. They reported that whatever dealt with the cursed spirits did quickly and efforlessly, not even inciting cries of pain from the curses, but didn't report anyone on the scene"
Utahime's hand froze mid-scratch.
"That's impossible," she snapped. "Every cursed technique leaves a marking. Every single one. Even the simplest shikigami summon leaves ambient decay. Even cursed tools leave a signature residual heat, cursed energy, something. You're telling me someone, or something, is exorcising spirits so perfectly that it leaves zero trace?"
The older woman nodded once.
"That's exactly what we are telling you."
Utahime stared at the report in her hands, and with a small fit of rage, wrinkled it in her hands
"Then we're dealing with either a Grade Special anomaly we've never seen before… or someone who knows jujutsu better than any of us"
A nervous Grade 2 near the end of the table raised a tentative hand.
"Um… there was one other thing."
Everyone looked at him.
He swallowed.
"Witness reports, multiple coming from the windows, placed Gojo Satoru near three of the sites within the hour the spirits vanished."
The room went still.
Utahime pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Of course he was there"
As if summoned by the mention of his name, a cheerful voice came from the doorway.
"Did anyone call?"
Gojo Satoru leaned against the frame, long legs crossed at the ankle, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a crinkled bag of cheap candy. He popped a piece into his mouth and made a face.
"By the way, someone should really change the candy in the vending machine. These taste awful"
Utahime's eye twitched.
"Gojo" she snapped, chair scraping back as she stood. "What are you doing here?"
He pushed off the doorframe and sauntered inside, still chewing
"Well, I heard you were investigating the same case I am, so I thought I could see if you've got any new information on my new friend." He said it lightly
Utahime's voice rose half an octave "Gojo—this isn't a joke. What was that? Or who was that? And why are you even involved?"
He shrugged, popping another candy into his mouth "Come now, Utahime. Don't get so angry. You'll get wrinkles."
"This is a serious security threat," She insisted, grabbing a report and thrusting it toward him, though she knew perfectly well he didn't need to read it or that he wouldn't even read it "An unknown with an unknown technique that operates outside every law of jujutsu we understand! They could be anywhere, do anything! They could walk into the Higher-ups office or this very school and we wouldn't know until after they'd decided to… to do something with that technique of theirs!"
"Yep!" Gojo agreed cheerfully, utterly unfazed. He snatched the paper from her hand, glanced at it for a nanosecond, and tossed it onto the nearest nervous sorcerer's head. "Isn't it exciting? Really spices things up around here. Gets the blood pumping. We were all getting a little bored with the old 'new curse spirit manifests, we punch it' routine, weren't we?"
"This isn't exciting, it's terrifying!" she nearly shouted, composure cracking. "The higher-ups are ordering a thorough investigation. They are alarmed to whatever this is. We need to figure out who or what this is before—"
"We have to do nothing."
The room went dead quiet.
Gojo's tone hadn't changed, still light, still playful, but something in his posture shifted. The lazy slouch was gone. His visible sharp blue eyed with clouds in it locked onto hers.
"Whoever they are, or whatever they are," he continued, "They're not making noise. They're not drawing attention. They're not attacking civilians or other jujutsu sorcerers that we know of. They're just… cleaning up. Taking out the trash. If we go poking around, waving our fancy tools and our territorial instincts in their face, we might not like what decides to poke back. Some things are best left unprovoked."
He pushed off the table he'd been leaning against and turned toward the door, the moment of seriousness vanishing as if it had never been.
"But by all means," he tossed over his shoulder, cheerful mask firmly back in place, "keep looking. Run your little scans. Knock yourselves out. I'm dying to know who can make something disappear so completely that not even these—" he tapped a finger just below his covered eye "—can see how it's done. It's… refreshing. It reminds me of that guy eleven years ago."
He gave a lazy wave.
"Ta-da!"
And he was gone, door swinging shut behind him like he'd never been there.
Silence.
Utahime stared at the empty doorway.
Then she dropped back into her chair, hard.
"Get me everything we have on Gojo's movements in Chiba over the last month," she said, voice flat
The room erupted into quiet, frantic motion.
Utahime rubbed her temples again.
So much for that free day.
-----------------------
(?'s POV)
His personal study was the usual place where he made all the important decisions for his family and his business.
Many lives have been decided there, and also, many deaths.
Many secret deals that have impulsed his family's standing were made there. His father used it, his grandfather used it, and now he uses it to conduct his business
Silence reigned in the office, deep and absolute, save for two sounds: the whisper of fine, cream-laid paper between Gan'an's fingers and the distant, meticulously curated hum of Tokyo, forty and score stories below
From this vantage point, the city was just a bunch of light and ants walking around, not knowing the presence staring at them from above.
The scent of aged cedar and polished brass filled the air, a smell synonimous of a rough night for him and an important decision to be made
Shinomiya Gan'an, the patriarch of an empire built on centuries of calculated influence and ruthless strategy, did not frown. Frowning was a sign of weakness, a public display of internal discord that would show thoughts. Thoughts that anyone with bad intentions towards him could use.
Instead, his face was a mask of impassive granite, but his mind was a vortex of cold, calculated fury
He stared, unblinking, at a single file of data resting on the vast, empty expanse of his nineteenth-century French oak desk. It was something he asked for, but still, the presence of that document jarred him
It offended him.
For months, a name had been appearing with the infuriating persistence of a mosquito in the peripheral vision of his conglomerate's most advanced analytics division
It was a single name, that keep appearing and appearing.
Appearing beside a sale that at minimum had 9 digits.
It was Yoshioka Holdings. An investor company, relatively knew, yet it seemed to already have amassed a great fortune
It was not a zaibatsu. Not an other competitor he knew of. No hidden enterprises under the pretense of a phantom conglomerate.
He opened the folder.
The first page was a simple corporate registry printout.
Yoshioka Holdings K.K.
Director: Yoshioka Akira
Incorporation Date: Eighteen months ago
Registered Address: A modest apartment building in Chiba Prefecture
Primary Activity: Investment management (securities, real estate, venture capital)
No board. No executive team. No institutional shareholders. Just one name. One man. One address
He turned the page.
The investment history was brief but it carried a lot of capital for the to gain
Last quarter: purchase of an abandoned industrial site in Chiba's outer wards, land every major developer had written off as toxic and worthless. Four weeks later the Ministry of Land quietly announced a new high-speed rail extension; the route's main depot would sit directly on that parcel. Land value increased seventeen-fold in a single afternoon. Yoshioka Holdings sold at peak price
Six weeks ago: a quiet acquisition of thirty-two percent of a struggling Chiba-based biotech firm called Mid Bio Informatics or MBI. The company's lead researcher had been on the verge of bankruptcy and breakdown. Three days after the stake was secured the researcher published a breakthrough paper on a novel targeted drug-delivery vector. The patent cleared regulatory review in record time. MBI's market cap multiplied by forty-seven in ten trading sessions. Yoshioka Holdings exited with a return that would have made most hedge funds weep with envy
Two days ago: a series of precisely timed short positions against Fujikawa Heavy Industries, a legacy manufacturer considered unassailable. Hours later an anonymous whistleblower dump appeared online: falsified safety records, systematic accounting irregularities, environmental violations spanning fifteen years. The stock cratered. Yoshioka Holdings closed the positions at maximum profit.
The finances were astronomical. That much amount of capital, and all held by a single man
Gan'an closed the folder.
He leaned back in the chair and stared out at the city through the window
This was not the work of a lucky amateur. This was not even the work of a brilliant hedge-fund manager operating on publicly available information. This was foresight bordering on precognition moves made with knowledge no one else possessed
And the sole owner, director, and beneficiary was listed as one Yoshioka Akira. A high-school Literature teacher in Chiba.
It wasn't a stroke of luck for a small enterpreneur
He didn't believe in luck. He believe in opportunities, in control, in manipulation
Yet, the inferomation revealed there were no offshore trusts leading to numbered companies. No silent partners. No hidden family wealth. No intelligence-agency fingerprints.
The money trail, when it could be followed at all, looped back to the same name: Yoshioka Akira. Personal accounts. Personal tax filings. A modest salary from Soubu High School supplemented by investment income that grew at a rate no salary could justify
The man appeared to be entirely self-made. To be by himself, and yet had an amount of money that even alliances of companies would even struggle to make
A complete unknown who had somehow amassed the kind of capital that should have taken generations
Gan'an did not like unknowns. Unknowns were variables. Variables were risk.
He pressed the intercom.
"Masato."
The door opened almost instantly. Masato entered, bowed deeply, and waited.
"The report" Gan'an said without preamble.
"Is complete, sir. Yoshioka Holdings is wholly owned and directed by Yoshioka Akira. No other shareholders. No beneficial owners behind him. No discrepancies in public records. He is… exactly what he appears to be. A private individual who began investing eighteen months ago and has achieved returns that are statistically impossible"
Gan'an's fingers drummed once, softly, on the desk.
"Impossible" he repeated "Yet we are seeing it right now, on paper"
"Yes, sir. Our analysts cannot identify any pattern of insider trading, front-running, or illegal information. Yet the timing of each investment is… impossibly accurate. Even our strongest analyst couldn't make predictions of that accuracy even with the most advance calculating software in the market"
Gan'an looked out at the city again.
A teacher.
A high-school teacher in Chiba had built a fortune that could, in another two years, begin to rival high-tier zaibatsu families.
Self-made.
The phrase tasted bitter.
Self-made men were dangerous. They had no loyalty to bloodlines, no allegiance to tradition, no fear of losing what had never been inherited. They believed, correctly, that everything could be taken and remade.
They came to change the game.
Gan'an did not fear many things.
He feared variables he could not control. He feared changes
He turned back to Masato.
"Draft an invitation."
Masato's brow lifted a fraction—the only sign of surprise.
"Sir?"
"To the Shinomiya Kaguya, my daughter's, birthday gala. Highest quality vellum. Formal calligraphy. Hand-delivered to Soubu High School, addressed personally to Yoshioka Akira. Extend the compliments of the Shinomiya family and request the pleasure of his company"
Masato hesitated—only for a heartbeat.
"Sir… inviting an unknown private investor of this calibre into such a gathering-"
"Is precisely why I am doing it," Gan'an interrupted, voice low and final. "I want to see him in the light. Surrounded by the real measure of power in this country. I want to see if he is impressed. Intimidated. I want to see who, if anyone, he speaks to. I want to see him in person"
He tapped the folder once.
"If he is self-made, he will either be hungry… or arrogant. Either is exploitable. If he is something else, if someone stands behind him, his behaviour will betray it. One way or another, I will be able to figure out his purpose and motivations"
Masato bowed deeply.
"At once, sir."
He withdrew.
Gan'an remained seated, staring at the folder.
Outside, Tokyo glittered, beautiful, indifferent, fragile.
Inside, a decision had been made
He would invite the unknown into his garden and watch what it poisoned first.
And if necessary—he would uproot it.
The city continued to move below him, unaware of the quiet, implacable gaze that measured its every light.
Gan'an allowed himself one small, controlled breath.
Then he turned the folder face-down.
The game had just acquired a new piece.
And Shinomiya Gan'an had always been very good at moving pieces.
Yet, at the moment, he didn't knew that he was messing with forces beyond his capabilities