I successfully retrieved the cake box from the coin locker and made my way back to the Zenin estate.
At the garden entrance, little Maki and Mai were already waiting for me, having come out to greet my return.
"Big brother!"
When I produced the flashy Sanrio character cake box with a flourish, the kids' eyes sparkled like stars.
"Whoa! It's Kitty! Hello Kitty!"
"Big brother is the best!"
I chuckled and ruffled the heads of the twin sisters as they hopped around in excitement.
"Go back to your room and start eating. I'll be there in a bit."
"Huh? Why? Come on, eat with us!"
Mai grabbed the hem of my shirt, pleading. I flicked the tip of her nose and teasingly stuck out my tongue.
"Nope. If I eat with you now, I'm so hungry I might devour the whole thing myself. If you don't want to lose your share, go and start eating first. I'll join you soon."
"No way! It's ours!"
Terrified by my joke, the kids clutched the cake box like it was a sacred relic and waddled off toward their room as fast as their little legs could carry them. I let out a smirk at their retreating forms, but a commotion at the front gate caught my attention.
"Delivery!"
Perfect timing. The mountain of bread I had ordered from the bakery had arrived. I gathered the household servants.
"Distribute all of this to the clan members. Every last bit. Oh, and make sure you guys take plenty for yourselves too."
"Thank you! Thank you, Young Master Hachiro!"
The servants, who usually lived a withered existence walking on eggshells around the clan elders, bowed repeatedly. I grabbed one particularly large bag of bread for myself and turned away.
My destination was deep within the inner manor. The room of Zenin Ougi, the biological father of the twins.
Step. Step.
As I walked down the corridor, my mind was a tangled mess of meta-knowledge and contemplation.
'I'm an outsider who suddenly intruded upon this original timeline.'
Zenin Ougi. The man I was about to meet was consumed by a horrific inferiority complex because he lost the position of Clan Head to his older brother, Naobito. Because of that misery, he was a pathetic excuse for a patriarch—shaming and neglecting his own daughters just because they lacked Cursed Energy, while treating his wife with icy indifference.
However, at this point in time, Ougi hasn't crossed the point of no return yet. He isn't quite the complete villain who would attempt to slaughter his own children with his own blade. Right now, he's just a failure of a father rotting in his own bitterness.
'Does knowing the future tragedy give me the right to judge this man right now?'
I shook my head.
In the original manga, the awakened Maki's decision to trample and massacre the Zenin Clan was perfectly justified from her perspective. It was righteous revenge. However, from the macro perspective of the entire Jujutsu world, it was a staggering, agonizing loss.
The elite units like the Hei and the Kukuru—valuable sorcerer assets held by the Zenin—evaporated overnight. As a result, in the final battle against the Culling Game and Sukuna, Jujutsu High had to fight with a fatal disadvantage in numbers and firepower.
'If...'
Warmth seeped through the bread bag in my hand.
'If I can prevent Maki from becoming a ghost of vengeance, and if I can preserve these rotten Zenin bastards as a functional military force... if I can make them repent and reform so they can be used as allies in the final showdown.'
That would be the perfect, ideal 'True Ending' I could create by intervening in this world.
Taking a deep breath, I decided to try persuasion through dialogue instead of just crushing Ougi with brute force.
Before I knew it, I was standing in front of Ougi's room.
Cold, desolate air seeped through the crack of the half-open sliding door.
"...."
Inside the dimly lit room, Zenin Ougi sat alone in a formal seiza posture, apathetically wiping his razor-sharp katana with a white cloth.
The cramped room of a loser who never became the Head. It was filled with nothing but the oppressive atmosphere of a lonely, aging swordsman crushed by inferiority and solitude.
I tightened my grip on the bag of bread and slowly placed my hand on the sliding door.
As I stepped inside, Ougi glared at me with an unpleasant, piercing gaze.
I didn't wait. I shoved the bag of bread directly in front of his knees.
"You must be hungry. Have some bread."
"...I have no use for it. Take it away."
Ougi didn't even spare the bread a glance, staring instead at the edge of his polished blade. A rejection typical of a stubborn, fossilized elitist.
"Oh, come on. Don't be so heartless. Let's just have a chat first."
The moment I took a step closer, annoyed by his attitude—
Ssh-shing—!
The air in the room turned bone-chillingly cold.
Ougi flicked the scabbard of the sword he was cleaning, instantly dropping into a low quick-draw stance. Flames flickered across his blade, and a Simple Domain expanded from his feet, tracing a perfect circle on the tatami.
It was a clear declaration of murderous intent: take one more step, and I'll bisect you.
I didn't even blink.
"What a temper."
Boom—!
I lightly tapped my foot against the floor, deploying my own original 'Sketch' Simple Domain. The circle of crushing sword pressure surrounding Ougi was erased as if rubbed out by a giant eraser.
The sheer Cursed Energy that had defeated Old Man Naobito completely smothered Ougi's bloodlust.
I sat down with one knee raised, speaking in a voice heavy with authority.
"First, we talk."
"...."
This was the Zenin Clan, where might makes right.
Ougi's face contorted with humiliation at the fact that his sword intent had been silenced without a trace by a fourteen-year-old brat. However, looking like a man who had finally given up, he sheathed his sword with a sharp click.
Seeing him submit, I quietly opened the conversation.
"I know what you want. The seat of the Zenin Clan Head."
Ougi's eyebrows twitched. I ignored his reaction and pressed on.
"But you're never going to get it. Not now, not ever. And the reason for that isn't those children of yours you find so shameful. It's entirely... your own fault."
Ougi let out a scoff at my blunt verbal assault.
"Hmph! Someone like you, born with a superior technique and monstrous strength, has no business lecturing me. Your words carry no weight."
"Well, you're not wrong about the strength part. However."
I narrowed my eyes and lowered my pitch.
"Let me ask you something. If you're going to judge the 'capacity' for leadership by your elitist standards, why was my father kicked out without even being allowed to use the noble name of 'Zenin'? Why was he stripped of the clan name and forced to take 'Kuroda,' a name for commoners who roll in the dirt?"
"That's because your father's Cursed Energy was pathetic—!"
Before Ougi could finish his counterargument, I cut him off sharply.
"Don't delude yourself. Old Man Naobito, the one sitting in the Head's seat right now? He's the Head not because his technique is noble, nor because his brat Naoya is impressive. He's the Head because he is overwhelmingly stronger than you."
"What?"
"Think about it. Projection Sorcery?"
I chuckled and snapped my fingers.
"Dividing a single second into twenty-four frames, animation logic, camera lenses... it's a technique cluttered with messy, modern rules. You think those conservative, ancient fossils in the Jujutsu hierarchy would respect that kind of modern gimmick as 'tradition'? No chance."
I drove the point home into the speechless Ougi.
"In fact, my father's 'Shark-Swimming Technique'—which simply accelerates speed and power the more he runs without conditions—was much more intuitive and 'sorcerer-like' to those old men. So why is Naobito the Head and not my father or you?"
I stared straight into Ougi's eyes.
"Because that old man's physical prowess and speed were so far out of the box that even the elders' disgust was forcefully silenced. Stop making excuses, Lord Ougi. You didn't fail to become the Head because of your children's flaws or because your brother's technique was 'superior.' It's simply because your own capacity and strength ended right there."
My heavy words left Ougi's face frozen in a pale mask.
Having shattered the very root of the inferiority complex he had clung to his entire life, I leaned back and spoke more casually.
"So, stop obsessing over illusions like the Headship or the hierarchy of techniques. Take a good look at the reality you're currently holding in your two hands."
"...What are you talking about?"
"A father who is infinitely cruel to his daughters, and a husband who is as cold as ice to his wife. Isn't that your current reality?"
Ougi's pupils trembled slightly. I added the final blow.
"Nothing is as pathetic as getting old and dying alone. If you don't want to spend your final years in a lonely, empty room with no one to look after you, you'd better start behaving properly now."
Faced with advice that sounded more like a scolding, Ougi's suppressed emotions finally boiled over.
"You...! How dare a brat from a branch family try to teach me! Are you telling me to just step down and rot away as an old man in the back room, sucking my thumb for the rest of my life?"
Seeing Ougi explode in rage, his veins bulging, I just smirked.
"Exactly."
"What?!"
"The back room, sucking your thumb. You got it right. But don't worry, you won't be sucking your thumb alone."
I lowered my voice and dropped the name of the most annoying person in the Zenin Clan.
"Because that arrogant Young Master Naoya, who thinks the sky's the limit for him? He's eventually going to fail to become the Head too. He'll be sitting right next to you, sucking his thumb in misery."
"...!"
The moment he heard that name, Ougi's expression warped strangely.
Zenin Naoya. A nephew who openly treated his own uncle like a bug and was absolutely certain he would be the next Head without a shadow of a doubt.
The image of that insufferable Naoya slipping up, failing to reach the throne, and rotting in the same desperate back room as him...
That refreshing and hilarious image flashed through Ougi's mind.
"...Pfft."
From the mouth of Ougi, a man who had lived his life armored in solemnity and bitterness, a hollow, unexpected laugh escaped.
"Keke, you laughed, didn't you?"
"B-Be quiet...!"
Ougi coughed in embarrassment, trying to fix his expression, but I gave him a sly grin.
"Rather than making a fool of yourself trying to grab a position in your old age, wouldn't it be more profitable to spend your retirement watching that bastard's life fall apart? You can sit back, chew on some snacks, and enjoy the show."
I dusted off my pants and stood up. I'd said my piece. I had stirred the pot in this old fossil's heart and made him face reality. My job here was done.
"Anyway, I'm done here. I'll be going now."
I quietly placed the bag of red bean bread he had rejected earlier on the tatami where I had been sitting.
"Try and 'chew' on what I said."
Leaving behind that double-edged parting gift, I turned my back and walked out the sliding door without a second look.
Clack, shut.
Stepping into the corridor, I muttered to myself.
'...This is all I can do.'
The seed had been planted. Whether that man would become a demon who slashes his own children or an ally who fights alongside us as a clan asset... that was entirely his choice now.
'The next time we meet, we'll either be sitting across from each other sharing a drink... or pointing blades at each other's throats.'
Either way, it didn't matter to me.
Inside the empty room, Ougi stared silently at the closed door for a long time. In the space where the boy's tempestuous spirit and blunt words had just passed through, only the sweet-smelling bag of red bean bread remained.
"...."
Ougi slowly reached out and took a bun from the bag.
The prestige of the clan, the pride of a sorcerer. Normally, he wouldn't have even looked at cheap food thrown his way by a branch member.
But he brought the bread to his mouth without a word and took a large, careful bite.
"...It's sweet."
In the quiet room, a very small, bitter murmur escaped the lips of the old swordsman who had lived his life like a sharpened blade.
[ Kyoto, Karasuma Line, in front of Exit 4 ]
"Phew, Tokyo to Kyoto really is a distance. Even on the Shinkansen, it takes over three hours."
A young man dressed neatly in a black duffle coat loosened his neck and muttered. He had a single long strand of hair falling over his forehead and gentle eyes.
Beside him, a Kyoto Window wiped away sweat, bowing repeatedly.
"Ah, well, that's how it is... thank you so much for making the long trip."
"No, no. There's no need for that."
The boy waved his hand with a polite, friendly smile.
"Besides, if it's a Special Grade Cursed Spirit strong enough to consume an entire sector like this, it'll make a very good addition to my collection. From my perspective, it's not a bad deal at all."
"Yes, yes! Right this way. I'll guide you."
The Window sighed in relief and led the boy toward the barricaded Exit 4.
"Beyond this police line, from the stairs leading down to Subway Exit 4, is that spirit's Innate Domain. The Urban Legend Spirit that enforces those horrific rules..."
The Window's explanation cut off abruptly as he shone his flashlight into the dark underground passage.
"...Eh?"
The Window's eyes widened in bewilderment.
The subway tunnel, which should have been damp and repulsive, held no trace of Cursed Residue. Where the bizarre rules and signs should have been posted, there was only an ordinary [Disabled Priority] sign hanging lonely on the wall.
"Huh...? It's gone? What's going on? It was definitely overflowing with energy until yesterday!"
"...."
The boy—Suguru Geto—looked down the empty stairs in silence.
His sharp eyes detected a very faint, yet overwhelming trace left behind by 'a certain sorcerer.' It was clear that someone had stepped in first and carved the Cursed Spirit out of existence without leaving a trace. A flicker of regret passed through his eyes at the thought of losing a good spirit for his collection.
"Oh no, I'm so sorry! After bringing you all the way from Tokyo, for it to be a waste of time...!"
As the Window bowed at a 90-degree angle, face pale with fear, the boy soon dismissed his disappointment and regained his usual gentle smile.
"It's fine. It's for the best."
"Pardon?"
"As sorcerers, it's our natural duty to save and protect people. If the threat was handled before I had to step in and no one got hurt, then that is a very good thing in itself."
The boy turned around with a light step.
"Then I'll be heading back. I actually have to enroll in Tokyo Jujutsu High in a week, and I'm a bit rushed to finish packing my things."
In the Kyoto night.
Before the shadows of corruption had yet fallen upon him, a boy carrying the ease of the strong and a kind set of convictions walked out of the station, imagining the mysterious sorcerer who had beaten him to the punch.