The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Kamo Masaki remained an impassive monolith, forcing Kamo Aoo to repeat his question, his voice tight with unease.
"Patriarch, the matter of Itsuki's placement…"
"Has anyone asked him what he wants?" Masaki's interruption was quiet but final, redirecting the burden.
Aoo's dry laugh was a nervous tick. "We… aren't closely acquainted. I've only seen him a handful of times."
His admission echoed the unspoken truth in the room. Kamo Tenkawa, the enforcer, grumbled, "The boy is a ghost. We don't know his mind." Kamo Katou, the spymaster, nodded grimly. "Such detachment does not foster loyalty or integration."
Even Masaki had contributed to this distance. After his pupil's understanding surpassed his own, their meetings became exercises in humiliating silence, leading the patriarch to simply avoid him. Kamo Itsuki had become a legendary name attached to a stranger—a "divine child" known for his power and his profound, solitary absences.
"Do the elders have any thoughts?" Masaki's question dropped into the renewed quiet like a stone into a still pond.
Sunlight cut through the window, illuminating the dust motes and the carefully neutral faces of the four power-brokers. They were all masters of clan politics. The problem was glaringly obvious, which was why Aoo had been forced to table it.
The Heir's Dilemma.
Formally, Kamo Itsuki was the chosen successor. But the throne wasn't vacant. Masaki was healthy, the clan stable. To simply install an 18-year-old, however powerful, would be chaotic folly. The traditional path was clear: grant him a high-ranking position with real authority, let him build experience and a faction, then transition him smoothly when the time was ripe.
That path created two immediate, thorny issues.
First: The Division of Power. A position of "real authority" meant carving a piece out of the domains of the four elders seated here. Who would surrender their influence? Amakawa's military control? Katou's intelligence network? Chihoshi's treasury? Aoo's personnel oversight? The sunlight seemed to grow colder as unspoken calculations and defensive postures solidified around the table.
Second: The Heir's Consent. This entire delicate political ballet assumed Kamo Itsuki would play his part. But the "divine child" was now a Special Grade Sorcerer, a power unto himself, arguably the strongest in the world. He did not need the clan's approval. He did not need to play by their rules. Would he even deign to accept a groomed position, or would he view the entire clan structure as an irrelevant relic?
The council was stuck between the rock of tradition and the hard, immovable fact of Kamo Itsuki's unprecedented, independent power. They were trying to decide where to place a sun in their solar system, forgetting that the sun does not orbit—it dictates the orbits of others.
The unspoken truth hung heavier than any formal decree: in the jujutsu world, a Special Grade Sorcerer was the law. They could level cities; a single clan was inconsequential. Kamo Itsuki didn't need their permission to be patriarch. He could simply declare it. This entire meeting wasn't about deciding his fate—it was about deciding theirs. How did they navigate a world where their designated heir had become a walking natural disaster they barely knew?
Four sets of eyes, laden with silent dread and abdicated responsibility, locked onto Kamo Masaki. You brought him up. You deal with him.
Masaki felt the weight of their cowardice. He cleared his throat, the sound dry in the tense air. "There is no need for panic. Itsuki is powerful, but he is not a tyrant. He has… affection for the clan, in his own way."
He paused, knowing the next words would end his era. "My proposal is this: I will step aside. He will become the acting Clan Head immediately. I will remain in an advisory role to ease the transition. Once he is fully integrated and the clan is stable… I will abdicate completely."
A wave of palpable, complex relief washed over the elders. The threat of having their own power carved up was avoided; the overwhelming problem of Itsuki was handed back to Masaki. It was a surrender, but a clean, dignified one.
Masaki sagged slightly in his seat, the vitality seeming to drain from him as the political reality solidified. The sunlight outside finally vanished behind gathering clouds, plunging the room into a grey gloom that matched his spirit.
Just as the council members began to stir, thinking the uncomfortable audience was over, a voice cut through the solemn quiet. It was calm, clear, and carried an effortless authority that seemed to bypass the heavy doors and ancient walls.
"How convenient. The patriarch and all the elders are gathered. It saves me the trouble of tracking each of you down."
All heads snapped toward the entrance. There, leaning casually against the doorframe he had seemingly materialized within, was Kamo Itsuki. His red hair was a shock of color against the muted room, his dark robes absorbing the dim light. He wasn't emitting any threatening aura, but his mere presence—relaxed, unsurprised, and utterly in control—redefined the space. He wasn't a subject summoned to a council. He was a force that had arrived to deliver its verdict.
The meeting they thought was about him was over. His meeting with them was just beginning.