A profound silence settled over the hall after Kamo Itsuki's departure, broken only by the dust motes dancing in the slanted sunlight. The elders sat in a daze, each lost in a sudden, vivid rush of memory—of their own first sparks of cursed energy, of ambitions not yet bent by politics, of a time when Jujutsu was about wonder, not just power.
They were jolted back to the present by the echo of his final words, delivered not as a threat, but as a simple, inescapable fact: "I don't want the position. But tomorrow, gather the clan. I have a gift for you. Absence will have consequences."
Kamo Masaki remained in his seat, his planned abdication speech now ash in his mouth. He felt not insult, but a profound disorientation. He had witnessed a metamorphosis in real-time—the moment a supremely powerful young man shed an expected destiny like an old coat, not out of arrogance, but out of a clarity so pure it was unnerving.
His mind drifted back years, to the stifling heat of the training dojo, the sweat, the clashing energies, the raw aliveness of a real fight. He hadn't felt that pulse, that purely sorcerous thrill, in decades. The clan ledger had become his grimoire.
He thought of his wife's fury, of his capable son sent away to her family's estate—all collateral damage in securing the "Divine Child's" succession. A slow-burning anger ignited in his chest. My life's work, my sacrifices… dismissed as irrelevant?
But the anger was quickly smothered by a colder, more honest wave of introspection. Had he not, on some level, begun to coast? Had he not, upon naming Itsuki as heir, unconsciously begun treating the clan as a temporary stewardship, holding back his full investment?
Now, with that predetermined future vaporized, a new, fierce determination solidified within him. The clan was his again, not a legacy to be handed off. He would pour himself into it anew. He would groom his son not as a consolation prize, but as a true successor worthy of the name.
He was pulled from his reverie by Kamo Aoo's nervous, bewildered question. "Patriarch… what does he mean? A 'favor'? What could he possibly give us, and why force the whole clan to receive it?"
Masaki looked at the worried faces around him. They were thinking of bribes, of cursed tools, of some tangible token.
Kamo Masaki, however, was beginning to understand. Kamo Itsuki did not deal in tokens. He dealt in fundamental shifts.
"He is not giving us an object," Masaki said slowly, his voice low with dawning realization. "He is giving us a demonstration. And a warning. By gathering everyone, he makes it a clan-wide event. An absence isn't just disobedience; it's a rejection of the new reality he is defining."
He stood up, his earlier fatigue replaced by a grim, alert energy. "We will gather the clan. Every last member. We will see what 'favor' a sorcerer who has transcended the need for a title chooses to bestow. And we will understand, once and for all, what it means to have a guardian who considers clan politics beneath him, but the clan's existence his personal purview."
The message was clear: their administrative power remained, but their ultimate safety was now a conditional grant from a force they no longer controlled. The gift, whatever it was, would be the seal on this new, unspoken covenant.
Kamo Masaki's gaze hardened, cutting through the elders' confusion. "Aoo," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for debate. "Notify every member. Main family, branch families, no exceptions. All ongoing missions, all personal affairs—they are to be suspended. This is a direct order from the Clan Head. Disobedience will be met with the severest penalties the clan code allows."
The finality in his tone brooked no argument. Kamo Aoo bowed sharply. "Understood!"
"Patriarch, what do you know?" Kamo Chihoshi pressed, his financier's mind seeking an edge.
Masaki met their eyes, his expression unreadable. "You need only understand this: Kamo Itsuki is the pinnacle of our clan's thousand-year legacy of Blood Manipulation. If you value your place in this clan's future, do as I say. The alternative is a regret you cannot afford."
With that cryptic warning, he dismissed them. The elders left, their minds swirling with unease but compelled to act. They disseminated the order with bureaucratic efficiency, though privately, some believed Masaki's threat was bluster. Surely, they thought, a last-minute excuse would suffice for those who couldn't make it.
Across Japan and beyond, Kamo clan members received the urgent summons. It sparked a wildfire of speculation and anxiety.
In a Tokyo safehouse, a sorcerer frowned at his phone. "A full clan assembly? On a day's notice? This reeks of a purge. Which faction has finally crossed the line?"
On a mission in the mountains, another cursed under his breath. "Special Grade curse outbreak? Must be. They're calling in everyone for a siege. Damn it."
"Something monumental is happening," declared a third, already packing. "We must return immediately."
But not all reactions were of dutiful urgency.
In a cozy apartment, a low-grade clansman paled. "A big event means big danger. People like us… we're just fodder. I'm not going back to be a shield."
Gossip spread like ink in water. "Did you hear? Elder Tenkawa's son abandoned his post in Europe. Flew back first-class."
A sneer followed. "Oh? But young master Hojo, the apple of the Steward's eye, is still 'indisposed' on his French holiday. Seems the 'urgent' call doesn't apply to everyone."
"Typical," a jaded voice muttered in a clan chat room. "The elite heirs find shadows to hide in while the rest of us are called to the front lines. It's a performance, and we're the expendable actors."
"You're just figuring that out?" another replied with a cynical emoji. "The higher-ups are putting on a show of unity. Don't be so naive."
A fissure was already appearing between the letter of the order and the spirit of the clan. Many, especially those distant or of lower status, saw it as another political maneuver—a demand for loyalty from the masses, while the privileged navigated their own exceptions. They calculated risks, weighed their personal safety against clan discipline, and many decided that, for once, discretion was the better part of valor. They would find an excuse, or simply not show up, banking on the impossibility of punishing everyone.
They believed they were dodging a political draft or a dangerous mission.
They had no idea they were deciding whether to accept a gift that would redefine the very meaning of being a Kamo.
Patreon Seasay