"Argh—!"
The scream tore from the throat of one of the youngest members of Tengen's Clan, his body bending involuntarily, as if something invisible were being transmitted directly to an internal organ — his genitals. The air around him trembled slightly, rippling, while a crushing pressure made his legs give out. He dropped to his knees, gasping, cold sweat streaming down his face.
Ahead of him, Akoto remained perfectly still.
His gaze was not on the boy who was suffering, nor on the others around him. He looked down from above, as if he existed beyond them, as if everyone there were far too irrelevant to deserve his direct attention. His mere presence distorted the environment — a silent, oppressive energy that made even experienced sorcerers struggle to breathe.
"Stop this right now!"
The shout was laden with authority.
One of the older members stepped forward. He was one of the clan's leaders, someone who answered directly to Tengen herself. His hair was already streaked with gray, his face marked by decades of life, and his dark red eyes burned with rigid intensity.
"This is an order!" he continued. "Control yourself immediately!"
The weight on the young sorcerer's body lessened, and he collapsed onto his side, breathing with difficulty. Silence settled in — heavy and oppressive.
Then Akoto finally reacted.
He turned his head slowly, his brown eyes narrowing slightly. There was no surprise — only clear displeasure, almost irritation at having been interrupted.
"Why?" he asked, his tone genuinely curious, yet cold. "He's weak."
His eyes briefly passed over the young man collapsed on the ground, like someone assessing something broken.
"Why do you care whether he'll be able to use that or not?" he continued. "The weak only give rise to more weak."
The words fell like blades.
Akoto then fixed his gaze directly on the elder. Brown met dark red. There was no respect in that look — only acknowledgment.
The man felt it.
It wasn't mere provocation.
It was pure contempt.
The clan leader's face tightened, his teeth grinding together. He didn't like the tone. He didn't like the words. But above all, he didn't like that boy's stance — someone who should not have been there, someone who broke every rule simply by existing.
"You think that just because Master Tengen took you in…" he growled, taking another step forward, "…you can do whatever you want?!"
His spiritual pressure surged, trying to impose authority. Restraining techniques subtly began to take shape around him, ready to be activated.
Akoto tilted his head slightly.
"No," he replied simply.
Then he took a step forward.
"I can do whatever I want…" His eyes flashed for an instant, dangerously. "…because I am strong."
A short pause.
"…you shitty old man."
The impact of those words was immediate.
A vein bulged on the man's forehead, throbbing violently. His face flushed with rage, Cursed Energy exploding around him in unstable waves. The ground beneath his feet cracked slightly.
The other clan members held their breath.
"Stop this at once, Ijicho Dōman."
The voice cut across the courtyard like a temple bell — clear and absolute. All the tension hanging in the air seemed to freeze for an instant.
Everyone turned at the same time toward the source of that command.
Tengen.
She stood there, wrapped in her white kimono, long, unkempt hair falling over her shoulders. Her red eyes — usually weary and serene — were now sharpened, filled with an authority impossible to ignore. Her mere presence caused the terrifying Cursed Energy in the area to settle, as if space itself recognized who ruled there.
"Ijicho Dōman," she repeated, her tone even firmer.
He flinched.
"Do not fight with a child," Tengen continued, taking a step forward. "That is ridiculous."
The silence deepened. The clan members held their breath. Ijicho unclenched his fists, wounded pride burning in his chest.
"But, Master—"
He tried to speak.
He couldn't finish.
Tengen's gaze changed.
There was no patience. No tolerance.
"Are you defying my orders, Ijicho Dōman?"
The question was not loud. It didn't need to be. The pressure that accompanied it was crushing, direct, unquestionable — the weight of centuries of existence, of someone who upheld the Jujutsu world from the shadows.
Ijicho froze.
For a moment, he seemed ready to push back — but instinct spoke louder. His shoulders sagged slightly, and the Cursed Energy leaking from his body was abruptly restrained, forcibly drawn back in.
"No, Master…" he replied, his voice low, swallowing his pride.
Tengen then turned her gaze to Akoto.
"And you, Akoto." Her voice softened, but did not lose its firmness. "Please, do not stain our temples with blood."
There was something there beyond a simple request. As a Buddhist Master and guardian of that temple, the spilling of blood upon that ground was something she would simply not allow.
Akoto remained still for a moment.
His face showed no apology. No guilt. Only a faint boredom.
"Hmph."
That was all he replied.
He turned his back without looking at anyone else and began to walk away, his steps calm, almost indifferent. Behind him, on the stone ground, the young sorcerer who had been utterly crushed lay writhing, unable to stand, his face twisted in pain and humiliation.
Akoto did not look back.
He did not care.
Once he was far enough away, Tengen let out a low, almost imperceptible sigh.
"That boy…" she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. "He's going to be a lot of work."
She then turned back to the rest of the clan, regaining her serene posture.
"Very well," she said, raising one hand slightly. "You may return to your duties."
One by one, the members of Tengen's Clan bowed, obedient, still shaken by what they had witnessed.
"Ijicho, follow me."
Tengen's order allowed no reply.
She turned and began walking toward the interior of the temple, her light footsteps echoing through the ancient corridors as the wind chimes hanging from the beams swayed gently. Ijicho Dōman hesitated for a brief moment, but soon followed, keeping a few steps' distance and the rigid silence of someone carrying an unresolved conflict.
They passed through internal barriers, each protected by subtle wards and ancestral symbols, until they reached the deepest part of the temple.
Tengen's Private Chamber.
The room was simple, almost austere. Well-kept tatami mats covered the floor, ancient scrolls lined the walls, and in the corner, atop a small wooden altar, two sticks of incense burned slowly — one taller, one shorter. Their smoke rose in gentle spirals, mingling in the air as if representing different paths trying to coexist.
Tengen entered first.
Ijicho knelt down just behind her, maintaining a formal posture… for a few seconds.
"Now," Tengen said, without turning around. "Tell me what is on your mind, Ijicho Dōman."
The silence weighed heavily.
Then, all at once, Ijicho lost his composure.
"Master, why do you allow Akoto to do whatever he wants?!" The question burst out, fueled by restrained frustration. His voice rose, breaking the usual restraint. Even so, in his outburst, he did not stop calling her Master. The respect was still there… minimal, but present.
Tengen did not answer immediately.
Her gaze was fixed on the incense. One burned steadily, firm, slowly consuming itself. The other was nearly spent, its flame wavering, close to going out. The smoke from both intertwined, inseparable.
She reflected.
Then, at last, she turned her face.
"Tell me, Ijicho Dōman…" Her voice was calm, yet sharp as a finely honed blade. "Is this irritating to you?"
Tengen's red eyes met his.
"That I chose a 'nobody' to be my apprentice…" she continued, "…instead of your son?"
Ijicho felt as though the ground had given way beneath his knees.
He opened his mouth to answer… but no words came out.
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
And in that silence, Tengen obtained the answer she already knew.
"Akoto Kisaragi was chosen as my apprentice for two simple reasons. Can you guess them, Ijicho?"
Ijicho kept his head lowered for a few seconds before replying, his voice restrained, almost resigned.
"No, Master."
Tengen moved slowly toward the small altar in the corner of the room. The soft light illuminated the two remaining incense sticks — silent symbols of everything she was about to explain. Carefully, she took the shorter incense between her fingers and brought it closer to Ijicho, positioning it between them.
"The first reason is talent."
She spoke without hesitation.
"Your son, Ashiya, is an extremely talented boy. Even by the current standards of Jujutsu Society." Her eyes softened for a brief moment. "Few at his age can manipulate energy with such precision."
Ijicho lowered his gaze slightly, a spark of hope rising instinctively.
"However…"
The dry sound of incense snapping echoed through the room.
The stick broke cleanly in Tengen's hands, its flame extinguished instantly. There was no more smoke, no more warmth — only two useless fragments.
"He has a clearly defined limit."
Tengen placed one of the broken pieces onto the altar with extreme calm.
"No matter how hard he pushes himself. No matter how many teachings he receives. There is a clear ceiling to what he can become."
Ijicho clenched his fists, his jaw tight.
"But Akoto—"
He tried to argue, his voice filled with frustration.
Before he could finish, Tengen extended her hand toward the taller incense.
Without touching it.
The wood split on its own, cracking cleanly, as if it had been cut by something invisible. For an instant, Ijicho thought it would meet the same fate as the first.
But then something different happened.
Even broken, the incense continued to release smoke.
A thin, unsettling, yet living smoke. Little by little, the flame reignited on its own at the tip, burning as though the very concept of interruption did not apply to it.
Tengen watched in silence for a few seconds before speaking again.
"Akoto…"
She turned her face, looking directly at Ijicho.
"Has no limit."
Those words fell upon the room with crushing weight.
"There is no end point to his growth. There is no ceiling. There is no 'this is as far as it goes.'" Her voice was calm, but every syllable was absolute. "He does not break because he has reached his limit. He keeps burning… even when shattered."
"Now, the second reason…"
Tengen's voice grew lower, more serious.
"…is the nature of the Cursed Technique."
She gestured lightly, and that single motion was enough to make Ijicho's body stiffen. A chill ran down his spine before he even understood why.
A mental image of Ashiya surfaced in his mind.
"Ashiya possesses an incredible technique," Tengen said honestly, without irony. "In time, he could easily stand on equal footing with the inherited techniques of the Zenin, Gojo, and Kamo families."
Ijicho held his breath.
"Especially because of the way he applies his technique."
Then it shattered.
The figure cracked like glass, fragmenting into pieces that dissolved into the void of Ijicho's mind before he could react.
"But Akoto's technique…"
Tengen's voice took on a different weight, something between fascination and caution.
"…I have never seen anything like it in the last thousand years."
Silence settled in once more.
Tengen sighed—a rare sigh, laden with something close to weariness.
"I conducted a rigorous study of his technique." She closed her eyes for a moment, as if revisiting countless analyses, observation barriers, and fragments of understanding. "And I discovered very little."
Her eyes snapped open, sharp as blades.
"Akoto's technique does not follow patterns. It does not fit into any known theory."
She turned her gaze back to Ijicho.
"These two reasons are what make Akoto my protégé, so to speak."
There was a brief pause before her final words.
"Ashiya does have potential, yes." Tengen's voice softened just enough not to sound cruel. "But he is not what I am looking for."
Ijicho remained silent.
'That boy…?!'