The Zen'in estate was vast—an expanse of traditional buildings, courtyards, and training grounds that stretched farther than most people would expect from a private residence. Ancient stone pathways wound between wooden structures polished by generations of use, and the air carried the faint scent of incense mixed with old timber.
At the center of one quiet courtyard stood a massive, ancient tree.
Its thick trunk twisted upward toward the sky, branches spreading wide like protective arms over the ground below. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering patches of gold across the grass.
Beneath that tree lay a boy.
He looked no older than four years old, his small frame resting on the cool earth as he stared up at drifting white clouds moving lazily across the blue sky. To anyone passing by, he would seem like an ordinary child enjoying a peaceful afternoon.
But his mind was anything but ordinary.
It had been two days since his memories returned.
Two days since he realized he had been reborn into another world.
Two days since he understood exactly which world this was.
'Man… I still can't believe it,' he thought, eyes following the slow movement of a cloud shaped vaguely like a dragon. 'Not only did I get reincarnated… I ended up in the Jujutsu Kaisen world.'
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
And not just anywhere… but in the Zen'in clan. One of the Big Three families. The place where strength literally decides your worth.
That last part dimmed his smile slightly.
The Zen'in clan wasn't exactly known for kindness or emotional warmth. Power determined status. Talent determined respect. Weakness invited contempt.
It was a brutal meritocracy wrapped in tradition and arrogance.
Overall, this world is dangerous, he continued thinking. Very dangerous, actually. Curses, sorcerers, constant life-and-death battles…
But then he mentally compared it to other fictional universes he knew.
Naruto? Endless wars and child soldiers.
Attack on Titan? Humanity on the brink of extinction.
Warhammer 40k? He nearly shuddered internally. Yeah… no. Absolutely not. Compared to that nightmare, this world is practically paradise.
At least here, with the right strength, survival was possible.
And he intended to be very strong.
He closed his eyes briefly, focusing inward.
Even without training, he could already feel it.
Cursed energy.
It flowed through him like an icy current beneath his skin—dense, cold, and slightly violent in nature. It wasn't gentle or calm. It pulsed with a sharp edge, almost like pressure building behind a dam.
'It's harder to control than I expected,' he thought. 'But the quantity… it's definitely way above average.'
That realization alone was reassuring.
Still, one question lingered in his mind constantly.
'I wonder what my cursed technique will be.'
A personal cursed technique was the single most important factor in a sorcerer's potential. Talent mattered, energy reserves mattered, but techniques defined ceilings.
And with his wish—the best talent in any field he chose—he was confident he could master whatever ability he received.
The second wish… well, that was already in effect. No matter how much you curse Zen'in clan, no one would deny the fact that they are rich.
He was pulled out of his thoughts by a familiar voice.
"Naozumi-sama, the clan head is calling for you."
Yes the boy's name is Naozumi Zen'in. He is the youngest son of Naobito Zen'in and younger brother of Naoya Zen'in.
He turned his head slightly.
Standing behind him was a woman in her late twenties, hands folded politely in front of her apron. She was around five feet tall, with fair skin and a slightly chubby build that gave her a warm, approachable presence.
Her name was Mito.
Officially, she was his personal maid but in reality, she was more like a nanny.
She had been assigned to care for him since birth, and compared to most members of the Zen'in clan, she treated him with genuine kindness rather than cold obligation.
Naozumi sat up slowly, brushing grass from his clothes.
"I got it, Mito. Lead the way," he said.
His voice still carried the softness of a child, but his tone had an unusual calmness that sometimes caught adults off guard.
As they began walking along the wooden corridor toward the main building, he glanced up at her.
"What does he want from me?" he asked casually.
"I'm afraid I don't know the reason, Naozumi-sama," Mito replied, bowing her head slightly while walking. "I apologize."
He waved a small hand dismissively.
"There's no need to apologize. Who knows what goes through my old man's drunk head anyway."
Mito visibly flinched.
Her steps faltered for a fraction of a second before she regained composure. She didn't respond.
Naozumi noticed it, of course.
'Yeah… I probably shouldn't talk like that about the clan head,' he thought. 'Even if it's true.'
They stopped in front of a sliding door guarded by two clan attendants.
"We have arrived, Naozumi-sama," Mito said softly, bowing.
He nodded and pushed the door open.
Inside, the atmosphere changed immediately.
The room smelled strongly of sake.
Sitting at a low table was a man holding a gourd, casually drinking as though it were the middle of the night instead of the afternoon.
Naobito Zen'in.
The 26th head of the Zen'in clan.
One of the strongest sorcerers alive.
And, according to reputation, the fastest sorcerer alive aside from Toji Zen'in of course.
His sharp eyes shifted toward the door the moment Naozumi entered.
Naobito took a long gulp from his gourd before speaking.
"Sit."
The command was simple, but carried unquestionable authority.
Naozumi walked forward and sat cross-legged across from him without saying anything.
For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was the faint slosh of liquid inside the gourd.
"What were you doing?" Naobito asked.
"Nothing much," Naozumi replied calmly. "Just watching the clouds."
Naobito raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Watching the clouds, huh…"
He took another swig.
"Anyway, you turned four recently," he continued. "Your training will start tomorrow."
Naozumi blinked.
"What? You're starting my training already? I'm only four," he said, genuine surprise slipping into his voice.
Naobito snorted.
"Everyone in this clan starts at four, brat. You're not special."
Naozumi's lips twitched.
Emotionally supportive parenting: zero out of ten.
"Isn't that just child abuse…" he muttered under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Naobito stared at him for a moment, suspicion flickering in his eyes, but ultimately said nothing.
"Be ready at six tomorrow morning," he said instead.
"Yes, Father," Naozumi replied obediently.
He remained seated for a moment, waiting to see if there were further instructions.
Naobito noticed.
"What? Do you want something?" he asked bluntly.
"No."
"Then get out." He said sweetly which defenetly didn't look good on him.
"Oh… okay."
Naozumi stood up, bowed lightly out of habit, and left the room.
Once outside, he exhaled slowly.
So training starts tomorrow…
Excitement bubbled up inside him despite the circumstances.
This was the beginning.
The path toward power.
Back in his assigned room, he sat cross-legged on the tatami floor and closed his eyes.
Again, he reached inward.
The cursed energy responded.
It swirled beneath his skin like a cold storm, dense and slightly unstable. He could sense its aggression, its sharpness. Controlling it would require effort.
But that was fine.
He had talent.
He had time.
And he had ambition.
I wonder what my cursed technique will be, he thought again, anticipation growing stronger.
A grin spread across his face.
He imagined mastering jujutsu, surpassing clan expectations, shocking everyone.
He imagined becoming someone untouchable.
What he didn't imagine Was the reality waiting for him the next morning.
Because while he was excited for training—
He had no idea…That what awaited him wasn't training at all.
It was torture disguised as discipline.