Chapter 12

Seijuro reclined against the pillows of his large, traditional Japanese bed, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. A thick bandage wrapped tightly around his midsection reminded him of the wound Toji had inflicted—a sharp, throbbing pain that had dulled over the last day but refused to fade completely.

"Man, I wish Shoko Ieri or Yuta were here to heal me," he muttered, sighing.

He longed for the healing effects of positive cursed energy, but he knew it was wishful thinking.

In this timeline, neither Shoko nor Yuta could wield their respective abilities yet. Shoko, though skilled, was likely still a student learning the ropes, and Yuta... well, Yuta probably hadn't even been born yet.

Seijuro shifted slightly, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his side. "There's Satoru..." he mused.

But he dismissed the thought almost immediately.

Satoru, at this point, was far from mastering positive cursed energy. The only reason he'd been able to use it in the future was his near-death experience at Toji's hands—a moment that had pushed him to unlock new depths of his power. Seijuro wasn't about to put Satoru in that kind of situation.

Sighing, he turned his head to look out the window. The soft sunlight filtered through the paper shoji screens, casting warm patterns on the floor. Outside, the garden was tranquil, with koi lazily swimming in the pond and the wind gently rustling the leaves. It was a peaceful scene, a sharp contrast to the chaos of his battle with Toji the day before.

"And then there's Toji..." Seijuro muttered to himself, his expression darkening slightly.

He could only hope the mercenary would reconsider his offer. The man was a force to be reckoned with, and having him as an ally would be invaluable. But if Toji refused... Seijuro would have no choice but to deal with him permanently. The thought sent a chill down his spine.

He clenched his hands into fists, the memory of the fight replaying in his mind. I barely defeated him... The realization was sobering. Toji was faster, stronger, and far more experienced. The only reason Seijuro had survived was the overwhelming power that had surged from within him—power he didn't fully understand.

"I need to train harder," Seijuro said aloud, his tone resolute.

He couldn't afford to remain this weak. If someone like Toji could push him to the brink, what would happen if someone even stronger came for him? Or worse... for Satoru?

Then, there was the strange sensation he'd felt during the fight. His instincts had flared to life, driving him to unleash those destructive blue energy blasts. It wasn't just a fight-or-flight response—it was something deeper, more primal.

"That was weird..." Seijuro muttered, looking down at his hands. He flexed his fingers, expecting to see the glowing blue energy manifest again.

He'd always thought channeling cursed energy was tied to negative emotions—anger, fear, hatred. It felt like an electric current coursing through your body, a chaotic force begging for release. But what he'd felt during the fight was different. It wasn't just about survival; it was about destruction. The overwhelming urge to destroy everything in his path had been intoxicating.

"Man, whatever that was..." Seijuro paused, a strange smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It felt great."

The thought disturbed him.

Seijuro—or rather, David—had always been a person who appreciated cleanliness and order in his previous life. Chaos and destruction had never appealed to him. Yet, at that moment, releasing those "blues" had brought him a strange, twisted satisfaction.

His gaze returned to the window, his thoughts swirling. 'What's happening to me?'

-Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

"Ugh!" Seijuro groaned, clutching his head with both hands as an unbearable pain tore through him.

It felt like molten lava surged through his veins, burning every nerve. His skull throbbed as if it were being crushed under immense pressure. Blood seemed to boil under his skin, each pulse an excruciating jolt. His vision blurred, and his brain felt splitting apart, fragmented by the relentless, rhythmic ticking echoing in his mind.

"Ngh!" He clenched his teeth, but the pain was relentless.

His breaths grew ragged, and he could feel a metallic taste in the back of his throat as though blood might spill from his mouth at any moment.

Then, his vision flickered—glitching like a corrupted screen. The flashes of reality around him dissolved, replaced by a desolate, endless desert. The sun bore down harshly, the sands stretching far into the horizon, whipped into violent motion by a raging sandstorm. The sound of the wind howled in his ears, yet somehow, the tick-tock continued, louder than before.

Through the swirling chaos, Seijuro's gaze locked on something in the distance. A red shadow—a humanoid figure cloaked in crimson—emerged from the storm. It moved slowly, methodically, its presence palpable despite the raging sands.

"Wait... you... ugh!" Seijuro grunted, his head pounding as he recognized the figure.

'That thing... it was there before I ended up in this body!' he thought.

The figure's movements were jarring, as though it existed outside the normal flow of time. One moment, it would advance; the next, it would vanish, only to reappear closer, as if teleporting through fragments of space. Each disappearance and reappearance sent a ripple through the air, as though reality itself were bending around it.

Seijuro tried to move, but his body refused to respond. He was frozen, his limbs as heavy as lead. He could only watch, helpless, as the figure closed the distance between them. His heart raced, a cold sweat drenching his skin.

The red shadow loomed closer, each appearance more defined and real. Finally, towering and imposing, it stood before him, an aura of dread radiating from its form. A void of shifting red mist obscured its face—or what should have been a face.

"You're... a danger to mankind," it said, its voice deep and resonating, carrying the weight of an undeniable truth.

'A... danger?' Seijuro thought, his confusion mingling with the lingering pain. What does that mean?

He struggled to process the words, but the figure did not explain. Instead, it extended a hand toward him, long and skeletal, its movements slow yet deliberate. Seijuro's instincts screamed at him to run, move, fight—but he remained frozen, unable to do anything but watch the hand inch closer.

Tick-tock!

"Father!"

Seijuro's eyes snapped open, and he bolted upright, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. His hands shot to his face, wiping away beads of cold sweat. The sunlight streaming through his window brought him back to reality, but his heart pounded like a drum in his chest.

"F-Father, are you okay!?" Satoru's voice was trembling with worry.

The boy stood at the foot of his bed, his blue eyes wide as he watched his father.

Seijuro turned to him, his breaths still uneven, but he forced himself to calm down. He closed his eyes briefly, steadying his breathing, before looking at Satoru again with a soft smile. He couldn't let his son see him like this—weak, shaken.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Seijuro said, his voice steady despite the lingering unease. "How about you?"

Satoru tilted his head, still concerned. "You were breathing so hard... and sweating so much..."

Seijuro chuckled weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just a bad dream, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

Satoru didn't look entirely convinced but nodded anyway. "If you're sure, Father..."

"I'm sure." Seijuro reached out, gently patting Satoru on the head. "Thanks for checking on me, though. You're a good kid."

Satoru's lips curled into a small smile, but the worry in his eyes didn't fade completely. Seijuro, meanwhile, turned his gaze back to the window, his expression briefly darkening as he replayed the words of the red shadow.

'A danger to mankind?'

He couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just a nightmare. Something about that figure felt real—too real. Whatever was happening to him or power was building inside wasn't normal. And for the first time, he wondered if he was losing control of something far greater than himself.

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The crowd roared as the tennis ball rocketed across the court, two world-class players locked in a fierce battle. Toji sat at the farthest seat in the shadows of the packed arena, his battered body concealed beneath layers of bandages. He leaned back, arms crossed, his sharp green eyes fixed on the match below.

"My bet better win," he muttered, his tone indifferent despite the million yen he had wagered on an online gambling site earlier.

The tension in the air matched the game's intensity, but Toji's mind was elsewhere. He didn't care much for tennis—this was just another way to pass the time and perhaps make some quick cash.

The faint creak of a seat beside him drew his attention. He tensed instinctively, glancing to his side. A woman had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, her slender frame draped in an elegant black dress. A wide-brimmed hat obscured her face, but her aura was unmistakable—cold and calculating.

"It seems you've failed the mission I gave you," she said softly, her tone dripping with disdain.

Toji gave a low chuckle, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "Failed, huh? That's one way to put it."

The woman tilted her head slightly, her face still hidden beneath the hat. "I paid you a fortune to eliminate Seijuro Gojo. Yet here you are, alive, and he's still breathing."

Toji shrugged, his demeanor calm but his muscles taut. "Things didn't go as planned. Turns out he's not as weak as you thought." He paused, his voice lowering. "Or maybe you just didn't tell me everything."

The woman stiffened, her gloved hands clenching in her lap. "You were paid to succeed, not to make excuses."

Toji chuckled again, the sound cold and humorless. "Yeah, about that payment... I've decided to take another deal."

The woman froze. "What do you mean, another deal?"

Toji's grin widened, and his tone turned mocking. "The head of the Gojo clan offered me five billion yen, a place to stay, and something your kind never could—a chance at something real."

The woman's voice rose, sharp and cutting. "You think he'll keep his word? He's a Gojo! They'll kill you the moment they don't need you anymore."

"Maybe," Toji replied, his tone indifferent. "But I like my odds with him better than with you."

Before she could respond, Toji reached toward the pink worm-like cursed spirit coiled at his side. With a wet, squelching sound, he pulled a sleek, curved blade from the creature's body. The cursed tool gleamed faintly under the dim arena lights.

The woman's confidence faltered, and a flicker of fear seeped into her voice. "What... what are you doing?"

Toji didn't answer. Instead, he moved with the speed and precision of a predator, slicing the blade through the air in a single, fluid motion.

—Schlick!

The woman's head toppled from her shoulders, her wide-brimmed hat falling to the ground. Her lifeless body slumped forward in the seat, blood pooling beneath her as the spectators in the arena remained oblivious to the violence happening in the shadows.

Toji wiped the blade against the edge of his pants, his expression calm and cold. He stood, casting a final glance at the woman's body before slipping the cursed tool back into the worm spirit.

"I hope you keep your end of the deal, Seijuro," Toji muttered.

Without another word, he melted into the shadows, leaving the arena and the chaos he had caused behind.

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"The current head of the Kamo clan has been killed..."

Gasps echoed through the dimly lit chamber, a circular room illuminated solely by flickering candlelight. The shadows danced across the walls, casting eerie silhouettes on the wooden panels. The air was tense, and the figures seated behind ornate sliding doors remained obscured, their identities hidden as tradition demanded.

"Who killed her?" one voice asked, low and grave.

"Toji Zenin killed her."

Murmurs spread throughout the room, calm but sharp. The mention of Toji Zenin sent a ripple of unease through the gathering. His reputation as the Sorcerer Killer was legendary—feared by many, respected by few.

"Speaking of Toji Zenin," another voice interjected, calm yet laced with intrigue, "he recently attempted to assassinate Seijuro Gojo. The confrontation resulted in a bloody battle in the streets of Tokyo. Fortunately, no civilians were harmed."

This revelation drew another round of shocked gasps.

"Did he succeed?" someone demanded, their tone rising with urgency.

"No," came the reply, steady and deliberate. "He failed. But, for reasons unknown, he was spared by Seijuro Gojo."

The room fell into stunned silence for a moment before erupting into whispers and disbelieving murmurs.

"Spared? The Sorcerer Killer was spared?"

"Why would Seijuro Gojo show mercy to someone like him?"

"This is madness! Does Gojo even understand the consequences of sparing Toji Zenin?"

The voices overlapped, each expressing a mix of outrage, confusion, and concern. One figure finally slammed a hand against the wooden panel before them, silencing the room.

"Enough!" they commanded, their voice sharp. "This isn't merely about Gojo's actions. He created the bounty on Toji Zenin's head, yet he's the one who allowed him to live. This inconsistency is dangerous and must be addressed."

"Could this mean Gojo has ulterior motives?" another voice speculated. "Is it possible he's... allied himself with Zenin?"

"Impossible," someone snapped back. "Seijuro Gojo has no reason to align with a rogue like Toji. If anything, he may be using him for leverage."

"No matter the reason," another voice said, "this act of mercy threatens the balance of the jujutsu world. Toji Zenin is a man who has killed sorcerers without hesitation. His existence is a danger to all of us."

A heavy silence followed as the weight of the situation settled over the room.

"We must convene with Seijuro Gojo," one voice finally declared, authoritative and persistent. "This is a matter of safety and stability across the jujutsu world. Gojo's actions cannot go unaddressed."

The others murmured in agreement, their resolve solidifying.

"Summon him," the commanding voice concluded. "And prepare for what may come. The jujutsu world cannot afford any more instability—not from the Sorcerer Killer, and certainly not from the head of the Gojo clan."

The flickering candlelight seemed to waver ominously as if foretelling the storm to come.