Build up

Principal Yaga rubbed his temples, the weight of exhaustion bearing down on his broad shoulders. His heavy boots echoed in the empty hallway as his brows knitted tightly together. It had been one of those days—the kind where the news only ever gets worse.

"Yaga-san?"

The voice came softly from behind. He turned, and there stood Shoko Ieiri, her brown hair slightly disheveled and dark circles deepening under her tired eyes. The smell of cigarette smoke lingered faintly around her coat.

"Ah, Shoko," Yaga sighed, his tone a mixture of relief and resignation. He shook his head slowly. "No worries, but… it is indeed bad news."

Her expression barely shifted at first. Shoko had always been good at masking emotions, but the slight arch of her brow betrayed her curiosity.

"How bad?"

"The Kamo Clan…" Yaga's voice faltered, stuttering as if even speaking the words aloud felt unreal. "They've been wiped out."

For a brief moment, the world stood still. Shoko's dead-tired eyes widened, the shock breaking through her usual apathy.

"That's… impossible."

"Not entirely," Yaga muttered grimly. "They've been declining for years. We both know they've lacked strong heirs for quite some time."

"Still…" Shoko lowered her gaze, staring at the polished floor as her breathing grew uneven. The Kamo Clan was a pillar of the jujutsu world. To imagine them gone—it was like watching a foundation crumble beneath her feet.

After a long pause, she steadied herself, folding her arms. "Do we know who did it?"

"We don't know yet. The investigation is still ongoing," Yaga replied, pulling a sealed envelope from his jacket. "But… we have pictures."

He handed her the photos. One by one, they revealed a macabre scene—lifeless bodies, twisted in death, sprawled across what once was a proud compound. Blood painted the walls. Shoko's trained eyes brushed past the gore quickly, though her lips tightened.

But then something caught her attention.

"Here." She separated three photos from the rest, her fingers trembling slightly. "These three… they don't match."

Yaga leaned closer. "What do you see?"

"The others all died from blunt trauma, overwhelming force—someone tore through them like paper. But these three…" She tapped the images. "Precise cuts. Clean. Almost surgical."

Yaga rubbed his chin, his eyes darkening. "Another thing to consider… is how the heir will take this news."

Shoko scoffed bitterly. "What can he do now? Nothing." She shoved the photos back into the envelope, shoving her hands deep into her lab coat. "I'll have Utahime deliver the details to him."

"And Gojo?" Yaga asked, his voice lowering slightly, as though the name itself carried weight.

Shoko exhaled slowly, leaning against the railing near the window. The orange glow of sunset painted her face. "Gojo's… been thinking too much lately. It's not like him. Maybe the higher-ups have been pushing him harder than usual, with all the chaos lately."

Yaga gave a humorless laugh. "Gojo? Buckling under pressure from those old sacks of hay? Doubt it."

Shoko smirked faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Then it's something else. Either way, whatever did this… we need to put it to rest. Fast."

The hallway fell silent, the weight of uncertainty settling between them like an unspoken curse.

---

Meanwhile in Dagons domain, the group of curses chuckles in excitement.

"Open up and gulp~!" Mahito sang, his tone playful and sadistic as he dangled a mummified toe inches from Arata's face, wiggling it mockingly.

"First off—pause. Second—that's nasty as hell!" Arata gagged, recoiling slightly as his face twisted in disgust.

Kenjaku chuckled, casually spritzing his perfume in the air. "Stop being a baby and just swallow it. You've taken in far worse and you don't even know it."

"Phrases, brothers! PHRASES!!" Arata groaned, dragging his hands down his face in frustration.

Jogo sneered, his molten features flaring with irritation. "Pathetic. Can't expect much from a human like him."

"Whatever…" Arata muttered, finally grabbing the bundle of talisman-wrapped toes. He tore off the bindings as the others watched—Kenjaku, Mahito, Jogo, Dagon—each with the giddy curiosity of children watching a grotesque experiment. Hanami lingered in the back, silent but observant.

"Here goes nothing."

GULP!

He forced four toes down in one go, his throat convulsing violently as the rancid taste scraped against his tongue like rotting iron. His gag reflex fought hard, but he pressed a hand to his throat and willed it down.

"Good, good!" Mahito clapped, grinning like a child on Christmas morning. "Five more to go!"

"Just… lay it on me." Arata's eyes burned with determination as he swallowed the rest one by one, each gulp heavier than the last.

When the final toe slid down his throat, the room grew quiet. All eyes fixed on him.

"So?" Kenjaku tilted his head, curiosity gleaming in his cold gaze. "How do you feel?"

Jogo, Mahito, Dagon, and Hanami stared in anticipation.

"I… I don't feel a—"

BOOM!!!

The world shattered. Dagon's domain cracked and splintered like fragile glass under a crushing force. The barrier collapsed, shards of cursed energy evaporating into nothing.

"What the…?" Jogo stammered, fear slicing through his molten composure. His skin blackened and burned just from standing in the overwhelming aura.

Kenjaku hissed as his flesh seared, using reverse cursed technique to heal continuously. His lips curled into a fascinated smile. "Ah… so this is the true extent of your power?"

Out of the smoke, Arata emerged—or what was left of him. His ginger hair had turned pale blonde, cascading like molten sunlight. His eyes blazed gold, fiery rings of crimson spiraling within the irises. His muscles bulged, shredding through his school uniform as raw cursed energy radiated from his frame like a storm.

"This is insane," Mahito whispered, his grin widening with manic excitement. "And he hasn't even gotten the last piece of his corpse—his head."

Jogo leapt back, trembling. "How many…?"

Kenjaku glanced at him, curious. "How many what?"

"Fingers. How many Sukuna fingers would Zankei Kubigari equal to?"

Kenjaku smirked thoughtfully, never taking his eyes off the towering figure. "Somewhere around… fifteen or sixteen, give or take."

And then—

"Ah… the night sky."

A deep, booming voice rolled through the shattered domain, making even Mahito's smile falter. "It's been far too long since I've walked in the open."

Kenjaku and the others stiffened, cursed energy shielding their bodies as they continued healing the burns searing their flesh.

"Just for a day, I assume," Kenjaku said calmly.

"You assume correctly." Zankei appeared in an instant, towering over Hanami like a phantom of death. His movements were smooth, elegant, terrifying.

"Boring in that abyss," he murmured, running his hand over his chiseled physique. "Thankfully… I've had plenty of time to think."

Kenjaku arched a brow. "Research, then? Care to share what kind?"

"Later. For now—my reserves are three times what they once were." Zankei's smirk widened. "And this brat's body… is molding itself into my original form."

He snapped his fingers, summoning a colossal shikigami draped in shadows. The creature held out a black yukata, which Zankei slipped into with an almost regal grace.

"Well then," Zankei asked, his golden eyes glinting with malice, "what of the Death Paintings?"

Kenjaku smiled faintly. "As agreed. You'll consume two of the three in our custody… in exchange for sealing Gojo Satoru."

"Good," Zankei said, a chilling excitement in his tone. "I'd hate to fight Gojo while babysitting humans." His grin sharpened, fangs glinting. "I do wonder… what does human flesh taste like?"

Mahito exchanged a glance with Jogo—one that screamed discomfort for the first time.

"Well then," Kenjaku said, voice dripping with dark anticipation, "Operation Shibuya… begins very soon."