Kyoto was the beating heart of the Edo period. It was a city of two worlds: Kamigyo, the upper district, was a place of quiet dignity where aristocrats and wealthy families maintained their sprawling estates; and Shimogyo, the lower district, was a sprawling maze of shops and crowded streets where the sll of street food and the noise of haggling never truly faded.
Kashimo had finally reached Shimogyo after a long trek.
He walked through the crowd with two skewers of yakitori in one hand and a toasted rice cracker in the other, eating as he moved. He was impossible to miss. His pale blue hair stood out like a beacon among the locals, and the purple markings at the corners of his eyes drew constant stares. Won whispered to each other as he passed, turning back to get a second look at his unnaturally refined features.
As for how he paid for the food, Kashimo had his ways.
In this era, the influence of the Great Three Clans was beginning to fray. The sorcerers serving the Tokugawa Shogunate were growing weaker with each generation, while rogue sorcerers were rising up across the provinces. It was a chaotic ti of territorial disputes and private wars. The current users of the Six Eyes and the Ten Shadows were still young, likely barely familiar with the intricacies of their own techniques.
Kashimo took a bite of chicken, chewing slowly as he paused.
Even if the Six Eyes user hadn't reached his pri, the Infinity was still a problem. He thought back to the original story—to the white-haired man who eventually fell to Sukuna—and then looked at his own hands. He felt a rare flicker of doubt.
, fighting Sukuna? Really?
He shook the thought away and kept walking.
He hadn't co to Kyoto just to start a massacre, or at least, that wasn't the only goal. He needed cursed tools. He couldn't go around punching everything forever; it lacked style. Even if the Three Clans were waning, the Zenin clan's storehouse had to contain sothing worth taking.
He didn't expect to find the Inverted Spear of Heaven or the Soul Splitter Katana. Those were missing for now, lost until Kenjaku's future machinations would bring them back into play. But the Zenin vault was a tangible target, and it was bound to have sothing he could use.
The problem was getting in.
He couldn't just kill everyone in the compound. If he did, there would be no Zenin clan left for the future. Kashimo chewed on his skewer, lost in thought. The streets of Shimogyo were cramped, lined with stalls and eateries, and he let the flow of the crowd push him forward while he planned his move.
"Hungry, sir? A bowl of offal noodles? Good price, better taste!"
A shop assistant shouted from a doorway, snapping Kashimo out of his trance. He realized he was standing in front of a small noodle house. The curtain was half-raised, releasing clouds of steam and the savory scent of mutton broth.
He looked at his empty skewers, then at his half-eaten rice cracker.
He stuffed the rest of the cracker into his mouth and ducked under the curtain. "One bowl."
***
In Kamigyo, at the Gojo estate.
"Lord Gojo, it is nearly ti for the banquet."
A woman knelt by the door, her head bowed and her voice hushed.
The man at the head of the room shifted, as if rising from a deep ditation. White hair fell over his shoulders as he stood, revealing eyes of a piercing, crystalline blue. They looked like a fragnt of the sumr sky had been cut out and placed into a human skull.
This was the Six Eyes of the era, Arashi Gojo.
"Fine. I'm coming."
Tonight's gathering was complicated. The Three Clans, the imperial nobility, and every sorcerer lineage of note would be there. It was frad as a social exchange, but everyone knew the real purpose: to asure the remaining strength of the great houses.
Arashi boarded his carriage. As the wheels rattled over the stone paths, he pulled back the curtain to watch the city pass by. His expression remained unreadable.
There was sothing he hadn't told anyone.
Despite the ancient records detailing the true essence of the Six Eyes, he hadn't been able to grasp it. It wasn't for lack of trying. He had spent years attempting to reach that pinnacle, but the truth remained obscured, like looking at an image through frosted glass. He could see the shape of it, but he couldn't touch it.
The Zenin clan was in a similar position. Their head was stuck at a plateau in taming his Shikigami, with no progress for years. As for the Kamo clan, they hadn't produced a viable user of Blood Manipulation in a long ti.
Of the Three Clans, two were rely holding on, and the third was a house of ghosts.
The independent sorcerers were no longer as respectful as they once were. Arashi knew that the way people looked at the Gojo na was changing. The reverence had turned into scrutiny, and the scrutiny was turning into a calculation of risk.
He was the only reason they hadn't made a move yet.
But there was a new shadow on the horizon. Over the last three years, sorcerers had been vanishing. These weren't minor players; they were n and won of reputation and skill. No bodies were found, and no witnesses remained. Every lead pointed toward a single, terrifying rumor.
The strongest.
Arashi let the curtain fall and leaned back against the carriage wall. He pushed the thoughts aside and smoothed his features into his usual public mask.
Tonight, he had many people to deal with.
***
"Lord Zenin, you look as formidable as ever."
Kamo Fuji offered a polite smile, his tone carefully respectful. He bowed low—lower than a man of his status usually would. But given the current state of the Kamo family, he had little choice.
Zenin Sawara watched him with narrowed eyes and a thin smile. "And how is your health, Lord Kamo?"
The air in the room seed to freeze.
Fuji's smile faltered. A year ago, he had been struck by a mysterious illness. Half of his body had begun to rot, the flesh turning a sickly purple-black. His cursed energy felt as though it were being drained by a void, leaving him unable to use his techniques. His family doctors claid it wasn't a disease, but a curse.
They couldn't find the source.
That hadn't stopped the story from becoming the primary subject of gossip in the jujutsu world. Fuji didn't answer the question, offering only a strained grin.
"Now, Lord Zenin..."
A lazy voice cut through the tension. "You should know when a joke has gone too far."
The guests turned. With shocks of white hair and bright blue eyes, Arashi Gojo walked in, his formal robes worn loosely and without much care for tradition. He looked like a man who had just finished a casual stroll rather than an attendee at a high-stakes banquet.
Sawara's smile tightened. "Is that so? I heard your own strength hasn't grown an inch in six months."
"Small world," Arashi said, eting his gaze with a pleasant grin. "I heard the sa about you."
The two n stood there, smiling at each other with practiced warmth while the air crackled between them. Nearby, a descendant of the New Shadow School felt an instinctive shiver run down his spine and took a quiet step back.
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A/n: Don't forget to leave a comnt, if you like it add the story to ur library and drop ur power stones.
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