Kyoto

Kyoto.

The most prosperous place in Japan during the Edo period, it was divided into the Upper and Lower Capitals. The Upper Capital housed court nobles and wealthy families, quiet and dignified; Shimogyo was packed with shops and clamorous voices, bustling with everyday life from dawn to dusk.

After a long journey, Kashimo had arrived in the Lower Capital.

He clutched two skewers of grilled chicken in his left hand and a golden-brown grilled rice cracker in his right, eating as he walked with an utterly casual air. His face, however, was impossible to miss. His pale cyan hair stood out in the crowd, and the two purple markings at the corners of his eyes drew repeated glances. Some young women and married ladies even craned their necks for another look after walking past.

As for where the money came from, good old Kashimo had his ways.

In the Edo period, the Three Great Families were already in decline. The Tokugawa's jujutsu sorcerers grew weaker with each generation, while independent sorcerers sprang up across the country, each vying for supremacy. One exorcised a cursed spirit today, another seized territory tomorrow. It was chaos. This generation's Six Eyes and Ten Shadows users had yet to mature, and probably hadn't even mastered their cursed techniques.

Kashimo took a bite of grilled chicken, then suddenly stopped chewing.

Immature or not, the Six Eyes user still had Limitless. An actual fight would be rough. He recalled the white-haired man in the original story being cut in half at the waist by Sukuna, then considered his current self and suddenly felt a little unsure.

Me, fight Sukuna?

Seriously?

He shook his head, tossed the thought aside, and kept walking.

He hadn't come to Kyoto to cut people down. At least, not just for that. He needed cursed tools. He couldn't keep swinging his fists forever; that lacked style. Even with the Three Great Families in decline, the Zenin Clan's Forbidden Vault should still have some good stuff.

He wasn't holding out hope for the Inverted Spear of Heaven or the Soul-Devouring Blade. Their whereabouts were unknown. He could only wait until Kenjaku brought him back through incarnation, then go snatch them from Toji. But the Zenin Clan's Forbidden Vault was right there, and it might contain something he could use.

The question was... how would he get in?

Killing them all was out of the question. There wouldn't be a Zenin Clan left afterward.

Kashimo pondered as he walked, a chicken skewer between his teeth. Shimogyo's streets were crowded, lined on both sides with shops and eateries, hawkers' cries rising one after another. The crowd pushed him along, but his mind never stopped working.

"Sir, care for a bowl? Lamb offal noodles, tasty and cheap!"

A server standing outside a shop shouted to him at the top of his lungs.

Kashimo came back to his senses and realized he had reached a noodle shop. Its entrance curtain was half lifted, letting out billowing steam and the aroma of lamb broth.

He glanced at the chicken skewers in his hand. He had finished them.

Then he glanced at the rice cracker. Half remained.

...Whatever.

He stuffed the last half of the cracker into his mouth and lifted the curtain.

"One bowl."

The Upper Capital, the Gojo Clan estate.

"Clan head, it is almost time for the banquet."

A woman knelt beside the door, her head lowered and her voice hushed.

The man in the seat of honor stirred, as though surfacing from some profound contemplation. White hair slipped over his shoulders as he rose, revealing a pair of azure eyes, so clear it seemed someone had cut a piece from the bright sky and placed it inside his body.

The Six Eyes of the Modern Era, Gojo Arashi.

"All right. I'll be there shortly."

Tonight's banquet was no simple affair. The Three Great Families, the emperor and court nobles, and every sorcerer school of any standing would gather in one place. They called it an exchange, but everyone knew it was merely a chance to probe one another and see how much strength each family had left.

Gojo Arashi climbed into his carriage. Its wheels rolled over the stone paving with a faint clatter. He lifted the curtain and watched the streets slide past outside, his face largely expressionless.

There was something he had told no one.

He had yet to grasp the true essence of the Six Eyes described in the ancient texts.

It wasn't for lack of trying. He had tried so many times, for so long, that even he could barely remember. Yet that sensation always remained behind a barrier, like looking through frosted glass: vague shapes he could see but never touch.

The Zenin Clan wasn't doing much better. Its head had also hit a wall in subjugating his shikigami, reportedly making no progress for years. As for the Kamo Clan, ever since the incident involving Kenjaku, it hadn't produced a single capable Blood Manipulation user.

In truth, only two of the Three Great Families were holding things together now. The third had nothing left but its name.

The sorcerers outside their ranks had long since lost their former deference. Gojo Arashi knew perfectly well that the way they looked at the Gojo Clan was changing, from reverence to scrutiny, and from scrutiny to sizing up its worth.

With him at the helm, no one had yet dared to make a move.

But what about that man?

Over the past three years, sorcerers had been disappearing across the country. Not small fry, but people with names and some real ability. No trace of them alive, no bodies found. They simply vanished into thin air. His subordinates had investigated again and again, and every lead eventually pointed in the same direction.

The rumored strongest.

Gojo Arashi lowered the curtain and leaned back against the carriage wall.

The carriage rolled onward, drawing ever closer to its destination. He set those thoughts aside for the moment and put on his usual expression.

There would be plenty of people to deal with at tonight's banquet.

"Head of the Zenin Clan, as imposing as ever! Hahaha."

Kamo Fuji wore a broad smile, his tone carrying just the right amount of respect. He bowed slightly, adopting a humble posture. He had no choice. With the Kamo Clan in its current state, he couldn't afford not to.

Zenin Sawa watched him through narrowed eyes, a faint smile on his lips.

"How has your health been lately, head of the Kamo Clan?"

At those words, the air around them seemed to freeze for an instant.

Kamo Fuji's smile stiffened.

A year earlier, he had suddenly fallen ill, and no one could explain why. Half his body had rotted horribly, his flesh turning a terrifying purplish black. His cursed energy seemed to have been sucked dry by something; he couldn't summon even a trace of it. The clan's physicians examined him over and over, finally concluding that it was not an illness, but a curse.

Where had the curse come from? No one could find out.

That hadn't stopped the matter from becoming a favorite topic of idle gossip in Jujutsu Society.

Kamo Fuji said nothing, merely forcing the corners of his mouth up in an accommodating smile.

"Now, head of the Zenin Clan..."

A languid voice cut in.

"Even jokes should have their limits."

Everyone turned toward the voice. White hair, azure eyes, and a crested haori worn loosely. The newcomer looked as though he had just wandered over from somewhere, without a trace of the solemnity expected of someone attending a banquet.

Gojo Arashi had arrived.

Zenin Sawa's smile faded slightly, then returned. "Oh? I hear your strength hasn't improved in the slightest over the past six months."

"Likewise." Gojo Arashi regarded him with a beaming smile. "You're no different."

The two simply stood there smiling at each other, their eyes curved with apparent warmth, their expressions perfectly cordial.

Beside them, the heir to the New Shadow Style shivered for no apparent reason and took half a step back.