The next day.
In a pitch-black room, over a dozen barriers overlapped in layers.
Over a dozen people sat on either side of a long table, their faces indistinct in the dim candlelight.
"Yesterday, extensive building damage occurred in Tokyo's Minato Ward, Shinagawa Ward, and Meguro Ward."
A voice rang out.
"The preliminary confirmed death toll is approximately twenty-three thousand. The final figure is expected to exceed thirty thousand."
Silence.
The candle flame flickered.
"Twenty-three thousand."
Another voice repeated the number, its tone holding no sorrow, only calculation. "That will be reason enough."
No one mourned. No one was angry.
It was just a number.
"Wangchuan."
The aged voice spoke again.
"You all know him."
"He is strong. So strong that Jujutsu Society would have no chance of winning a head-on war."
"But we have run out of time..."
"Cough, cough, cough..."
Several aged figures kept coughing. They feared death deeply. Who did not want to live forever?
So, when Wangchuan returned not long ago, they had also tried to contact him.
But after reappearing more than half a year later, Wangchuan no longer seemed as obsessed with money as before. He had no intention of engaging with them at all.
So they had no choice but to resort to the worst option.
The room fell quiet for a beat.
Then someone laughed.
It was soft and brief, yet could not conceal the greed.
"Immortality," that voice repeated. "If we could get our hands on that cursed technique..."
Another aged voice said excitedly, "We could rule forever."
"Hmph! But that fellow won't play along."
"If money can't buy it and rules can't force it out of him, then we'll take it by force."
"However strong he is, he's still just one man."
Someone continued, "Our dozen-plus families, together with Jujutsu