The mission! The Prison Realm!

Wangchuan sat in a wicker chair with his legs crossed.

"Hahaha..."

"That's exactly the attitude I wanted."

He snapped his fingers with a crisp sound.

"Then I won't beat around the bush."

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees and meeting Choso's gaze. A little of the laziness left his voice, replaced by a measure of seriousness.

"I need you to do a few things for me."

"First."

He held up one finger.

"Secretly eliminate some of the higher-ups in Jujutsu Society."

At that, Choso's eyelids twitched slightly, but he said nothing and simply listened quietly.

Wangchuan continued.

"Those old bastards have held their positions for too long."

"So long they think they'll never die, so long they've forgotten that they aren't the ones who make this world's rules."

"It's time to make those old geezers nervous."

"They sit behind their screens, running all of Jujutsu Society like a stagnant pond with rules that haven't changed in centuries."

"They have no problem committing murder and arson, but when it's time for them to put in any effort, every last one hides in the back."

"What I want you to do is make something happen to him, or to the people around them."

He paused and tilted his head slightly, as though considering the precision of his wording.

"It doesn't necessarily have to be the person himself. It can be relatives they value, students, their closest followers... the closer the relationship, the better, and the more important they are, the better."

He raised a finger and gently waved it in the air.

"But there's one condition: don't wipe them out."

"If you kill all of them, I won't be able to do business."

"Leave at least one person in each family who has a say."

As he said the words "do business," the curve of his lips deepened another fraction.

The light coming through the window sparkled in his eyes, as though he really were calculating a profitable deal.

Bringing those people back to life should be worth quite a bit of money, right?

Choso stood there, quietly digesting Wangchuan's words.

A few pieces of information bumped against one another in his mind.

Jujutsu High.

A teacher.

This man was a teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu High. Why would he ask me to assassinate those higher-ups?

He had considered that question.

His gaze lingered on Wangchuan's face for a moment.

But he did not ask it aloud.

Because that question did not matter to him.

His gaze shifted slightly, settling once more on the eight fetal bodies floating inside the barrier cabinet.

His younger brothers were there.

Eso, Kechizu, Noranso, Blue Aspect...

They had been locked inside those jars for centuries, sealed away as cursed objects, treated as research subjects, treated as objects that could be destroyed at any time.

And this man before him.

This man who looked human, yet had something unfathomable hidden deep within his presence.

He was the one who had given them a chance to live again.

"All right."

Choso spoke.

His voice was quiet, carrying a trace of the lingering hoarseness peculiar to someone who had just awakened from a long sleep.

But his answer came quickly, almost without hesitation.

"I'll complete every task you give me."

At that, the amusement in Wangchuan's eyes deepened, but instead of replying immediately, he tilted his head as though remembering something.

"Oh, right."

"Although I've turned you completely human, and both your soul and body are now those of a complete, living human being."

"To be on the safe side, you'd still be better off hiding your identity while you work."

Choso nodded. "Understood."

"I'll take care to hide my movements."

Wangchuan gave a satisfied hum, then changed the subject, his tone lightening further.

"There's something else."

"Go secretly make contact with a Jujutsu Sorcerer called Kenjaku."

Choso's brow twitched almost imperceptibly at that.

That name matched nothing in his memories.

He did not know who this person was.

"I'll go find him."

His answer remained brisk, without questions or doubts. He simply accepted the instruction.

But Wangchuan noticed the bewilderment that flashed through his eyes.

As though remembering something, he smiled, raised his hand, and pointed at the center of his own forehead.

"You might not recognize the name Kenjaku."

"But what if I said the guy with stitches across his forehead?"

Choso's pupils abruptly contracted.

A memory surged through his mind, carrying an imprint from long ago, sealed deep within his soul.

It was one of the few images he had caught during those long years when he was still a cursed womb and could faintly sense what happened outside.

There was a face.

A line of stitches ran across the entire forehead, as though something had been opened and then closed again.

That man had once stood before the containers holding them, looking down at them with a faint smile, as though inspecting a finished product.

"Kenjaku?!"

"That bastard..."

Choso's voice sank, carrying an undisguised chill.

The name seemed barbed as it rolled out of his throat.

Wangchuan nodded, showing little surprise.

"That's right. Him."

"His real name is Kenjaku. He's an old monster who's lived for a thousand years."

"That was just one of the identities he used in one of his lifetimes."

"As for whose body he's inhabiting now, I'm not too sure."

"That guy is very good at surviving, and exceptionally skilled at hiding."

Choso's hand tightened slightly, then relaxed.

His expression barely changed, but the chill deep in his eyes did not fade.

Wangchuan seemed quite satisfied with his reaction.

He reached into the inner pocket of his coat, pulled out a long, narrow object wrapped in talisman paper, and casually tossed it to Choso.

"Here!"

"Hold on to this."

Choso raised a hand and caught it with a precise, clean movement.

He glanced down and peeled back the talisman paper, revealing the finger inside.

It was a shriveled, blackened finger covered in fine, densely packed curse markings. Even sealed, it still radiated an extremely intense, oppressive aura of cursed energy.

"This is..."

Choso raised his head, a question in his eyes.

Wangchuan laced his hands behind his head, his posture even more relaxed than before.

"It's the finger of a freak called Ryomen Sukuna."

"The King of Curses."

"To be precise, he was the strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer a thousand years ago, and became a cursed object after he died."

He paused, then smiled as though remembering something else amusing. "Well? That should carry enough weight, right?"

Choso said nothing. His gaze settled on the finger, and he remained silent for two seconds.

He could feel the astonishingly vast cursed energy contained in that finger, as though some extreme, concentrated malice had coalesced into physical form.

"With this," Wangchuan continued, "Kenjaku should come looking for you himself."

"He's always been interested in Sukuna's Finger, as though he has some kind of plan."

"Just let him catch a trace of this finger, and he'll naturally come over like a cat catching the scent of fish."

Choso tucked the finger inside his clothes.

"What happens after I get close to him?"

"What's the objective?"

Wangchuan tilted his head, as though considering the question.

"I want a special grade cursed object he has, called the [Prison Realm]."

"It's important to him. Important enough that he'll put the finger lower on his list of priorities."

He paused, then added, "But there's no need to rush into stealing it or taking it by force."

"You're more than a whole level stronger than you used to be, but Kenjaku is no ordinary opponent."

"He's lived longer than anyone else in Jujutsu Society, and he's accumulated a frightening number of trump cards."

"He also has a few reasonably strong cursed spirits around him."

"Just make contact first. Learn his movements, figure out his objective, and when the time is right..."

"I'll take action myself."

"Of course, if no opportunity comes along, that doesn't matter either. This mission is just to make things more entertaining."

Naturally, Wangchuan was not asking about the Prison Realm out of concern for his own safety.

Back then, sealing him had required He Xiangu's lotus bud plus a divine token to imprison him in hell.

That was a god-level seal within the same system. The Prison Realm was a special grade cursed object; there was no reason it would automatically surpass a divine seal.

He was only doing this as a precaution in case Satoru Gojo was sealed.

Choso nodded. "Understood."

He fell silent for a moment, as though digesting everything Wangchuan had just said.

Then he bowed slightly. It was not a deep bow, but it carried a solemnity like an observance of etiquette after confirming the relationship between master and subordinate.

"I'll take my leave, then."

He turned and took two steps toward the door.

But just as he was about to reach it, Wangchuan's voice came from behind him, deliberately lowered into a mysterious tone.

"Oh, right."

"One more thing."

Choso stopped and turned sideways.

Wangchuan was still sitting in the wicker chair, his hands behind his head and a smile on his lips.

He looked at Choso, his eyes curving as though something particularly amusing had occurred to him.

"If you do a good job on all these missions..."

"I can tell you something else."

"About your tenth brother."

Choso's pupils abruptly widened.

His body went rigid, with the kind of jolt that came only when something struck his deepest, most tender spot.

"My tenth brother?"

His voice was a little strained, carrying obvious disbelief.

"How is that possible... Mother..."

When their mother had conceived them, there had been nine.

There had always been nine.

The Death Painting Wombs.

Nine cursed wombs.

For centuries, no matter who examined them or what methods they used, there had always been nine.

There had never been a tenth.

Watching his expression, Wangchuan's grin widened, like a child who had gotten the perfect reaction.

"You don't know."

"But I do."

Choso stood where he was, silent for a long time.

His fingers curled slightly, then relaxed.

His gaze settled on Wangchuan, and only after several breaths did he speak, his voice still carrying a faint tremor he had not quite suppressed.

"I'll carry out the task you've given me."

Then he turned, pushed the door open, and walked out.

The door closed behind him with a soft wooden clack.

Wangchuan sat alone in the room, looking at the closed door, the smile still lingering on his lips.

He tilted his head, his pointed ears twitching slightly among his hair, as though savoring something.

"Things are about to get interesting."

He closed his eyes and leaned back, the wicker chair creaking softly.

"Oh, right, Satoru Gojo has started pestering me about his Cursed Tool again..."

"Hmm, what should I make?"

"How about... I whip up Mahoraga's Adaptation Ring for him?"

He turned to look at the xirang in the bottle.

"Something of that caliber would take an enormous amount of xirang, and an enormous amount of Cursed Energy and Magic to pour into it."

"And I'd need to cut some parts off Mahoraga's body."

"What a hassle."

"I'll have to make Gojo pay extra."

"But it looks like there might not be quite enough."

"I'll have to go up there again. I'll get more this time. After all, when resurrecting people, I need to mold bodies for the ones who don't have them."

"For ordinary people, I'll use ordinary materials. Otherwise, it'd be a waste of xirang."