When Cyr returned to the church in District 12, Syd and Pampas were waiting at the door, glancing toward the direction of the nest every so often.
Pampas held something that looked like a stopwatch in his hand. When he saw Cyr appear, he immediately hit pause.
"Six minutes," Pampas read out loud.
"Faster than I expected," Syd remarked, sounding both surprised and a little proud.
Calling himself that kid's teacher didn't seem like a stretch anymore.
"I wasted some time asking questions. That thing wasn't very cooperative," Cyr muttered, eyes narrowing as he recalled a certain monster who refused to play along.
"It's already been dealt with?" Pampas asked with a smile—though his eyes held nothing but certainty.
Based on the way Cyr handled things, if he'd gone in, then there was no doubt everything inside had been slaughtered. Pampas understood that very well.
"Yeah." The white-haired boy's expression was relaxed, tone unchanged.
"Then you'd better leave soon. Otherwise…" Pampas dropped his voice with a hint of warning.
"The Elders' Council will set their eyes on you," he finished.
Anyone powerful who stayed in Meteor City either had to join the Council—or get kept on a tight leash.
Because those geezers were scared. Scared of another wildcard like the Phantom Troupe popping up. So they always kept an eye on anyone too strong, trying to control or use them however they could.
Why did powerful folks from Meteor City rarely come back?
Because of this exact kind of crap.
Even the Phantom Troupe barely returned—every time they did, someone on the Elder Council lost sleep.
"...Rotten oranges," Cyr muttered with disgust, brows furrowed. "Once Battera's shipment gets here, I'm leaving."
He was running low on food. After all… it wasn't just him who needed to eat. The empty one's stomach was like a black hole. The amount of food that could feed a normal person for a year? Cyr and the empty one could burn through it in a few months.
Not to mention he was growing way too fast—most of his clothes didn't even get worn before they no longer fit.
Right now, he seriously needed new clothes—his current pants were already exposing his ankles.
"That might not make it in time," Pampas sighed. "Be careful."
"What if I strike first and kill them all?" Cyr suddenly proposed with a glint in his eye, clearly excited by the idea.
The difference between him and Satoru Gojo?
Gojo also wanted to take down the rotten establishment. He occasionally wanted to kill them too. But in the end, Gojo chose to nurture new talent to replace the old system.
Cyr, on the other hand, would simply kill all the rotten oranges, make the jujutsu world his own little kingdom, and personally select and train the next generation as his subordinates.
He was already the strongest. Why the hell wouldn't he just crown himself king?
Why let someone else hold the power?
Sharing decision-making? Having to attend meetings and care about what other old fossils think?
Annoying.
If they were gonna be traditional and rigid—then fine, he'd go even more old-school. Drag the whole jujutsu world back to a monarchal era. Crown himself king.
If it's about hierarchy, then people better kneel and bow properly the moment they see him.
Curse King vs. Jujutsu King. Sounds great.
If some damn artist draws that right, it'd go viral instantly.
"...Some of them are actually quite capable. Killing them all would be a waste," Pampas said, clearly implying something.
"Ah." Cyr fixed his gaze on Pampas, observing him closely.
And then it clicked.
This guy had ties with the Troupe, didn't he? Saying "quite capable" probably came from thinking about Chrollo's potential.
So basically, he wanted Cyr to leave Chrollo alive?
Got it.
The Elders wouldn't be smiling for much longer.
Which meant—
Maybe he could hold back for now…
Actually—nope. Can't hold it in.
That night, the moment Cyr sensed a watchful, surveillance-like gaze, he only tossed and turned in bed for three seconds before sitting up.
In the corner of the room, an eye had appeared on the wall at some point. It looked like a design—wide open, unblinking.
"So damn annoying," Cyr muttered. Without another word, he pulled out his spear and stabbed it straight into the wall.
The blade pierced through the wall and right into the eye.
A stifled cry of pain rang out briefly, only to be quickly silenced as the person behind the voice slapped a hand over their own mouth to keep from making more noise.
Blood started trickling down the wall from the eye—as if it were a living thing, not just a pattern.
See? Keep staring and I'll gouge your damn eye out. You think your creepy peeping won't get noticed?
He was already having trouble sleeping. Being watched only made it worse.
Aggravated beyond reason, Cyr grabbed the spear and stormed out, dragging the blade with him.
One by one, he hunted down over a dozen shadows hiding near the church—every person on stakeout.
Every time he spotted one, he drove the blade straight through their chest, leaving their bodies cold and lifeless.
By the end of it, their corpses hung neatly from the church roof, like fish strung up at a market stall, swaying in the breeze.
Only then did he feel his mood had lightened.
Clapping the dust from his hands, Cyr returned to his room for the night.
---
At dawn the next day, the bodies dangling from the church rooftop were swiftly hauled away.
Cyr paid no mind to the people sneaking around to move corpses. He stayed inside the church and didn't go out again.
And after that, no one dared spy on him anymore.
---
"What should we do with these people?" Pampas and Syd were now discussing the ones who had been transformed into monsters.
They were lying in the main hall—still alive.
When Cyr had killed the creature with the ability to modify them, their consciousness had returned.
But the physical modifications… those were permanent.
Even if they lived, they'd be stuck in those monstrous bodies forever.
RCT could heal wounds, even bring back the dead—
but they couldn't give someone a new face.
"I don't want to… live like this, as a monster…"
"Kill me. Please, just kill me…"
"Let me die. Just end it quickly…"
The newly-conscious victims wept as they looked at their twisted, inhuman forms—crying in despair, screaming, begging the others with pleading eyes.
"This is a little troublesome…" Pampas said, glancing at Syd.
As someone who prided himself on being an opportunist, Pampas rarely killed. Unless absolutely necessary, he didn't even like getting his hands dirty.
Especially not in a situation like this.
Killing and brute force—those were jobs best left to Enhancer or Emitter types.
Like Syd, for example.
"It's just your appearance that's changed. You're still residents of Meteor Street. What's there to be afraid of?" Syd scolded them impatiently.
Meteor Street had never been short of people who looked monstrous.
"Yeah, but these guys… eat people," Cyr spoke coldly from the side.
Even if their minds were back, the ones who had been transformed into monsters still had bodies driven by instinct—
Instincts that craved food.
Meteor Street tolerated people who looked like monsters—but monsters that had been modified and fed on humans?
That was something else entirely—worse than vultures. Harder to control.
Even if they resisted it at first, eventually, they'd likely give in to their urges.
Just like people addicted to drugs.
"Hey, kid over there. Come here," Cyr waved at a child eavesdropping behind the door.
"You haven't let them see blood yet, have you?" he glanced at Pampas and Syd, then continued speaking on his own, ignoring their disapproving, meaningful stares.
"Training that doesn't involve bloodshed… feels incomplete.
Meteor Street kids need to learn to kill."
He looked at the child now standing before him.
"So, what's your choice? Kill, or be killed?"
Killing was the fastest way to train.
If someone refused to kill, they'd only end up dead.
If they lived in the normal world, maybe it would be different.
But kids in Meteor Street weren't ordinary.
Most didn't live to adulthood anyway, taken out by "accidents" of one kind or another.
"It's still too early," Syd objected, visibly uncomfortable.
Sure, Cyr's point had logic—but the oldest kid he'd just called over was only six!
Even if they gave the kids guns or weapons, they wouldn't be able to kill those modified beings standing there!
Let's be realistic—not every child was born a monster.
"…Alright then," Cyr shrugged.
"If you're confident you won't eat people, raise your hand. Nice and high."
As soon as the words left his mouth, only a few raised their hands.
Most couldn't promise they'd be able to resist their hunger.
"Release," Cyr said, stretching out a hand.
No sound came. But in an instant, every monster who hadn't raised their hand was dismembered—torn apart in silence, their lives ended in a blink.
In seconds, the church floor was covered in red.
The air thick with the metallic stench of blood.
"If you don't even have the confidence to control your own urges, then you don't deserve to live," the white-haired boy said lightly.
Even those who could control themselves now—who knew what they'd become in the future?
But all that… was Meteor Street's problem. Pampas and Syd could deal with that headache.
As for the fate of the modified Chimera Ants—
Let them be the ones to worry.
°°°
If you want to read ahead and access 20 advanced chapters, check the patreon
Link: Patreon/Moziel