The Zen'in Clan council chamber was plunged into solemn gloom. Bamboo blinds filtered the morning light, creating shadow patterns on the wooden floor. The atmosphere was dense, charged with something invisible, as if a storm were about to break within those centuries-old walls. Three of the clan's most influential elders were gathered in a circle, sitting on black silk cushions, each with their own tea, but none had touched it.
"So... everyone saw it?" said Maehara Zen'in, the oldest among them, his voice hoarse like dry twigs. He was ninety years old, his eyes completely opaque, but his hearing was still as sharp as the edge of a katana.
"I saw the report. I saw the recording," replied Toshikatsu Zen'in, a man in his sixties, his face marked by scars from old battles. He had a reputation for being brutal, practical, and ruthless. "I saw Naoya play with that Level 2 cursed spirit. Not fighting. Playing." He made him suffer, humiliated him, and used a technique I didn't recognize. It was like seeing Toji Fushiguro when he was still one of us.
Hoshino Zen'in, the only woman among the three, nodded silently. She was fifty years old and known for her political astuteness. She didn't speak unnecessarily, but when she did, her voice was like snake venom: smooth, precise, and lethal.
"The technique is new. It's not registered. He created it himself," she said. "It seems like a temporal manipulation independent of his Domain. He didn't share it with anyone. The report mentions no teachers or references."
Maehara slowly scratched his chin.
"A time-jumping technique... incomplete but dangerous. That's a warning, not a feat."
Toshikatsu chuckled.
"Warning?! What I saw was a prodigy. A fourteen-year-old boy creating his own cursed technique. And you want us to fear that? We should feed it!" Mold him into our weapon.
"A weapon against what? Against whom?" Maehara asked, frowning.
Toshikatsu leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Against Gojo Satoru. That Six-Eyed bastard won't live forever, but as long as he's here, no clan can catch him. None. And if the Gojo Clan becomes number one for generations, we'll be dragged into the dust. We need a counterweight, someone of our blood who can look him in the eye... and make him fear you. Naoya could be that someone."
Hoshino finally sipped his tea and spoke calmly.
"What if he doesn't stop there? What if Naoya not only wants to surpass Gojo, but also control the clan? Don't forget his gaze, his way of speaking... he's not the same boy anymore. Something is brewing inside him. Something dark."
"And that worries you?" "All the great Zen'in have been dark. Power is not born of kindness, but of disciplined cruelty."
"Unchecked cruelty is a fire in a library. It destroys everything, even what could have benefited you," Maehara said. "I saw something in him… something unbalanced. His eyes… they are not those of a strategist. They are those of a budding tyrant."
Silence fell for a moment.
Hoshino broke the silence.
"Listen. If we let him grow unchecked, he could be the executioner of his own flesh and blood. He has already shown contempt for the weak in the clan. What's stopping him from eliminating those he considers a "hindrance"?
Toshikatsu snorted.
"So what's the solution? Seal him? Kill him? Make it look like an accident? We don't even know if that would be possible right now. His speed is impossible to predict. He could kill you before you even raise an eyebrow."
"I'm not proposing to eliminate him," Hoshino said. "I'm proposing to observe him. Closely. Assign him missions, monitor his limits, provoke situations that reveal his true ambition."
Maehara nodded.
"We can manipulate him... to a certain extent. But if one day he crosses the line..."
"That day I will decide whether to cut his throat with my own hands," Toshikatsu said, with a crooked smile.
The three elders fell silent. The tension hadn't resolved, but at least, for now, the course was set: watch, wait, assess.
None of them knew it, but on the other side of the temple, hidden behind a paper-thin wall, a servant had overheard part of the conversation. His face was as white as salt. His lips were trembling. The young man didn't understand all the words, but he had clearly heard two sentences:
"Naoya could be the key to destroying Gojo."
—"If he ever crosses the line…"
That servant would disappear before sunset, fleeing the compound without a trace, taking with him a new fear: that the clan was raising a demon… one that perhaps no one could stop.