บท 20: Vendetta
Mr. Miller sat at the head of a large table in one of the many high-rise buildings of New York City, floor-to-ceiling windows behind him offering a stunning view of the sprawling metropolis. He tapped his index finger nervously on the polished wood surface, a constant, anxious rhythm that betrayed his inner turmoil.
Swallowing hard, Miller slammed his fist on the table, his voice tight with tension. "That idiot said he was coming here, and there's no sign of him."
Around the table, other members of the Miller clan shifted uneasily in their seats. Kazu, Miller's younger brother, spoke up, his voice filled with a forced nonchalance. "Maybe it was just empty threats."
Ryo Miller shook his head, his expression grim. "No, when that boy makes a promise, he keeps it."
The eldest of the group, the clan patriarch, scoffed, his weathered face creasing with disdain. "Nonsense. That boy is nothing special. Why are you all so afraid?"
Miller turned to face his grandfather, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity. "Grandfather, this is a different Hiro. He's not the child who used to leap across the rooftops of New York. He's a powerful jujutsu sorcerer now."
The old man arched an eyebrow, his expression one of skepticism. "And where the hell is Hanzo?" he demanded.
Miller, his jaw clenching with tension, replied, "He's with Geto."
Suddenly, the door to the conference room swung open, the motion slow and deliberate. All eyes turned to the entrance, where Hiro stood, his form silhouetted against the bright light of the hallway.
He was dressed in a suit, the fabric stained with splatters of blood. His sansetsukon hung around his neck, the metal gleaming with a cold, deadly light.
Miller, his voice tight with fear, said, "You made it, Hiro."
Hiro, his expression one of icy calm, replied, "A promise is a promise. Now, do you want a quick death, or a painful one?"
Miller swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room in search of an escape. "What would your grandmother say about this?" he asked, his voice trembling with desperation. "Do you think she'd want you to kill your own family?"
Hiro, his movements slow and deliberate, reached into the small bag he carried, his fingers closing around a heavy, round object. With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed the item onto the table, the grisly trophy rolling to a stop in front of Miller.
It was the severed head of Hiro's grandmother, Ryo's mother. Her lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling, her face frozen in an expression of horror and disbelief.
The clan elder, his face twisting with rage, screamed, "You son of a bitch! How dare you kill my daughter?"
Hiro, his voice filled with a mocking pity, said, "Careful, Grandfather. You'll give yourself an ulcer if you get too angry."
With a fluid grace that belied the violence of his intentions, Hiro began to twirl his sansetsukon, blue electricity crackling along the length of the weapon. The air hummed with the power of his cursed energy, the hair on the back of everyone's necks standing on end.
He struck out at the nearest family member, the metal staff whistling through the air with blinding speed. The blow connected with a sickening crunch, the man's skull caving in like an eggshell under the force of the impact.
Blood and brain matter sprayed across the room, painting the walls and ceiling in a grisly abstract. The man's headless body remained standing for a moment, twitching and jerking like a macabre marionette, before crumpling to the ground in a boneless heap.
The tallest of the group, his eyes wide with terror, opened his mouth to unleash his cursed technique. A gout of flame erupted from his throat, the heat of it scorching the air and causing the others to flinch back.
But Hiro was ready. With a flick of his wrist, he shifted the energy coursing through his sansetsukon, the blue lightning shifting to a deep, angry red. He spun the staff in a blurring arc, the crimson electricity lashing out to meet the oncoming flames.
The two techniques collided with a deafening boom, the shockwave shattering windows and sending furniture flying. But Hiro's red lightning was stronger, the cursed energy tearing through the flames like they were made of paper.
The bolt of scarlet electricity slammed into the tall man's face, the force of the blow snapping his head back with a sickening crack. His eyes bulged from their sockets, blood pouring from his nose and ears as his brain was liquefied by the intense heat.
He toppled backwards, his body convulsing on the floor like a landed fish, smoke rising from the charred ruin of his face.
Hiro spun to face the next attacker, his sansetsukon lashing out in a blindingly fast strike. The heavy metal connected with the man's stomach with a meaty thwack, the blow so powerful that it tore him in half at the waist.
His legs remained standing for a moment, blood pumping from the severed arteries, before they too collapsed to the ground. The man's upper half flew across the room, his entrails unspooling behind him like a grisly banner.
One of Hiro's cousins, his face twisted with rage and fear, charged forward, his cursed energy coalescing around his fist. He swung at Hiro with all his might, pouring every ounce of his power into the blow.
But Hiro was faster. He ducked under the wild haymaker, his sansetsukon whipping up to wrap around the man's throat. With a savage twist of his wrists, Hiro tore his cousin's head from his shoulders, the vertebrae snapping like dry twigs.
The corpse collapsed to the ground, blood gushing from the ragged stump of its neck. Hiro tossed the head aside, the lifeless eyes staring accusingly at the carnage.
Extending his fingers towards the remaining family members, Hiro snarled, "Red Lightning." A crackling orb of crimson electricity formed in his palm, the air around it shimmering with heat.
With a primal roar, he hurled the deadly sphere at the huddled group, their screams drowned out by the deafening boom of the detonation. The red lightning exploded outward, engulfing the Millers in a blinding flash of scarlet energy.
When the smoke cleared, the bodies of the once-proud clan lay strewn about the room, their flesh charred and blackened, wisps of smoke rising from their sightless eyes. The stench of burnt hair and cooked meat hung heavy in the air, mingling with the coppery tang of spilled blood.
Hiro turned slowly to face Miller and the clan patriarch, his sansetsukon still crackling with barely contained energy. His eyes were cold and pitiless, twin pools of icy blue that promised only death and destruction.
"Only the big garbage left," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. But in the sudden, horrified silence of the room, his words carried the weight of a tolling bell.
And as he advanced on the two remaining Millers, his weapon held loose and ready at his side, Hiro knew that his vengeance was nearly complete. That soon, the last of his traitorous family would lay dead at his feet, their blood staining the floor of their ill-gotten empire.
For Momo, for the love and light that had been stolen from the world. He would paint the walls red with their suffering, would tear down everything they had built until nothing remained but ashes and dust.
Maki sat in a cozy corner of a quaint Tokyo café, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee as she gazed out the window at the changing leaves. The café was a hidden gem, tucked away in a quiet side street, its interior decorated with warm, earthy tones and filled with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries.
Across from Maki, Kugisaki leaned forward, her brow furrowed with concern. "Hey, where's Hiro-senpai?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. "I haven't seen him in a couple of days."
Maki shrugged, her expression one of feigned nonchalance. "No idea," she said, her voice flat and emotionless.
Kugisaki's eyes widened in surprise, her mouth falling open in shock. "What do you mean, you don't know?" she exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch. "Aren't you two dating?"
Maki, her gaze fixed on the swirling depths of her coffee, replied, "The idiot broke up with me."
Kugisaki, her hand flying to her mouth, nearly spit out her own drink. "What? He broke up with you? Why?"
Maki sighed, her shoulders slumping with a mixture of resignation and sadness. "He's got too much on his mind right now. I don't blame him. Maybe I didn't support him enough."
Kugisaki, her expression turning thoughtful, said, "Maybe he just needs some time to think things through. Any idea where he went?"
Maki, her voice barely above a whisper, replied, "New York."
Kugisaki, her eyes lighting up with understanding, said, "See? He just went back home. He'll cry a bit, go shopping, and come back like nothing happened. That's just how Hiro is. He's a spoiled brat who doesn't know what he wants."
Maki, her lips curving into a sad smile, took another sip of her coffee. "Who knows?" she said, her voice filled with a quiet resignation. "I hope you're right."
Meanwhile, back in the New York office, the scene was one of utter carnage and devastation. The once-pristine conference room was now a charnel house, the walls and ceiling splattered with blood and gore, the floor littered with the twisted, mangled bodies of the Miller clan.
The stench of death hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid tang of burnt flesh and the coppery scent of spilled blood. Smoke still rose from the blackened craters left by Hiro's Red Lightning, the once-polished wood of the table now scorched and splintered.
In the midst of the carnage, the clan patriarch stood, his weathered face splattered with the blood of his fallen kin. He turned to Ryo, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear.
"Ryo," he said, his voice trembling with emotion, "this boy is incredible. Why didn't you invite him to join our plans?"
Ryo, his own face pale and drawn, replied, "He's the son of my brother, Takahiro."
The old man sighed, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his years. "Takahiro, the most idiotic grandson I have. He's just like his father, my stupidest son. I don't know what I was thinking, making him clan leader. I should have given you full control from the start."
Ryo, his jaw clenching with tension, said, "And as you know, Hiro is just like Takahiro."
The patriarch, his gaze shifting to Hiro's blood-splattered face, took in the jagged scar that ran down the young man's left eye, a souvenir from his battle with Jogo. "I don't see any resemblance to Takahiro," he said, his voice filled with a grudging respect. "This one is far more ruthless."
He sighed, his expression turning grim. "I didn't want to use this trick on him, but I doubt we can beat him fairly."
With a quick motion of his fingers, the old man formed a cross, his voice ringing out through the room. "Domain Expansion: Fallen Angels."
The office began to shift and change, tombstones rising from the floor as a thick, heavy mist began to swirl around them. A book materialized before the patriarch, its pages rustling in an unseen breeze.
Hiro, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, thought to himself, "A domain without a barrier? It's rare for someone to have one, they're incredibly complex to create. But the old man is probably over a hundred years old, so it's not surprising he's reached this level of power."
The patriarch flipped through the pages of the book, his lips curving into a cruel smile. "It cost me a fortune to get him to sign the contract, but it was worth every yen."
He bit his thumb, drawing blood, and Hiro, his patience wearing thin, shouted, "Hurry up, I'm getting bored!"
The old man, his smile widening, said, "You're very kind to let me finish my ritual, but that kindness will cost you."
Hiro, his expression turning cold and mocking, replied, "Don't get the wrong idea. You're just too weak to be a threat."
The patriarch, his eyes glinting with malice, said, "I know that. That's why I brought someone on your level."
He smeared his blood on a page of the book, his voice rising in a commanding shout. "Come forth, Toji Zenin!"
From one of the tombstones, a figure began to rise, the concrete floor shattering beneath its feet as it clawed its way out of the earth. It was a man, his body corpulent and muscular, his face twisted into a cruel, mocking smile.
Hiro, his eyes widening in surprise, said, "Toji Zenin? I've never heard of anyone from the Zenin clan with that name."
The patriarch, his hand outstretched, called out to Ryo. "Give him your spear."
Ryo, his movements quick and precise, tossed the weapon to Toji, who caught it with a casual grace. "This spear is a special grade cursed tool," Ryo explained, his voice filled with pride. "It can pierce through any material, object, barrier or technique."
Toji, his smile turning sly, asked, "Even Gojo Satoru's Infinity?"
Ryo, his expression turning uncertain, replied, "I don't know."
Toji, his grin widening, said, "Well, who do you want me to kill?"
The patriarch, his finger pointing at Hiro, said, "My great-grandson, Hiro Miller."
Toji, his hand tightening around the shaft of the spear, said, "It will be my pleasure."
Hiro, his sansetsukon already spinning in a blur of motion, said, "I hope you can at least entertain me for a bit."
The two warriors faced off, the air between them crackling with tension and bloodlust. Toji moved first, his spear lashing out with blinding speed, the razor-sharp point aimed directly at Hiro's heart.
But Hiro was ready, his sansetsukon moving to intercept the blow with a clash of metal on metal. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the room, shattering windows and sending debris flying.
Hiro spun, his weapon whipping around in a blurring arc, the blue lightning crackling along its length. Toji dodged the blow with inhuman speed, his body twisting and contorting as he launched himself into the air.
He came down hard, his spear stabbing towards Hiro's face with the force of a pneumatic drill. But Hiro was faster, his head snapping to the side as the spear passed harmlessly by, the tip embedding itself in the floor.
Hiro lashed out with a kick, his foot connecting with Toji's chest with a sickening crunch. The older man flew backwards, his body smashing through the wall and out into the hallway beyond.
But Toji was far from finished. He rose to his feet, his spear held loose and ready at his side, his smile never wavering. "Not bad, kid," he said, his voice filled with a mocking admiration. "You might actually be a challenge."
Hiro, his own smile cold and humorless, replied, "I'm just getting started."
Toji lunged forward with his spear, aiming for Hiro's chest. Hiro swiftly dropped into a split, dodging the attack, and swung his electrified sansetsukon at Toji's feet, knocking him off balance and searing his ankles with crackling electricity. Both combatants quickly regained their footing, eyes locked in intense focus.
In a blur of motion, Toji launched another lightning-fast thrust. Hiro matched his speed, parrying the spear with his sansetsukon. Sparks flew as the weapons clashed, illuminating the fierce determination etched on their faces. Hiro countered with a flurry of strikes, his sansetsukon a whirling blur of crackling energy. Toji expertly deflected each blow with his spear, the air humming with the power of their exchange.
Hiro feinted left, then spun right, aiming a devastating strike at Toji's ribs. Toji's spear sliced through the air, intercepting the attack at the last second. The force of the impact sent shockwaves rippling through the room. Undeterred, Hiro pressed forward, his sansetsukon a relentless storm of electric fury. Toji met each strike with unwavering precision, his spear dancing in a mesmerizing display of skill.
As the battle raged on, the elder and Ryo watched intently from the sidelines. The elder let out a weary sigh and said, "It's no use. Toji is no match for Hiro."
Ryo, his brow furrowed in confusion, replied, "What are you talking about? They seem evenly matched to me."
The elder shook his head, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Yes, but observe Hiro closely. He continues to learn and adapt, even in the midst of combat. With each passing second, he grows stronger and stronger."
Ryo's gaze shifted to the battle, just in time to witness Hiro land a solid blow. "Perhaps we should provide Toji with more weapons," Ryo suggested, a hint of desperation in his voice.
The elder chuckled humorlessly. "It would make no difference. Toji is indeed powerful, but Hiro exists in a league of his own, akin to that of Gojo Satoru. Though, I may be exaggerating. However, I wouldn't be surprised if he surpasses Gojo in the future." The elder paused, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps Gojo has already recognized this potential, and that is why he took Hiro under his tutelage... Look at his eyes."
Ryo squinted, trying to discern any peculiarity in Hiro's brilliant blue eyes. "I don't notice anything, grandfather," he admitted, puzzled.
The elder's voice took on a reverential tone. "His eyes process information at the same breathtaking speed as his electricity. His cognitive abilities far surpass those of any ordinary human. His entire life, his very being, revolves around his cursed technique. His greatest power lies not in his electricity, but in his eyes. Why do you think Hiro always aced his exams? Or how he mastered Domain Expansion in record time? Why do you think he acts like a fool, yet his fighting style rivals that of a seasoned veteran? Hiro has been blessed with extraordinary eyes."
As if to punctuate the elder's words, Hiro delivered a devastating knee strike to Toji's face. Toji retaliated, sending Hiro flying backwards. In a flash, Toji closed the distance, his spear poised to pierce Hiro's throat mid-air. "Game over," Toji declared triumphantly as he plunged the spear into Hiro's neck.
Toji withdrew the spear, readying himself for the final blow to the head. However, in that instant, a crackling red sphere of electricity formed at Hiro's fingertips - his signature attack, Red Lightning. With a defiant smirk, Hiro launched the attack. Toji instinctively raised his spear to block, but the force of the impact sent him hurtling down the hallway. At the last moment, Toji managed to dodge, the Red Lightning tearing through the wall, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.
Toji's eyes widened as he watched Hiro's throat slowly regenerate, the gaping wound knitting itself back together. "Reverse cursed techniques?" Toji muttered in disbelief.
Ryo's jaw dropped, his eyes bulging in shock. "This kid... when did he learn that?"
Hiro grinned, his voice dripping with confidence. "Just like how I make my electric energy positive and negative, I simply had to do the same with cursed energy. It was easy once Gojo explained it to me."
Toji's eyes narrowed at the mention of the name. "Gojo? Gojo Satoru?" A wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "No wonder you're a monster."
Hiro's grin widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Any last words?"
Toji's reply was curt. "None."
In that instant, Hiro unleashed his Divine Speed. In the blink of an eye, Toji found himself without both arms, a gaping hole in his chest. A flicker of recognition crossed his face as he uttered, "This feels like déjà vu."
As Toji's body crumpled to the ground, it disintegrated into dust, vanishing from this plane of existence. Hiro stood triumphant, his eyes blazing with the power of his victory.
The elder and Ryo watched in stunned silence, the weight of Hiro's incredible strength settling upon them like a suffocating blanket. They knew, in that moment, that they had witnessed the birth of a true monster, a being capable of rivaling even the legendary Gojo Satoru.
Hiro turned to face them, his eyes alight with a terrifying resolve. "Now," he said, his voice cold as steel, "it's your turn."
The patriarch and Ryo swallowed hard as Hiro approached them, his eyes fixed on the intricately carved dragons adorning his sansetsukon. With a casual air, Hiro addressed the patriarch, "Hey, grandfather, your Domain Expansion turned out to be quite interesting. Would you mind explaining how it works?"
The patriarch, his voice trembling slightly, replied, "My Domain Expansion allows me to summon the body and soul of a deceased person for 10 minutes, provided they signed my book while they were alive. It cost me a million yen to get Toji to sign it."
Hiro's gaze shifted from his weapon to the patriarch, who continued, "I can only resurrect a person once, meaning I wouldn't be able to summon Toji again."
Hiro began to twirl his sansetsukon, the air humming with the weapon's power. The patriarch, desperation creeping into his voice, made one last plea, "Hiro, why don't you join us? You could be the leader of the clan, wielding immense power and influence."
In a swift, brutal motion, Hiro brought his sansetsukon crashing down on the patriarch's head, decapitating him in a spray of crimson. "Don't worry," Hiro said, his voice cold and sharp, "I plan to lead the clan, but I have my own methods."
Ryo, his eyes wide with horror, stammered, "You think you'll get away with this? Hanzo will kill you!"
Hiro's lips curled into a sneer. "Hanzo is no longer a match for me." With a deft strike, Hiro slammed his sansetsukon into Ryo, sending him reeling. Closing the distance between them, Hiro grasped Ryo's head, his fingers digging into the man's flesh. "Goodnight, uncle," Hiro whispered, before wrenching Ryo's head from his shoulders with a sickening twist. The look of disbelief forever etched on Ryo's face.
Surveying the destruction around him - the shattered walls, the office littered with the lifeless bodies of the Miller clan - Hiro's gaze fell upon the calendar. October 19th. "I need to return to Kyoto," he mused aloud. "Mechamaru wanted to meet with me on the 21st."
As Hiro descended the building, making his way towards the exit, a slender, blonde woman appeared. She greeted him warmly, "Ah, my dear nephew! Have you seen your uncle Kazu?"
Hiro placed a gentle hand on the woman's head, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry, auntie." In an instant, electricity surged from his fingertips, enveloping the woman and frying her brain. Without a backward glance, Hiro left the building behind.
In one of the dimly lit chambers of the Tokyo Jujutsu High, the most influential elders of the Jujutsu world were gathered. Each wrinkle on their faces a testament to their vast experience and the wisdom they believed they possessed, known for their unwavering traditionalism and conservatism. They had convened to discuss one pressing matter: Hiro Miller.
One of the elders spoke, his voice grave, "Hiro has just massacred the Miller clan, his own clan, even though they're based in the United States. How should we interpret this?"
Another elder chimed in, "Although they're an American clan, they had strong ties with us. We must consider Hiro Miller an enemy and execute him."
A third voice, tinged with doubt, asked, "And who could carry out such a task? From what we know, Gojo himself has stated that the only sorcerers who rival Hiro are Gojo, Yuki Tsukumo, and Yuta Okkotsu. I doubt any of them would agree to execute him."
"Does this mean Hiro should be classified as a special grade sorcerer?" one of them inquired, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the room.
Another elder spoke, his voice firm, "Undoubtedly. His power has far surpassed our expectations."
The first elder, his brow furrowed, posed the question on everyone's mind, "Then what do we do with him?"
Suddenly, the door burst open, and a head was thrown into the room, rolling to a stop at the feet of the central elder. Upon closer inspection, they recognized the severed head of Ryo Miller, the leader of the Miller clan.
Hiro strode into the room, clad in his school uniform, his sansetsukon securely nestled in the sheath on his back. His voice, cold and detached, echoed through the chamber, "I want you to recognize me as the new head of the Miller clan and approve its transfer to Japan."
One of the elders, his voice trembling with fear, protested, "We cannot recognize a murderer."
Hiro's smile was laced with irony. "A murderer, me? What about all of you? None of you have clean hands."
A heavy silence descended upon the room, the weight of Hiro's words settling like a suffocating blanket.
Hiro sighed, striding to the center of the room. "Ryo Miller, his son Hanzo Miller, and the entire Miller clan have been collaborating with the curses that attacked the school during the recent exchange event. You already knew that, didn't you?"
One of the elders nodded, and Hiro continued, "Then I cannot be judged for doing what is right - eliminating the enemies."
Another silence, thick with tension, permeated the room. No one dared to speak.
Finally, one of the elders broke the silence, his voice trembling slightly, "You're right. In the end, you fulfilled your duty as a sorcerer. We thank you for that, and yes, we recognize you as the new head of the Miller clan."
Hiro's smile was triumphant, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light. "I'm glad we understand each other."
As the sun began to set, its fading rays casting a warm glow across the school grounds, Hiro stepped out into the garden. He walked along the polished wooden walkway, his footsteps echoing softly in the tranquil atmosphere. Suddenly, Maki appeared before him, her presence interrupting his solitary moment.
Hiro's lips curled into a smile, devoid of any genuine warmth. "I'm back," he said, his voice flat and emotionless.
Maki, her eyes narrowing slightly, replied, "So it seems. What have you been up to?"
Hiro shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling in a nonchalant gesture. "Nothing important," he said, his words dismissive and evasive.
"I see," Maki said, her tone laced with a hint of skepticism.
An uncomfortable silence settled between them, thick and suffocating. Maki's gaze remained fixed on the ground, while Hiro studied her face intently, waiting for any further comment. Growing impatient, Hiro broke the silence. "If you have nothing else to say, I'll be on my way."
He brushed past her, his steps purposeful and determined. Maki's voice, tinged with a mix of desperation and frustration, called out, "Wait."
Hiro paused, glancing over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers.
Maki, her voice trembling slightly, asked, "Is this okay? Ending things just like that?"
Hiro, his brow furrowed in confusion, replied, "What do you mean?"
Maki, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides, continued, "You know, throwing away our one-year relationship, just like that."
Hiro, his voice devoid of emotion, said, "Sometimes, people simply grow apart."
Maki, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, said, "I know that. It's just... it was so sudden."
Hiro, his tone cold and detached, asked, "What did you expect me to do?"
Maki, her voice rising in frustration, exclaimed, "I don't know! It's just... you're different now."
Hiro, his expression unreadable, replied, "Maybe I am, or maybe you're just exaggerating."
Maki sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Forget it. Talking to you is like talking to a wall."
She paused, her eyes searching his face for any hint of the man she once knew. "What will you do now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Hiro, his gaze fixed on a distant point, answered, "I will have my clan recognized in Japan."
Maki, her curiosity piqued, inquired, "And how will you accomplish that?"
Hiro, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, replied, "It's a secret."
Maki, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, suggested, "Maybe we could talk about it properly, over a cup of coffee."
Hiro, his voice dripping with indifference, said, "Sorry, I don't have time. If you just want to hook up, just say so."
Maki's eyes flashed with anger, her voice sharp and biting. "You're an asshole," she spat, before turning on her heel and storming off, her footsteps echoing through the empty corridor.
Hiro watched her go, his expression unchanged, before continuing on his way, his mind already focused on his next move.
The night had settled over the Zenin mansion, a blanket of stars illuminating the sky in a breathtaking display. The air was cool and crisp, the atmosphere tranquil and serene. Naobito Zenin, the head of the Zenin clan, strolled through the gardens, sipping from his cup of sake, relishing the solitude of the moment.
As he wandered further into the gardens, Naobito's eyes caught sight of an unfamiliar shadow in the distance. At first, he dismissed it as a trick of the light, perhaps a newly planted tree or a recently installed statue. Or maybe, he mused, he was simply too drunk to make sense of what he was seeing.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Naobito approached the shadowy figure. As he drew closer, he reached into his pocket, retrieving his lighter. With a flick of his wrist, he ignited the flame, its flickering light revealing a sight that sent a chill down his spine.
There, embedded in the soft earth of the garden, stood a spear, its tip gleaming in the moonlight. And impaled upon that spear, like a grotesque warning, was the severed head of his son, Naoya Zenin. The young and talented sorcerer, once so full of life and promise, now reduced to a macabre message.
Naobito's eyes fell upon the note attached to the spear, a single name scrawled across the paper in bold, merciless strokes. Hiro Miller. The name was familiar, a rising star in the world of Jujutsu, a man who had recently made waves by decimating his own clan, the Millers.
Naobito clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. It wasn't the death of his son that fueled his rage, but rather the humiliation brought upon his clan. He understood the message behind Naoya's decapitated head, a brazen display of power, a declaration of intent. Hiro Miller sought to position his clan among the three great clans of Japan - the Gojo, the Zenin, and the Kamo.
"Hiro Miller," Naobito growled, his voice low and menacing, "mark my words, you will pay for this humiliation."
Naoya's face, once adorned with his signature smirk, now frozen in an expression of genuine disbelief, stared back at Naobito, a haunting reminder of the challenge that lay ahead.
With a final glance at his son's severed head, Naobito turned and strode back towards the mansion, his mind already racing with thoughts of revenge, of how to make Hiro Miller suffer for the insult he had dealt to the Zenin clan.
Mai Zenin opened the door to her room, inviting Hiro inside. "Thanks for letting me stay the night," Hiro said, his voice tinged with gratitude. "I had some things to take care of in Kyoto, and I have more to do tomorrow."
Mai smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's no problem at all. It's always a pleasure to have someone as handsome as you in my room."
Hiro placed his sansetsukon in the corner and said, "Just lend me a blanket. I'll sleep on the floor."
Mai wrapped her arms around Hiro's neck, pulling him close. She pressed her lips against his in a tender kiss, her fingers deftly unbuttoning the collar of his shirt. "You know," she whispered, her breath hot against his skin, "it would be a shame for someone as gorgeous as you to simply sleep in my room. We could have some fun and enjoy ourselves."
Hiro grinned, arching an eyebrow. "Well then, what am I supposed to do now?"
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