The early morning fog hung low over the damp stone steps of Tokyo Jujutsu High, clinging to the tall cedar trees that framed the courtyard. It was barely past six o'clock on Saturday morning, and the mountain air was crisp enough to turn breath into faint, ghostlike plumes.
Oden stood beside the main driveway, his back resting lightly against a weathered wooden pillar. He wore his usual dark hoodie, the hood pulled halfway up over his head to block out the chill. A thick white cloth blindfold was tied securely across his eyes, but a small pale snake rested beneath the edge of his hood, coiled loosely around his neck. The shikigami flicked its dark tongue against his collar, lending him its vision while the cloth covered his face. Through Snake's borrowed sight, the damp morning came into sharp focus. Across his back hung a canvas-wrapped sword case holding his katana.
His posture appeared relaxed to a casual observer, but his hands were buried deep in his hoodie pockets, his fingers constantly flexing and unflexing into tight, rhythmic fists against the lining.
He told himself he wasn't nervous. Nervousness implied fear, and fear was an illogical reaction to an administrative meeting. He was simply irritated. He was irritated by the disruption to his morning training routine, irritated by the early hour, and irritated by the sheer hassle of an ancestral clan suddenly trying to reintegrate a child they had surrendered fourteen years ago.
A sleek black sedan glided around the bend of the driveway, its tires crunching smoothly over the wet gravel before coming to a stop near the steps. The driver's door opened, and Satoru Gojo stepped out.
Gojo wore his dark navy uniform and black blindfold, but his usual boisterous, theatrical stride was entirely absent. He didn't wave frantically or shout an obnoxious morning greeting. He simply leaned against the roof of the car, looking toward the fourteen-year-old youth with an unusual quietness.
"You ready to head out, Oden?" Gojo asked, his voice even and low against the morning stillness.
"Let's get this over with, Gojo-sensei," Oden replied curtly. His answer was short, devoid of its usual sarcastic bite.
Oden pushed off the wooden pillar and walked to the passenger side. He opened the door and slid into the leather seat, unslinging his sword case to settle it beside his leg. Gojo climbed back into the driver's seat, shifted into gear, and smoothly turned the vehicle down the winding mountain pass.
For the first ten minutes, the interior of the sedan remained silent save for the subtle hum of the tires on asphalt. Oden sat rigidly upright. He watched the treeline blur into dark greens and greys against the glass. He counted exits along the guardrails, watched the roadside terrain, and marked three separate places he could leave the moving car if something went
wrong. Planning for an ambush was far easier than thinking about the people waiting at the end of the road.
Gojo kept his eyes on the highway ahead, his hands resting easily on the steering wheel. He let the quiet stretch until they cleared the mountain pass and merged onto the outer expressway.
"Showing up doesn't mean you owe them anything," Gojo spoke up, breaking the silence with a gentle, deliberate tone. "Not forgiveness, not the clan, not even the word family. If you want to leave, we leave."
Oden let out a short, quiet breath through his nose. "I know. Nobody's keeping me there."
"Good," Gojo said smoothly. "Because you look like you're preparing to breach a fortified enemy bunker."
"I'm checking the exits," Oden muttered, his fingers flexing against his knee. "If it's a trap, I'd rather know the way out."
Gojo's lips twitched into a faint, understanding smile. "Sure. Just the exits."
A sudden vibration buzzed in Oden's hoodie pocket. He reached in and pulled out his phone. He read the text message from Maki three times:
Listen first. Decide afterward.
He typed back a single word: Fine.
He shoved the phone back into his pocket and turned his head back toward the passenger window.
The sedan eventually turned off the main highway, taking a private road that wound through the wooded hills. The suburban sprawl faded behind them, replaced by ancient stone retaining walls, thick groves of bamboo, and dense canopy cover that blocked out the morning light. The air outside grew noticeably cooler, heavy with the scent of moss, damp earth, and old cedar timber.
The Uzumaki clan estate spanned across the entire upper valley. A massive, historic sanctuary of traditional Japanese architecture surrounded by towering stone walls fitted into the hillside.
As the car slowed down along the approach, Oden turned his head slightly toward the northern perimeter. "No guards. North wall's wide open. That's careless for an old clan."
"That was me," Gojo said with a light chuckle as he brought the sedan to a smooth stop on the raked white gravel outside the main entrance. "Old man Makoto originally wanted hundreds of household servants lined up in black kimonos along the drive, bowing in unison the moment your car pulled up."
Oden adjusted his hood, his mouth twisting into a scowl. "That sounds awful."
"Which is why I told him that if he pulled a stunt like that, you'd hop the outer wall and head straight back to the train station before your boots hit the dirt," Gojo said, turning off the ignition. "I made him clear the entrance. No crowd, no speech. Just a private entrance."
"Good call," Oden said bluntly. "I'd have left."
"Alright. We walk from here," Gojo said, unbuckling his belt and opening his door.
Oden stepped out onto the fine white gravel, the stones crunching under his boots. He swung his sword case back over his shoulder, securing the strap tightly across his chest. His heart rate remained steady, but through the small serpent around his neck, he picked up every rustle of leaves in the canopy and every faint trace of ancient protection wards woven into the surrounding stone pillars.
Directly ahead stood the primary entrance to the estate. The ancestral red gates.
They were towering timber structures over twenty feet high, painted in a deep, weathered cinnabar pigment and reinforced with heavy iron bands and brass studs bearing the Uzumaki crest.
Gojo stood a few paces back, his hands buried casually in his uniform pockets, letting Oden take the lead.
Oden took three deliberate steps forward, stopping short of the threshold. His fingers flexed at his sides, his weight settled on the balls of his feet, ready to move.
With a low, heavy groan of ancient iron hinges, the massive red gates slowly began to swing inward.
The timber doors parted, revealing a vast, moss-carpeted gravel courtyard. Standing alone beneath the towering entrance arch was Uzumaki Tamaki, despite Makoto's strict orders that she wait inside the main reception hall. She wore a dark traditional kimono, her hands clasped tightly over her waist, her body trembling slightly against the cool mountain wind.
Tamaki lifted her head, her tear-brimmed eyes looking straight toward the tall, hooded youth.
Oden froze.
He saw her trembling hands and the uneven rise of her chest. Her breathing was too fast. Her cursed energy leaked unevenly around her frame.
Neither of them spoke. The quiet mountain wind blew softly through the parted red gates.
---
Find early chapters on my patreon
[Patreon.com/tenten100?]