"Kenjaku, stop circling. Where are we going next?" Kanon asked impatiently, a frown creasing her brow.
Kenjaku, however, seemed to tune out her complaint, lost in the labyrinth of his own machinations. A breeze rustled the leaves, dappling the light around them.
In his grand design, this era had been perfect. Tengen's evolution, the emergence of a Cursed Spirit Manipulation user, Sukuna's vessel growing undisturbed... even the appearance of the Six Eyes was countered by the existence of the Prison Realm. It had all seemed like a stage meticulously set for his finale.
Fate, it seemed, enjoyed cruel irony.
Tengen had evolved, yes. But the Prison Realm meant to cage the Six Eyes was a counterfeit. And he, the master playwright, had been reduced to a supporting role—a Shikigami bound to a child.
Each setback was a fresh layer of frustration, a shadow over his centuries-spanning ambition. The prize was in sight, yet separated by an abyss he could not cross. To reach for it now meant annihilation.
'Patience,' he told himself, the word a bitter pill. 'I waited a millennium. What are a few more decades?' His gaze, though, held a deep, oceanic calm over a current of simmering resolve.
Then, a name surfaced in his thoughts like a shark's fin: Kamo Itsuki.
He was the common thread. Tengen's incident. The fake Prison Realm. The rise of Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru—both tied to him. And now, the active collection of Sukuna's fingers. It was no longer coincidence. Kamo Itsuki wasn't just a powerful sorcerer; he was an active counter-force, a variable systematically dismantling the prerequisites of Kenjaku's plan.
A spark of cold realization ignited. To understand this new era, to find a path through the wreckage of his schemes, he needed to understand him.
He turned his focus back to the girl. "Kanon," his mental voice was suddenly smooth, persuasive. "Would you like to go to school?"
"School?" Kanon's head drooped. "What school would want me?"
"A special one. For people with talents like yours. But you're not ready yet. Your strength is insufficient." It was both a truth and a manipulation. She had potential, but her playful heart lacked the drive for power.
"Forget it. Everyone would think I'm a freak."
"At this school, you wouldn't be a freak. You'd be admired. Strength is respected there above all else." He pushed the idea, attempting to plant the seed of ambition.
"I'm cute! I'll make friends anyway. Strength doesn't matter," she retorted, sticking out her tongue playfully.
Kenjaku's metaphorical brow furrowed. The indoctrination was failing. The tool was stubborn.
Unaware he had become the focal point of an ancient schemer's revised plans, Kamo Itsuki sat in a sun-drenched ramen shop. Steam rose between him and a pink-haired teenager, Itadori Yuji, who was slurping noodles with gusto.
"Mr. Kamo, thanks again for stepping in back there!" Yuji said around a mouthful.
"Don't mention it. Anyone would have helped," Kamo replied with an easy smile. "Though, I suspect even without me, those bullies were no match for you. Perhaps I was intrusive."
"Not at all! I might've won, but I'd be way more banged up. Grandpa would've really let me have it," Yuji sighed, his shoulders slumping.
"Ah, so the ramen is a stalling tactic. Waiting for the bruises to fade before facing the music?" Kamo's eyes held a knowing glint.
"You caught me! He's got a real temper. I worry about his blood pressure…"
"Regarding your grandfather," Kamo said, his tone shifting subtly to one of gentle offer. "I might be able to help with that."
As he spoke, Kamo Itsuki reached out and gently touched the side of Itadori Yuji's face. A faint, cool greenish glow flickered under his fingertips, and in an instant, the angry red bruises and swelling vanished, leaving smooth, unblemished skin.
Yuji touched his own cheek in wonder. The pain was gone. "Whoa! Mr. Kamo, are you… a priest of the Bansei Cult? You healed me just like that!" His eyes shone with amazement.
Kamo gave a slightly abashed smile. "I… did serve in a capacity for a time." Internally, he was surprised. 'The cult's reach has grown further than I anticipated if even a teenager in this city knows of its 'miracles.' It seemed his early idea of using religious reform as a societal wedge was bearing unforeseen fruit.
"Itadori, I have a small request," Kamo said, his tone turning more earnest.
"Sure! What is it?" Yuji leaned forward, eager to help.
"For a research project of mine, I require a sample of your blood."
"Okay!" Yuji agreed instantly, without a second thought.
"Aren't you going to ask what the research is for?" Kamo was taken aback by the immediate trust.
"It's just blood. I'm sure you'll use it for something good. I can tell you're a good person, Mr. Kamo." Yuji's sincerity was absolute and disarming.
After obtaining the sample with a quick, painless prick, Kamo prepared to leave. He paused at the door. "When it's time for high school, consider applying to Tokyo Jujutsu High. I'll be teaching there."
"Oh! So you're not a cult priest, you're a teacher!" Yuji's expression was one of dawning understanding, followed by a flicker of concern. "But… where is it? If it's too far, I might not be able to go. I don't want to leave my grandpa."
Kamo's smile was gentle, without pressure. "That's perfectly fine. Just follow what your heart tells you. No one should force you into a path."
He left the ramen shop, the bell above the door chiming softly behind him. He had the blood sample—a genetic blueprint potentially intertwined with Sukuna's fate. More importantly, he had made contact with the vessel. The seed was planted. Whether it grew would be up to Yuji's own choices, and the unfolding currents of destiny.
The hunt for fingers continued, but some plans required a lighter touch. For now, he would analyze the sample and wait.