The rooftops had gone quiet again.
Not truly quiet.
Tokyo was never truly quiet.
There were always sirens somewhere in the distance, the rolling hum of traffic beneath the city's skin, the restless pulse of a metropolis too large to sleep honestly. But compared to the violence that had just taken place, the silence between Oden and Geto felt almost intimate.
Geto stood with one hand tucked loosely into his sleeve, robes shifting softly in the night wind.
Oden stood opposite him, hood slightly torn, clothes dusted with concrete, a faint line of blood drying near his temple. His serpent eyes had not yet gone back behind the blindfold. They remained exposed, black and gold and red, fixed on Geto with their usual unreadable coldness.
For a while, Geto simply looked at him.
Then he smiled.
"I knew you would be strong," he said.
His tone was calm. Honest.
"But I didn't know you were this strong."
Oden said nothing.
Geto continued, almost amused at himself.
"I underestimated you."
That, at least, was not a sentence many people got from Suguru Geto.
Oden's expression did not change.
Praise, insult, warning. It all seemed to strike the same wall and fall off.
Geto noticed that too.
And yet he smiled anyway.
"Well," he said, "you're not especially responsive to compliments."
Oden looked away slightly and pulled his blindfold back over his eyes.
"They don't do much."
Geto's smile sharpened just a little.
Then, after a moment, he raised his hand.
For a handshake.
"I would really like to work with you, Oden," he said. "I want your help."
Oden looked at the offered hand.
Geto's voice grew quieter, but no less certain.
"I want to change this world," he said. "And I want to make it a better world for sorcerers."
The night seemed to settle around that sentence.
There was conviction in it.
And danger.
The two were not always different.
Oden looked at the hand for another second.
Then at Geto.
Then said, flatly—
"I'll work with you only if Miguel is doing it."
Geto's raised hand remained there for a brief second before he slowly lowered it.
Not offended.
Only curious now.
"…Only if Miguel is involved?"
Oden nodded once.
"Yes."
Geto studied him more carefully.
"And why," he asked, "do you need Miguel's approval to make your decisions? Why not choose for yourself?"
Oden's answer came immediately.
"Mind your own business."
A beat passed.
Then Geto laughed softly.
Just entertained.
"I see," he said. "Then I won't press any further."
That was probably wise.
Geto lifted one hand instead and, from the shadow beside him, summoned a curse.
It was birdlike in shape, though too large and wrong to be mistaken for anything natural. Its wings were long and ragged, its beak slightly crooked, its body wrapped in the unmistakable unpleasantness of something born from human fear rather than biology.
It lowered itself obediently.
Geto gestured toward it.
"Get on," he said. "It'll be faster this way."
Oden stared at it.
"…You travel on that?"
Geto smiled.
"Yes."
Oden stepped closer, still visibly unimpressed.
"It looks diseased."
"That's a little rude," Geto said. "It's one of my better ones."
Oden said nothing more, which was probably for the best.
A moment later, the two of them were airborne.
The city stretched wide beneath them.
Tokyo at night from above was something else entirely. Not streets or intersections or crowds anymore. Just a sea of light broken into veins and pulses, flowing outward in every direction like some massive organism too bright and too busy to die properly.
The bird curse cut through the air with unpleasant grace.
Geto stood easily atop it.
Oden, beside him, remained balanced with the kind of instinctive physical control that no longer surprised anyone who had seen him fight.
Neither of them spoke much on the way back.
There wasn't much to say.
The invitation had been made.
The condition had been given.
Everything else could wait.
Eventually, the headquarters of the Star Religious Group came into view.
The curse descended.
And when they landed, everyone was already there.
The room turned toward them immediately.
Some with interest.
Some with caution.
Some with the exhausted familiarity of people already used to unusual nights under Geto's leadership.
And then there were Nanako and Mimiko.
The twins' expressions hardened the second they saw Oden.
Nanako crossed her arms.
"Him again."
Mimiko looked equally unimpressed.
"Why is he here?"
Oden glanced at them once.
Then looked away.
He really did not care.
That somehow made them more annoyed.
Geto walked past the tension as if it were irrelevant. Ehich, to him, it was.
He stepped toward the front of the room, and just like that, the others gave him their attention.
Miguel was there too.
The moment Oden saw him, his posture loosened almost imperceptibly.
Enough that Geto noticed.
Enough that Geto found that interesting.
But for now, there were more important matters.
Geto stood before them all, robes still carrying the night air, expression calm.
Then he smiled.
And there was something darker in it now.
Something anticipatory.
"The Night Parade of a Thousand Demons is near," he said.
The room quieted completely.
Even the twins stopped glaring at Oden long enough to listen.
Geto's eyes moved across the gathered curse users one by one.
"The pieces are in place," he continued. "The preparations are complete."
His smile sharpened into something sinister.
"All that remains…"
He paused.
"…is to declare war on Jujutsu High."
The room changed.
Not physically.
But spiritually.
Like everyone present had just felt the same switch flip at once.
War.
Not metaphor.
Not theory.
War.
And Geto looked almost beautiful in that moment. Composed, smiling, certain, like a man standing at the edge of a world he had already decided to burn.
Elsewhere—
the Zenin clan received its wounded.
The Hei returned in poor condition and worse silence.
Naoya and Chojuro were both sent for treatment immediately, their injuries severe enough that even the clan's pride had the sense not to waste time pretending otherwise. Servants moved fast. Healers were summoned. Doors opened and closed with the quiet urgency of a household that understood the difference between embarrassment and crisis.
Naobito waited.
He did not wait long.
Jinichi came before him first.
Bloodied. Dirty. Expression harder than usual.
Naobito took one look at him and said, "I see it didn't go well."
Jinichi did not bother dressing it up.
He was too tired. Too irritated. Too honest for that now.
Point-blank, he said:
"Oden is a monster."
The room stilled.
Naobito said nothing.
So Jinichi continued.
"We should leave him alone."
That, more than the first statement, drew a reaction.
Because for a Zenin to say that. To advocate backing away instead of pressing forward was not a small thing. It meant he had seen enough to judge further conflict as not merely costly, but foolish.
Naobito's eyes narrowed slightly.
Not in anger.
In thought.
Jinichi met his gaze without flinching.
"I'm serious," he said. "If we keep pushing him, we'll lose more than reputation."
Naobito exhaled slowly through his nose.
Somewhere deeper in the estate, Naoya was likely already waking up angry.
Chojuro would survive.
Ranta would recover.
But the message had arrived clearly enough.
The boy they had tried to crush was not prey.
He was something else.
And something else, in the jujutsu world, was almost always trouble.
---
Find early chapters and daily updates on my patreon
[Patreon.com/tenten100?]
Follow me on Instagram [www.instagram.com/tenten100_?]