Chapter 8 – Transformation Comes With Power
A thunderous explosion shattered the calm of the Zenin Clan estate, just as the evening sun painted the sky in hues of orange and crimson.
Every head turned instantly toward the small courtyard belonging to the Zenin Ogi household.
— — —
Moments ago, the old man Zenin Ogi had reached for his blade, attempting to strike Kyūjō down. But before he could even unsheath it fully, Kyūjō—no longer holding back—had already launched a powerful kick straight into his chest.
Ogi's body was sent flying through the wall and crashed into the front yard with a heavy thud.
From the gaping hole in the wall, Zenin Kyūjō stepped out calmly, his Cursed Technique fully activated.
With a long katana drawn in his hand, Kyūjō stared coldly at the old man—now lying on the ground, two ribs broken, struggling to stabilize his breathing with Cursed Energy. Kyūjō's voice dripped with disdain as he spoke.
"People like you have no right to wield a sword. Today, I'll show you what it means to truly swing a blade."
— — —
Ogi wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and forced himself to his feet, anger and humiliation twisting his face.
"You arrogant brat!"
"Falling Flower Ritual..."
It was one of the secret arts known only to the three major Jujutsu families—a method of condensing Cursed Energy into a single decisive strike. A technique only the elite sorcerers could master.
With flawless Iaido form, Ogi drew his blade and aimed a lightning-fast slash at Kyūjō's neck—so fast, even the human eye couldn't track the movement.
But Kyūjō merely scoffed.
That technique?
It was a cheap display in front of someone who had mastered the true essence of swordsmanship.
"Thunder Breathing: First Form – Thunderclap and Flash!"
The sky cracked with a deafening boom. Kyūjō, still standing at ease, released a sudden burst of power by tightening every muscle in his body at the perfect moment.
In the blink of an eye, his sword was drawn—and resheathed. Too fast to see. Too sharp to contest.
A faint slicing sound echoed in the air.
And then—Zenin Ogi's sword shattered.
The middle of the blade had been sliced clean in two.
A cold bead of sweat rolled down Ogi's temple. The scent of death seeped from every pore on his body…
He couldn't move.
Because if he did—he would die.
His body screamed at him to freeze. Though his mind urged him to fight back, his instincts overruled every thought. Fear had overtaken every cell in his being.
Like a lamb before the butcher, Zenin Ogi stood frozen. Not even his Cursed Energy responded. His body had given up.
With a blank expression, Kyūjō looked at the paralyzed man before him. His voice was quiet but heavy with judgment.
"A weak man with a weak sword only knows how to swing at those even weaker than him. You? You're not worthy of holding a blade."
And with those words, Kyūjō's katana moved once more.
Slaaash—
Dark red blood sprayed from Ogi's severed arm. In less than a second, his limb had been detached, falling to the ground with a sickening thud.
Everything happened too quickly.
It was only then that the three women inside the house realized what had just occurred.
"…Kyūjō…" whispered his mother, Zenin Arisa, her hands covering her mouth in disbelief.
Zenin Maki and Zenin Mai stood still. Despite the pool of blood before them, neither moved to plead for the man who had brought them years of suffering.
Because the trauma, the cruelty, the shame—everything inflicted by Zenin Ogi had already broken any bond they might've had.
Even Kyūjō—who never once saw this man as his father—couldn't hold back.
So how could his sisters ever feel pity?
— — —
As Ogi writhed on the ground, clutching the bleeding stump where his arm once was, Kyūjō's final words came down like a verdict.
"If you hadn't tried to kill me, I might've just knocked you around a little. But now? Losing an arm is mercy."
"As for the Zenin family rules? I don't care. I have no intention of changing them either. Starting today, the four of us—my mother, my sisters, and I—we're leaving this clan."
"And you, Zenin Ogi… from this moment on, you have no relation to us."
— — —
With that, Kyūjō turned toward his mother and sisters.
"Come with me. Today, I'll take you away from this rotting family."
Without hesitation, Maki and Mai stepped forward, standing tall by Kyūjō's side. Their eyes now fixed on their mother.
Zenin Arisa hesitated. But as the memories of her pain resurfaced, her resolve grew firm.
She walked toward her son.
Seeing her join them, Kyūjō smiled faintly.
"During the last exorcism mission, I bought us a house in Tokyo through a real estate agent. You don't need to bring anything. We're leaving now."
"I'll explain everything later. But for now… let's go. You're all free now."
— — —
With steady steps, Kyūjō led the three women out of the Zenin compound—after slicing off the arm of a clan elder.
And strangely, not a single soul tried to stop them.
It was only as they passed through the clan's front gates that the three women turned back, gazing one last time at the place that had long imprisoned them.
Could it really be… that easy to leave?
To Zenin Arisa, it still felt like a dream.
But the truth was… it wasn't that simple.
Everything that happened today had already been approved—by none other than the head of the Zenin Clan himself: Zenin Naobito.
— — —
A few days prior, Kyūjō had stepped into Naobito's private room.
And using nothing but raw physical force, he had overwhelmed the clan head—beating him so thoroughly that Naobito collapsed onto the floor.
As a First-Grade Jujutsu Sorcerer, Zenin Naobito was undeniably powerful. His technique, Projection Sorcery, was notoriously difficult to counter.
Projection Sorcery: a cursed technique that divides one second into 24 frames of action. The user must plan each movement precisely within the visible field. If they failed to complete the motion physically, both they and their opponent would be frozen for one full second.
This demanding technique required incredible accuracy and mental calculation—something that made prodigies like Zenin Naoya so dangerous in battle.
— — —
It sounded complicated—and it was.
But against Kyūjō? That complexity became a liability.
He could read Naobito's every motion—even his intentions. The clan head's movements were constantly disrupted, causing him to freeze again and again as he failed to execute his plans.
That battle repeated itself hundreds of times…
Until finally, Zenin Naobito lay beaten on the floor—bruised, broken, and defeated.
And with no strength left to resist, he gave in.
He gave Kyūjō the freedom he demanded.
And the rest… was history.
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