[Author's Note: There is no female lead. This story is not for the faint of heart.]
The Three Great Families.
In a world where Cursed Energy reigns supreme and Cursed Spirits run rampant, these three clans possess a glorious history spanning over a thousand years.
The Gojo Clan. The Kamo Clan. And the Zenin Clan.
December 12, 2006. 1:00 AM.
The night was suffocating. Thick, inky clouds obscured the moon, drowning the world below in darkness.
Inside the sprawling, luxurious estate of the Zenin Clan, silence reigned—until it was broken by the softest of footsteps.
A boy, no older than ten, walked down the long wooden corridor. He wore a simple black robe, the collar hanging loose enough to reveal a chest covered in a dense, spiderweb network of scars.
With his choppy black hair and a face that still held the softness of youth, he would have been considered a handsome child—perhaps second only to the readers of this story. But his eyes ruined the image. They were deep, abyssal pools of calm.
That, and the fact that half of his black robe was soaked in heavy, wet crimson stains.
The boy stopped in front of a sliding wooden door. He pushed it open a crack—silent as a ghost—stepped onto the tatami mats, and gently closed the door behind him.
He stared coldly at the man sleeping soundly on the floor. His hands moved, slowly forming the shadow puppet of a wolf.
"Divine Dog: Black."
The air in the room grew heavy instantly. Shadows didn't just pool; they boiled.
From the darkness, a monstrosity emerged. It was not the standard shikigami wolf most young sorcerers struggled to summon. This beast—jet-black and rippling with condensed Cursed Energy—stood nearly five meters tall. Its head scraped the ceiling beams, its growl a low vibration that rattled the bones.
It was a creature that should have been impossible for a child to tame, let alone summon.
Crunch.
The Divine Dog's massive jaws snapped shut around the sleeping man's entire upper body.
"Gh...!"
The man jolted awake, but the sound died in his throat. There was no room to scream. His ribs shattered under the pressure; his lungs collapsed instantly.
Sensing the target was awake, the Divine Dog gave a sharp, violent shake of its head.
Riiip.
The sound of tearing meat filled the room. Blood sprayed across the tatami, the windowsill, the wooden beams, and the boy's robes, adding a fresh layer of crimson to the fabric.
The Zenin Estate... my own home...
The dying man's consciousness faded rapidly. This is supposed to be the safest place in the world. How... how am I dying here?
Before the light vanished from his eyes, his horrified gaze drifted from the nightmare beast to the indifferent boy standing nearby.
Recognition struck him.
Zenin Mirai?
That trash? The stain on the Zenin name?
How... how is he using the Ten Shadows?! And that Divine Dog... it's enormous!
Darkness swallowed his vision before he could comprehend the monster standing before him.
"The ninth one."
Looking at the mangled corpse lying in a growing pool of blood, the boy's lips curled into a slight, triumphant smile. He quickly suppressed it, his face returning to a mask of apathy.
"Let's go. Next."
Upon hearing its master's command, the massive black wolf released the corpse and melted back into the boy's shadow, waiting for the next order.
Zenin Mirai moved like a grim reaper through the night, reaping the lives of his "family" one silent room at a time.
"Divine Dog."
"Nue."
"Great Serpent."
Blood bloomed in the shadows like roses—dangerous and alluring. With every life extinguished, the boy's smile grew just a fraction wider.
Half an hour later.
Under the dim moonlight, the boy's black robes were completely saturated with blood. Even his pale face was streaked with red. He casually wiped the warmth from his cheek with a sleeve, his cold gaze fixing on the main courtyard.
"Twenty-seven," he murmured softly. "It's about time I went to see Father."
Mirai began the slow walk toward the quarters of Zenin Ogi.
As he walked, memories of the last ten years played in his mind, and the murderous intent in his eyes solidified into something tangible.
Mirai was a transmigrator. He remembered his previous life on Earth clearly. He had been lying in his room, reading the latest chapter of Jujutsu Kaisen. He had witnessed the "Gojo Satoru Incident"—the birth of the sliced-in-half meme.
He had been so furious at the author regarding the fate of his favorite character that he smashed his keyboard, punched his computer monitor, and was promptly electrocuted to death.
When he opened his eyes, he was in the world of sorcery.
The Good News: He was reborn into the Zenin Clan, a prestigious powerhouse.
The Bad News: He was born with heavenly restriction levels of low Cursed Energy. A dud.
While he was still in his mother's womb, his father, Zenin Ogi—who was frantically vying for the position of Clan Head—named him Mirai (Future).
It was a name that symbolized the bright future of the Zenin Clan. Ogi fantasized that his son would be a genius on par with Gojo Satoru, the final piece he needed to seize control of the family.
But when "The Future" was actually born...
The disappointment Ogi felt was like falling from heaven straight into hell.
The tragedy of Zenin Maki from the manga had befallen Mirai. In this world, a Cursed Technique is engraved on the body at birth. Talent is everything.
Mirai had almost no Cursed Energy. Even if he understood the theory of a technique, his body was too weak to fuel the powerful hereditary spells. Or so they thought.
"Those who are not sorcerers are not human."
This was the philosophy the Zenin Clan had upheld for a thousand years. And Zenin Ogi embodied it perfectly. The way he treated Mirai's mother, his swift remarriage, and his absolute neglect of his son proved the cruelty of that statement.
In the Zenin Clan, if you have no talent, you have no value. Just like Maki. Just like Mai. Just like Mirai.
...
The wooden door to Ogi's room slid open silently.
Zenin Ogi, fully dressed in his ceremonial robes and clutching his katana, turned sharply. He had been awake, alerted by the pervasive smell of copper and blood drifting through the air.
But when he saw who had entered, his eyes widened in surprise, followed immediately by a surge of killing intent.
"Useless trash," Ogi spat instinctively. "This is not a place for you."
Then, he paused.
He saw the scarlet soaking Mirai's robes. He smelled the stench of death clinging to the boy. The surprise on Ogi's face deepened into genuine shock.
He looked into his unfilial son's eyes and saw no fear—only naked, undisguised murderous intent.
"It seems you aren't as useless as I thought," Ogi said, his hand tightening on his sword hilt, sensing a dangerous pressure radiating from the boy that shouldn't exist. "At least you have the guts to hold a blade."
"Yes, Father."
Hearing Ogi's twisted praise, the ten-year-old boy's smile stretched into something morbid and terrifying.
"This is the last time I will greet you. Please, remember it well."
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