Chapter Fifty-Five : The council's mission
Who Does That Scumbag Think He Is, Showing Up Here?
The afternoon sun hung lazily over Kyoto Jujutsu High, casting long, distorted shadows that crawled across the ancient pavement like cursed energy given form. Mai Zenin pressed her back against the cold stone wall, her uniform scratching softly against the rough surface—shhhhhk, shhhhhk—as she adjusted her position, her breaths coming out in controlled, quiet puffs that misted slightly in the cool air. Scum. Absolute scum. Why here? Why now?
Through the narrow gap between the wall and a weathered wooden pillar, her eyes tracked the figure of a black-haired boy stepping through the academy gates. Obito. That bastard. That absolute waste of oxygen. Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms—squeeze, squeeze, creak—as she watched him pause at the entrance, his head swiveling slowly as if checking the area multiple times before committing to the act of stepping inside. Look at him. Looking around like a cockroach scurrying before entering a kitchen. Disgusting.
Mai pressed herself deeper into the shadows, her heart doing an annoying little stutter that she absolutely refused to acknowledge as anything other than surprise. Yes. Surprise. Pure, simple surprise that this particular piece of garbage had returned after six months of blissful absence.
Obito walked with that same casual, infuriating confidence—shoulders loose, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly as if he owned the place. He moved directly toward the training ground, his footsteps making soft thuds against the packed earth—thud, thud, thud, pause, thud—before stopping in the middle of the open space. Then he just stood there. Staring. His eyes sweeping across the training ground repeatedly, his expression shifting into something distant, almost dreamy, like he was lost in thoughts too deep for his undeserving brain.
What the hell is that scumbag thinking about? Mai's jaw tightened, her teeth grinding together with a soft grit, grit, grit that she only noticed when her molars started aching. He left over six months ago and now he just strolls back in after that factory mission like nothing happened? Like we didn't...
She stopped that thought immediately, crushing it like a bug under her heel.
There had been no words between them since that mission. None. And that was perfectly fine with her. Absolutely, completely, one-hundred-percent fine. Sure, they had faced danger together—flashes of cursed spirits, the stench of decay, the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears—but that didn't mean anything. It didn't make her want to be closer to him or whatever ridiculous emotional nonsense normal people might feel. She was happy he left. Happy. The word repeated in her mind like a mantra until it felt almost true.
But when she found out he went to Tokyo—Tokyo, of all places, with all those annoying bastards—she actually felt sorry for her sister. Maki would have to deal with this cretin being in the same general vicinity, and Maki hated him even more than Mai did. Probably. Definitely. Maki would definitely hate him more. The thought of her sister's reaction made something almost like amusement flicker in Mai's chest before she squashed it.
She'll never speak to him. Or maybe she'll try to attack him from behind. That would be satisfying. That would be—
The image bloomed in her mind like a cursed flower: Maki appearing behind Obito like a vengeful spirit, her weapon raised, her expression cold and beautiful and deadly. The fantasy played out in delicious detail—whoosh, crack, thud—and Mai felt something warm spread through her chest. Comfort, almost. Satisfaction.
And at the exact same time, something cold and unpleasant twisted in her stomach.
Why does that thought make me uncomfortable? No. No, it doesn't. Shut up.
A hand touched her shoulder.
Mai spun around so fast her neck popped—crack—her hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn't there, her cursed energy flaring for a split second before she registered the face before her.
Long blue hair. Calm, observing eyes. That perpetually composed expression that made Kasumi Miwa look like she'd just stepped out of a meditation session.
"Ah," Mai breathed out, her heart doing that annoying stutter again. "It's you."
Kasumi's gaze slid past Mai, toward the training ground where Obito still stood like a statue contemplating the mysteries of the universe. Her eyes narrowed slightly, studying him with an intensity that made Mai's skin prickle.
"I see," Kasumi said quietly, her voice carrying that soft, measured quality it always had. "It seems he's returned again. He's become much stronger."
Mai watched as Kasumi took a deep breath—inhale, hold, exhale—her chest rising and falling with visible confidence. Like she could somehow perceive changes that were invisible to normal eyes. Mai followed her gaze back to Obito, squinting hard enough to make her forehead ache.
Stronger? He looks exactly the same. Same stupid posture. Same stupid face. Same stupid everything. Maybe slightly stronger, but that's nothing special. Anyone can get slightly stronger in six months. It's not like he's—
But Kasumi was already walking toward him, her footsteps making soft pads against the ground—pad, pad, pad, pause, pad—and Mai realized with a jolt that Kasumi could see something she couldn't. Something about cursed energy flow. About the way Obito's cursed energy moved through his body.
Of course. Kasumi can sense cursed energy better than most. Better than me, definitely.
The realization tasted bitter on Mai's tongue.
From her hidden position behind the wall, Mai watched Kasumi approach Obito, who remained completely oblivious—still staring at nothing, still lost in whatever garbage thoughts occupied his garbage mind—until the exact moment Kasumi entered his感知 range. Then his head snapped around so fast his hair whipped through the air—whoosh—and that half-smile spread across his face like butter on warm toast.
Half-sincere. Half-surprised. Completely annoying.
"Hello again, Kasumi-senpai," Obito said, bowing slightly—creak—as his joints moved through the motion.
Kasumi stopped a few feet away, her blue hair shifting in the gentle breeze that carried the scent of grass and distant cherry blossoms. She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable, before speaking in that same measured tone.
"You've become much stronger. It seems six months with the strongest shaman made you significantly more powerful."
The strongest shaman. Gojo Satoru. Mai felt something twist in her chest again. Of course. Of course that bastard got to train with Gojo Satoru. Some people have all the luck, and the worst people somehow have the most.
But Kasumi's voice carried something else beneath the words. Something that sounded almost like... envy? Longing? Mai's eyes widened slightly as she watched Kasumi's composed face, looking for cracks in the professional mask. In the original timeline—not that Mai knew anything about timelines, obviously—Kasumi had always been oddly fascinated with Gojo. She'd even asked for his autograph the first time they met. Maybe that was why she sounded like that now. Like she wished she could trade places with Obito.
Well. That's interesting. The perfect little Kasumi-senpai has weaknesses too.
"That's right," Obito replied, his voice carrying that casual confidence that made Mai want to punch something. "I learned a lot there. You've become stronger too, senpai."
Kasumi hummed—a soft, barely audible sound that lasted less than a second—before raising her hand and pointing at him with one finger.
"How about a short match? I want to see how much you've developed."
She wants to fight him? Mai leaned forward slightly, her body pressing against the wall—shhhhhk—as she strained to hear better. Is she testing him? Trying to prove something?
Obito's smile widened slightly. "A match? Sure, that sounds good."
Of course it sounds good to you, you arrogant—
The two of them moved toward the sparring section of the training ground, their footsteps creating a rhythm—thud, pad, thud, pad—that seemed almost musical. Obito took a fighting stance, his body lowering into position with a fluid grace that made Mai's eyes narrow. His form was good. Really good. Much better than six months ago.
When did he learn to move like that?
Silence stretched between them like a thread pulled taut—creak, creak, creak—before Kasumi exploded forward.
She moved like a snake striking, her body straightening completely as she launched herself at him, her fist pulled back in a position that looked almost like a coiled spring. Mai's breath caught in her throat as she watched Kasumi's cursed energy flow—more refined than she'd expected, more concentrated, more dangerous—and then—
BOOM.
The sound cracked through the air like thunder as Kasumi's fist connected with Obito's guard. Mai watched in disbelief as Obito skidded backward several feet, his shoes carving furrows in the dirt—scrrrrrrrape, thud, skid—before he stopped and stared at his forearm with wide eyes. Steam rose from the point of impact—hssssssss—curling upward like smoke from a dying fire.
"What is this?" Obito muttered, rotating his arm and examining it like he'd never seen it before. He looked up at Kasumi, his eyes shining with genuine amazement. "That wasn't normal boxing."
He's surprised? He didn't know she could do that? Mai felt a small, petty satisfaction at his confusion. Good. Let him be confused. Let him suffer.
Kasumi's expression remained professional, though a slight smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Don't be so surprised." She gestured toward his arm with a casual wave. "This is one of the techniques of cursed energy manipulation. It allows you to detonate cursed energy at close range to generate additional power during punches."
"I see." Obito's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "So the distance between your punch and my guard is what helps increase the power."
He figured that out immediately? Mai's jaw tightened. That's... actually pretty fast thinking. Not that I care.
Mai watched as Obito's expression shifted into something calculating, his eyes moving in small, rapid movements as he processed information. He's analyzing her technique. He's already planning how to counter it. Damn him and his stupid adaptive brain.
"I didn't expect there to be a technique like this," Obito continued, almost to himself. "Panda didn't teach me anything like this. Maybe it's an advanced style specific to Kyoto Academy." His gaze flickered to Kasumi's empty hands. "After all, Kasumi usually uses a sword, but now she's fighting me with her fists. That means she's developed her close-combat skills too."
He's not wrong. Kasumi-senpai really has improved. But that doesn't mean—
"I think you should stop staring."
Kasumi's voice came from beside Obito, not in front of him. Mai blinked, her brain struggling to process what she'd just seen. One moment Kasumi was in front of him, the next she'd vanished and reappeared at his side, her fist already mid-swing.
How fast was that? I didn't even see her move.
Obito's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he twisted his body, bringing his arms up to block. BOOM. Another thunderous impact, this one even stronger than the first. Obito's body flew sideways—whoosh, skid, thud—his feet dragging through the dirt as he struggled to maintain his balance.
But Kasumi wasn't done. Two more punches came in rapid succession—BOOM, BOOM—each one carrying more power than the last, the cursed energy detonations creating shockwaves that ruffled Obito's clothes and sent dust spiraling into the air—whoosh, crackle, hssss.
He's going to lose. He's actually going to—
Obito twisted mid-air, his body rotating like a cat's as he avoided the final punch by inches. Mai could see the air displacement from Kasumi's fist brushing against his cheek—woosh—and then he was on the ground, rolling, rising, his eyes locked onto Kasumi with an intensity that made something in Mai's stomach flip.
He's not done. He's not even close to done.
Obito lunged to the side, changing his approach completely. Kasumi followed, her fist aimed at his head—swish—but this time Obito didn't block. He caught her fist. His fingers wrapped around her knuckles—squeeze—and in the same motion, he drove his other fist into her stomach with perfect form, cursed energy concentrated at the point of impact.
BOOM.
Kasumi's eyes went wide as the air exploded from her lungs—whoosh—in a sharp gasp.
"Truly interesting," Kasumi managed, her voice strained but impressed. "You've developed remarkably."
But even as she spoke, her body moved with its own intelligence. Her free hand shot toward Obito's face in a sudden, unexpected motion—swipe—aimed at his eyes. Obito's pupils dilated, his expression shifting into pure surprise as he realized he hadn't anticipated that move. Then—
BOOM.
Obito flew backward, tumbling through the air—whoosh, thud, roll, skid—before coming to a stop several feet away, staring at Kasumi with wide, disbelieving eyes. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. No words came out.
What just happened? Mai's mind raced, trying to process the sequence. She changed her cursed energy flow mid-attack. Mid-attack! How fast was that transition? How precise does her control have to be to—
Kasumi straightened, her professional stance never wavering despite the slight smile playing on her lips. "You've progressed from someone who could barely control his cursed energy to someone who can manipulate it well and attack with it. But you don't think you're the only one who's developed, do you?" She raised her hand, and Mai watched in awe as cursed energy gathered there, forming into a sharp, gleaming blade wrapped in swirling power—crackle, hum, ssssssshiiing. "I've improved my cursed energy control as well. Like a blade."
A blade made of cursed energy. She can do that now?
"I've enhanced my skills in this area too," Kasumi continued, her voice steady despite the earlier exertion. "Additionally, I no longer need to focus on defense. My goal is to end things with one strike. So show me what you've got."
End things with one strike. That's the confidence of someone who's truly improved. Mai felt a strange mixture of admiration and jealousy swirl in her chest. She's become so much stronger. And I'm still here, hiding behind walls, watching others fight.
Then Obito's eyes changed.
Red. Swirling. Patterns emerging like ink spreading through water—whirl, shift, focus—and Mai felt her breath catch in her throat. The Sharingan. That cursed technique of his that she'd only heard about, never seen activated. It transformed his face entirely, replacing the casual confidence with something ancient and predatory.
He's serious now. He was playing before. He was actually playing with a first-grade sorcerer.
Information flowed through Obito's eyes, flooding his brain with data that normal human vision could never capture. In an instant, he understood what Kasumi was doing: concentrating her cursed energy through binding vows, sacrificing defensive power to increase offensive speed, shaping the energy into blades around her hands to enhance her attacks. The level of training and mastery required was staggering. Even for Obito, it was impressive.
And now he can see it all. Every detail. Every subtle movement of her cursed energy. Every weakness in her stance.
The pause between them shattered.
Obito exploded forward, his fists becoming blurs—thumpthumpthumpthumpthump—each punch landing with ten times the speed he'd shown before. Kasumi's eyes widened, her body reacting on pure instinct as she dodged, blocked, weaved—swish, crack, thud—but the punches kept coming, faster and faster, each one carrying more power than the last.
What the hell is that insane power and control? Mai's thoughts raced as she watched the impossible scene unfold. His technique activated and suddenly he's ten times stronger? Not just speed—control, movement, ability—all his weaknesses vanished like they never existed. The person she's fighting now is completely different from the person she started fighting.
Every opening Mai had noticed in Obito's earlier fighting style had disappeared. Every predictive weakness, every exploitable movement pattern—gone. Erased. Replaced by perfect, flowing motion that left no gaps, no opportunities, no hope.
Within minutes, Kasumi had taken multiple hits—thump, BOOM, crack—each one more devastating than the last. Her enhanced cursed energy techniques, her improved close-combat skills, her "end it with one strike" philosophy—none of it mattered. Obito's Sharingan saw everything, predicted everything, countered everything.
THUD.
Kasumi lay on her back, staring up at the sun with wide, disbelieving eyes. Dust settled around her like a burial shroud—drift, settle, still—as Obito deactivated his Sharingan and looked down at her with that stupid half-smile.
"So," he said, his voice carrying a teasing edge, "what do you think of my development?"
Did he really just say that? To a senpai he just defeated? Mai's jaw dropped. That's not just arrogant. That's stupidly arrogant. That's asking for—
Kasumi laughed.
Mai blinked.
Kasumi sat up slowly, brushing dust from her uniform with deliberate movements—brush, brush, pat—before rising to her feet and meeting Obito's eyes with a genuine smile.
"Yes," Kasumi said, her voice carrying none of the bitterness Mai would have expected. "You've developed tremendously. You've become significantly stronger. Even after I reached first grade, I can't defeat you. You're definitely special grade with your cursed technique. I'm sure it would be very difficult for you to lose. I need to put in much more effort to reach this level."
She's... not upset? She lost and she's smiling? Mai felt her worldview shift slightly. She actually has sportsmanship? She's genuinely happy he's stronger?
Kasumi extended her hand, and Obito took it—slap, squeeze, shake—the two of them exchanging a firm handshake that seemed to seal something between them. Then Kasumi started asking questions: what he'd done in Tokyo, what techniques he'd learned, how he'd trained. Obito answered with casual honesty—intensive training, mastering various techniques like the new shadow style, simple domain, cursed speed enhancement, boxing methods, some swordsmanship—while carefully omitting certain details.
He's hiding something. Black flash. Reverse cursed technique. He didn't mention those at all. Mai's eyes narrowed. Smart. Keep some cards hidden. Even from someone you just shook hands with.
The conversation continued, but Mai had stopped listening. Her mind was spinning, processing what she'd just witnessed.
What did I just see? Behind the tree, her fingers dug into the bark—crunch, splinter—as she replayed the fight in her head. Kasumi-senpai, who reached first grade, against Obito, who six months ago could barely control his cursed energy and could barely control his technique. And now he defeated her in ten minutes.
To Mai Zenin, it was completely supernatural. Like watching something impossible.
How did he manage to do that there? There must be a mistake.
She tried to rationalize it, to find logical explanations, but her brain kept returning to the same conclusion: there was nothing logical about what she'd just seen. The speed between them had been astonishing. The gap had been clear at the beginning—Kasumi definitely had the upper hand—but the moment that scumbag activated his cursed technique, everything changed.
What the hell is that technique? I saw him interact with Kasumi's cutting attacks so easily. Even I can barely handle those cutting movements from her fingers, but he grabbed her hand and threw her to the ground like she was nothing.
Could his technique really be that powerful? She pushed the thought away. If it was that powerful, why hadn't it existed from the beginning? Why did he need sixteen years to awaken it? Was that some kind of punishment for this scumbag?
Damn him. Damn his technique. I don't care anymore. I'm leaving.
She turned to go, her feet carrying her away from the conversation she no longer wanted to hear. She didn't care about watching them anymore. She wanted to return to training. Wanted to become stronger.
Because of him. Because of that disgusting bastard.
He's given me a stronger motivation to become stronger.
The thought should have bothered her—being motivated by someone she hated—but right now, all that mattered was the burning need to improve, to close the gap, to prove that she wasn't just some observer hiding behind trees while others grew powerful.
---
The conversation between Obito and Kasumi eventually ended. Kasumi departed with a wave and a promise to train harder. Obito headed toward his room, his footsteps echoing through the empty corridors—thud, echo, thud, echo—as he carried his belongings to the small space that would be his home for however long he stayed.
He placed his things in the storage box—clunk, slide, thump—and collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. The familiar ceiling. The familiar room. Everything looked the same, smelled the same, felt the same. But he wasn't the same. Not anymore.
Honestly, I could have beaten her without using the Sharingan. It would have taken time—her cursed energy control is really good—but I was confident I could win. I used the Sharingan to copy that manipulation technique. That was the only reason.
Manipulative. Yes. That was true. But honestly? He didn't care anymore. He wanted to learn anything that would make him stronger. Even if it was just a simple cursed energy control technique, it would be a good addition to the techniques he would use in the future.
His eyes drifted closed—
BRRRRING.
The phone vibrated against the wooden nightstand—buzz, rattle, buzz—its insistent noise shattering the peaceful silence. Obito grabbed it, glancing at the caller ID. Director Yoshinobu.
He answered immediately. "Hello, sir. I've arrived at the academy."
Silence on the other end. Long, stretched, uncomfortable silence. Obito waited, his breathing steady, his mind already calculating what this call might mean. Finally, a sigh—whoooosh—crackled through the speaker.
"Good," Yoshinobu's voice came through, tired and measured. "You need to be prepared. You'll be sent on a mission soon."
No problem. Missions are fine.
Their conversation ended quickly, businesslike and efficient. Just as Yoshinobu was about to hang up, he added one more thing: "You'll be leaving tomorrow."
Obito agreed and ended the call, his mind already shifting to training. Tomorrow meant limited time. He needed to practice those new techniques, strengthen his curses, prepare for whatever waited.
---
In the director's office of Kyoto Jujutsu High, Yoshinobu set down the phone and stared at the file on his desk. His fingers traced the edges—shhhhhk, shhhhhk—before opening it to reveal its contents.
Photographs. Documents. Information.
A picture of Obito Zenin stared back at him, the black-and-white image capturing that same half-smile, those same dark eyes. Below the photo, written in crisp, official script:
TARGET: OBITO ZENIN
ORDERED BY: THE JUJUTSU COUNCIL
REASON: [CLASSIFIED]
Yoshinobu's eyes narrowed, his thumb pressing against the edge of the paper—press, crease, hold—as he read the words again.
"It seems the council has become interested in this student," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do they want to kill him? Or is there some other problem?"
The file didn't say. The classified stamp covered whatever reason existed behind this sudden attention. But Yoshinobu had been in this world long enough to know that when the council took interest in someone, it rarely ended well.
Target. Not subject. Not person of interest. Target.
His eyes drifted to the window, where the last light of day was fading into purple twilight. Somewhere out there, that boy was training, preparing for tomorrow's mission, completely unaware that forces beyond his imagination were already moving against him.
What have you gotten yourself into, Obito Zenin?
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END OF CHAPTER
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