Chapter Sixty : Grandfather Elias was furious and mentally disturbed.
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There was no use in crying—absolutely none whatsoever. Tears wouldn't fix anything, wouldn't change anything, wouldn't make this nightmare suddenly transform into a pleasant dream. But what else could he do besides hold this piece of paper and tear it into a million tiny pieces? What other options did a broken old man have in a situation like this?
Rip. Rip. Rip.
The paper protested weakly under his fingers.
There was no use anyway. This contract was made of cursed energy—the real binding was invisible, spiritual, etched into the very fabric of his soul. Even if he shredded it into confetti, it would simply return to its original state, reforming itself like some kind of magical origami that refused to stay destroyed. The contract would only disappear when one of the parties died—when either he or his granddaughter stopped breathing, stopped existing, stopped being.
Gulp.
He swallowed the scream that was building in his throat.
He swallowed the scream that was about to erupt from his soul and said, his voice cracked like old leather left too long in the sun, "What will you gain from this? Her technique isn't enough to do anything useful for you."
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The seconds stretched like taffy.
Even after Shoji Mori spoke these words out loud, trying to reason, trying to negotiate, trying to find some crack in this nightmare, he received nothing but a mocking sound from the blond-haired young man, who was actually yawning as if watching a scene from a boring play that had overstayed its welcome.
Yaaaawn...
The yawn was theatrical, exaggerated, insulting.
—That bastard—
Shoji wanted to get up. He wanted to punch this Zenin heir right in his smug, arrogant, perfectly sculpted face. He wanted to feel his fist connect with that sneering mouth and wipe the condescension off permanently. But he couldn't. His body was at its absolute limit, pushed far beyond what should have been possible. His technique was disabled thanks to the binding vow he had used in battle. There was no use in anything else.
...Nothing.
Not a single muscle would obey his rage.
In addition to that, the contract's final words were painfully clear in his memory, etched there like brands on cattle:
If the healed other party is requested to appear at any time and does not appear, the owner can terminate the contract, causing a backlash.
Shudder.
The implications made him tremble.
It was well known that if contracts were violated, the person who violated their vow would suffer consequences. These consequences could be small—a headache, a nosebleed, a moment of weakness. Or they could be huge—death, destruction, the complete unraveling of everything they had ever built. No one could predict exactly how much loss would come from breaking a vow.
Creeeeak.
His teeth ground together audibly.
And the stronger the vow, or the more focused it was toward a person's life, the greater the cost would be—exponentially so, like interest on a loan from the worst kind of loan shark imaginable. Shoji Mori gritted his teeth with intense anger, the kind of anger that comes from complete powerlessness.
Grind. Grind. Grind.
His molars protested the abuse.
But finally, he sighed with resignation, the sigh of a man who had run out of options, out of hope, out of time. If he didn't bring his granddaughter, that meant this bastard could cancel the vow, which meant she could suffer a negative reaction immediately from the contract being broken. This thought alone was terrifying enough to make him stop feeling the pain coming from his broken body and rethink everything through the lens of his granddaughter's welfare.
Whoooosh.
The breath left him like a deflated balloon.
So at this moment, he looked at the blond young man with eyes that had seen too much death and said, "Fine. I'll bring my granddaughter. But..."
Click.
He paused, his voice becoming sharper, harder.
"I want to meet the Zenin clan leader before that."
Silence.
The room went completely quiet.
This was the only thing he wanted at this moment. He just wanted to look at that heartless bastard who had no soul, who used a child like equipment, like a tool that could be discarded after use. That alone was enough to make Shoji's blood boil hotter than a volcano, hotter than magma, hotter than the fires of hell itself.
Fwoooosh.
His blood practically sizzled in his veins.
In the end, after that, he watched silently and wanted to know if the blond young man would agree to his request. But the surprise was that the young man looked at him with a look that made him freeze in place—literally freeze, like a deer in headlights, like a mouse seeing a cat for the first time.
...
Shoji stopped breathing.
Then the young man smiled a smile like a snake, the kind of smile that says it would be better to shut up right now, the kind of smile that promises pain if you continue this conversation.
Hissss.
The smile was almost audible.
The silence continued for two full minutes—an eternity in a hospital room with a broken old man and a psychotic heir—before Naoya Zenin spoke:
"Do you think, you old man, that I'm in the mood to play?"
Crack.
His neck made a sound as he tilted it.
Naoya wanted to ask this question sincerely: Does this bastard think I'm in a mood to play? That I'm in a good mood? That I don't want to kill that woman who prevented me from getting the advantage to become clan leader? Does he think I have time to waste with a senile, dirty old man and his pathetic granddaughter?
Fwoosh.
The killing intent leaked from his eyes.
I felt my desire to kill leaking from my eyes as I looked at that old man. I took two steps forward—thump, thump—and went to the left side of the bed. Then I said to him in a calm voice full of murderous intent, because honestly, I didn't control myself at that moment:
Step. Step.
The floor creaked under his weight.
All I wanted was to take revenge on that woman and torture her. Her white hair, her body, her soul—I would torture them all for what she did. Not for anyone else, but just for me, because she did something that should never, ever be done. Any woman who stands before Naoya Zenin and doesn't kneel and beg for life—for him, a woman who doesn't kneel immediately when he's present—that woman only needs to be tortured sufficiently.
Fwoooosh.
The aura spread between them.
This aura spread between the two, and it couldn't have been more obvious. Shoji felt like his age was decreasing—not in the good way, not like his technique, but in the "I'm about to die right now" way. He was certain that if he didn't answer appropriately, the young man before him would kill him cleanly.
Gulp.
His throat moved convulsively.
Not because he didn't care about finding his granddaughter—no, that was paramount—but also because he wanted to release his anger on something. Even if that something was Shoji himself. So Shoji fell silent for a moment before sighing.
Whoooosh.
The sigh carried the weight of decades.
He realized that if he died, something worse might happen to his granddaughter. There would be no one to protect her, no one to stand between her and these monsters. Death at this moment wasn't an option. So he chose to be honest and answer the young man's questions—not because he wanted to, but because he felt he would die immediately if he didn't.
Tick. Tock.
Naoya waited, impatient.
And that was only because he felt he would die if he didn't do it immediately. He didn't even notice that Naoya Zenin had frowned as if he didn't want that to happen—he had wanted the old man to resist, to give him an excuse, so he could enjoy killing him in his own way, slowly, methodically, artistically.
Tsk.
Naoya clicked his tongue internally.
But after seeing this submissive response, he couldn't help but feel even more provoked—there was no sport in killing someone who just accepted their fate. However, in the end, he sighed. He needed to find that woman, and this man's granddaughter's technique was the only reason he was tolerating these minutes spent without constantly searching for that white-haired bitch.
Step. Step. Step.
He walked back to his original position.
He stopped, moved away, and stood in his original place, waiting for the old man to speak his piece. At the same time, he was definitely watching the old man's body and his words carefully, because if he said any stupid words or made any further requests after this, Naoya would kill him without hesitation.
...
The promise of death hung in the air.
He wouldn't care. He would search for that granddaughter until he found her, and after finding her, he would kill her after using her technique. Because she wasn't anything but trash—she would be used before being thrown away. This was Naoya's way of thinking at this moment, which was definitely monstrous, definitely evil, definitely wrong.
But for him, others' lives were just a game he could play with and then throw away.
Heh.
He was certain there were plenty of other toys to use later.
Of course, a man with great experience like Shoji, who had lived a long time and seen many things, knew the feeling of death intimately. He knew the feeling of conspiracy, of traps, of moments where one wrong word meant the end. So he spoke honestly, his voice flat and resigned:
Click.
His mouth opened.
"I will bring my granddaughter myself to ensure her safety."
Step.
The Zenin heir moved.
The Zenin heir noticed this and took several steps forward, looking ready to kill—his body tense, his cursed energy flaring, his eyes promising violence. But he stopped. And then, as if he thought of something, he said:
"Come here, Obito."
Squeak.
The door opened behind them.
Naoya stopped calling Obito a dog—not because he had seen his power, oh no, that would be giving him too much credit. But because he wanted to control Obito completely and manipulate him well, like a puppeteer with a new marionette. So he improved his way of speaking to acknowledge the power Obito had shown, to stroke his ego, to make him more pliable.
Step. Step. Step.
Obito's footsteps were measured and calm.
At the same time, Obito, who had been behind the door waiting for orders, opened it quietly and entered the room. He looked at the atmosphere—thick with tension, heavy with unspoken violence—and at the old man, then at Naoya. He fell silent and didn't say anything, standing quietly, waiting for what Naoya would say next.
...
The silence was comfortable for him.
In the end, Obito didn't know what kind of technique this man's granddaughter used. He had eavesdropped on everything and heard every word that was said clearly, processing each sentence, each implication, each hidden meaning. He reached a conclusion: the Zenin clan needed this man's granddaughter's ability, which seemed to be a cursed technique that allowed searching for someone in some way.
Click.
The pieces clicked together in his mind.
That's why they wanted the old man—to find this granddaughter, whom the old man seemed to have realized the Zenin clan was searching for, so he hid her. But he couldn't hide himself at the right time, so they found his location, and Naoya and Obito were sent to find him. And in the end, they caught him.
Sigh.
Obito felt bitterness inside.
Obito felt bitterness for participating in such unethical work. But he couldn't do anything except lock these thoughts deep inside, bury them where they couldn't affect his decisions. In the end, he also needed to find Geto and Kenjaku's location, and use the Zenin clan to eliminate these dangerous people in the future in a way that didn't make it seem like he knew the future.
Tick. Tock.
Time pressed forward mercilessly.
In the end, he couldn't justify knowing people he had never met—how could he explain foreknowledge without sounding insane or suspicious? In his current situation, sure, he was first-grade, but the enemies coming weren't weak by any means. They would be the most dangerous of the dangerous.
Fwoosh.
He pushed the feelings down.
So he stopped these feelings that could stop him and pretended to be cold while entering and waiting for orders. He didn't need to wait long, because Naoya pointed at the old man and said:
"I want you to take this old man to the place he wants. Bring his granddaughter with you. And if this old man lies to you..."
Swish.
Naoya didn't finish his words.
Naoya didn't finish his sentence, but he gestured with his hand to the old man's neck, then to his head, and then to himself. The meaning was clear without words: if the old man wasn't telling the truth, you can bring his head to me. Words without needing to be spoken—the universal language of violence.
Nod.
Obito understood perfectly.
Obito understood the meaning and nodded slightly to indicate he understood. Then he looked at the old man and said:
"Are you ready to go out, old man?"
Creak.
The old man shifted on the bed.
He noticed the old man's physical condition—his body was very weak, much older now after his technique stopped. And finally, he seemed heavily injured. Even though Obito had deliberately not hit him with a dangerous punch, the effect of his special technique seemed to have a very strong reverse effect, like a rubber band snapping back.
Sigh.
Obito sighed internally for the old man.
Obito had told him not to use the technique, but the old man refused and tried to fight. At first, Obito didn't understand why the old man seemed so desperate in that fight, even willing to sacrifice his life, even smiling like a madman enjoying the prospect of death. He thought the man was just crazy, trying to use his life for the pleasure of fighting.
...
But now he understood.
But it turned out he was just an old man scared for his granddaughter, willing to sacrifice himself and bury the location where she was hidden. But at the same time, Obito didn't understand what reason forced the old man now—who had been ready to sacrifice himself in his fighting style—to change and be ready to reveal his granddaughter's location.
Click.
He thought about it.
But after thinking, he remembered a few words the old man had said and reached some understanding, especially after noticing there was a paper next to the old man's bed that hadn't been there before. Since he was the one who had put the old man in this place, he remembered that clearly.
Rustle.
The paper was still there.
And after thinking about it carefully, he concluded it was a contract—one of the contracts used between shamans, placed between two parties. If one party violated the contract, they could suffer a backlash reaction. He thought that either the old man had made the contract, or his granddaughter had made this contract. It wasn't clear what the exact terms of this contract were.
...
But it didn't matter.
But when Obito thought about it, he decided it would be better not to have too much interest in this matter. He didn't want attachment, or change, or anything else. He wanted information and had to get it whatever the price. If not for his future only—which was the most important thing—then everything about this matter was also connected to the future of this world.
Tick. Tock.
The clock of fate kept ticking.
This world would go to hell because of his actions, especially after Getto Saguru survived in the end in this timeline. Which meant Obito had made this world's future more unstable than it already was—a fact that made him angrier than ever, a burning frustration that gnawed at his insides constantly.
Whoooosh.
He took a deep breath.
So in the end, he took a deep breath and looked at the old man lying on the bed, and there was no emotion on his face. His expression was blank, empty, the face of someone who had learned to lock everything away. Even so, in the end, he could only apologize in a voice inside his heart and say:
—I'm sorry. But I can't sympathize with you right now. I don't have the strength that allows me to sympathize with anyone in this current situation—
...
The apology went unheard.
Shoji didn't just look at Naoya. After the red-eyed owner who had defeated him so easily entered, he looked at the young man who had entered with a cold face. After receiving instructions, the young man turned his head toward him as if he was thinking about something. That thinking in the young man's head wasn't clear to Shoji, but in the end, he saw several things and could only shake his head in silence.
Sigh.
The old man understood.
It was clear the young man was apologizing in some way—his hand was trembling slightly, barely noticeable, and his eyes said several things. He had experience. Unlike Naoya, for whom the Zenin heir's emotions and weaknesses meant nothing, who didn't pay attention and didn't care about any kind of emotion that could come from weaker people.
...
But Shoji noticed.
While people with life experience like Shoji were able to notice slight changes in other people's faces—not just for fighting, but for understanding emotions, for reading the truth beneath the mask.
—This stupid kid seems affected, but from his movement cues, he never wants to help—
Click.
The realization settled in his mind.
Shoji understood this matter and didn't have anger in his heart toward the young man, because he was like a tool, a weapon, a means to an end. He was angry at the Zenin clan itself and all the people in it. So the young man at this moment, even if he was from the Zenin clan, would receive the same anger from him—but at the same time, he wasn't the ultimate cause, the root problem. So there was no need to explode in his face at this moment.
Step.
The old man moved slightly.
"No need. I can move."
Fwoosh.
Naoya's glare was hot on his skin.
He could feel the sharp looks coming from the Zenin heir, which were telling him to go quickly and bring his granddaughter. He wanted to rest, to waste time—not to protect himself, he was ready to die to protect his granddaughter—but he realized that if he didn't move soon, he might die because of the blond-haired young man's impatience.
Grunt.
He tried to get up but couldn't.
He tried to get up, but he couldn't. His body was too weak, too broken, too exhausted. But before that could become a problem, the black-haired young man rushed forward—swish—and stood beside him at the edge of the bed. He grabbed his body and lifted him.
Careful.
Not roughly, but precisely.
He didn't lift him directly, but made him stand up straight in a way that didn't make his body hurt during movement. This method required precise control of body movement and knowledge of pain points. But from his experience, Shoji predicted that the black-haired young man had good experience with bodies and good reading of his opponents.
...
He knew exactly where it hurt.
He had predicted the places Shoji would feel pain and therefore didn't press them deliberately, using a gentler method to help him stand. Shoji wanted to say something, wanted to thank him, wanted to curse him, wanted to do so many things.
But in the end, he was just angry.
Step. Step. Step.
They began walking.
He was now leading them to his granddaughter—the thing he hated most in this world. But he couldn't not do it, because she might die if he didn't take them to her. He was in a state of conflict, torn between love and duty, between protection and survival.
But in the end, he accepted his fate.
...
If he had to do something, he would do it until the end.
He would stay with his granddaughter, and he would protect her even if it cost him his life. And if he died, he would die with his granddaughter beside him. Whatever enemy stood before them, he would fight until death for his granddaughter.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His heart beat with renewed determination.
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End of Chapter.
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