A few hours before — Tokyo
Zoro
"Oi Zoro, do you feel comfortable?" Toji asked from alongside on the road.
"No. Deal with it."
Five hours to reach Tokyo. Neither of us was happy about it.
The discomfort had arrived the moment Osaka's outskirts fell behind — that familiar, unpleasant weight that settled in whenever the two of us moved too far from the city. Over the years and the dozens of missions that had taken us out weekly, it had become something to push past rather than acknowledge. Background noise.
This time was different. The weight was heavier than anything experienced before.
Part of it was distance — we'd never traveled this far from Osaka before. But the bigger part was the destination itself. A city that had given nothing but suffering. Ten years since the escape, and the streets had changed in visible ways — new buildings, different faces — but the spirit underneath hadn't moved.
If anything, it felt worse.
The Observation Haki was picking up things now that it hadn't been sensitive enough to catch before. The negative emotions leaking off people in the street. The cursed energy compressed into every corner.
A few years back, there had been a quiet assumption that Tokyo and Osaka weren't fundamentally different in terms of cursed spirit density — that stronger ones might appear here, but not dramatically more of them overall.
That assumption had been wrong.
What registered just from riding through the outer streets made Osaka feel like a quiet coastal town. By the time downtown came into view, at least five cursed spirits had already been detected in passive range. All weak — a burst of Conqueror's Haki would clear them without effort — but the presence was undeniable, and dense.
'What else did I get wrong about this city?'
The thought lingered. Then a sharper one followed.
'Doesn't matter. We're here. If things go bad, there's enough to buy Toji time to clear out.'
"Is this the place?" Toji said, pointing at a house ahead.
"Huh? Ah — yeah. That's it."
The thinking had taken longer than it felt. They were already there.
A man in a suit stood near a parked car in front of the property, waiting. The motorcycles were parked further down and they walked back.
"Hello — Mr. Tanaka, the real estate agent?"
The man turned, recognition clicking into place on his face.
"Ah! Yes, that's me. And you must be Inagaki Ryuma and Inagaki Riichiro."
"That's right."
He moved quickly — clearly in a rush — and produced something from his jacket pocket, extending it over.
"I apologize for not being able to show you the property myself, but I have an important meeting I can't miss. Here are the keys."
Keys taken without complaint.
"No problem at all. Thank you — have a good day."
A hand extended. He shook it, got in the car, and was gone.
"Toji, get the luggage."
He turned with the expression of someone who had an objection prepared.
"Tch. Why don't you do it yourself?"
No eye contact made.
"Go. Unless you'd prefer I triple your training load."
The color left his face.
"Okay, okay — I was joking. That's all."
"Good."
Once he was moving, attention returned to the house.
Large by Tokyo standards. Nothing approaching the Inagaki residence, obviously. But for a different and more important reason, it was the first place that qualified as a real home.
Because it was paid for with earned money.
Legally Kentaro had handled the paperwork, and the purchase technically traced back to clan resources — but the property sat under both names, and the funds behind it came from the work. From the missions. From three years of putting everything into contracts that paid.
In practice, either of them could have covered the price alone without it registering as a significant expense. The investment portfolios had been running for years — started on Inagaki clan money, then supplemented by personal earnings once those came in. Apple, Amazon, and several others that had required patience but were already producing returns.
Not the wealthiest people in the country right now. But that wouldn't hold.
'Another five to ten years and everything shifts permanently into our hands.'
The whole thing cost nothing, in effect. Toji had pushed to cover half regardless, which had been allowed.
Drifting off? Probably.
"Toji — get everything inside. We have people to visit."
Impatience wasn't usually a problem. Today it was.
---
Night
"This place disgusts me," said while standing in front of the Zen'in estate.
"Reeks of despair and broken dreams," Toji agreed.
Ten years. Nothing had changed.
There's a saying — a thousand years can change a great deal, except the mentality of idiots.
Fitting for the Zen'in, wouldn't you say?
What — that saying doesn't exist? Made it up?
Still true.
"Alright. Let's go in."
Mission outfits on, moving through the outer perimeter. Most of the compound was dark. The majority of the clan was asleep.
The infiltration required almost no effort.
"Hey — Zoro…" Toji whispered, falling in step close. "Don't they have security? Cameras, alarms?"
"Don't worry about it. Their worldview doesn't include the concept of a threat that doesn't carry cursed energy. Everything they built to protect this place was built against sorcerers. Nothing else registers to them."
"Right… one more question — probably should've asked earlier — where are we going exactly?"
"Just follow. And actually — do you remember the faces of the Akasha members? The ones who had you?"
A head shake.
"Not really."
"Not a problem. We'll kill all of them."
A beat, then a thought arrived that sharpened into a grin. A particular kind of grin.
"Actually — better idea. You brought enough anesthetic?"
A hesitant nod.
"Yeah… why?"
"You'll see."
---
"I have to say. You are genuinely diabolical."
"What are you talking about? I'm an angel."
"An angel who drugs people and rips out their tendons."
"To be accurate — you handled everything. The anesthesia and the operation. If tearing connective tissue out with bare hands can be called an operation."
The first phase of the revenge had been clean, simple, and effective in a way that satisfied something deep.
Toji's storage cursed spirit — summoned from the stomach — had been carrying the anesthetic. Every Akasha member, asleep in their rooms, had received a full dose. Then Toji had gone to work: the tendons in both hands and both feet, removed not by cutting but by tearing. The distinction mattered.
Cutting left tissue that reverse cursed technique could reconnect. Tearing didn't.
Simple. Fast. Effective.
"I'll keep saying it. Diabolical. Whatever the Zen'in are going to do to them when they find out must be genuinely dark."
"That's the point. We don't need to inflict anything ourselves. The clan handles that part for us."
Toji's face had been tight throughout. Now it had settled into something calm and open.
"Anyway… it felt good," he said.
"Good how — relief good, or Hannibal Lecter good?" Suspicious tone, deliberate.
The calm broke into irritation immediately.
"Do you seriously think I'm turning into a psychopath?"
"Hard to know. People have developed worse habits over less."
A long sigh. Then the calm returned.
"I feel like I can finally move on. After everything. I don't think I've ever felt this much peace."
The smile that arrived was a real one. Not the teasing kind, not the feral kind used before a fight. Something genuine.
"Good…"
Fist extended. He bumped it without hesitation.
"…but hold onto some of it. Two people still left. The revenge isn't finished."
Leaning in close, a few words said quietly near his ear.
His eyes widened. A different kind of smile appeared — one that matched the original intention exactly.
Stepping back. Both sets of eyes meeting briefly.
A silent agreement. Both nodded. Both turned in separate directions.
"See you there. Later."
---
Back to the present
"As you can see — we're back home."
Naobito's face tightened almost imperceptibly before going neutral again.
A performance. The Haki read him clearly — the nerves were real.
"It's been a while, kid. How've you been?"
Crossing the room and sitting opposite him, posture completely relaxed.
"Good. Popular, wealthy, respected. Could say life's worked out — and I'm only fifteen. Same applies to Toji."
A laugh came out of him. Convincing, almost.
He was better at this than expected.
"Glad to hear it. Speaking of — where is Toji?"
"Sent him on an errand."
"Ah."
Silence settled in between them.
Uncomfortable silence, for Naobito. Not remotely uncomfortable for the person sitting across from him.
Standing up, brushing off the pants.
"I should head out — this was just a visit. One thing before I go: we owe you a debt. You didn't do much for us after a certain point, but the early part of our lives had your involvement in it. That counts for something."
He reached for a beer can and pulled the tab.
"Is that right?" Calm delivery.
The interest in his eyes was obvious regardless.
"If that's the case, there is a favor I'd like to ask."
'Expected.'
"The Gojo clan has a newborn, and what I'd like—"
Cut off immediately.
The tone shifted. The casual register dropped out of it entirely, replaced by something colder and entirely professional.
"Stop there. The debt is already settled. The favor has already been granted."
Shock moved through Naobito's expression before he could fully contain it.
"What — what do you mean?"
"Not every clan member died today. That's the favor. Next time, there won't be one."
Tchik!
Gone — Soru — before he could form a response.
The Haki still reached back far enough to read him from the distance. The surprise was still there — but it had shifted away from the words.
Easy enough to picture what was running through his head.
'That speed… he's faster than me.'