JJK: Chapter 62

Title: Naoya Zen'in

°°°

With Gojo Satoru off to visit Yuta Okkotsu abroad, Shin Shuichi had taken on a few minor assignments. Under Gojo’s “hands-on teaching” style—better described as a convenient excuse for slacking off—Shin had also mastered the art of delegation disguised as training.

The simpler tasks were handed off to Megumi and the others. With the first-years each possessing remarkable talents, ordinary missions posed little challenge for them, leaving Shin free to enjoy some downtime.

But his reprieve couldn’t last forever. As the only Special Grade Jujutsu Sorcerer still in Japan, it wasn’t long before a more pressing mission arrived at his doorstep.

---

"No mission details? Just a vague objective to handle targets ranging from Grade 1 to Special Grade?"

Shin smiled at the representative from the Headquarters. It was a smile that might ordinarily melt hearts, but now, it only served to make the young woman before him visibly nervous.

"Ms. Terui Mizuori, you’re with Headquarters, aren’t you? That group of old fools who’ve let curses eat away at their brains thought this was an appropriate way to assign missions?"

The warmth vanished from Shin’s face, replaced by an icy intensity. His gaze carried an unspoken weight as he continued, "No specific information, or perhaps an unwillingness to disclose it, and instead of issuing the mission officially, you come to me privately. Yet, you're clearly one of their people. So, Ms. Terui, care to explain your intentions?"

Mizuori struggled to maintain her composure, her smile strained, and her posture rigid. Jujutsu sorcerers were terrifying in general, but the one before her was a cut above the rest. She couldn’t afford to let his appearance deceive her.

"Please, calm yourself. Someone will explain the situation to you shortly."

After taking a deep breath, she pulled a bulky cellphone from her bag. The device looked like an antique in this day and age, piquing Shin’s curiosity. He watched as she dialed a number, and soon, the call was answered.

"My lord," Mizuori greeted respectfully, before moving the phone closer to Shin.

Leaning back in his chair, Shin began tapping the armrest with a finger, his expression amused but silent. The atmosphere quickly became awkward, the tension thickening until sweat began to bead on Mizuori’s forehead.

Finally, a low, aged voice came through the phone. "Shin Shuichi. I am with Headquarters and the one dispatching this mission."

"I was wondering how long you’d stay silent," Shin mocked. "What’s the matter? Afraid to reveal your name?"

The voice remained unperturbed. After a brief pause, it continued, "My name is Suzuki Keiji. As for this mission, the lack of details is intentional. We require absolute secrecy. Regarding its difficulty, rest assured it’s within your capabilities. We’ve all seen your accomplishments."

Shin leaned forward, picking up the phone. His tone turned frosty as he replied, "Suzuki, huh? I assume you’re one of those higher-ups at Headquarters. Tell me, has your brain rotted away, or do you truly believe I’m your lapdog to command at will? After nearly getting my juniors killed with a booby-trapped mission, you want to try your tricks on me now? Is that why you can’t face me directly?"

Suzuki’s voice remained as calm as ever, like an emotionless machine. After a pause, he replied, "If you’d prefer, I can meet with you in person. As for the mission reward—Mizuori, give him the item."

Mizuori retrieved a paper document from her bag and handed it to Shin. He took it, his casual demeanor shifting as he read. His expression turned serious, his playful attitude vanishing entirely.

---

"This information... Why? You’re exposing intelligence like this?"

Suzuki’s voice on the phone remained steady. "You’ll understand once you’re on-site. The reward for this mission is the item described in the document. With your abilities, I doubt it’s of much concern to you."

Shin fell silent. It wasn’t the reward that mattered—it was the intelligence revealed by the document. The fact that Headquarters possessed such technology, and were choosing to share it with him, was alarming.

He didn’t believe for a second that they were sharing it because he was the only one capable of completing the mission. Shin was clearly aligned with Gojo Satoru’s faction, and the higher-ups opposing Gojo rarely acted without ulterior motives.

Could it be that this information was already expendable to them?

"Fine. I’ll take the mission. Where’s the location?"

---

The answer: Hokkaido, Ōmachi Village.

Once a small fishing village by the sea, Ōmachi now stood abandoned. The few villagers who remained had disappeared, leaving the place eerily empty. In their stead, squads of men and women in black suits guarded every route in and out, sealing off the area completely.

At the Road’s Entrance

A group of individuals stood under a large tree near the road leading into the village. Unlike the black-suited personnel guarding the perimeter, these figures were split distinctly into two factions.

On one side, a blond man with a faint smile gazed out at the waves crashing against the shore. Beside him stood a towering, muscular man with long, needle-like hair cascading down his back, resembling a rugged warrior from ancient tales. The third member was more refined in appearance, his sharp features complemented by a neatly tied topknot.

Facing them stood two others who exuded an air of traditional nobility. Dressed in formal kimonos rarely seen in daily life, they wore familiar, formulaic smiles on their faces.

“Naoya Zen’in,” spoke one of the kimono-clad men, Kamō Noritoshi, as he turned his attention back to the blond man. “Gojo Satoru’s disciple is about to arrive. They say his technique surpasses the limits of speed. What were the elders thinking? Why bring someone tied to Gojo’s faction here? This rogue may be troublesome, but they wouldn’t have called us if he couldn’t be dealt with, right?”

Naoya Zen’in, the leader of the Zen’in Clan’s elite jujutsu sorcerer team “Hei,” chuckled, a strange glint in his eye as he replied. “Because they can’t hide it anymore. That artifact has been stolen, and the old geezers don’t dare wait until everything spirals out of control. If they did, Gojo Satoru might really slaughter them all. This way, they can use his disciple to pass the message along, divert some attention, and maybe even try to win over that Special Grade sorcerer.”

“You think someone like him can be easily won over?” Kamō asked with a hint of amusement.

Naoya smirked. “Just the delusions of a bunch of senile old fools—or maybe it’s a gambit. Someone always gets greedy and tries to taste everything. But I must admit, I’m rather curious about him.”

---

Their conversation was interrupted as a car pulled up and stopped at the roadside. Two individuals stepped out. One was a representative sent by Headquarters, while the other was a tall, slender man with slightly long hair tied at the back. A black magatama dangled from his ear, and his sharp features and imposing presence gave him the air of a celebrity on a seaside photo shoot.

Yet to Naoya Zen’in, all of that was irrelevant. The moment the man stepped out, an invisible pressure dominated the air, commanding attention. His cursed energy was so carefully restrained that it revealed nothing about his strength, but the primal, predator-like fear it instilled was unmistakable.

This was Shin Shuichi, the Special Grade sorcerer known for single-handedly exorcising multiple Special Grade curses and mastering a time-manipulation technique.

Naoya’s gaze locked onto Shin, his expression a mix of fascination and wariness. Shin, however, simply glanced at the blond man with a puzzled look. What’s with this guy? Staring at me like that just because I’m better-looking?

The Headquarters representative, Mizuori Terui, quickly walked over and began introducing the people present. Only then did Shin shift his attention to the two groups before him.

“The Zen’in Clan and the Kamō Clan?” Shin said with mild interest. “How amusing. So this ‘artificial sorcerer’ business involves you two as well?”

Kamō Noritoshi gave a humble smile. “Not at all. We’ve merely contributed some insignificant assistance. Most of the work comes from Headquarters.”

Naoya stepped forward, blocking Shin’s path, his smile tinged with complex emotions. “Shin Shuichi, I’ve heard you’re the fastest sorcerer alive.”

“Don’t block the way. Use those eyes of yours for something useful, would you? Trash.”

Before Naoya could respond, a tremendous force struck his shoulder, forcing him to stagger back a couple of steps. His expression twisted into one of fury, humiliation, and murderous intent.

Vanishing from sight in an instant, Naoya reappeared in Shin’s blind spot, his hand forming a blade as he aimed for Shin’s back. But just as the strike was about to land, the target before him disappeared.

“When did he move?”

Naoya was bewildered. His Projection Sorcery allowed him to divide a single second into 24 frames, pre-setting his movements within those frames. Once locked in, he would perfectly mimic the predetermined motions, provided they adhered to physical laws.

Deviation from these motions would result in a one-second freeze, and any enemy caught violating the predetermined trajectory would experience the same. Yet here he was, frozen, his opponent somehow bypassing the very rules of his technique.

“What the hell...?” Naoya muttered, his mind racing.

Shin Shuichi grasped Naoya Zen’in’s wrist, prepared to slam him into the ground with overwhelming force. But before he could execute the move, Naoya twisted his arm, reversing the grip, and activated an unknown technique.

For an instant, Shin felt his movements freeze, as if an invisible force had anchored him in place. Taking full advantage, Naoya blurred into motion, striking Shin’s abdomen with a flurry of blows, each landing within the fragment of a second.

Shin was sent flying backward, but as soon as the technique's effects wore off, he regained control mid-air. Landing steadily, he glanced down at the faint bootprints on his chest and stomach, which quickly faded. His mind processed the limited information he had on Naoya’s Projection Sorcery, a Zen’in Clan technique passed down from its 26th head, Naobito Zen’in.

“Ah, so that’s what this is—an evolution tied to modern visual media, especially 24-frame animation. Interesting, but ultimately...” Shin’s gaze sharpened, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “...still too weak.”

Naoya’s twisted grin deepened, his pride stung. “Weak? I’ll crush you this time.”

Shin stepped into Timeless Mode, his presence becoming a blur of inevitability. He walked calmly toward Naoya, closing the distance in a heartbeat. Without hesitation, he delivered a punch square to Naoya’s face, the force of which distorted the latter’s expression. What followed was an unrelenting barrage of strikes—each blow echoing vengeance for the earlier attack—culminating in a powerful kick that sent Naoya flying.

The Zen’in heir crashed to the ground, his technique forcibly dispelled. The words forming on his lips were swallowed by the blood that spurted from his nose and mouth. Pain overwhelmed him as fresh bruises bloomed across his body, leaving him sprawled in a crater of his own making.

Before Naoya could recover, Shin appeared beside him, grabbing his face with a vice-like grip. With a single, casual motion, he slammed Naoya into the ground, embedding him in yet another freshly made hole.

Naoya’s consciousness wavered, the crushing defeat painted across his face.

Two other Zen’in sorcerers, witnesses to the humiliation of their clan’s future head, sprang into action. They rushed Shin, their cursed energy roaring to life. But without so much as a gesture, both were suddenly sent flying in opposite directions, their bodies hitting the ground with bone-jarring force. For the moment, neither could move.

Shin tilted his head toward the Kamō Clan representatives, his tone polite but sharp. “Do you intend to interfere as well?”

Kamō Noritoshi’s forced smile faltered as he took a step back, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Of course not. Please, carry on. After all, it was Naoya who provoked you first—I can attest to that.”

Shin’s attention shifted back to Naoya, whose bruised and bloodied face was now pressed under Shin’s boot. Shin’s voice was calm, yet his words cut deep.

“Thanks to Maki and other reasons, I already don’t have a high opinion of the Zen’in Clan. And from the looks of it, you’re all just a bunch of rotting, useless garbage. Trash should stay in the pit where it belongs instead of crawling out to stink up the place.”

Naoya, his face a mix of purples, reds, and greens, couldn’t muster a single word. The sheer weight of Shin’s cursed energy and the threat of his foot ending it all left him paralyzed, rage and humiliation warring within him.

---

At that moment, a stern, middle-aged man approached, seemingly unfazed by the scene. He introduced himself with a calm demeanor. “Shin Shuichi, a pleasure to meet you. I am Suzuki Kazuya, here on behalf of my father to provide you with the mission’s details.”

Ignoring Naoya entirely, Suzuki began relaying his message as though nothing were amiss.

Before Suzuki could finish, the remaining Zen’in sorcerers, now recovered, launched another attack. One conjured a pair of spectral eyes above Shin, while the other charged him directly.

Shin’s gaze didn’t waver. “A technique to restrict movement? How laughable. Not even close to Inumaki's Cursed Speech.”

In an instant, the charging sorcerer lay on the ground, his eyes bleeding as one of them shut in agony. Nearby, the second sorcerer was pinned to the ground by a blade. Shin withdrew Onikiri, disdain written across his face.

“Weak. Annoying. And far too noisy.”

---

As Shin glanced back at Naoya, his expression shifted into one of contemptuous amusement. “That laughable ideology of yours—‘Non-Zen’in are not sorcerers. Non-sorcerers are not human.’ How utterly pathetic.”

Shin sheathed Onikiri, choosing to spare the battered Zen’in heir for now. After all, they were technically allies, and killing Naoya would be... inconvenient. Instead, Shin left him with a lesson that would linger longer than any physical wound.