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With a measured motion, he slipped a hand into his worn coat and drew out a small black wooden box, aged by the years. Uraume took it carefully, studying the strange engravings etched across its lid. She opened it, and her eyes widened slightly at what it contained: three shriveled, curled fingers that seemed to overflow with dark, malevolent energy.
A sly, almost predatory smile spread across Uraume's lips. But just as she was about to speak further, Kenjaku took the box back, tucking it neatly into the lining of his coat.
"In addition to these precious fingers, we're here for another, far more important reason," he declared with sudden seriousness.
Intrigued, Uraume fixed her gaze on him, her eyes lingering on the hidden spot where the box now rested. "What kind of reason? What could possibly be more important than my master's reincarnation project?"
Kenjaku straightened slightly, a satisfied glint in his eyes. "A remarkable young sorcerer. His name is Geto Suguru. I've been observing him. His power, his command of curses… He'll make an ideal vessel."
Uraume's face remained neutral. "A new host. I see."
Kenjaku leaned back slightly. He glanced at the movie playing on the screen, though his true focus was entirely on the words he was about to speak.
"Uraume, you see, this endeavor concerns you as much as me. Supporting this path means hastening our victory, paving the way for what we both desire." His dragging tone took on a nearly instructive quality. "Every piece of the puzzle must be placed with precision."
Uraume sighed, folding her arms in weary indifference. "Charming, but your grand speech does nothing for me, Kenjaku. If it's so important, why are we lingering here? Why not act immediately?"
The old man tapped a finger against his temple as if deep in thought, a theatrical gesture that only heightened her annoyance.
"Ah, my dear, that's where you're mistaken. Patience is an essential virtue in our craft. To recklessly assault such an individual would be an insult to his worth. Geto Suguru is no ordinary prey. If he were, I wouldn't even be here wasting my time."
Uraume raised an eyebrow, though her expression remained detached. "You really consider him that special?"
"More than special. Exceptional." Kenjaku's voice grew heavy with palpable gravity, a sharp contrast to his usual mocking tone. "This man possesses a rare power. In this era, only the famed Gojo Satoru surpasses him. But even that shouldn't make you doubt his value."
Uraume's frown deepened. "So what you're saying is, we've waited all this time just to watch him? Just to confirm he's worth what you claim?"
Kenjaku nodded calmly. "Exactly. And from what I've seen, I have no doubt. This isn't about charging in blindly—it's about ensuring he belongs to us, body and soul."
The icy mist around Uraume thinned, though a trace of irritation lingered in her voice. "Your mind games don't amuse me."
Kenjaku smiled again. "Soon, you'll understand too."
Uraume muttered under her breath, "I'll believe it when I see it… From what you're describing, he doesn't sound like an easy target. You're sure you can claim him?"
Kenjaku shrugged with disarming calm. "Oh, I never said it would be easy. But why dirty my hands when others can do it for me?"
That answer lit a dark gleam in Uraume's eyes. She nodded slowly, an almost complicit smile tugging at her lips. "As always, you prefer pulling strings from the shadows, Kenjaku. Very well. Show me how you plan to orchestrate your grand scheme."
Kenjaku turned away, his gleaming eyes fixed once more on the screen before him. "Patience, Uraume. All in due time."
A silence settled, then Kenjaku broke it with a question tossed out almost at random: "Uraume, seriously… don't you have a strange feeling right now?"
Seated in her chair, Uraume shot him a sharp look, eyebrow arched. Her voice was cutting but not hostile: "That would depend on you explaining what you mean."
Kenjaku gave a faint smile.
"Come now, Uraume. You know. The curses. They're swarming. Don't you notice it?"
She crossed her arms and gave a faint, irritated snort.
"Curses are everywhere, as usual. Nothing new. No need to play the prophet."
Kenjaku chuckled softly, a deep sound that echoed faintly through the old theater.
"That's only because you insist on comparing everything to the golden age. That time… you miss it so much, don't you? But you need to stop living in the past."
Uraume, slightly stung, locked her gaze onto his.
"I'm merely stating the truth. What we're experiencing now is nothing. Back then, it was so much more intense. Now it's almost… dull."
Kenjaku shook his head, his smile stretching wider.
"You say that, but you don't see what I see. Curses don't proliferate like this for no reason. There's always a cause. Always a balance to be kept."
A brief silence followed before Uraume finally sighed.
"Fine. And in your view, what's this so-called reason?"
Kenjaku seemed to hesitate—or rather, savor the moment before answering. His hands intertwined, and his gaze darkened slightly.
"It's happened before, Uraume. Not often, but the last time was decades ago… when Satoru Gojo was born."
She didn't move, but her eyes narrowed slightly. She stayed silent for a moment before replying.
"You mean we're dealing with someone like him again?"