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Kenjaku slowly shook his head.
"Watch, yes. But hope? No. This isn't about waiting passively. It's about strategy. We'll observe, gather information, and when the time comes, we'll act. But only if necessary."
"Cut the empty words, Kenjaku. If you already have a plan, share it. If not, you're just wasting my time."
Kenjaku let out a lighter laugh this time, his amusement almost mocking. But unlike what Uraume might have expected, he didn't flare up. He answered calmly, his tone deliberately measured: "Ah, Uraume… always so eager to rush things." He tilted his head slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But tell me, in your opinion, what would be the best response to the rise of this new force? If it really does pose a threat to us… why not rely on one of our greatest resources?"
Uraume's eyes narrowed.
The air in the room froze, turning glacial to the point where frost particles began to shimmer in the pale rays of light. Icicles formed along the chairs, and the once warm wooden walls of the room were coated in a thin layer of white. The temperature plummeted in an instant, cracks spreading along the walls as though the very atmosphere were about to shatter.
Uraume's gaze sharpened on Kenjaku, her voice cutting even sharper than the frozen air.
"Do you dare imply that my master is nothing but a pawn to you, Kenjaku?"
A calm yet serious smile lingered on Kenjaku's lips.
"Come now, Uraume… That's only how you choose to see it. But if it bothers you, feel free to interpret it differently."
The frost on the floor suddenly crept toward Kenjaku, forming a threatening icy web around his feet. The armrests of the chair he sat in cracked slightly under the encroaching ice. Uraume's eyes narrowed further, cold fury and defiance flickering in her expression.
Yet Kenjaku didn't flinch, his arms lazily crossed over his chest.
"You're more rational than that, Uraume," he said calmly, his voice steady but slightly deeper. "It reminds me of our agreement."
Uraume's fists clenched over the frozen armrests as she slowly closed her eyes. A few moments passed. Then she exhaled sharply, a mist of condensation leaving her lips. As if her frustration itself had dispelled the chill, the ice began to melt, vanishing almost as quickly as it had appeared.
When her eyelids lifted again, her gaze was more measured, though the tension remained heavy in the air.
"Master Sukuna will never be a mere pawn, Kenjaku. Watch your words when he awakens."
The frost was gone now, yet the air still carried the hollow chill it left behind. Uraume lifted her head slightly, her voice dropping into a glacial but crystal-clear murmur:
"However… if it comes to that, it would be laughable for Satoru—or any other outsiders—to stand in his way."
Kenjaku broke into a soft laugh. He placed his hands back on his knees and shrugged, a thin smile on his face.
"That's right," he said. "And believe me, Uraume, I won't let anything—or anyone—stand in the way of what must be accomplished."
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A massive crater, an immense scar carved into the ground, blackened and dusty, as if defying logic itself. All around, chaos reigned: police officers struggled to hold back onlookers while journalists thrust microphones forward, shouting questions no one bothered to answer. Bystanders crowded behind the barriers, phones raised high to capture what they couldn't begin to understand.
And then, in the midst of the chaos, he was there.
A man, tall—taller than most of the officers present. His hair, white as snow. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but even without seeing them, the confidence radiating from him was unmistakable. Each step he took was calm, almost lazy, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black pants. Yet there was something about him that commanded attention. And he knew it.
The murmurs began to ripple through the crowd.
"Who is that guy?"
"An actor or something?"
"You think he's with the police?"
But he paid no mind to any of it. He walked forward, ignoring the noise.
When he reached the yellow tape marking the restricted zone, an overzealous policeman blocked his path. Tall, bearded, and clearly eager to assert his authority, he raised a hand to stop him.
"Hey! You there! Halt! This is a restricted area, turn back immediately!"
The white-haired man didn't even slow down. He tugged lightly at the security tape and stepped through it with a casual gesture, as if it weren't there.
"Hey, I'm talking to you!" the officer barked louder this time.
But just as he and his colleagues were about to intervene, another man appeared. Dressed in a flawless black suit. Without a word, he pulled out a card and handed it to the policeman. The officer took it, frowned as he read it, then paled slightly.
"It's fine," he muttered to his colleagues. "Let him through."
The other officers exchanged confused looks, but none dared to protest. They simply watched, unsettled, as the white-haired man walked away at his slow pace.
He descended into the crater. The air down there was suffocating, heavier than above, and the cracked ground seemed to tremble faintly beneath his feet.
At last, he stopped at the center. His sunglasses still reflected the orange sky as he tilted his head slightly. Then he let out a low, mocking groan.
"Seriously, why is it always me they send for this stuff? It's scorching down here…"
He rolled his shoulders to loosen up, stretched his neck, and released a long sigh before lifting his eyes toward the sky.
"Alright. Let's get this over with. Let's see where you're hiding this time, old friend."