Mahito looked up. The sun had yet to fully set, painting the clouds on the horizon a bruised, sickly yellow. The streetlights hadn't clicked on yet, leaving the entire world submerged in a dim, jaundiced hollow. There were almost no pedestrians on the street, and those who were present scurried away quickly, as if desperately trying to flee. An inexplicable, skin-crawling dread was slowly seeping into the atmosphere.
Then, he lowered his head and looked straight forward.
A cramped, claustrophobic general store sat before him. The architecture was ancient wood, the entrance an old sliding door paneled with paper screens. It looked so fragile that you felt you could wet your finger with spit and poke a hole silently through the paper. Even with the naked eye, it was obvious this narrow store was a relic of a bygone era. Mahito suspected it dated back to before World War II.
Kenjaku, leading the way, couldn't help but chuckle. He laughed softly, "Incredible, isn't it? But this is our destination. Make no mistake, I didn't take a wrong turn. This is the place. The true founder of the New Shadow Style, who has lived from the ancient era to the present day, is sitting right behind this door."
Kenjaku knocked lightly.
From behind the door, a sluggish, elderly voice responded. "Coming."
*Clack, clack.* The Japanese sliding door was slowly pulled open, revealing an old man who looked like a stiff breeze could snap him in half.
Kenjaku threw his arms wide, exclaiming joyfully, "Long time no see, old friend! How have you been? Your old buddy has come to play."
The old man slowly raised his head. He was incredibly short, not even reaching Kenjaku's chest. To see Kenjaku's face, he had to crane his neck as far back as it would go. He wore a white towel wrapped around his head, covering his gray hair, but it was tied loosely, allowing large patches of curled white hair to spill out from behind. He looked reasonably well-groomed, all things considered.
But his limbs were as brittle as dead branches, utterly devoid of muscle. He was nothing but skin stretched tightly over bone. Veins mapped out his skin in stark blue, but they looked like dried-up riverbeds. As he looked up, he tried to open his eyes as wide as possible, but to Mahito, those eyes looked as murky and blind as cataracts—the whites and irises bleeding together indistinguishably.
Mahito seriously suspected that if he gently shoved the old man, he'd have to immediately drop to his knees and beg him not to die.
His speech carried the heavy, slurred cadence of extreme old age, his nasal tone thick, sounding as if he were speaking with a mouth full of marbles. "...It's you."
"It's me, old friend. Aren't you going to invite me in?" Kenjaku lowered his arms, slipping his hands back into his wide sleeves.
"I would very much like to decline." The old man seemed to labor just to draw breath. Ultimately giving up, he took two steps back. "But I cannot. How on earth did you find me? No one should know I'm here."
Kenjaku confidently led Mahito into the store. Inside, it was just as claustrophobic as the exterior suggested. There was barely anywhere to step, only a few aisles narrow enough for a single person to squeeze through. The shelves were crammed against the walls, stocked mostly with basic daily necessities.
Mahito casually glanced around, noting they were all cheap, outdated goods. There weren't even any modern trinkets or stickers. It was as if time itself had frozen in this room.
"Please wait a moment," the old man said. He moved at a glacial pace, reaching out to move a cardboard box. Kenjaku proactively stepped forward, effortlessly lifting the box out of the way to clear a tiny patch of floor space.
The old man hung a 'Closed' sign on the sliding door and shut it.
Curious, Kenjaku opened the box to find layers of folded fabric. The old man shuffled over, pulled away the top layer, and revealed a stack of floor cushions beneath. He spread the cloth over the floor, and Kenjaku helpfully arranged three cushions on top of it.
Mahito's mouth finally twitched. "Seriously? The legendary founder of the 'New Shadow Style'? The hidden boss plotting to conquer the Jujutsu world? Isn't this a little too pathetic?"
It truly was pathetic. If Mahito didn't know this was the man himself, he would have assumed they'd just walked into the home of a destitute, impoverished shopkeeper. Looking at his skeletal frame, Mahito honestly wondered if the old man even got enough to eat.
The old man shot Mahito a side-eye, then lowered his head to plead with Kenjaku. "I can no longer use Jujutsu. Please, erect a barrier. I don't want *Her* eavesdropping on our conversation."
Kenjaku's smile grew a fraction tighter. "She's still watching you?"
"Watching me like a hawk," the old man said, kneeling on his cushion and curling into a tiny, pitiful ball. "I don't possess your skills. I can't shake *Her* surveillance. I have no choice. You know my innate talent for Jujutsu was never strong to begin with. The only reason I'm lingering on death's door like this is because of a Binding Vow. Heh. Sometimes I wonder, even if I did manage to rule the Jujutsu world in this pathetic state, would I even be able to celebrate?"
Kenjaku glanced at Mahito beside him, offering a beaming, polite request. "If you would, please. I cannot risk Her detecting my Cursed Energy residuals right now. Don't use a standard isolation barrier; use the specific one I taught you."
Mahito recalled the knowledge Kenjaku had imparted. There was indeed a highly specialized barrier Kenjaku had developed specifically for modern society. It didn't just isolate the internal and external flow of Cursed Energy; it completely severed electronic signals. In the original story, Kenjaku used this exact barrier frequently.
Mahito snapped his fingers. An invisible ripple expanded outward from him, perfectly molding to the exact dimensions of the store's interior walls. He casually took a seat on his cushion—not formally kneeling, but sitting cross-legged in a relaxed posture.
"To deploy such a complex barrier without even weaving hand signs," the old man praised. "You have an excellent student, Kenjaku."
"Alright, I guarantee *Tengen* won't hear a word of what we say now," Kenjaku said breezily. "Good thing I just called you 'old friend' earlier instead of using your actual name. If I had, Tengen definitely would have locked onto me instantly. Too close for comfort."
The current Tengen had yet to evolve into a deity. Her processing power still had a ceiling. Her surveillance network functioned much like American wiretapping: she set specific 'trigger words'. Only when a keyword was spoken would Tengen's gaze shift to that location.
As Tengen's ancient rival, Kenjaku understood her better than anyone.
"But 'Tengen' will still send someone here. The barrier only guarantees she won't hear us; it doesn't mean she won't notice the anomaly. The moment you cast that barrier, the countdown began... Kenjaku, you'd best state your business quickly," the old man warned.
"Don't be so tense, old friend," Kenjaku smiled warmly. "Look, I brought you a gift."
The old man slowly shifted his gaze to Mahito. "And you are?"
"Mahito... You might not have heard that name. But I guarantee you've heard my other title," Mahito replied.
"The King of Curses," the old man groaned like he was in pain. "The very first fully intelligent Cursed Spirit since the inception of the Jujutsu world. The Curse possessing the unique ability to force humans to evolve into sorcerers, and sorcerers to ascend even higher... The pinnacle of human hatred for humanity... The Curse currently 'selling immortality.'"
Mahito smiled. "Looks like I underestimated the intel network of the underground."
The old man's voice suddenly grew incredibly urgent. Despite his usual glacial pace, he suddenly sounded like an eager, hot-blooded rookie who had yet to experience the real world. He urged, "Quickly, let me see it! Let me see the Zen'in Cutter!"
Zen'in Cutter? Mahito's mouth twitched.
It seemed the annihilation of the Zen'in clan had made a far bigger splash than he anticipated. Even this decrepit old man hiding in a dusty corner of the world had detailed intel on the battle. Gojo Satoru must be scouring the entire planet for clues right now. Thinking of this, Mahito's sense of urgency deepened. He needed to continue evolving at maximum speed. He couldn't afford to stop.
"Her name is Mirokuji Kirigiri. She is a Tsukumogami I cultivated with my own hands," Mahito said coldly. "Her future is only just beginning. That pathetic Zen'in clan was merely her debut. She is destined to become a heaven-shaking, god-slaying Divine Blade. Unrivaled beneath the heavens."
The old man's face flooded with envy and deep admiration. "Excellent. Excellent."
"Fantastic. That is what a true partner is. A swordsman must treat his blade with the same devotion he treats his lover. There is no relationship in this world more intimate than the one between a swordsman and his sword."
"A sword's name carries the blacksmith's blessing, but it is the swordsman who imbues the sword with its life's meaning."
"'Mirokuji Kirigiri'—To sever both Gods and Buddhas? Excellent. A magnificent name."
"A magnificent sword, and a magnificent wielder!"
Kenjaku elbowed Mahito in the ribs, teasingly asking, "Well? Hard to accept at first glance, but now don't you get that feeling of, 'Ah, he really is the founder of the New Shadow Style'? Even though he's so frail he can't even lift a katana, he's kept that burning passion alive for a thousand years. It's as old as he is."
The old man completely ignored Kenjaku's teasing. He scanned Mahito up and down, finally confirming that Kirigiri wasn't on Mahito's person. He immediately began to scold him:
"What is the meaning of this? As a swordsman, how can you leave your blade to sit idly in its scabbard somewhere else? You should carry your sword on you at all times, never letting it leave your side! To show up before me so clean-handed... This is bad form. Extremely bad form!"
Mahito asked, "Kirigiri sustained micro-fractures on her blade from clashing head-on with a Black Flash. I had no choice but to mount her to rest, but the recovery process isn't ideal. Do you know a way to fix her?"
The old man looked incredibly disappointed. "I am a swordsman, not a blacksmith. I cannot fix that kind of damage... If this were a thousand years ago, I actually knew an exceptionally skilled smith. But not today."
"Modern people have long forgotten the pursuit of the blade. They would rather feed a gun bullets for a month than spend ten years polishing their swordplay. Without people who use swords, the blacksmiths inevitably fade away."
Mahito wanted to scream at the ceiling. *Do you even hear yourself? You're actually comparing a month of shooting practice to ten years of grueling sword training?!*
One look at Mahito's face and the old man knew exactly what he was thinking. He suddenly asked, "Care to test it?"
Mahito paused. "Test what?"
The old man spoke softly. "Just how much this old bag of bones can still accomplish."
*How much he can still accomplish?*
Mahito was genuinely shocked this time. He was fully aware of the old man's existence. In the original manga, he appeared near the climax as a conspirator desiring to rule the Jujutsu world. And he was exactly as frail as he appeared now. Despite his grand proclamations of conquering society, he didn't even get a single on-screen fight before he was unceremoniously killed off.
As the founder of the New Shadow Style, he might have been a monster in his prime, but looking at his utterly muscle-less, skeletal frame that looked like it would shatter in a stiff breeze, Mahito didn't believe he possessed a single ounce of combat power.
Mahito scrutinized the old man closely and asked, "Are you sure?"
That was the signal to begin.
A sudden flash erupted from the old man's body. Mahito's survival instincts violently triggered. He instinctively threw his head back. A wooden pencil materialized mere millimeters from Mahito's throat. The lead tip was so blunt it would struggle to write on paper, yet a thin line of blood silently parted across Mahito's neck. A single drop of crimson slid down his throat.
The old man sluggishly withdrew the pencil, hiding it back within his sleeve. He murmured, "I've grown old. Truly old. I couldn't even hit the cat."
This was a famous quote from Okita Soji, the genius swordsman of the Bakumatsu era. Near the end of his life, he had a dream where he tried to strike down a black cat, but his sword kept missing. When he woke up, he spoke those exact words, and died shortly after.
The old man was using the quote in self-mockery, admitting he was past his prime and a shadow of his former self.
But even as a shadow of his former self, he had managed to casually draw blood from Mahito with a blunt pencil—and Mahito hadn't been able to dodge it! Keep in mind, Mahito's current body was one he had completely optimized himself. His kinetic vision was sharp enough to track the individual frames of Projection Sorcery! Yet, facing a sudden attack from a frail old man, fully aware that an attack was coming, he still hadn't reacted in time.
Kenjaku clapped politely. "You haven't lost your touch, old friend. With just that single strike, even if you stepped out into the world today, you'd easily rank as a Grade 2 Sorcerer."
Mahito touched his neck; the bloody scratch vanished silently. He couldn't help but ask, "Only Grade 2? I once fought a man who deeply specialized in Iaijutsu and Falling Blossom Emotion. He was a Special Grade 1 Sorcerer, two whole ranks above Grade 2. Yet his Iai slash was vastly inferior to what you just did."
Before Kenjaku could explain, the old man answered without any hesitation. "You are speaking of Ogi Zen'in, yes? He was a prodigy in his youth. Combining Iai with the Big Three Families' secret technique, Falling Blossom Emotion, was indeed a stroke of genius. He practically went undefeated under the heavens with that move. His auto-intercept Iai slash is vastly superior to mine in both raw power and speed."
"But you...?" Mahito prompted.
"There is only one aspect where I stand above him," the old man said calmly. "Intent. My 'Intent' far surpasses his. Therefore, he falls incredibly short of me."
"Intent..." Mahito pondered.
The old man elaborated slowly:
"Iaijutsu is a strike devoid of evasion, devoid of defense. Simply increasing strength and speed will naturally enhance the physical destructive power of the Iai slash. But pursuing solely physical enhancements will never allow one to grasp the true esoteric secret of Iai... the heart of absolute, unyielding advance."
"There is no other path. One must press forward without hesitation."
"Since you sought me out, you must be aware of the core Jujutsu technique of my school."
"Are you referring to 'Simple Domain'?" Mahito's tone had unconsciously shifted to one of respect.
The old man explained smoothly:
"Everyone today who knows of 'Simple Domain' naturally assumes it is the trademark of the New Shadow Style, categorizing it merely as a barrier technique. But they do not understand the true core of the technique."
"'Simple Domain' is, in reality, the outward extension of the heart."
"If you've consulted your thousand-year-old companion beside you, you should know why Simple Domain was created in the first place."
"It was designed to combat the endless tide of Cursed Spirits and Curse Users emerging during that era. While we were Jujutsu Sorcerers, we were the ones with utterly mediocre talent. Many of us didn't even possess an Innate Technique."
"And so, I completely abandoned my mediocre Jujutsu talent and devoted my entire being to the sword. At first, I knew nothing. I merely used the most basic reinforcement sorcery to strengthen my blade."
"But that wasn't enough. The Innate Techniques of Curses and Curse Users were too bizarre, too unpredictable for a mundane blade to reach. So, I scoured the land searching for a universal Jujutsu that could shatter these absolute defenses. And I actually found one..."
"...Hollow Wicker Basket. A specialized Jujutsu capable of neutralizing any domain."
"But my talent for Jujutsu was simply too poor. Too terribly lacking. I couldn't learn it."
"In truth, even if I had learned it, it wouldn't have mattered. Hollow Wicker Basket is a purely defensive technique. What I needed was a technique that married absolute offense with absolute defense. Hollow Wicker Basket fundamentally failed to meet my requirements."
"So, I merely reverse-engineered its underlying principles and unhesitatingly discarded the technique itself."
"If you've studied barrier techniques, you've likely heard the saying: 'A barrier is the boundary of one's imagination... '"
Mahito's mind raced, processing information at lightning speed. He instantly understood exactly what the old man had just demonstrated. He gasped in realization. "The 'Domain' in 'Simple Domain' isn't the same type of domain used in Domain Expansion!"
"It's an outward projection of your pure willpower!"
"A barrier is the extension of imagination. You discarded the rigid technical structure of barrier arts, and instead used the raw foundational principle to construct a domain forged entirely from your ego as a swordsman! Because a master swordsman believes with absolute certainty that anything entering the range of his Iai will be cut down before it can touch him, regardless of whether the attack is tangible or intangible!"
"By holding absolute conviction that you can cut down anything, while simultaneously imagining yourself completely untouched by all of creation... That is how you synthesize a 'Simple Domain'!"
"An auto-intercept Iai slash sounds impressive on paper, and in terms of physical force and velocity, it absolutely exceeds yours. But at the end of the day, an auto-intercept slash is merely a specialized physical technique. *Your* Iaijutsu... is the physical manifestation of a swordsman's iron will!"
Holy shit, this was the literal definition of mind over matter! The conceptual weight behind this was staggeringly high!
Mahito finally understood it completely. He also understood exactly how the old man had sliced his neck with a blunt pencil. In that split second, the old man had seamlessly deployed a Simple Domain. The pencil acted as his katana; his sleeve acted as the scabbard. In that microscopic window, within his Simple Domain, the old man had executed a flawless Iaijutsu!
The old man couldn't help but praise him. "Incredible. To completely deduce the core mechanics of 'Simple Domain' after hearing only a few sentences. If you are willing to train under my tutelage for ten years, I guarantee you can elevate Simple Domain to the next level, transforming it into your own personalized Domain Expansion."
Mahito exhaled softly. "Now that I know the trick, killing you would be remarkably easy."
"As long as I stay out of your physical reach and wear down your stamina with long-range attacks, I could kill you effortlessly."
"Your extreme age has truly crippled you. You cannot maneuver, nor can you initiate an offensive rush. You're a stationary target. No wonder Kenjaku said you'd only rank as a Grade 2 Sorcerer."
It also made perfect sense why, in the original manga, this old man was slaughtered by a Grade 1 Sorcerer off-screen without even putting up a fight. His weakness was blatantly obvious: maintain distance, and killing him was as easy as flipping a hand.
The old man replied evenly. "Exactly. Someone like me is hardly worth your effort to recruit. And naturally, if you demand I order my disciples not to oppose you, I cannot do that either. Even if you kill me, I cannot comply. I am just a rotting corpse with one foot in the grave. I hold no real power anymore."
Mahito knew this was the old man's silent rejection. Ashiya thought Kenjaku had come to recruit him for his grand scheme, so he had laid all his cards on the table, explicitly outlining his severe limitations in the hopes Kenjaku would deem him useless and leave.
In fact, in the original timeline, Kenjaku never once contacted him. Kenjaku likely knew exactly how useless the old man was in a real fight, which was why he never bothered.
Furthermore, Mahito knew the old man wasn't being entirely truthful. He was definitely withholding crucial information. He hadn't bared his soul to Mahito; that was obvious. Simple Domain was his life's work, the foundation of his existence. He would never surrender all its secrets to a Curse before he died.
Mahito wasn't surprised by this at all, nor did he care.
Kenjaku shrugged. "Well, there you have it. Mahito, do you still wish to continue this negotiation?"
*Of course I do!*
To Mahito, learning Simple Domain would be a nice bonus, but failing to learn it didn't matter in the slightest. Look at Ryomen Sukuna and Satoru Gojo—neither of them used Simple Domain, and did that stop them from being the strongest beings on the planet? Mahito wasn't here for Simple Domain.
Quite the opposite. This decrepit old man was the single greatest Jujutsu swordsman alive in the world. To synthesize his own 'Combat System', this old man was an absolutely indispensable resource.
Naturally, he couldn't say that out loud.
"I am not here to learn 'Simple Domain'," Mahito said, looking directly into the old man's cloudy eyes. "I am here to learn the sword."
The old man looked utterly bewildered. "Not for Simple Domain, but purely to study swordsmanship? Are you serious?"
Of course he was serious. Mahito was absolutely certain he would awaken a Domain Expansion in the future. Compared to a true Domain Expansion customized to his soul, Simple Domain was a cheap parlor trick. So why obsess over it?
"I possess a sword unrivaled beneath the heavens. Therefore, to ensure this unrivaled blade reaches its absolute maximum potential, I have come to learn the way of the sword." Mahito smiled. "I believe someone of your caliber understands exactly what I mean."
The old man sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then, a smile crept across his wrinkled face. Finally, the ancient man threw his head back and let out a booming laugh, completely disregarding his fragile lungs.
He laughed uproariously, "I understand! Of course I understand!"
"The Founder of the New Shadow Style... Ashiya Sadatsuna."
"Is willing to serve the Lord of Curses!"
...
The very next day.
Ashiya Sadatsuna, having completely shed his frail, dying body through Idle Transfiguration, felt his blood pressure violently spike. Consumed by towering, absolute rage, he roared furiously at the top of his lungs:
"GAH! Are you taking the fucking piss out of me?! You come to me without a single shred of sword fundamentals?! Start over from the natural posture, damn it!"