Mahiko's expression flipped with impressive speed.
"There's nothing actually useful in any of these!" she announced.
She tossed the last scroll back onto the pile, planted both hands on her hips, and glared at Kenjaku with open indignation. "You're playing me, aren't you!"
Honestly, she'd come in with actual expectations. Given Kenjaku's background and a thousand-plus years of accumulation, she'd assumed he could at least produce a few genuinely classified secrets from the Three Great Clans — something that would make her eyes light up.
Instead, she'd flipped through the whole pile and found precisely nothing of use.
Techniques for enhancing eyesight with Cursed Energy. Methods for boosting running speed with Cursed Energy. And — God help her — what was apparently described as a supremely transcendent, cosmically unparalleled Cursed Energy bedroom art...
Damn it. Damn it all to hell. Just an absolute jumble of nonsense, every last one of them.
So this was the Three Great Clans' "secret transmission" — the knowledge that had "never been shared with outsiders." Right. Now she understood why. Family embarrassments stay in the family. That was all this was.
Were any of them useful?
Technically. A little. Basically not at all.
The only one that was even marginally presentable was the scroll containing Falling Blossom Emotion.
She knew this technique — it was an automatic defense-type jujutsu passed down through the Three Great Clans since ancient times, functioning something like a protective membrane layered over oneself that could automatically intercept incoming attacks.
Its main value was survivability when you found yourself trapped inside an enemy's Domain — it could buy you just enough breathing room to stay alive. That much was genuinely useful.
All things considered, Falling Blossom Emotion really was the most valuable item in the pile.
But it was also the only one.
"So you're trying to con me into working for you with this junk? I'm not doing it." Mahiko, hands on hips, fully puffed up. "I'm angry!"
She might look like a child throwing a tantrum, but Kenjaku knew exactly how serious she was underneath it. When she said she wasn't doing something, she genuinely wasn't going to do it.
"Oh my, but these are my most precious scrolls," Kenjaku said, his expression shifting into something that was — goddamn it, this ancient geezer was doing the cute act again! — a rather convincing impression of a wounded puppy. "How unfortunate that you don't appreciate my treasures... but these truly are the finest jujutsu I have to offer."
Yeah, right. This old fox.
Mahiko thought it loudly, but her face had already shifted — the indignant huff faded, replaced by two seconds of quiet, and then a small, slow curve at the corner of her mouth.
Fine. Different terms, then.
"Since we're partners," she said, her tone leveling out into something that sounded almost like she'd made peace with it, "I obviously can't just walk away and leave us at a dead end. So here — I'll name a new condition. Meet it, and I'll help you."
Kenjaku blinked — caught slightly off-guard by the instant change in her demeanor. "What condition?"
Mahiko raised a single finger and smiled. "Teach me Barrier Techniques. What do you say?"
"...Barrier Techniques?"
Kenjaku repeated the words, and something subtle and unreadable moved across his expression.
Yes. Barrier Techniques.
To be honest, this was something Mahiko had been quietly turning over in her mind for a while now.
In any number of anime and manga, no matter what kind of power system the author built, there was always that one technique — the one reserved only for the truly elite, the finishing move that served as the mark of a genuine apex fighter.
Jujutsu Kaisen had one too.
That technique — the one that belonged only to the strong — was called Domain Expansion.
It was, without question or competition, the single most lethal move available in this world.
Every person's Domain was different. But any Domain brought to completion was, by definition, not weak.
Expanding a Domain buffed the user, ensured that every application of their jujutsu technique landed without fail, and handed them what was essentially a nuclear warhead. It didn't matter how badly you'd been battered beforehand — how drained your Cursed Energy, how desperate the situation — the moment you could call "Domain Expansion," the entire board could flip in an instant. A reversal. A one-move kill.
— Unless your opponent expanded their own Domain too.
In this world, Domain Expansion was the dividing line — the precise threshold that separated the strong from the truly elite.
In the original story, Mahito had learned his Domain early on — Self-Embodiment of Perfection.
Though, to be accurate, it had been beaten out of him.
On the edge of the moment when both Nanami and Yuji Itadori had nearly been beaten to death, Mahito had experienced a flash of revelation — and in that single instant of enlightenment, his Domain had awakened.
From that point on, it had become the cornerstone of Mahito's arsenal — his ultimate trump card, from mid-story all the way to the end.
Naturally, Mahiko wanted it too.
But she had absolutely zero intention of taking the same road the original had taken.
Obviously. The original's enlightenment had happened at the brink of death — a flash of inspiration wrung out under extreme, near-fatal pressure. It sounded cool in theory... okay, actually it didn't sound cool at all. It sounded genuinely terrible. And more to the point, it was completely unreplicable.
Nearly die in order to unlock a Domain?
And what if I hit that near-death threshold and the enlightenment just... doesn't come?
Then I'm just dead.
She valued her life enormously. Dancing on the edge of a cliff to gamble on a stroke of luck was something she would categorically, absolutely never do.
So if that road was off the table, how did you learn a Domain? Without relying on a near-death breakthrough, the only remaining path was pure, patient research. And research required an excellent teacher. Kenjaku happened to be the best teacher available.
At its core, Domain Expansion wasn't particularly mysterious. Stripped down to its fundamentals: it used Barrier Techniques as a foundation, combined them with one's own jujutsu, and gave physical shape to one's innate domain within reality itself — producing a closed, technique-saturated space that belonged entirely to the user.
Simplified: the Barrier was the foundation. Personal jujutsu was the material. The innate domain was the blueprint. Combine all three, and the result was a Domain.
So if she wanted to start from the ground up and work toward Domain Expansion, the most sensible entry point was to first build a solid foundation in Barrier Techniques.
And Kenjaku was, conveniently, one of the foremost Barrier Technique practitioners in the entire world.
He had lived for over a thousand years. And his Domain was not an ordinary enclosed-type Domain — it was open-type. Meaning he didn't need to construct a bounded alternate space and drag his enemies inside it. He could simply transform reality itself into his Domain.
An ordinary Domain was painting on a canvas. An open-type Domain was painting directly onto the sky. The two weren't even in the same dimension of difficulty.
In the entire story of Jujutsu Kaisen, only two individuals possessed an open-type Domain: Kenjaku and Sukuna.
That alone told you everything you needed to know about how monstrously refined this man's Barrier Technique was.
If she could learn even a fraction of it from him... that would be an extraordinary gain.
"So — will you teach me?" Mahiko raised an eyebrow, expression unhurried, her tone carrying a quiet confidence. "I think this is a fair trade for you, too."
Kenjaku didn't answer immediately.
For once, he appeared to genuinely think it over — his gaze dropping slightly, a low hum of deliberation settling over him for roughly four or five seconds.
Then he raised his head, his smile returning in full. "All right."
"Good. Deal." Mahiko clapped her hands together, then paused. "So — what exactly is it you need my help with? Tell me now. If it's too dangerous, the whole arrangement is off."
"I won't be putting you in harm's way." Kenjaku shook his head, still smiling, and gestured toward the other side of the room. "I only need you to help Jogo with some pre-battle preparation."
...Pre-battle preparation?
Mahiko followed his gesture.
Over by the beach chairs, Jogo and Hanami sat together drinking tea, both of them apparently completely indifferent to everything that had been happening on this side of the room.
Pre-battle preparation...
Mahiko turned the phrase over in her head twice — and then it clicked.
Oh.
She knew what was coming next.
In the original story, Jogo was the strongest of the four Special Grade Cursed Spirits — a fact that had filled him with an arrogance so absolute that he was genuinely, completely convinced he could defeat Satoru Gojo, the man widely recognized as the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer of the modern era. And so he'd gone off to challenge Gojo alone.
The result, of course, was that Gojo had beaten him into the ground. If Hanami hadn't arrived in time to pull him out of there, Jogo would have died on that spot.
So — Kenjaku's "pre-battle preparation" meant he wanted her to apply some buffs to Jogo before that fight?
Mahiko gave a small, understanding nod.
Then she met Kenjaku's gaze and pointed at herself. "But my current strength... is nowhere near Jogo's level, is it? What exactly could I do to help him?"
She was genuinely puzzled. She had no idea what this schemer was thinking. In her current state, she couldn't beat Jogo in a straight fight — let alone buff him to the point of taking on Satoru Gojo.
"If we're discussing pure frontal combat strength — you're correct," Kenjaku said, still smiling. "But you can alter another person's soul. You can carve techniques into a soul. That ability — placed within the entire world of jujutsu — has no equal."
"...Huh."
"So. I want you to enhance Jogo — give him a better chance in his upcoming battle with Satoru Gojo. You won't need to put yourself at risk. All you need to do is what you're already good at."
"...Fine, fair enough." Mahiko grinned and looked down, thinking it over.
Honestly, she didn't have much resistance to this particular task.
Her only real enemy was Kenjaku. The other cursed spirits were just pieces on his board — tools being used, same as her, fundamentally — they just hadn't realized it yet.
If Kenjaku had asked her to enhance Kenjaku himself, she'd have refused outright — that would be forging her own shackles with her own hands.
But Jogo? Helping Jogo didn't conflict with any of her actual interests. There was no real loss to her in doing it.
And besides — making direct contact with the soul of an exceptionally powerful Special Grade Cursed Spirit was, in itself, a rare and valuable hands-on training opportunity. The stronger and more complex the soul, the more she stood to learn from touching it. And Jogo was very strong.
Even framed purely as experience grinding, this would help her grow considerably.
And then there was the even more practical consideration — no matter how much she enhanced Jogo, it wouldn't actually matter.
Jogo was going to fight Satoru Gojo. Whether she helped or not, Jogo was a speed bump. Gojo fighting Jogo was Gojo fighting a punching bag.
So the calculation in her head was perfectly clear: helping amounted to not helping — but at minimum, she walked away from the deal with exactly what she actually wanted, plus an exceptionally valuable session of hands-on practice.
"That said..." Mahiko raised her head and glanced over toward Jogo. "Given Jogo's attitude — are you sure he's going to let me touch his soul?"
This was a genuine concern.
The soul was not something anyone allowed a stranger to touch on a whim — it was like how, no matter how close you were with the people around you, you still wouldn't strip in front of a crowd. Guarding the privacy of one's own soul was instinct, practically universal.
And Jogo, in his current state of peak arrogance, was utterly convinced he could defeat Gojo without any help whatsoever. The very concept of needing assistance — let alone letting a blue-haired cursed spirit considerably weaker than himself reach into his soul — would be an affront to him.
If she walked up and poked at him, there was a real possibility he'd just slap her across the room on the spot.
"You make a fair point," Kenjaku admitted, without any defensiveness. "But for the sake of the plan, a degree of rationality is required."
He stood as he said it, and began walking toward Jogo. "Let me go have a word with him."
......
Mahiko waited where she was.
Kenjaku crossed the room to Jogo's side, settled into a seat beside him, and the two began to talk. Their voices were low — too low for Mahiko to make out a word from where she stood.
At some point, Hanami quietly shifted position and drifted away, leaving the two of them space.
With nothing better to do, Mahiko crouched down on the sand, scooped up a fistful of it, let it sift out of her fingers, grabbed it again, let it go again. She summoned a small rabbit, transformed it into a tiny shovel, and started building a sandcastle.
Ten minutes.
Twenty minutes.
Half an hour.
She built one castle, knocked it down, built another. Round after round, losing count of how many cycles she'd gone through.
And then —
To Mahiko's genuine surprise, Kenjaku actually did it. He actually convinced Jogo.
The negotiation had succeeded.
____
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