Chapter Six: The Realization
The two of them managed to return to the Jujutsu Academy as evening fell. And, of course, the clean-up team responsible for post-battle messes had taken care of it while they were en route. Obito went straight to his room to rest, while Miou went directly to the manager's office to deliver her report.
The office smelled of old paper, polished wood, and a faint, stringent hint of antiseptic. The only light came from a single, green-shaded desk lamp, casting long, deep shadows that clung to the corners of the book-lined walls. Manager Yoshinobu, an older man with a face like worn leather and eyes that missed nothing, looked up from a file as she entered. There was a bandage on her forehead, applied after the mission, along with a few other minor injuries, but overall, she was in decent shape.
Click.
The sound of the door closing behind her was soft but final.
"I apologize for the delay, sir," Miou said, her posture ramrod straight.
The academy manager's gaze swept over her once, a quick, clinical assessment, before he stopped writing in one of his personal files. The scratch of his pen ceased.
Scritch-scratch… silence.
"What happened on the mission? It was supposed to be Grade Three. I thought you were capable of handling that level, weren't you?" His voice was dry, devoid of warmth, like pages rustling in a tomb.
Miou felt the chill in his tone but didn't take it personally. In the end, what he said was true regarding her qualifications. Dealing with a Grade Three curse was a simple matter for her. But she replied, her voice steady,
"Unfortunately, sir, it wasn't a Grade Three curse. It was a Grade Two."
The manager's eyebrows, thick and grey, lifted a fraction. A barely perceptible hmm escaped his lips. He set his pen down with a precise tap.
"And were you able to defeat this curse by yourself?"
Regarding the girl before him, the manager knew her capabilities. She had joined over a year ago. True, she had been aware of cursed energy since childhood and had been trained, yet her ability wasn't at a level that would qualify her to defeat a Grade Two curse in such a short timeframe. At the very least, if that were true, there should have been more damage. This only increased the manager's curiosity to know the reason.
Miou hid nothing from the manager. She recounted the incident at the park—how the curse was located in the storage rooms beneath the recreational area. Furthermore, she described the curse's form and its attack patterns. Finally, she stopped and said,
"It's true I would have been able to defeat it if the fight had continued longer, but I will admit I wouldn't have been able to win without sustaining major injuries."
That was the truth. Her technique was adept at binding opponents using cursed energy, but that required some focus. The Grade Two curse was strong enough to disrupt any attempt to concentrate her energy. Had the battle lasted longer, the injuries would have been far more severe.
"So, you are saying Obito Zenin assisted you?"
The girl was surprised by his voice, which now held a note of astonishment. She didn't understand why the manager was surprised by this. Wasn't Obito a member of the Zenin clan? Members of that clan were known for their strong jujutsu skills. True, during the mission with that young man, she hadn't found him professional at all. Even his fighting style was weak. But surely his raw power was decent? Although his style and skills were poor, and especially his control over cursed energy was lacking—he couldn't sustain reinforcement—in the end, he was the one who landed the finishing blow. Even if she had assisted him somewhat by restraining the curse, he was the one who ended it.
"So that's what happened," the manager said after listening to the detailed explanation in which the girl described everything that transpired inside the park, along with her personal analysis and conclusions regarding Obito Zenin's cursed ability.
But in that moment, the manager paused for a fraction of a second. His eyes, sharp as flint, locked onto hers for a brief, piercing moment. Then he asked,
"Cursed Technique. What was this cursed technique?"
The manager, responsible for the students at Kyoto Jujutsu Academy, was seriously inquiring about this matter, which surprised the girl once again. But she quickly explained,
"His eye color changed. It seems his cursed technique has a visual effect. Honestly, I was surprised when he managed to dodge the curse's attacks, which were so fast even I wouldn't have been able to do so easily as he did. Furthermore, his injury count is low. True, his hand was shattered, but that was only because he couldn't reinforce his cursed energy to sufficiently increase his physical strength. However, his final strike managed to destroy the curse."
She explained the situation calmly and with great professionalism, along with framing the parameters. She also described the young man's movements, particularly his ability to dodge the curse's probing tentacles that lashed around him with tremendous speed. Moreover, even while she was focusing on executing her own cursed technique, she was more than capable of observing the boy's movement style, which resembled reflexive flailing rather than enhanced technique. What increased her perception was that he seemed to be using some kind of technique that helped him see movement better.
—Of course, she didn't know this was happening largely in spite of Obito, as he was moving almost at random. He was only able to see the movements thanks to the Mangekyo Sharingan, which he had activated without knowing what he was doing, trying to avoid the blows. Furthermore, it was his intense fear and negative emotions that caused his cursed energy to swell dramatically, increasing its destructive power. Otherwise, he would have died a long time ago.—
But she, of course, didn't realize that and simply thought the young man with her had used his cursed technique. She wasn't aware that he didn't even know the nature of his own cursed technique. True, he knew his cursed energy had increased significantly, but he hadn't realized what kind of cursed technique it was. However, even during the fight, Miou, as a trained jujutsu user, noticed details. She had observed the change in Obito's eyes in one brief flash while she was focusing on binding the curse.
After explaining everything about the mission, writing the report, and submitting it, she left the room at the manager's request. The moment she left, the eyes of the old manager, Yoshinobu, responsible for this academy, had become sharp. But not in realization—rather, he was somewhat surprised. Because according to the reports, Obito Zenin shouldn't have any cursed technique. He was supposed to be just trash, sent by the Zenin clan to avoid judgment from the higher-ups in jujutsu society.
Of course, he continued thinking for a short while before finally stopping. Then he looked at the mission files, and after making some decisions, said in a low voice,
"I will test him at some point. But for now, I have other work to do."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
His fingers drummed a slow,thoughtful rhythm on the wooden desk.
---
On the other hand, in his room, Obito was utterly exhausted.
The room was sparse, a standard academy dormitory cell. A bed, a desk, a chair, and a small window overlooking the gloomy academy grounds. The only sound was the low, persistent throb-throb-throb of pain radiating from his right hand, wrapped in crude bandages that were already spotting with faint yellow and red.
His hand hurt terribly. True, he was a jujutsu user, and his regeneration rate was much better than that of ordinary people, especially if he used cursed energy. However, he hadn't mastered Reverse Cursed Technique, and there was no one at Kyoto Academy who used Reverse Cursed Technique to heal him. Therefore, his hand remained broken.
But because he was a jujutsu user, unlike ordinary people who might take several weeks or months, he would be alright in a few days. Of course, there was a lot of pain coming from his arm, especially since he hadn't taken many painkillers. He had taken a deep breath—a shaky, shuddering inhalation—and decided to think over the day's events.
He had faced his first curse in this life, one day after entering this world. Worse than all that, his bones were broken. If he had been a moment later, if one of those tentacles had struck him, he would have died. It was important to mention that he didn't even know how he managed to avoid those blows. All of that was thanks to a severe adrenaline rush and his will to live.
But after a minute, he began to feel that there was a problem. How did he manage to dodge those attacks? Furthermore, even if his cursed energy had spiked, the speed of those tentacles seemed… very slow. He had been able to avoid them with ease. That was definitely miraculous.
At the same time, he remembered the events that occurred when he lost consciousness after being struck by Todo. Before losing consciousness and being thrown to the ground with great force, he had felt like he was seeing the world in slow motion.
—Naturally, he hadn't noticed the changes and couldn't see the color of his own eyes, which had changed during the fight. Therefore, he didn't realize he had activated the Sharingan. Otherwise, he would have opened his eyes now and been shocked. Unfortunately, he didn't realize it, and now his eyes were their normal black color. So when he looked in the mirror, he found no difference.
In this moment, however, Obito hadn't stopped searching. He had begun sensing his cursed energy after this confrontation. Whether he wanted to or not, his cursed energy was much better than before. He felt he could control his cursed energy more effectively, even if it was for a very short distance and a very minor reinforcement—unlike his last strike, which he had delivered against the Grade Two curse.
He sat on the edge of his stiff bed, the springs letting out a soft, pathetic squeak. He held his bandaged hand up in the dim light. It was swollen, an ugly shade of purple and blue peeking from beneath the gauze.
"Okay, brain, think," he muttered to the empty room. His voice was hoarse. "You flailed. You panicked. You saw the world… differently."
He closed his eyes, trying to replay the memory. The storage room. The greenish glow. The tentacle coming down in what felt like a leisurely arc. He could almost hear the WHOOSH again, but in his memory, it was a drawn-out, deep W H O O O O O S H.
He had seen the path. He had seen the individual droplets of foul water flying from the tentacle's tip. He had seen the minute contraction in its grotesque muscle fiber a split-second before it moved.
That wasn't normal human reflex. That was… data. High-definition, slow-motion data fed directly into his visual cortex.
He opened his eyes and stared hard at the plain white wall opposite him. He focused, trying to summon that feeling again—the surge of panic, the desperation, the will to see.
Nothing happened. The wall remained a wall. A crack in the plaster near the ceiling stubbornly refused to become a detailed topographical map.
"Come on," he grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. "I know you're in there, you cheating eyeball power. I saw you in the mirror that one time. Red with stupid swirly patterns. Very anime. Very copyright-infringing. Show yourself!"
He strained, his face scrunching up. A vein throbbed in his forehead (thump-thump-thump). All he managed to do was give himself a headache and a weird pressure behind his eyes, like he needed to sneeze but couldn't.
Achoo!
He actually sneezed.A mundane, utterly un-magical sneeze.
"Great. My superpower is allergies," he groaned, flopping backward onto the bed. The frame protested with a loud CRAAAAAK.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling, the throbbing in his hand syncing with his heartbeat. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe he had just gotten lucky. Maybe the curse was just really, really bad at aiming.
But Miou had seen something. She'd mentioned his eyes. Did that mean he had done it? Did he have a cursed technique after all, and it was just… shy?
The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying. Having a power in this world was a ticket to survival. But not knowing how it worked, not being able to control it… that was a ticket to accidentally blowing himself up or turning his brain to mush.
He gingerly sat up again, wincing as the movement jostled his arm. A sharp, electric ZING of pain shot from his wrist to his elbow. He hissed through his teeth.
Knock. Knock.
Two firm,concise raps on his door.
Obito froze. "Who is it?" he called out, his voice cracking slightly.
"The manager wishes to see you. Now." It was an unfamiliar, monotone voice—likely one of the academy staff.
Obito's blood, which had just started to settle, ran cold. The manager? Now? After Miou's report? This couldn't be good. Visions of being expelled, thrown out onto the streets of a monster-infested Kyoto, or worse, sent on a "special training" mission to the heart of cursed territory, flashed through his mind.
"Uh… just a minute!" He scrambled off the bed, his movements clumsy and pained. He looked at himself in the small mirror—pale, disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, one hand bundled up like a rotten mummy. He looked less like a promising jujutsu sorcerer and more like a patient who had escaped a psychiatric ward.
He tried to smooth down his hair, failed, and gave up with a sigh that sounded like a deflating balloon (phhhwwwooo).
He opened the door. A stern-looking man in a dark suit stood there, his expression as welcoming as a tax audit. Without a word, he turned and began walking down the corridor, his shoes clicking a precise, impatient rhythm on the linoleum (click-clack, click-clack).
Obito had no choice but to follow, his own steps a limping, shuffling counterpoint (shuffle-step, shuffle-step). The walk to the manager's office felt infinitely longer than the sprint through the water park. Every closed door they passed seemed to whisper of secret tests and terrible judgments.
They arrived at the heavy wooden door. The staff member knocked once, a sharp rap.
"Enter." Manager Yoshinobu's voice filtered through, dry as dust.
The door was opened for him. Obito stepped into the same pool of lamplight, the same smell of old secrets. Miou was gone. It was just him and the old man, whose eyes were fixed on him like a biologist observing a strange, potentially dangerous new insect.
"Obito Zenin," the manager said, not as a greeting, but as a statement. A labeling.
"Y-yes, sir?" Obito's voice came out as a squeak. He cleared his throat. "You wanted to see me?"
"I read the mission report. A Grade Two curse manifestation in a designated Grade Three zone. An interesting anomaly." The manager leaned back in his chair, which creaked ominously (eee-erk). "Kasumi Miou credits you with a significant role in its exorcism. She mentioned a cursed technique. A visual-type ability."
Obito's heart performed a frantic drum solo against his ribs (ba-DUM, ba-DUM-DUM). So she had told him. He had to say something. Denying it might be worse. But claiming a technique he couldn't control was a recipe for disaster.
"Ah… well, sir, I… it's not really something I can do on command," Obito stammered, his good hand fiddling with the edge of his bandages. "It just… happens. When I'm, you know, about to die."
"A stress-activated technique. Not uncommon," the manager mused, his gaze never wavering. "But for a member of the Zenin clan, whose techniques are traditionally inherited and physical in nature… a visual power is unusual. Describe it."
Obito's mind went blank. Describe the Sharingan? He couldn't say, "Oh, it's red with little comma-shaped tomoe that spin and let me copy techniques and see chakra flow." That would raise about a million other questions, starting with 'What the hell is chakra?'
"I… see things moving slower," he ventured, which was the most truthful, least-incriminating thing he could think of. "And… more details. Like a high-speed camera, I guess."
The manager was silent for a long moment. The only sound was the soft tick-tock of a clock somewhere on the wall, counting down the seconds of Obito's potential academic career.
"Show me," the manager said finally, his voice flat.
Obito blinked. "Pardon?"
"Activate your technique. Now."
A cold sweat broke out on Obito's back. "I… I can't just do it, sir. Like I said, it happens under extreme duress. I'm not… duressed right now. I'm just nervous. Very, very nervous."
One of the manager's eyebrows twitched. It was the most emotion Obito had seen from him. It wasn't a good emotion.
"I see." The manager picked up his pen again and made a note in a file—Obito's file, he presumed. The sound of the pen was unnaturally loud in the quiet room. Scritch. Scritch.
"The Zenin clan's report on you indicated no aptitude for a traditional inherited technique. They labeled you as having negligible cursed energy output and no discernible skill. They sent you here to fulfill a quota, to keep you out of their way." He looked up. "It seems their assessment was either incomplete or intentionally misleading."
Obito didn't know what to say. Was he supposed to defend the clan he barely knew? Agree with them? He opted for a non-committal, slightly pained shrug, which sent a fresh wave of agony through his arm. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth (Ssssss).
"The world of jujutsu is not kind to those who are weak, Obito Zenin," the manager continued, his tone shifting from analytical to something colder, heavier. "Nor is it kind to those who possess power they cannot understand or control. That power will attract curses. It will attract attention. And it will get you, and potentially those around you, killed."
The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating.
"You will report to Training Ground 3 tomorrow at dawn. Your combat instructor will be informed. We will… attempt to replicate the conditions necessary to trigger your ability. In a controlled environment. To see what you are truly capable of."
It wasn't a request. It was an order. A sentence.
Obito felt his knees threaten to buckle. A controlled environment to trigger a life-or-death stress reaction? That sounded like a fancy way of saying 'we're going to beat you up until your magic eyes pop out.'
"Y-yes, sir," he managed to choke out.
"Dismissed."
Obito didn't need to be told twice. He turned, his movements stiff, and shuffled out of the office. The door closed behind him with a soft but definitive thud, like the lid of a coffin.
He stood in the dim hallway, the click-clack of the departing staff member's shoes fading away. His hand throbbed. His head ached. And now, he had a date at dawn to get the snot kicked out of him in the name of "research."
He started the slow, painful walk back to his room. As he walked, he glanced out a hallway window. The moon was a pale, thin sliver in the sky, offering little light. The academy grounds looked like a collection of dark, sleeping beasts.
He had survived a curse. Now, he had to survive his own side.
He looked down at his bandaged hand again, clenching it into a feeble fist despite the pain. A faint, almost invisible wisp of black, smoke-like energy flickered around it for a split second before dissipating.
Maybe… just maybe… there was something there. Something he could use. If he could just figure out how to turn it on without needing a tentacle monster aimed at his face.
He reached his door, fumbled with the handle, and slumped back into his bleak little room. The bed gave another complaining squeak as he collapsed onto it.
Dawn was coming. And with it, his first official "lesson."
He closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to desperately, futilely, will his mysterious, stubborn, copyright-infringing eyes to just show him what they could do.
All he saw was the back of his eyelids, tinged with the phantom green glow of curse-water and the looming shadow of a very unpleasant tomorrow.
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End of Chapter.
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