Seto Zenin

In the sprawling gardens of the Zenin mansion, under the shadow of ancient trees, the air was tense with contempt. Seto Zenin stood tall, his posture radiating arrogance, as he pressed his foot down on Maki's head, pinning her to the ground. His face twisted in disdain, as if the act of acknowledging her presence sullied him.

Maki, trapped beneath Seto's boot, her features distorted by the mud and the pressure, clenched her fists in silent fury. Her resolve was ironclad, her gaze fiery, even in her compromised state.

The tranquility of the garden was shattered by the sound of leisurely footsteps. Naoya Zenin, with his characteristic smirk, sauntered into the scene. "Oh, oh," he chimed in, his voice dripping with mockery, "aren't you being a bit harsh on her, Seto? The only good thing about this woman is her face, and you're ruining it."

Without shifting his gaze or removing his foot from Maki's head, Seto responded, his voice cold and unyielding. "Haven't you heard? She's leaving the clan to go study in Tokyo. And guess what she told your old man? That she's going to be the next leader."

Naoya's laughter cut through the air, sharp and condescending. He looked down at Maki, his eyes alight with amusement. "Listen here, the next leader will be me, whether you like it or not."

Seto, unphased by Naoya's confidence, retorted without a hint of doubt, "You're wrong. The next leader will be me."

Naoya's smirk widened into a grin. "If you're the next leader, then it must mean we're really messing things up." Both men shared a laugh, a moment of twisted camaraderie at Maki's expense.

Beneath them, Maki's anger boiled, yet she remained silent. Each word, each laugh at her expense, fueled her determination. She knew this humiliation was but a moment in time, a fleeting darkness before the dawn of her ascent. As she lay there, she made a silent vow: this would be the last time she would endure their scorn. She would prove her worth, not just to them, but to the entire cursed world. And so, beneath the weight of Seto's disdain, a warrior's resolve was forged, destined to shine through the shadows of doubt and derision. 

Seto finally lifted his foot, a look of disdain briefly crossing his face as he remarked, "You'll dirty my boot." Maki, undeterred, rose to her feet, brushing off the dust with a dignity that belied her earlier position. Her eyes burned with a resolve that was impossible to ignore. "This isn't the end. Someday, you'll see what I'm capable of," she declared, her voice steady and full of promise.

Seto's response was a smile, cold yet intrigued, as he locked eyes with her. "Good, I look forward to seeing it soon, little Maki." With those words hanging in the air, Maki turned on her heel and walked away, her stride confident and determined.

As she departed, Naoya turned to Seto, changing the subject with a casual ease. "By the way, my old man wants us to gather. Seems like he's got an important announcement to make." The two of them started walking towards the mansion, the weight of the upcoming meeting hanging between them.

"Maybe it's about the candidates for the next clan head," Seto mused aloud, his voice betraying a hint of anticipation.

Naoya, ever the provocateur, asked, "How do you know?" A sly smile played on his lips.

"I heard a rumor," Seto replied nonchalantly.

"Well, don't get upset when they name me the leader," Naoya said with a chuckle, clearly enjoying the banter and the thought of his own ascendancy.

Seto's smile was sharp, a clear indication that he found Naoya's confidence amusing, if not outright delusional. "I doubt they'd choose an idiot weaker than me," he retorted, his tone light yet cutting.

"Weak, me?" Naoya feigned surprise, his arrogance undiminished. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm the strongest member here."

"I doubt that," Seto shot back, his smile fading into a look of challenge. Their conversation, filled with competitive jabs and thinly veiled contempt, underscored a rivalry that was as much about personal pride as it was about the future leadership of the Zenin Clan. As they disappeared into the mansion, the stage was set for a confrontation that would shake the foundations of their world.

As Seto and Naoya entered the traditional room, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. The space was filled with members of the Zenin Clan, each bearing the weight of their lineage with a mixture of pride and tension. At the room's center, Naobito Zenin, the current head, was casually sipping sake from his flask, embodying an air of nonchalance that belied the gravity of the meeting.

"Alright, we're all here. I'll keep this brief because I want to get back to my drinking," Naobito declared, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the assembly. Naoya and Seto exchanged quick glances, a silent acknowledgment of the moment's significance.

Naobito continued, "I'm not thrilled to admit it, but I'm getting old. So, I thought it'd be wise to consider some candidates for the next head of the clan." A slight smile touched Seto's lips at the announcement, his eagerness barely concealed.

"The candidates are," Naobito paused for effect, "Megumi Fushiguro." At the mention of the name, Seto leaned towards Naoya, whispering, "Who's that?"

Naoya whispered back, "Toji's son. He's under Satoru Gojo's care." Seto's confusion was evident. "And why him?"

"Beats me," Naoya shrugged. "He's young, has the Ten Shadows Technique, but it feels like they just needed to fill a slot."

Naobito carried on, unfazed by the undercurrents of dissent. "Next is, of course, my son Naoya, also Jinichi, and, naturally, Ouji, my brother... That's all."

Seto, unable to contain his disbelief and frustration, stood up abruptly. "And what about me?" His voice, sharp and demanding, cut through the silence that followed Naobito's announcement. The question hung in the air, a challenge to the established norms and expectations of the Zenin Clan. The room turned tense, all eyes on Seto, then shifting to Naobito, awaiting a response that would shape the future of the clan and the destinies of those within it. 

Naobito's response was as dismissive as it was provocative. "Well, let's just say you don't have what it takes." His words, casual and indifferent, were like a spark to Seto's already simmering anger.

Seto exploded, his voice a mix of disbelief and fury. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? HOW DO I NOT HAVE WHAT IT TAKES?" The outburst reverberated through the room, a raw display of emotion that was rare in the calculated world of the Zenin Clan.

Naobito, unfazed, stroked his chin thoughtfully before replying, "You're strong, yes, but having you as a leader would go against the clan's norms." His words were deliberate, each one a calculated strike to Seto's aspirations.

Seto, incredulous, took a step forward, his voice rising. "WHAT NORMS? WHAT REQUIREMENT DO I NOT MEET?" The challenge in his voice was clear, demanding an explanation, a justification for this apparent slight.

Naobito's answer was evasive, yet final. "That is information I'll keep to myself for now. Just focus on being useful to the family." The dismissal was clear, leaving no room for debate or appeal.

Naoya, witnessing the exchange, couldn't help but laugh, finding humor in Seto's plight. Seto, on the other hand, was consumed by a rage he had never felt before. Denied the position he believed was his birthright, to lead the Zenin Clan to its former glory and beyond, he felt his purpose being stripped away.

With his fists clenched so tightly they trembled, Seto turned and stormed out of the room. His exit was silent but the message was loud and clear: this was not the end. This rejection would become the fuel for his ambition, pushing him to prove his worth not just to the Zenin Clan, but to the entire world of Jujutsu sorcery. 

A year had passed since the fateful meeting that set Seto Zenin on a path of defiance. The gardens of the Zenin estate were tranquil, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had once consumed its grounds. Seto was there, tending to the plants with a focus that was meditative. It was in this moment of peace that Naoya found him, a smirk already playing on his lips as he approached.

"Still playing in the dirt, I see," Naoya teased, watching as Seto meticulously watered the plants.

Without missing a beat, Seto glanced up, a wry smile on his face. "These are poisonous plants. I was thinking of adding some to your tea," he retorted, his tone light yet edged with sarcasm.

The laughter that had been dancing in Naoya's eyes faded for a moment, replaced by a brief flicker of caution. Realizing the jest, he scoffed, "Very funny. Anyway, do you want to hang out? Get away from all this gardening?"

Seto sighed, setting down his watering can. "Fine," he conceded, a part of him craving a break from the solitude.

As they walked, Naoya couldn't resist poking at old wounds. "Can't believe it's been a year since you weren't chosen as a candidate. Must sting, huh?" His voice was laced with mock sympathy, but the malice was unmistakable.

Seto's jaw tightened at the reminder, but he kept his composure. "Not everyone can be as fortunate as you, to be born into mediocrity and still be considered for leadership," he shot back, his gaze steady on the path ahead.

Naoya laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. "Oh, come on, Seto. You have to admit, it was hilarious. The look on your face when you weren't named—priceless."

"I'm glad my life's disappointments amuse you," Seto replied dryly, his steps never faltering. "But remind me, have they made their decision yet, or is your destiny still hanging in the balance?"

The question hit its mark, and Naoya's smile faltered momentarily. "They're taking their sweet time, but it's only a matter of when, not if. And when I'm head, maybe I'll have a special place for you. How does 'chief gardener' sound?"

Seto stopped in his tracks, turning to face Naoya with a look of mock contemplation. "Tempting, but I think I'll pass. I have bigger plans than tending to your weeds."

Naoya snorted, resuming their walk. "Dream on, Seto. Just don't forget, in this world, it's not just about power. It's about who you know, and clearly, you're not as connected as you think."

As they continued their walk, the estate's vastness providing a serene backdrop to their contentious dialogue, Naoya shifted the conversation to a more reflective tone, perhaps inspired by the natural beauty surrounding them or merely seeking a new angle to unsettle Seto.

"You know," Naoya began, his voice tinged with a rare seriousness, "there was a clan, long extinct now, that once chose a leader outside their own bloodline. Some outsider married into the clan, and he was so formidable that they made him the head."

Seto, intrigued despite himself, kept his pace but turned his attention fully to Naoya. "And let me guess, that decision led to their downfall?"

Naoya nodded, a solemn look crossing his features. "Exactly. That clan, strong as it was, couldn't survive the upheaval. It's a cautionary tale, really. Shows that strength alone isn't enough to lead. It's about lineage, tradition."

Seto pondered this, the wheels turning in his head. "So, you're saying that an outsider, despite his strength, can't truly unite a clan?"

"In a way, yes. But it's more about the clan itself. If it's willing to break from tradition for power, it's already on shaky ground," Naoya explained, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.

Seto smirked, an idea forming. "Interesting story. But what if that outsider didn't just bring strength, but something... more? What if he could offer a vision, a new direction that the clan couldn't even imagine?"

Naoya scoffed, though there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "A new direction? Like what, gardening tips?"

"No," Seto retorted, his voice firm. "Like a new understanding of power. Not just brute strength, but strategy, alliances, using every resource at your disposal. What if he could make the clan stronger than ever, not just in battle, but in influence?"

The idea seemed to give Naoya pause, his usual quick retort slowing. "You're serious about this, aren't you? You really think you could be the one to break the mold and lead a clan to glory?"

Seto stopped walking, facing Naoya directly. "I don't just think it, Naoya. I know it. But I'm not interested in leading a clan that's stuck in the past, bound by outdated traditions. I'm going to create something new, something that will change the Jujutsu world."

Naoya looked at Seto, a mixture of skepticism and respect in his eyes. "Well, I have to admit, that's a bold vision. Foolish, maybe, but bold. Just remember, the Jujutsu world doesn't change easily. You'll have your work cut out for you."

Seto's smile was confident, almost defiant. "Let them come. I'm ready for whatever challenges lie ahead. And when I'm through, it won't just be the Zenin Clan reevaluating their decision. It'll be the entire Jujutsu world."

As they resumed their walk, the conversation shifted from contentious to contemplative. For the first time, Naoya saw Seto not just as a rival, but as someone with the potential to redefine what it meant to be a leader in their world. And for Seto, the dialogue reinforced his resolve to carve out his own path, one that would lead him to a destiny far beyond the confines of the Zenin estate.

Days later, the atmosphere within the Zenin estate had shifted palpably. In Seto's room, the air was thick with the anticipation of change. Seto was packing his belongings with a single-minded focus, each movement deliberate, signaling the beginning of his defiant quest. Naoya leaned casually against the doorframe, watching Seto with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"You're actually serious about this, aren't you?" Naoya began, his tone laced with incredulity. "Heading off to Tokyo to find some girl to marry you... It sounds like the plot of a bad romance novel."

Seto, not looking up from his task, responded with unshaken confidence. "It's not just any girl, Naoya. It's about finding someone who can match my ambition, my strength. Tokyo is full of powerful sorcerers. It's the perfect place."

Naoya snorted, unable to resist the jab. "And you think some powerful sorceress is just waiting in Tokyo for a Zenin reject to sweep her off her feet? Please, enlighten me on this master plan of yours."

Seto stopped packing for a moment, turning to face Naoya with a smirk. "It's simple, really. I go to Tokyo, enroll in Jujutsu High, and showcase my strength. Once they see what I'm capable of, they'll be lining up to join forces with me."

"Join forces? You mean, hoping they'll fall madly in love with your charming personality?" Naoya chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter.

Seto's smirk widened. "Love has nothing to do with it. It's about power, alliances. Love is just an added bonus if it happens."

Naoya pushed off from the doorframe, stepping into the room. "And what if this plan of yours fails? What if you don't find this mythical sorceress who's both powerful enough to match you and willing to put up with your ego?"

Seto returned to his packing, unfazed. "Then I'll adapt. But failing isn't an option. I'm a Zenin, after all. We're bred to succeed, even if the clan itself can't see my worth."

Naoya shook his head, a mix of admiration and concern in his gaze. "You're either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish. Maybe both. But I have to admit, I'm curious to see how this turns out for you."

Seto, finally finished packing, zipped up his bag and hoisted it over his shoulder. Facing Naoya, his expression was one of unwavering determination. "Just watch. I'll make them all see. I'm not just some arrogant fool; I'm the future of the Jujutsu world."

With those final words, Seto brushed past Naoya, stepping out of his room and into the unknown. Naoya remained in the doorway, watching his cousin depart. Whether driven by sheer will or blind arrogance, Seto was embarking on a journey that would either forge him into a legend or break him entirely. Only time would tell which path his story would take. 

Seto Zenin's journey to Tokyo was marked by silent contemplation, his gaze locked on the fleeting landscape outside the train window. Inside, a storm of ambition and strategy raged. The plan was clear: infiltrate a powerful clan through marriage, ascend to leadership, and claim the power he believed was his by right. Simple, yet fraught with potential pitfalls. As the urban sprawl of Tokyo came into view, doubt whispered at the edges of his thoughts, quickly silenced by his unwavering confidence. *Nothing will stand in my way,* he resolved, his determination steeling him against the uncertainties ahead.

Stepping off the train, Seto was immediately confronted by an unexpected figure—Satoru Gojo, Tokyo's Jujutsu High's most enigmatic and powerful sorcerer. Gojo's presence, marked by his signature white hair and irrepressible grin, was both an annoyance and an oddity to Seto.

"Ah, the prodigal Zenin arrives," Gojo greeted, his voice laced with amusement, an emotion Seto found both irritating and beneath the gravity of his mission.

Ignoring Gojo's attempt at a warm welcome, Seto tried to brush past him, only to be stopped by Gojo's persistently cheerful demeanor. "To think I went out of my way to pick up my new, 'dear' student," Gojo said, emphasizing the word 'dear' as if it were a private joke.

Seto's response was curt, his patience thinning. "I didn't ask for a welcoming committee," he snapped, his focus unyielding.

Undeterred, Gojo leaned in closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Now, now, we're practically family. Though I must admit, Zenins are not exactly my favorite people. But, I'm willing to make an exception for you. Be a good boy, will you?"

The remark sparked a flicker of defiance in Seto's eyes. "Do you ever get tired of your own voice?" he retorted, meeting Gojo's gaze with a mix of challenge and disdain.

Gojo's laughter filled the air, a sound that seemed too carefree for someone of his standing. "You know, I was thinking of getting you ice cream as a welcome treat. But perhaps that's too 'childish' for someone with such grand ambitions?"

The mention of ice cream, intended as a light-hearted jest, did little to sway Seto's mood. "I'm not here to play games or indulge in treats," he said, his voice a mirror of his resolve.

"As you wish," Gojo replied, turning to lead the way. "But remember, Jujutsu High is a place of learning and growth. Power is just a part of the equation. You'll need to navigate much more than just the politics of clans and power plays."

Seto followed, albeit reluctantly, his mind racing with thoughts of the future. "I'm prepared," he insisted, his ambition burning brightly within him. "I've left everything behind to pursue this path. I won't be deterred by anything or anyone."

Gojo's smile softened slightly, sensing the depth of Seto's determination. "That's the spirit. Just don't forget, sometimes it's the unexpected lessons that are the most valuable. And who knows? You might even find that there's more to life than power and ambition."

As Seto and Gojo navigated through the bustling streets, their dynamic conversation was suddenly interrupted by a new arrival. Yuji Itadori, bursting with his usual blend of energy and curiosity, bounded up to them. "Ah, Gojo-sensei! Is this the new guy?" he asked, his eyes bright with interest.

Without hesitation, and with a dismissive glance, Seto sized up Itadori as nothing more than a convenient underling. "Perfect, a lackey," he declared arrogantly. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed his heavy suitcase towards Itadori. "Carry this for me," he commanded, not even waiting to see if Itadori caught it before he continued walking.

Itadori, caught off guard, managed to catch the suitcase, albeit with a surprised grunt. "Lackey? Are you related to Maki-senpai or something?" he asked, trying to piece together why someone new would act so presumptuously.

Gojo couldn't contain his laughter, finding the entire exchange hilariously indicative of what was to come. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun," he said, amusement clear in his voice, as he watched the interplay between the two students.

Seto, meanwhile, didn't bother looking back, confident in his assumption that Itadori would simply follow orders. His focus remained forward, already plotting his next moves, oblivious to the camaraderie and challenges that lay ahead in Jujutsu High. Itadori, suitcase in hand, followed behind, a mix of confusion and intrigue written across his face. This first interaction set the stage for what promised to be a series of entertaining and enlightening encounters, all under the watchful, and often amused, eyes of Gojo Satoru.