As I hurried through the quiet halls of Kyoto Jujutsu High, the sound of my boots tapping against the floor echoed with each step. I could already imagine the smirk on Todo's face when he realized I was late. It wasn't like me to be tardy—after all, I prided myself on being a dependable teacher. But these last two weeks had been anything but normal.
The surge of cursed spirit exorcisms around Kyoto had thrown everything into disarray. Normally, we had a steady flow of curses, nothing that couldn't be managed by the sorcerers in the city. But this was different. The sheer number of exorcised spirits was alarming, and yet, not a single sorcerer had come forward to claim the bounties. It was as if someone—or something—was systematically wiping them out without a trace.
As I neared the classroom, I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that had been gnawing at me. There was something off about this whole situation, something that didn't add up. If it had been Gojo, there would have been a lot more commotion, not to mention the fact that he was supposed to be in Tokyo. So who—or what—was behind this?
I slowed down as I approached the door, taking a deep breath to steady myself. The last thing I needed was to walk in flustered. As much as I hated Todo's teasing, I had to admit he was sharp, and the last thing I needed was to give him more ammunition.
I pushed open the door, ready to start the day despite my nagging doubts. But as soon as I stepped inside, I froze. There, sitting in the corner of the room by the window, was a man I had never seen before. He was dressed in a black suit, looking completely out of place yet somehow commanding a presence that made my students seem like mere children.
Todo, Kamo, and Nishimiya were all seated, with a strange air of tension in the room. I didn't need my cursed technique to feel the power radiating off the stranger—it was like standing in front of an ancient force of nature. His eyes, dark and intense, met mine, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe.
"Who… are you?" I managed to ask, my voice steadier than I felt.
The man stood up slowly, his movements deliberate and controlled. He gave a small, almost imperceptible bow, a gesture that was oddly respectful yet carried an underlying sense of superiority.
"My name is Uchiha Madara," he said, his voice deep and resonant. The name didn't ring any bells, but the way he said it like it should mean something, sent a chill down my spine. "I'm here to offer my services… as an instructor."
Instructor? Gakuganji hadn't mentioned anything about a new teacher. My mind raced, trying to piece together what little information I had. Was he connected to the exorcisms? Or was this just a coincidence? I glanced at my students, who were all watching me intently, waiting for my reaction.
I cleared my throat, trying to maintain some semblance of authority. "Uchiha Madara, you said? I wasn't informed of any new instructors joining us."
His eyes didn't waver as he replied, "I didn't exactly go through the usual channels."
That much was clear. I could feel the weight of his presence pressing down on me, a silent challenge hanging in the air. There was something undeniably dangerous about this man, something that set off every alarm in my head. But I also knew that confronting him directly, especially in front of the students, could be disastrous.
"I see," I finally said, forcing a calm smile. "Well, why don't you join me in my office? We can discuss your… application there."
Madara nodded slightly as if he had expected this. Without another word, he stepped out of the classroom, waiting for me to lead the way. I could feel the eyes of my students on us as I walked out, my heart pounding in my chest. This was going to be a conversation I wouldn't soon forget.
"It will only take a while. Read up on the lore of cursed spirits and how their cursed techniques differ from ours," I instructed my students, my tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll be back soon, and I expect a three hundred-word essay from each of you when I return."
With that, I turned and walked toward the guest who had just disrupted my class. Madara—if that was truly his name—had an unsettling presence, and I needed to figure out what he was really after.
I led him out of the classroom, our footsteps echoing softly through the quiet halls. I decided to take a simple stroll, hoping the walk might reveal more about his intentions. As we moved, I couldn't help but ask the question that had been nagging at me since I first saw him.
"So, how did you do it?" I asked, keeping my tone casual but curious.
"What is it? Care to elaborate?" His voice was calm, almost amused as if he knew exactly what I was getting at.
"This place is heavily protected," I continued. "Wards, talismans, and cursed techniques distort perception and prevent unauthorized entry. Unless given permission, you shouldn't have been able to enter this place, let alone stay undetected while breaking in."
Madara's response was as enigmatic as the man himself. "I have very good eyes," he said, his gaze meeting mine with a confidence that was almost unsettling.
"We could sue you for trespassing, you know that?" I countered, trying to assert some control over the situation.
"I am aware," he replied, unfazed. "But where do I file my resume then? This place is… desolate. From what I can see, you could use more personnel or staff."
His words hung in the air, a strange mix of arrogance and practicality. It was clear that Madara wasn't just some wanderer who stumbled into our school. He had a purpose, and I needed to find out what it was before things escalated any further.
"Your clothing," Madara intoned, his voice carrying an air of mild curiosity, "Are you a priestess?"
"Why ask?" I responded, keeping my tone neutral.
"The world has… become more modern, yes? Doesn't wearing traditional clothes like this attract too much attention?"
And you don't? I thought, but I kept my sarcasm in check, making sure not to let even a hint of my emotions show. There was a good reason I was so on guard around him. Madara exuded an overwhelming amount of cursed energy, and from what I could tell, he didn't seem practiced in containing it.
People who radiated this much cursed energy typically fell into one of two categories: either they were amateurs, unable to control their power, or they harbored a dangerous amount of bloodlust and negative energy, usually stemming from unspeakable experiences.
"It is a choice," I finally replied, keeping my voice steady.
"The clothes?" he pressed, as if genuinely intrigued by my decision.
"Yes," I answered, leading us around a corner. We stopped in front of a sliding paper door, its surface worn but well-maintained. "This isn't my office, by the way." I clarified, pausing for a moment before sliding the door open.
Instead of bringing him to my own space, I had brought him directly to the principal's office. This was where his intentions would be truly tested, and where any questions about his presence would need to be answered. The principal would have the final say, and I was more than ready to let him handle whatever Madara had in store for us.
For all I cared, he might be an enemy.
The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons was still fresh on everyone's mind.
Yoshinobu Gakuganji was an old man with an elongated, bald head, dressed in a light-colored nagajuban over a dark shirt. At that moment, he was casually eating tempura, savoring each bite with the calm demeanor of someone used to taking his time. The office, in stark contrast to the traditional image the old man presented, looked like it had come straight from a rock and roll enthusiast's house. Different kinds of guitars hung on the walls, each one meticulously placed as if they were trophies.
"You have a visitor," I announced, stepping into the room with Madara. "Apologies for disturbing your… breakfast."
Gakuganji looked up from his meal, his hand absently rubbing his beard as he assessed the situation. His gaze shifted from me to Madara, lingering on him with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
"Please, have a seat," Gakuganji gestured to the chair opposite him, his tone inviting but firm. "Where are you from, dear guest?"
"If you want my address, then it is right here—" Madara responded, handing over a piece of paper.
Curious, I leaned in from behind Madara, catching a glimpse of the paper. It was, to my surprise, an honest-to-god resume, complete with his credentials.
"No, that's not what I mean," Gakuganji interrupted, his voice cutting through the air with a subtle authority. "Any clan affiliations? Independent? Who taught you? Everyone has their own stories, but it is my job to make sure certain people are not a threat to my school."
Madara crossed his arms, humming thoughtfully as if weighing his words carefully. After a moment, he spoke with a measured calmness, "No affiliations. If you accept me into your teaching staff, then this school shall be my only affiliation. I have my own work commitments: exorcism, training, and probably teaching… but then again, only if you accept me into your teaching staff."
His tone was confident, almost challenging, as he made his offer clear. It was a bold proposition, one that left little room for doubt about his intentions. Whether or not Gakuganji would accept such a candid offer remained to be seen, but Madara had made his position unmistakably clear.
"What do you think?" Gakuganji asked, his eyes boring directly into mine with an intensity that caught me off-guard.
I hadn't expected him to ask for my opinion, especially in a situation like this. To be honest, I didn't want Madara teaching my students. There was something about him that unsettled me. He was cold, brooding, and had that distinct look in his eyes—a look that seemed to suggest he was constantly contemplating murder. Even among jujutsu sorcerers, who often dealt with the darker aspects of life, it was rare to see someone with such an overwhelming presence.
PTSD was not uncommon in our line of work, but not at the level that Madara seemed to embody. It wasn't just that he had experienced trauma; it was as if he had lived through an entire lifetime of war and violence, and it had left an indelible mark on him.
I walked over to the principal and picked up Madara's resume, which Gakuganji had casually set aside, more focused on his breakfast than on the paper in front of him. Not that I could blame him; he had always had a particular fondness for tempura.
"Your name is Uchiha Madara, and…" I began, trailing off as I scanned the resume.
The techniques he had listed were… extensive, to say the least. It was abnormal. Most jujutsu sorcerers had one or two techniques, rarely more than three. Mastery of their innate techniques took the highest priority, as it was essential for maximizing their combat potential. But Madara… he had listed a dizzying array of techniques.
I could understand illusionary techniques—those were fairly common. But what in the world was Fire Release? Earth Release? And what did he mean by Shuriken and Kunai? What kind of resume was this?
As I frowned at the peculiar list of skills, Gakuganji noticed my expression and voiced his concern, "So, what do you think?"
Ah, so that was it. No wonder the principal was asking for my input. It seemed we had a very peculiar applicant on our hands. I had always been a strict judge of character, and I had a keen eye for spotting potential dangers. But this Madara… he certainly came off as quite an interesting fellow, if not entirely unsettling.
"My fate is now in your hands," Madara said with a lighthearted tone that almost made him sound endearing. His words carried a charm that could easily sway someone less guarded. "Please, feel free to interview me. I am confident I can be of use to this institution. Moreover, I've always thought teaching might be fun. While I don't have much teaching experience, I am confident that I can produce satisfying results."
If I were any ordinary woman, I might have been taken in by his smooth talk. But I wasn't here to be charmed—I was here to ensure the safety of the students and the integrity of the school.
"Do you have an innate technique?" I asked, noting its absence from his resume. It was an important detail, and I wasn't going to let it slide.
"It's called the Copy-Wheel Eye—the Sharingan," he replied, his tone slightly more serious. "Forgive me for not wanting to overshare. I hope you don't mind."
"It's fine," Gakuganji interjected, his focus now shifting from his meal to the conversation at hand.
Madara's eyes turned back to me, and he spoke with a touch of curiosity. "This might come off as abrupt, but I haven't caught your name, miss?"
"Iori. Utahime Iori," I answered, keeping my tone neutral.
"And the esteemed Principal Yoshinobu Gakuganji," Madara added with a gesture toward the name placard on the desk. "I'm afraid I may have come off as hostile, barging into your school so unceremoniously. But considering the vastness of this land and the apparent lack of personnel, I sincerely wish to contribute to this institution. Is there any way I can prove my competence?"
His words hung in the air, and for a moment, I considered the possibilities. Despite my reservations, there was something undeniably intriguing about this man. Whether he was a threat or an asset remained to be seen, but one thing was certain—Madara was not someone to be taken lightly.
For a second, I considered outright rejecting the man's application, but I quickly thought better of it. My principles were rooted in meritocracy, rules, and fairness—values that couldn't be cast aside so easily.
"I have an idea," I said, my gaze meeting Madara's. "How about a class demonstration?"
Madara's expression remained calm, but I could see a flicker of interest in his eyes. Gakuganji leaned back in his chair, silently observing the exchange, clearly intrigued by where this was going.
"A demonstration?" Madara echoed, his tone neutral yet curious.
"Yes," I continued. "A simple test. You'll teach a class, showcase your abilities, and let the students be the judge of your competence. It's the fairest way to see if you're truly suited for this position."
Madara's lips curled into a small smile, and for the first time, I saw a glimmer of something resembling respect in his eyes. "Very well," he agreed. "A demonstration it is. I look forward to proving myself."