I changed my mind about the Naraku revenge arc. I was originally planning to go all out—something extreme that would push my limits—but after thinking it through, I realized it could end up ruining the story. So, I've decided to take a more grounded approach instead.
I'm also considering this idea: the closer a country is to Japan, the stronger the curses and sorcerers are. If I do decide to expand the world, this could be a core rule. That said, I don't have too many ideas for later arcs—just a potential time skip to 2017 or 2018.
What do you think?
Vote here:
Expand the world:
Stick to Japan:
Add a group chat system (I just wanted to make a third option):
.........................................
A month had passed quickly.
The construction Naoya had commissioned was already finished.
Yet even with everything in place, his mind stayed stuck on a single question:
Should he tell Gojo and Geto that Riko was alive?
The problem wasn't telling them. The problem was the story behind it.
How had she survived?
How had he known exactly when to step in?
Explaining that would mean admitting the truth — that he had known about Toji.
And once they realized that, trust would crumble.
They'd question everything.
So, for now, he decided to do what he did best:
Smile, lie, and postpone.
Maybe a year from now… I'll just say I found her in my basement. Hell, maybe I'll act like I'm just as surprised as they are.
With that ridiculous lie tucked away in the back of his mind, Naoya turned his focus elsewhere.
A quiet corner of Tokyo, far from the Zen'in estate.
A worn-down building with rusting rails and moss creeping up the concrete steps.
An old neighborhood — the kind people forgot existed.
He stopped in front of a door, checked the number, and gave it three soft knocks.
A few seconds later, it creaked open.
"Megumi, you came back fast toda—"
The girl's voice cut off the moment she realized it wasn't Megumi.
Naoya looked down at her, smiling faintly.
Tsumiki Fushiguro.
At six years old, she looked small — but not fragile.
Chestnut eyes: bright, cautious.
Her clothes were clean but worn, clearly passed down.
There was something steady in her gaze. The kind of maturity that came from growing up too fast.
Naoya tilted his head.
"Hey there," he said, his voice light, friendly — but his eyes gleamed with something else.
Tsumiki blinked. "Who are you?"
"Oh?" he said, amused. "That's a good question. I could be a friend of your brother's…"
He leaned in slightly, resting one hand on the doorframe.
"Or maybe I'm just some weird guy who followed you home from school."
Tsumiki's fingers twitched toward the edge of the door, but Naoya kept smiling.
"You shouldn't open the door so easily," he added, voice dipping smooth and quiet. "What if I was a kidnapper? What if I wanted to stuff you in a sack and disappear?"
Naoya's grin widened — just a touch too much. Just enough to be off.
"I mean, I probably won't. But then again... maybe I will. Depends how bored I get."
He leaned closer, voice barely a whisper.
"Do you think anyone would come looking for you?"
Tsumiki froze.
Naoya studied her carefully. Her breath hitched, her hands still on the door — knuckles white.
"I mean," he went on lightly, "this place isn't half-bad. A little run-down, sure — but cozy. Would make a decent hideout. No one would think to check here."
She tried to close the door.
Naoya's foot slid forward, wedging into the frame.
"You know, you should really stop opening the door without asking who's there first. Dangerous habit."
Tsumiki glared at him — but she was trembling. Her small hands gripped the edge of the door tightly.
"I'm calling the police," she said.
Naoya chuckled. "Aw, come on. Don't be like that. I haven't even done anything yet."
He pushed the door open gently — not forcing it, just enough to make her step back. Then, he stepped inside.
Tsumiki stumbled into the narrow hallway, eyes darting toward the kitchen. Maybe thinking about a phone. Maybe a knife.
"Relax," Naoya said, slipping off his shoes at the door like a polite guest. "I'm not going to hurt you. Probably. But you know, it would be really easy."
He strolled into the apartment like he owned it, eyes drifting over the cramped space. Simple furniture. Half-finished schoolwork on the table.
He glanced around, unimpressed — but noted the care in the way it was kept. Poor, yes. But someone had worked hard to make it livable.
"Honestly," he mused, "if I was going to kidnap someone, you wouldn't be my first choice. You're way too polite. Way too boring. But I do wonder…"
He turned back to her, eyes sharp now.
"What would Megumi do if I turned his sister into a nice little box of body parts? "
Tsumiki gasped — stumbling back, horror in her eyes.
Naoya grinned as he stepped forward, voice dropping low.
"Imagine it. He walks in, opens the door — and there I am. Just sitting here. Maybe I've got your hand in a frying pan, You think he'd cry?"
She flinched.
"Actually," he added, tapping his chin, "maybe I'll keep you instead. Sell your brother. He's not worth much yet, but hey — organs grow with age."
"You're lying," Tsumiki whispered, but her voice trembled, eyes glassy.
Naoya turned to her slowly. "Am I?"
He started forward, step by step.
Tsumiki backed away until her back hit the wall.
"You think Megumi could stop me?" Naoya asked, tilting his head. "He's just a brat. I could break both his legs before he even sees me move."
He crouched so their eyes met — just a foot away now.
"You think I haven't done worse to people smaller than you?"
Tsumiki's lower lip trembled. But her chestnut eyes still burned — glaring at him through the fear.
Naoya smirked. "Cute. That little defiance. Like a puppy trying to bite a tiger."
He reached out — slowly — brushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
She flinched like he'd struck her.
Naoya stood in the hallway, quietly laughing to himself. Cruel, amused.
It wasn't about hurting her — not really.
He just wanted to see what she'd do.
To watch her flinch, run, tremble — because fear was funny.
Then the front door creaked.
Naoya blinked, turning around casually.
It opened.
And Megumi Fushiguro stepped inside — small, quiet, dark-haired.
His eyes locked onto Naoya with chilling focus.
For a five-year-old, he had no business looking that cold.
"Who the hell are you?" Megumi asked flatly.
Naoya blinked.
Then he grinned. "Ah, finally. You're home."
Megumi didn't blink. "What did you do to my sister?"
"Oh, relax. She's fine. I didn't touch her." Naoya wiggled his fingers. "Yet."
He smiled.
"But if I had ten more minutes… who knows?"
Naoya's grin didn't fade.
Instead, he took a step toward Tsumiki.
Then another.
She backed away instinctively — but there was nowhere left to go.
Her heel bumped against the old wooden frame of the window behind her.
Naoya's hand reached out, fingers grazing her shoulder lightly.
Megumi's eyes sharpened.
"Don't touch her."
Naoya raised a brow, glancing at him. "Huh. You do talk big."
Then, without warning, he grabbed Tsumiki by the arm.
She yelped, struggling, but Naoya was already pulling her toward the window.
Megumi lunged.
"STOP!"
But Naoya was faster. Effortlessly so.
One foot on the ledge. One arm looped around the girl's waist.
She kicked and thrashed, screaming — tears in her voice now.
Megumi crashed into his side — fists swinging, legs kicking — doing everything he could to pull Tsumiki back.
Naoya didn't budge.
He barely flinched as the Five-year-old beat against him with everything he had.
"Let go of her! Let go! LET GO!"
Megumi's voice cracked, raw with terror.
Tears streaked down his cheeks as he clawed at Naoya's sleeves, nails breaking, breath catching.
Tsumiki screamed, hands flailing, trying to grip the window frame.
Naoya just smiled, holding her halfway out the window — two stories up — letting her foot dangle into the air.
"You're weak, you know that?" Naoya said casually, glancing down at Megumi.
"You can't stop me. You can't even slow me down."
Megumi sobbed, still hitting him, tiny fists trembling.
"I'll kill you… I'll— I swear I'll kill you—!"
Naoya tilted his head.
"A little late for that, don't you think?"
Tsumiki's screams turned into gasping sobs, her hands now desperately clawing at the edge of the window.
Megumi wrapped his arms around Naoya's leg, biting his lip so hard it bled, trying to drag him back with all the strength in his tiny body.
Nothing worked.
Nothing mattered.
And then — just as Megumi's voice gave out, just as he broke into pure, silent, shaking despair—
Naoya pulled her back inside.
Gently.
He set her on the floor, let go, and patted her head like it was nothing.
Tsumiki collapsed, breathing hard, curling into herself.
Megumi stared, frozen. Confused. Shaking.
Naoya turned toward him, and crouched down so they were eye to eye.
His smile had vanished.
What was left wasn't cruel or mocking — it was calm.
Quiet. Chillingly serious.
"Feel that?" he asked. "That helplessness? That sickness in your gut?"
Megumi couldn't even speak. His throat burned. He just looked up at him, broken and shaking.
"That's the world," Naoya said flatly. "Any moment, everything you love can be taken. Crushed. Burned."
He tapped his temple once.
"If you don't get strong enough to stop it, that's what happens. Over and over."
Megumi just stared up at him. His fists were still clenched. His arms still trembling.
His knees had buckled beneath him — but he hadn't even noticed.
He was crying quietly now. Not from fear anymore. From rage. From shame.
Naoya stood, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket.
"I wasn't really going to kill her," Naoya added with a casual shrug. "We're related. That'd be a little rude, don't you think?"
Silence.
Tsumiki's teary eyes lifted slowly, confused but listening.
Megumi blinked, lips trembling. "...What?"
Naoya turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder with that same unsettling calm.
"Your father — Toji Fushiguro — he was a Zen'in. One of the three great sorcerer clans in Japan," he said. "And you? You can see them, can't you, Megumi?"
He tilted his head, watching him.
"You must've started to notice your technique by now."
Tsumiki stood frozen, clearly lost, eyes darting between them — not understanding the words, but understanding the weight behind them.
Megumi stared at the floor, fists tight, heart pounding in his ears.
Naoya smiled deeper. The kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Surprise."
"You two? You're Zen'in blood."
He turned back toward the door, moving with deliberate calm, and slipped his shoes back on — like nothing that happened was worth lingering on.
Then he paused.
"Get everything you need," he said, voice quiet but firm. "I'm waiting for both of you in the car."
He glanced over his shoulder, gaze narrowing just slightly.
"Don't make me wait."
And with that, he stepped out, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.
…
Now seated together in the backseat of the sleek black car, the engine humming quietly beneath them, the silence was anything but peaceful.
Naoya draped his arms over the shoulders of Tsumiki and Megumi like they were old friends—unwelcome, smug, and far too comfortable.
He flashed a grin. "So, what do you think of the ride? I bet this is the first time you've been in something this clean, huh? I mean, growing up broke must've sucked."
Megumi turned his head just enough to glare at him, eyes sharp and cold like broken glass. "You think this impresses me? It's just metal and leather. Still smells like trash with you in it."
Tsumiki, ever the peacekeeper, gave a nervous laugh. "It's… nice. Really nice. Thank you for the ride."
Her voice trembled just slightly, She didn't look at Naoya. She didn't want to. Not after what he'd done.
Naoya was about to speak again—likely another insult, another smug remark—when suddenly his eyes widened.
"Stop the car."
He froze.
The air in the car changed.
The words were cold. Absolute.
The driver hesitated, but before he could respond, a wave of cursed energy surged from Naoya—violent, suffocating. It hit the occupants like a sudden drop in temperature. Goosebumps rose on every arm. Even the air itself felt heavier.
Megumi stiffened. Tsumiki's breath hitched.
Naoya stared out the window, eyes searching, body tense like a wire pulled too tight.
He knew that presence.
He would never forget it.
Not in a hundred lives.
Megumi wiped sweat from his brow, his stomach tight with unease.
"What the hell is wrong with this guy?" Megumi thought, clenching his fists.