NOVEL NEXT Chapter 1: Transmigration
Beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient tree in the Zenin estate, a young boy sat in quiet contemplation. At just four years old, Naoya Zenin carried a weight far beyond his years. His sharp eyes, framed by the soft innocence of childhood, betrayed a mind teeming with ambition and strategy. As the son of Naobito Zenin, the formidable head of the Zenin clan.
But this Naoya was not the one fate had originally intended. Within him resided the soul of a transmigrator—a man from Earth who had once lived an ordinary life, only to awaken in the body of this cursed child.
"Ugh… At least I didn't get transmigrated into some random person," Naoya muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "Imagine ending up in this world without knowing it's Jujutsu Kaisen and getting killed by a curse before even figuring out what's going on." The thought sent a shiver down his spine, but he quickly brushed it off. He was here now, and he had to make the most of it.
His past life hadn't been anything extraordinary. Born into a wealthy family as a second-generation heir, he had attended elite schools, lived comfortably, and followed the predictable path laid out for him. It was a life devoid of excitement—a typical existence that now felt like a distant dream. But here, in this world of curses and sorcery, he had a chance to be something more. To rise above the mundane and carve out a legacy that would surpass even the greatest names in the Zenin clan.
"I'm the same age as Gojo Satoru, huh?" Naoya muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and awe. Gojo Satoru—the man who would one day become the strongest sorcerer of the modern era. The thought alone was enough to make Naoya's chest tighten with a strange blend of envy and determination.
"If only I'd been transmigrated into Gojo's body instead..." he cursed, letting out a heavy sigh. The idea was tempting, almost intoxicating. To wake up in the body of someone so inherently powerful, someone who could reshape the world with a flick of his wrist—it would have been a dream come true. But fate had other plans, and Naoya knew better than to dwell on what-ifs. He had his own path to forge, even if it meant starting from the shadows of someone like Gojo.
Young Master, the clan head is calling for you," a voice interrupted, cutting through Naoya's thoughts. He blinked, pulled back to reality, and turned to see a servant bowing respectfully. With a nod, he rose to his feet, brushing off the grass that clung to his clothes.
At just four years old, Naoya had already awakened his cursed technique—a milestone that had sent ripples through the Zenin clan. It had happened a month ago, on the very day he turned four. When Naobito, the clan head, discovered that Naoya had inherited Projection Sorcery, one of the Zenin clan's most superior techniques, the man's usual stoic demeanour had cracked, revealing a flicker of pride.
Naoya made his way to the main hall, his small footsteps echoing softly against the polished wooden floors. The Zenin estate was vast and imposing, a reflection of the clan's power and prestige. As he approached the sliding doors, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation ahead.
The doors slid open, revealing Naobito seated at the head of the room, a cup of sake in hand. He barely glanced at Naoya before taking a slow sip, exuding an air of absolute authority. Then, his sharp eyes locked onto him, scrutinizing him like a merchant appraising cheap goods.
"Tch." Naobito clicked his tongue, setting his cup down with an audible clink. "So, some of you brats have finally inherited Projection Sorcery. Took you long enough."
Naoya felt a flicker of irritation at the condescending tone. Yeah, yeah, old man, I just got here. How about cutting me some slack? Still, he maintained a respectful posture, his face impassive.
"It means I have the potential to become one of the strongest in the clan," he said steadily. He wasn't some naive brat who'd crumble under a little pressure.
Naobito let out a dry chuckle. "Potential?" He leaned forward slightly, the scent of sake lingering in the air. "That's what weaklings tell themselves before they get crushed." His smirk deepened, cold and sharp. "The Zenin clan doesn't care about 'potential.' Either you're strong, or you're worthless. You think some half-baked awakening means anything?"
Naoya fought the urge to roll his eyes. Classic arrogant old man move—dismiss first, acknowledge later—a tactic he'd seen a thousand times in anime. But he knew how this world worked. Strength dictated everything. He had no intention of playing the obedient heir forever, but for now, he'd play along.
"I understand," he said smoothly, dipping his head just enough to appear respectful without looking weak.
Naobito exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "Hmph. We'll see." He leaned back lazily, lifting his cup once more. "If you want to be more than just another disposable brat, then prove it. Otherwise, don't waste my time."
Naoya remained still, but inside, he smirked. Oh, don't worry, old man. I'll prove it. And when I do, you'll be the first to realize you underestimated me.
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