Reborn as Naoya Zenin: A New Destiny in the Zenin Clan

Later that day, Naoya found Naobito lounging in his usual spot, a cup of sake in hand and a bored expression on his face. Without hesitation, Naoya strode up to him, his tone casual but laced with determination.

"Hey, old man. I want to learn Simple Domain and Falling Blossom Emotion."

Naobito raised an eyebrow, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took a slow sip of sake. He didn't look surprised—if anything, he seemed mildly amused by Naoya's bluntness.

"It seems your manners are declining. Or maybe you've just gotten too comfortable around me."

Naoya smirked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Over time, he'd grown familiar with Naobito's quirks, and the old man had, in turn, developed a begrudging tolerance for Naoya's lack of formality. Whether Naobito realized it or not, he'd started to like the kid—or at the very least, found him less irritating than the rest of the clan.

"What can I say? You're not as scary as you think you are. Besides, I'm not here to waste your time. I'm here to get stronger. So, are you going to teach me or not?"

Naobito let out a low chuckle, setting his cup down with a soft clink. His expression was unreadable, but there was a glint of something—approval, perhaps—in his eyes.

"I heard you fought with your brother. That retard must think himself something special. So, did you gain anything from that waste of time?"

"Who?" Naoya asked, feigning ignorance.

Naobito stared at him for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. Then, with a sigh, he clarified, "I'm talking about Gorlock."

"Oh, you meant Barack Obese," Naoya chuckled, his smirk widening. "My bad."

Naobito's lips twitched, almost as if he were fighting back a smirk of his own.

"But how cruel of you, saying that about one of your sons," Naoya added, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Naobito leaned back in his seat, his sharp eyes never leaving Naoya. The faintest hint of a smirk played on his lips, though he quickly masked it with another sip of sake.

"Cruel, you say?" Naobito replied, his voice dry and laced with amusement. "If that's cruel, then what does that make you? You're the one who sent him flying across the training grounds like a ragdoll. And don't think I didn't hear about the names you were calling him. Barack Obese? Really?"

Naoya shrugged, his smirk never wavering. "What can I say? He's an easy target. Besides, if he's going to challenge a seven-year-old, he deserves a little humiliation. It's not my fault he's as sharp as a spoon."

Naobito snorted, taking another sip of sake. "Simple Domain and Falling Blossom Emotion, huh? Ambitious for a brat like you. Those techniques aren't exactly beginner-friendly."

"Good thing I'm not a beginner, then."

Naobito studied him for a moment, his fingers drumming against the table. Then, with a sigh, he leaned back, his tone casual but carrying an underlying edge.

"Fine. But how did you find out about these techniques? I don't recall mentioning them. And I know you'd never ask anyone in the clan about anything—not even the top elders. You look down on everyone, don't you? Even me,am I right?."

Naoya's smirk didn't falter. If anything, it grew wider, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement.

"I have my ways," he responded simply, his tone cryptic but confident.

Naobito's gaze narrowed, but there was a flicker of curiosity behind his sharp eyes. He didn't press further, though. If Naoya had secrets, he'd find them out eventually. For now, he was content to let the kid play his games.

As Naoya turned to leave, Naobito watched him go, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The kid was arrogant, sure, but he had the drive to back it up. And if Naobito was being honest with himself—which he rarely was—he might have even admitted that he was starting to enjoy their little exchanges.

But of course, he'd never say that out loud.

...

Meanwhile, in a different part of the jujutsu world, 7-year-old Gojo Satoru lounged lazily on a training mat. His mentor, a stern-faced man with a clipboard in hand, stood nearby, clearly trying to maintain his composure despite Gojo's lack of interest.

"Gojo, did you hear about Naoya Zenin? They say he's very talented," the mentor said, his tone a mix of curiosity and exasperation.

"Zenin?" Gojo repeated, tilting his head as if trying to recall something. "The name seems familiar… where did I hear it? Are they famous?" he asked, yawning loudly as if the conversation were the most boring thing in the world.

The mentor's eye twitched, and a vein visibly popped on his forehead. "Were you not paying attention when I was explaining the major families?" he said through gritted teeth, clearly struggling to keep his temper in check.

Gojo tilted his head further, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Eh, I must've zoned out. You know how it is—too much information, not enough time to nap."

The mentor took a deep breath, clearly counting to ten in his head before responding. "The Zenin clan is one of the three great families in the jujutsu world. They're known for their powerful cursed techniques and their… unique personalities."

Gojo shrugged, leaning back on his hands. "Sounds boring. Unless this Naoya guy can do something interesting, I don't see why I should care."

The mentor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just… try to pay attention next time, alright? You're supposed to be the future of the jujutsu world, Gojo. You can't just ignore everything."

Gojo waved a hand dismissively, his grin never fading. "Yeah, yeah. Future of the jujutsu world, blah blah blah. Can we get back to training? Or better yet, can we take a break? I'm starving."

The mentor groaned, muttering something under his breath about "ungrateful prodigies" as Gojo stretched out on the mat, clearly already checked out of the conversation.