Jujutsu Dragon Emperor Chapter 2 - Principle of Domination

Naoto was now six years old, and currently standing in the dirt yard with his hands up and sweat dripping down his back. Across from him was Sato Zenma, one of his instructors. The man never held back, not even when his opponent was barely taller than his chest. His father had forced him to be that way, his teachers were never allowed to go easy on him or they would be replaced. This man was really fighting with his full power against someone who was nearly 4 decades younger than him.

They've been drilling for hours, he had been teaching him forms in different katas as well as forcing him to circulate his cursed energy. Now it all finished with a spar.

They circled, Sato came forward first, his fist shooting out straight for Naoto's face. Naoto blocked, catching the arm with his forearm, and tried to counter with a kick to the thigh. Sato checked it with his leg and shoved him back with his shoulder, forcing Naoto to stumble. He caught his balance, raised his guard again, and stepped in quick with a jab toward the ribs. Sato batted it aside and threw a punch to the chest. The impact rattled through Naoto's arms when he blocked, but at least he stayed on his feet.

"Too soft!" Sato shouted.

Naoto clenched his teeth and went back in. He snapped his leg out, heel aimed for Sato's ribs. This time the man caught his ankle, twisted, and forced him off balance. Naoto dropped into a roll, scrambled back to his feet, and swung a fast strike at Sato's head. The older man ducked under it and swept his leg out. Naoto jumped it, tried to push forward with his elbow, but Sato met him with a sharp knee to the stomach. The air rushed out of his lungs, he barely stopped himself from collapsing. He tried to turn the momentum, grabbing at Sato's arm to pull him into a throw, but the man shifted his weight and broke the hold like it was nothing. A hard strike slammed into Naoto's back and he staggered forward.

"You are leaving yourself open, Naoto-sama," Sato said sternly.

A kick slammed into his side before he could reset. The force sent him tumbling across the ground, dirt scratching his skin. Pain flared through his ribs, but he forced himself up, and raised his hands. He was hurting, but his body wasn't breaking. The Hanma bloodline was good for something at least.

He went in again, refusing to stay down. He threw everything he had trying to push Sato back with speed instead of power. For a moment he managed to hold his ground, trading strikes, blocking, countering, slipping past a few hits. But Sato was stronger and faster. He swatted aside the attacks, closed the gap, and drove his elbow into Naoto's chest. The blow lifted him off his feet and sent him crashing flat on his back. Sato stepped back and folded his arms. "End of the round. You're improving. But not enough. Keep fighting like this, and you'll die the moment you step outside this compound."

Naoto pushed himself to his knees. He wanted to spit back something, but he knew the man was right. The only choice was to stand up again and keep going until he could make sure nobody in this world ever put him down for good. He stayed on the ground for a moment, catching his breath, his ribs still burning where Sato's kick had landed. The shoji door to the yard slid open and Mirajane stepped out, her eyes narrowing the instant she saw him. She came straight over without hesitation, kneeling down beside him, and her hands hovered at his shoulders before she brushed dirt off his cheek.

"Really?" she said, glaring at Sato. "He's six. You don't have to throw him around like that."

Sato didn't look fazed. He just folded his arms. "If he cannot take it now, he will not take it later."

Mirajane's lips pressed into a thin line. She shook her head and turned back to Naoto. "Are you hurt? Do you need the doctor?"

Naoto pushed himself upright, and shook his head. "I'm fine."

Sato gave a small nod like that was all the confirmation he needed. "Good. I'll see you here tomorrow, Naoto-sama." He turned and walked away, not sparing another glance.

Mirajane waited until his back was fully turned before sticking her tongue out at him. She let Naoto see it before sighing and slipping an arm around him, steadying him as he got to his feet. "Come on," she said softly. "Let's get you inside before you collapse out here."

She slowed her steps to match his and guided him across the yard, her hand on his shoulder whenever he winced from the pain in his side. Naoto didn't bother saying much. The hall inside was quiet, servants bowing as they passed but not speaking, after a bit of walking she brought him straight into his own room. The futon was already rolled out, sheets clean, and she lowered him onto it before kneeling beside him.

"Sit still," she said. She fetched a cloth and a bowl of water from the corner table and wrung it out before wiping the dirt from his face and arms and pressing along his ribs to check where he'd been hit. Naoto winced but didn't pull away. "Bruised," she said after a moment. "Not broken. He still kicked you harder than he should have," she said with an annoyed expression.

Naoto let out a slow breath, leaning back against the wall. "He doesn't care. None of them do. They just keep comparing me to the Gojo prodigy."

Mirajane dabbed at his side, ignoring his complaint. "You're not wrong, I'll try and speak to Naobito-sama again, pushing you so hard will only do harm."

He watched her work, the way her brow furrowed slightly in concentration, the way her lips pressed together whenever he flinched under her touch. She was thirteen years older than him but the only one in this house who ever treated him like he mattered beyond what he could become. Everyone else looked at him like a tool the clan was sharpening. Mirajane was the only one who looked at him like a boy. If he was honest at first he didn't really see her much as a person, he didn't really see anyone here as people. They were characters in a story, but as time went by he started to wonder if that was wrong. Everyone here felt real, they were real, even if they were stories in his first life, they certainly weren't now.

"See?" she said, sitting back on her heels once she'd finished wiping the worst of the dirt away. "Better already."

Naoto smirked faintly despite himself. "I'm a genius of the Zenin clan, what can you do," he said while shrugging.

She gave him a look that was half amusement, half annoyance. "That's not an excuse to let people break. Promise me you'll tell me if something actually goes too far."

"I'll tell you," Naoto said. "But I'm fine. Really."

Mirajane sighed, shaking her head, and set the cloth back into the bowl. "Fine. But if you start coughing blood, I'm dragging you to the doctor myself."

"I'll tell you," Naoto said. "But I'm fine. Really."

Mirajane sighed, shaking her head, and set the cloth back into the bowl. "Fine. But if you start coughing blood, I'm dragging you to the doctor myself." She stood and left to fetch his dinner, sliding the shoji door closed behind her. Naoto leaned back against the wall and let his eyes wander over the empty room, ribs still aching but not enough to slow his thoughts. The pain was manageable. What wasn't so easy to swallow was the way the past year had gone.

Things had gotten worse. Much worse. When he turned five, his cursed technique hadn't appeared. That was a huge event for any sorcerer, the age when most techniques manifested, and the clan had been waiting with bated breath for him to show something. Nothing happened. No innate ability. Just cursed energy reserves and physical reinforcement. It would have been disappointing enough on its own, but it happened the same year Satoru Gojo awakened Limitless. So not only was there a boy born with the Six Eyes, but he also unlocked the most powerful technique in his family's history. Someone like that hadn't been seen in centuries, and the moment it was announced, Naoto's standing in the Zenin clan collapsed.

His father was not pleased.

Things only got worse when his younger brother Naoya turned five and unlocked Projection Sorcery. A direct heir with a proven technique while Naoto still had nothing. It was obvious where the clan's attention shifted. These past few months had made it painfully clear: Naoya was the new heir, Naoto was the leftover.

It was a shame, really. Naoto had actually liked his little brother. Over the years he'd made an effort to be close to him, but the clan worked to keep them apart, and in doing so, he watched Naoya slowly twist. With everyone propping him up as the prodigy, Naoya was already starting to look down on others. He was still respectful to Naoto, still called him "big brother" when they were allowed to speak, but Naoto could see the arrogance settling in. It wouldn't take long before he stopped seeing Naoto as anything important.

Naoto didn't let it get under his skin. That smug asshole god had promised he'd get a cursed technique eventually, and Naoto wasn't going to panic until he knew what it was. Why it was taking so long, he couldn't say, but he wasn't the type to sit around and wait either.

He pushed himself up and walked to the shelves at the far side of his room. The wood was stacked with scrolls, books, and old bindings, most of them dealing with cursed techniques and auxiliary practices. He had been studying constantly. He didn't have the luxury to be lazy. He had to know everything that was available to sorcerers who didn't have an innate technique. New Shadow Style, shikigami contracts cursed tools, martial disciplines, binding vows; he'd gone through all of them, front to back, over and over again.

Right now, he was deep into talismans. They were interesting work. Most were catalysts for summoning shikigami, but some were used for barriers or sealing objects. The theory was simple but the applications stretched far. What caught his eye most was the shikigami themselves. According to the books, it was possible to summon one without a catalyst, but you'd only ever get some weak grade 4, usually useless in a fight. With a catalyst, though, you could make binding vows to push the form further, adjusting size, strength, and durability. The writings all said it stopped there. No one tried to push the concept any further.

Naoto thought that was strange. He supposed it came down to the catalyst. A talisman was just paper. Push too much cursed energy through it and it burned out instantly. That was why innate shikigami techniques were so much more powerful. They were etched into the soul, not a fragile piece of paper.

He set the book down as the door slid open and Mirajane returned, carrying a tray with his dinner. She crouched beside him and held the bowl out. "Eat," she said.

Naoto reached for it, but she pulled it back slightly with a teasing smile. "I'll feed you."

He frowned. "No."

She pouted. "You used to let me when you were younger."

Naoto gave her a flat, deadpan stare. "I was younger."

Her pout deepened, but she handed the bowl over anyway. He ate quickly, not savoring much of it, just fueling himself for tomorrow. Once he was done, he set the tray aside and stood.

"Where are you going?" Mirajane asked, frowning.

"Out," Naoto said.

Her eyes narrowed. "You're going to see that man again, aren't you?"

Naoto nodded. "He's the best fighter here. If I'm going to learn, it should be from him."

Mirajane's frown deepened into something closer to a scolding look. "You're so rude. You should be showing more respect to your father. He—"

"I don't care about any of that, as long as he teaches me," Naoto cut in. He slipped past her, tying his sash tighter. "I'll be back later."

Mirajane let out a frustrated sigh, but she didn't stop him. She knew better by now.

Naoto stepped out into the night air, cursed energy already flowing through his body as he reinforced his legs. His pace quickened, the ground beneath him blurring as he crossed the compound, his steps so light they barely stirred the dirt. It didn't take him long to reach the edge of the grounds, where the polished walls and fine halls gave way to a decrepit house half-forgotten by the rest of the clan.

He walked straight up to the front door and banged his fist against it. "Toji! Wake up, old man! Hey!" He kept pounding, ignoring the ache in his knuckles, until the door creaked open.

Toji Zenin stood there with messy hair, eyes half-open, scratching at the back of his head with a look that was equal parts annoyance and exhaustion. He looked down at Naoto, grunted, and said, "Get lost." He started to close the door.

Naoto's foot shot out, cursed energy surging into the strike, and the door splintered as it swung wide, cracked nearly off its hinges.

Toji let out a long sigh, rubbing his temple. "Come on, kid. You know no one's gonna fix that, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Naoto said, brushing past the wood. "Now get outside. You said you'd teach me."

The doorframe creaked where Naoto had kicked it, wood splintering near the hinges, and Toji just stood there scratching the back of his head. His shirt was loose, half untucked, and there was an empty sake bottle rolling against the floor behind him. He looked more like a drunk uncle than someone from one of the three great clans. "You've got some nerve," Toji muttered, stepping over the bottle and rubbing his face like he'd just woken up from a nap. "I was sleeping. You know what that means?"

Naoto crossed his arms. "That you're a slob?"

Toji gave him a flat look. "That I don't want to be bothered."

"Too bad," Naoto said. "You're going to teach me."

Toji snorted, turning back inside as if the conversation was over. "Teach you what? How to sleep all day... close one eye... and then the other" Toji sat back in the chair, one arm draped over the backrest, the other fishing through the pile of clutter on the table until he came up with a half-full cup of sake. He swirled it lazily, watching Naoto like he was waiting for him to give up and leave. When Naoto just stood there with his arms crossed, Toji took a long drink and sighed.

"You really don't quit, do you," he said.

"No," Naoto answered. "That's why you're going to teach me."

"Teach you what?" Toji said, gesturing vaguely with the cup. "You've already got the clan dogs snapping at your heels every morning. What do you need me for?"

Naoto didn't blink. "Because you're better than them. Everyone knows it. And you fight differently. I can learn from that."

Toji chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "You really think flattering me is gonna work? Cute."

"It's not flattery if it's true," Naoto said.

That got a laugh out of him. He set the cup down with a clink and rubbed the back of his neck. "Kid, I'm not a teacher. I don't do drills or step-by-step bullshit. I fight, I win, I drink, I sleep. That's it."

"Then I'll learn by fighting you," Naoto said.

Toji raised an eyebrow. "You're six."

Naoto didn't answer right away. He walked over to the table, picked up a loose card from the deck scattered there, and held it between his fingers. "You lost five times in a row to a six-year-old. Remember?"

Toji groaned, dropping his head back against the chair. "Don't remind me. Blackjack. I still don't get it. I don't lose like that usually. Then you sit down and clean me out like it's nothing."

"You bet the money, I won it, and I gave it back," Naoto said, slipping the card back onto the pile. "That means you owe me something else. And I want lessons."

Toji tilted his head, studying him again. The smirk on his face didn't match the irritation in his eyes. "You're stubborn. I'll give you that."

"I'll need to be if I'm going to survive here," Naoto said.

That wiped the smirk away, even if just for a second. Toji leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and let out another sigh. "Fine. You want a lesson? You'll get one. But don't cry when it hurts."

Naoto didn't flinch. "I won't."

Toji stood, stretching his shoulders with a lazy roll, then pushed the chair back with his foot. He looked around the room, then gestured to the mess. "Not in here. You'll mess up my stuff and I don't feel like replacing it. Outside."

Naoto followed him out into the yard behind the decrepit house. The dirt was uneven, patches of grass sticking out, but it was open enough. Toji stopped, cracked his neck, and glanced down at Naoto. "First thing. You've got cursed energy. Lots of it. But don't rely on it to cover bad habits. That's how sorcerers get lazy. You've seen it in the clan."

Naoto nodded. "They depend on their techniques."

"Exactly," Toji said, grinning this time. "That's why they lose when they fight someone like me."

He stepped forward suddenly, faster than Naoto could see, and flicked him on the forehead with enough force to make him stumble back. "Lesson one," Toji said. "Don't blink. Ever. The second you look away, you get hit."

Naoto steadied himself, rubbing his forehead. "That wasn't a fight."

"That was the point," Toji said. "I don't fight fair. Neither should you."

Naoto's jaw tightened, but he raised his guard. "Then let's start."

Toji smirked, rolling his shoulders again. "Fine. Show me what you've got, Naoto."

Naoto set his stance. He raised his fists and let cursed energy move throughout his body, he stood there waitin he for an opening, for him to make the first move.

"What are you a tree?" Toji said, circling slowly. "St leasst your form is good. But you're stiff. You'll waste energy like that."

Naoto didn't answer. He knew better than to waste his breath. Toji's eyes narrowed, and before Naoto could blink, he was already moving. A blur, then a hand in his face. Naoto threw his arm up to block, but the slap cracked across his cheek anyway, the sting running hot through his skin.

"Lesson one," Toji said, grinning. "Don't react to hands. React to movement."

Naoto forced himself back into stance, ignoring the heat on his cheek. He shifted his weight, tried to keep his eyes on Toji's shoulders and hips. This time, when Toji lunged forward, Naoto slid to the side, hand snapping out to catch his arm. For a moment, he thought he had him, but Toji twisted easily, breaking the grip, and shoved him down into the dirt with one hand.

"You're small. Don't wrestle with someone bigger than you unless you already know you can win. Strike and move."

Naoto pushed himself back up, grit between his teeth. He rushed in, throwing a quick series of strikes—two to the chest, one aimed at the stomach, finishing with a low kick. Toji blocked all of them without effort, his forearms taking the punches, his shin catching the kick. Then his foot lashed out, catching Naoto in the thigh hard enough to make him stumble.

"Better," Toji said casually. "But you're rushing. You can't just flail and hope one lands. Pick your shot."

Naoto reset, his ribs still sore from Sato's lesson earlier that day. He feinted with his hand, watching Toji's eyes, then shot forward with a sharp kick toward his side. For the first time, Toji had to actually move, twisting his torso to let the strike slide past. Naoto followed with a punch, but Toji caught his wrist, yanked him forward, and cracked his knee into his stomach. Naoto doubled over, choking, but Toji shoved him back upright.

"Good aim," Toji said. "But if you throw yourself in like that, you better make it count, because you're wide open the second it fails."

Naoto wiped spit from his lip and straightened again. He didn't back off. He couldn't. He darted in low this time, driving a kick toward Toji's shin, then snapping his other leg up for a follow-up strike. Toji stepped back from the first, blocked the second with his forearm, and swatted Naoto's leg away like it was nothing. He countered with a palm strike to the chest that knocked Naoto onto his back.

Naoto rolled, forcing himself to his feet, breathing hard now. His body ached, his chest burned, but he still raised his fists. Toji grinned. "That's what I like. You get hit, but you don't stay down."

Naoto rushed again, but this time he didn't attack head-on. He slipped to the side, threw a low kick, then pulled back immediately before Toji could catch him. He darted forward again, jabbing quickly, then stepped away. For the first time, Toji tilted his head, watching him more carefully.

"Better. You're thinking. Now do it faster."

Naoto clenched his fists, cursed energy stirring faintly under his skin. He darted in again, his fists snapping out, trying to keep his strikes unpredictable. Toji blocked most, slipped past others, and let one graze his ribs.

"Not bad," he said. Then his hand shot forward, grabbing Naoto by the collar, and he flung him down into the dirt again.

Naoto coughed, rolling onto his side, every bone in his body aching from the constant hits. Toji crouched beside him, smirk tugging at his lips. "Lesson two. You're not going to beat me, not today, not tomorrow. But you keep fighting anyway. That's how you learn."

Naoto pushed himself up, and met his eyes. "Then let's keep going."

Toji barked a laugh, standing tall again. "Fine, kid. Let's see how much punishment you can take."

Despite wanting to go again Naoto was very much regretting that. Toji didn't let him catch his breath. Every time Naoto tried to hold still, Toji came at him again, forcing him to block, dodge, or take the hit. His arms ached from blocking, his legs burned from moving, his chest stung with every breath. Toji wasn't striking to kill, but he wasn't holding back much either.

"Move," Toji barked as Naoto staggered from another kick to the ribs.

Naoto forced his feet under him, slipping to the side just in time to avoid the next blow. His counterpunch landed against Toji's side, but the man barely flinched. Naoto followed with a kick, but Toji caught his leg and shoved him back, sending him tumbling across the dirt again.

"Sloppy," Toji said. "You throw too much power into every hit. It's wasted when it doesn't land."

Naoto spat into the dirt and stood again. He darted in low again, sliding under Toji's guard, aiming for his stomach. His fist connected, solid, but Toji only grinned, brought his elbow down on Naoto's back, and sent him sprawling again.

"See? You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts only get you so far."

Naoto pushed himself up slowly, his whole body trembling now. His vision blurred at the edges, but he steadied it. He couldn't stop. He wouldn't. He set his feet again, staring at Toji, breathing harsh and uneven.

"Still coming?" Toji asked.

Naoto nodded. "Keep going."

Toji smirked and rushed him again. Naoto dodged the first strike, blocked the second, but the third cracked against his jaw and sent him down on one knee. He staggered back up, his fists raised. Toji stepped forward casually, raising his hand for another strike, but something shifted inside Naoto.

A pulse.

It started deep in his chest, then surged through his body like someone had lit a fuse. The air around him stirred faintly. Toji slowed, eyebrow lifting as he noticed it too. Naoto's cursed energy flared brightly and seemed to grow more refined Naoto gasped as the pressure inside him built higher and higher until it snapped into place. A single word rang out in his mind.

[Boost]

The strength in his limbs doubled instantly. His legs no longer trembled. His body became sturdier. His breathing cleared. He felt heavier and lighter at the same time, his body under his control in a way it hadn't been seconds ago. Naoto rushed forward before he even thought. His fist shot toward Toji's chest, faster than before. Toji caught it, but his arm shifted back an inch from the force. Naoto twisted, slammed a kick into his shin, and drove his other fist into Toji's stomach. This time, the impact actually pushed Toji half a step back.

Toji's eyes widened slightly. "Well, look at that," he said, with a massive grin on his face.

Naoto pressed forward, throwing a barrage of strikes, each one heavier than the last. Toji blocked most, deflected others, but the hits that landed actually made him smile in excitement.

Another pulse surged inside him.

[Boost]

His next strike slammed into Toji's arm with enough force that the man actually shook it out afterward, laughing under his breath. "Kid, you've been holding out on me."

Naoto didn't answer. He couldn't. His whole body burned with the new energy. He drove forward again, hitting, kicking, refusing to stop. Toji blocked, dodged, parried, but he wasn't treating him like a joke anymore.Then, just as sudden, the surge cut out. The cursed energy around Naoto dropped back, the strength fading as quickly as it had come. His body felt heavier than before, every muscle screaming. His fist slowed mid-strike, and Toji easily caught it, twisting Naoto's arm and shoving him flat onto the ground.

Naoto gasped, his chest heaving, his whole body trembling under the strain. Toji crouched over him, smirk wide. "Lesson three," he said. "You've finally got something. Don't let it kill you before you learn how to use it."

Naoto lay on the dirt, vision spinning, but he couldn't help the faint grin that tugged at his lips. He had it. Finally.

────────────────────

[Cursed Technique: Principle of Domination]

────────────────────

Primary Effect:

You impose overwhelming force on the target through successive amplification of your own cursed energy. Each activation doubles the strength, speed, and durability of your body, compounding over time. The amplification is triggered by the command "Boost," which resonates with the soul and forces cursed energy into a state of expansion.

The effect continues to stack until cancelled or until your body fails under the pressure.

Limitations:

– Boost requires intervals between activations.

– Each activation increases physical strain proportionally.

– If the user cannot endure the accumulated burden, catastrophic backlash will occur.

— user can not access full power of the boosts until he has refined his control.