Naoya sighed dramatically and closed his eyes. "A pain in the ass. Go ask your mom."
"She said to ask you."
"That traitor."
"So?" she insisted.
Naoya waved a lazy hand. "It's… like anger juice. But inside your soul."
Makima blinked.
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
"Then stop asking dumb questions."
"Are you seriously not going to tell me?"
"Nope."
"Is it because I'm a girl?"
"Exactly."
(Sits down cross-legged)
"…Why do you hate women?"
(Sips sake with a grin)
"Because most of them are weak, loud, and annoying. Like insects that cry too much. You're halfway to being one already."
"I want to train, Papa. Please. I'm your daughter. Make an exception," Makima said, trying to act cute—but failing miserably.
Naoya stared at her, disturbed.
He groaned and turned his face away. "Don't act out of character. That's disgusting. Plus You can't even tie your own shoes."
"I don't wear shoes," she said flatly.
"Exactly."
Makima took a step closer. "I've been watching the others. I know how they move. I know the patterns."
"Congrats," Naoya said. "You've got eyes. Go away."
"I want to be strong," she said. "Like you."
That almost got him. Almost.
He peeked at her sideways. "Don't try to flatter me. It won't work. I hate women."
"I'm two."
"Even worse."
Makima just stood there, staring him down. Pure silence.
Naoya clicked his tongue.
"What—you think standing there like a haunted doll is going to guilt-trip me into helping?"
More silence.
He sat up with a dramatic groan. "Fine! You wanna train that bad? You can start."
Makima tilted her head. "Now?"
"No," he snapped. "When you turn four. Maybe then I'll consider it."
"…Why four?"
"You'll understand when you're four."
She blinked once. "Okay."
And walked off. No complaint. No argument. Like it was already settled.
Naoya narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious.
"…Why do I feel like I just got tricked?"
…
In the two years since development began, Naoya had made incredible progress coding the game himself. The underlying systems, the cursed energy mechanics, the combat physics — all cutting-edge, all uniquely his. It was his vision. His control.
But the animation team? That was a different story.
Even after hiring the best in the industry — award-winning studios, renowned freelancers with cult followings, and even founding his own team, Heavenly Bloodline Studio — none of their work satisfied him. Every submission met the same fate: a frown, a scoff, and, ultimately, deletion.
The game, originally slated for release next year, now faced a two-year delay — solely because Naoya refused to release it unless the visuals were perfect.
And despite the setbacks, he had already dropped a teaser trailer the week before — a global release. The trailer went viral overnight. It showcased faithful recreations of Jujutsu Kaisen's first season, reimagined entirely within the game engine — not just as cutscenes, but as playable sequences.
Reactions to the trailer flooded in:
"This looks like something from a next-gen console — how is this even possible on current hardware?"
"The animation is top-notch; hope they don't mess up the gameplay if this turns into a full release."
"Is this some kind of dark fantasy? The fight scenes look insane!"
"Hope the combat's as fast-paced as it looks in the trailer."
"I just pray this doesn't turn into some 2edgy4me emo fest — but those fight scenes tho, total win."
"Is this cinematic, or actual gameplay? The line is blurred!"
"Looks like Bleach and Naruto had a baby raised by DOOM."
Gaming forums and early social media exploded with buzz about the trailer's unprecedented graphics and fluid combat mechanics. Many speculated about the engine or tools used to build it, calling it a potential game-changer in the industry.
"The visuals are stunning, but what's the story here? Who are these characters?"
"Why's the white-haired guy blindfolded? Is he blind?"
"The main character has pink hair LOL."
"This trailer gave me more hype than my internet staying up for five straight minutes."
"That guy's tattoos look sick."
"Someone explain what's going on? I'm half here for the supernatural drama, half here for the animation. 👀"
"So… basically it's like Harry Potter, but with more punching and fewer spells?"
"Is this getting a game adaptation? I'd buy it day one."
"Came for the ghost fights, stayed for the animation quality."
"Why wasn't my school like this? Just math and disappointment."
"Is this based on a manga or anime? It feels like there's deep lore behind it."
The trailer managed to pierce the echo chamber of the gaming community. Viewers outside the usual circles became fascinated by the cinematic quality and mysterious narrative. Rumors about adaptations — anime, manga, maybe even a film — spread fast, despite Jujutsu Kaisen not being publicly known yet.
"An unknown developer releasing a trailer of this caliber? There's more to this story."
"The attention to detail in the urban environments suggests either insider access or ridiculous research."
Journalists and tech analysts began digging for more. Who was behind this? Where was the funding coming from? Who were the devs? The game's sudden emergence — a trailer of this quality from a no-name source — raised eyebrows across the industry.
Internal Security Meeting, 2008
Head of National Security:
"We have a situation. This trailer circulating online depicts real individuals who have been under covert protection — Gojo Satoru, Sukuna, and others. More critically, it confirms the existence of cursed spirits, which we've long kept classified from the public."
Intelligence Officer:
"This is a massive breach. The public isn't ready to know about curses or sorcerers. Panic and chaos could follow if this spreads unchecked."
Government Legal Advisor:
"We need to assess the trailer for any sensitive information leakage. Is it purely visual, or are there coded details that compromise our operations or identities?"
Communications Director:
"Preliminary analysis shows the trailer uses actual footage and depictions matching our classified dossiers. Even if it's animated, the resemblance is undeniable."
Head of National Security:
"Immediate actions:
Contact the creators and distributors for takedown demands under national security laws.
Launch an investigation into how this material was leaked or created.
Prepare a controlled public statement emphasizing the content is fictional while quietly monitoring for leaks.
Enhance surveillance on individuals connected to sorcerer activities."
Senior Official:
"We must consider the possibility of foreign adversaries exploiting this leak. Could this be a deliberate act of espionage or sabotage?"
Intelligence Officer:
"Agreed. We should step up counterintelligence efforts immediately. Also, review all media for further leaks or accidental disclosures."
Behind the Scenes – Government Response
Media Censorship: Immediate attempts to remove or suppress the trailer on Japanese and international platforms.
Monitoring Public Reaction: Surveillance on social media and forums for signs of public suspicion or panic.
Damage Control PR: Carefully worded statements insisting the show is "fictional entertainment," downplaying any real connections while trying not to outright deny curses to avoid contradictions.
Internal Security Protocols: Tightening security around all known sorcerers and facilities, restricting information flow.
Legal Action: Potential raids or investigations on anyone suspected of involvement in leaking or producing the trailer.
But then they found the creator.
Naoya Zen'in.
And everything stopped.
Panic turned into dread.
Because you don't send takedown requests to a man who could solo the entire nation.
Naoya wasn't just a developer. He was a Special Grade sorcerer with the Zen'in clan backing him — money, protection, cursed tools, influence in politics, and Gojo Satoru is his close friend.
He wasn't under the radar — he was the radar.
Someone suggested taking him in for questioning. The room went silent. One officer muttered, "That's suicide."
Because trying to touch Naoya? That's not a diplomatic move. That's a declaration of war on the Zen'in clan. And if you think the higher-ups would back that, you'd better bring a Domain Expansion to the press conference.
If the old men in suits made a move, they'd get cooked. Flat out.
Court orders? Burned.
Military backup? Slaughtered.
Political pressure? Irrelevant.
Naoya didn't play games.
He made one. (literally)
And if anyone thought they could stop him, they'd end up as patch notes in the next trailer.
He knew exactly what they'd try — and made sure they understood what was at stake.