Naoya Zen’in returned from the mission alone.

That, at least, was normal.

What wasn’t normal was the state he was in: clothes shredded, skin bruised, breath uneven. Projection Sorcery had carried him through countless battles before, he was the fastest sorcerer alive, save for Gojo Satoru himself, and yet the cursed spirit he had been sent to exorcise had slowed him. Literally. A Reverse Curse that warped cause and effect, turning momentum into resistance, precision into drag. Every frame he tried to lock into place slipped. Every step felt wrong.

The fight had been ugly. Prolonged. Infuriating.

And in its final moments, when Naoya crushed the spirit under overwhelming force anyway, it laughed and cursed him.

By the time he reached the Zen’in compound, his speed was back. Perfect. Immaculate. Faster than ever, really. Whatever the curse had done, it hadn’t dulled his edge.

If anything, it had refined him.

He entered the compound and bowed. Deeply. That alone caused three elders to choke on their tea.

The debriefing began as usual. An elder raised his voice. Naoya listened politely, then frowned.

“Could you lower your tone?” he said, mildly. “You’re being rude.”

Silence.

A woman entered to deliver refreshments. Naoya stood, helped her, thanked her sincerely, and asked whether the clan had been overworking her lately. He offered to walk her back afterward. For safety.

The room froze.

Over the next hour, the pattern became impossible to deny. Naoya deferred to women without thinking: nodding along, praising insight, treating their words as default authority. Men, meanwhile, were subjected to withering scrutiny. He questioned their decisions. Scoffed at their posturing. Dismissed them outright unless they demonstrated actual competence.

He was still arrogant.

He had simply… redirected it.

By nightfall, panic spread through the compound. Cursing was suspected. Rituals proposed. Some suggested sealing him. Someone else proposed killing him before he could say “women deserve rights” again.

When finally demanded to explain what had happened, Naoya looked genuinely confused.

“The curse just helped me see things clearly,” he said, stretching comfortably. “Turns out women are great. Men are mostly disappointing. If that bothers you, feel free to prove me wrong.”

He smiled.

Somewhere deep within the Zen’in estate, ancient traditions cracked audibly.

And the clan came to a horrifying realization: Naoya Zen’in was still the fastest sorcerer among them.

He was just running in the opposite direction now.