Isekai Tensei: I’ve been reincarnated as Inumaki.

Hello, Jujutsu Kaisen fans! How are you all doing?!

Here's a new story about what would happen if an otaku were to enter the world of Jujutsu Kaisen and change the set course for better or worse!

Draugon will have to overcome many obstacles to become incredibly powerful and reach the Special Rank!

Enjoy the read!

POV: Vinicius/Draugon

Death was not the end. It was just a change of channel.

I remember Vinicius's end. I remember the muffled sound, my poor hearing picking up only distant buzzing, and the blur of my short-sightedness when my glasses fell off. The quick but painful headache.

But the darkness was brief. Suddenly, the world exploded in colour and, mostly, in sound.

So much sound.

The first thing I noticed wasn't the light, but the noise. The piercing cry of a baby, which I realised was myself, echoed in my own ears with a crystal-clear, almost painful clarity. I could hear the rustle of fabrics, the wind hitting the paper window, the breathing of the people around me.

For someone who lived their whole life with hearing aids and lip-reading, the sharpness of the sound world was, ironically, the scariest thing.

— Shake? - a deep voice muttered.

— Sujiko… - a sweet and exhausted female voice replied.

I opened my eyes. They were light brown. The world wasn't blurry. I didn't need to grope around for my glasses. I saw every speck of dust floating in the shaft of sunlight. And, above me, I saw the faces that would define my new destiny.

The man had ashen-blonde hair, short and spiky, and snake and fang marks on his cheeks. The beautiful woman, with the same hair colour, smiled tenderly.

I knew where I was. I recognised those marks. I recognised that strange language of sushi ingredients.

— (Inumaki Clan…) - I tried to think, but my baby brain just processed the information.

I was in Jujutsu Kaisen. And I was an Inumaki. Or, in other words, I'm screwed!

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My name is Draugon Inumaki. And I am three years old.

It might seem ridiculous for an adult trapped in a child's body, but these three years were essential to understand the mess I got myself into. My analytical personality, inherited from "Vinicius", went into cerebral overheating.

I am not a normal child. I am quiet and observant. I don't cry and I don't do things that a three-year-old baby would do or react to. That would be a strange or bad thing for most Japanese families. They would think I had some cognitive problem or was affected by some kind of Jujutsu curse. But… my parents think I am a shy genius.

Little do they know I am a 25-year-old otaku, planning how not to die horribly in this dog-eat-dog world of almost cosmic horror.

The Inumaki Clan... things aren't like in the fanfics I used to read.

We are in an era before the original story of Jujutsu Kaisen. I was born in 1989. Gojo Satoru was born before me, in the same year. The balance of the world, or rather, in Japan, changed with his birth, forcing the balance with the birth of curses more powerful than normal, but for now, the Inumaki Clan is in a delicate and worrying position.

I live on an isolated estate in the mountains, far from Tokyo and Kyoto. The Main Stages. It is a traditional fortress, beautiful, but with an air of decay.

The clan's financial situation is stable, but far from the opulence of the Zenin, the Gojo, and the Kamo. The Three Major Japanese Jujutsu Clans. We don't have front companies or big real estate investments. We live off "jobs".

Our politics and influence are non-existent. The Jujutsu Higher-Ups hate us for owning a dangerous technique like Cursed Speech, which gives the clan an unwanted title as Outlaws, as predicted by my otaku knowledge.

I understood this better by listening, with my perfect ears, to a conversation between my father and my grandfather.

The Jujutsu world sees us as unstable weapons. Cursed Speech is indiscriminate. We don't need hand seals, we don't need complex rituals, we don't need to meet a strict condition or use incantations.

Just one wrong word and someone dies or suffers massive damage.

This terrifies the conservative old men. They treat us like rabid dogs that must be kept on a lead or put down. That is why we operate in the shadows. We accept missions that the "Big Three Clans" consider too dirty. Assassinations against Curse Users and mass exorcisms of group-type curses... we are cursed mercenaries.

This affects my future. If I am not strong, I will be used as a weapon or executed out of fear. I don't want that. I want to be a powerful sorcerer. I aim for Special Grade. I aim to walk side by side with Satoru Gojo and Yuki Tsukumo.

I was sitting on the porch, looking at the rock garden and throwing stones, when my uncle approached.

— Takana? (Having fun?) - Uncle Kenji asked, sitting next to me. He was tall, with an ugly scar that cut through the mouth mark on his left side. He was the "muscle" of the family.

Kenji Inumaki, a Grade 2 sorcerer. Brother of my father, Togo Inumaki. He is married to my aunt Elena Inumaki, a Grade 3 sorcerer with no technique.

I looked at him and nodded positively.

— Yes.

Communication. Ah, communication. In my past life, I spoke, but silence was my refuge when the world got too noisy. Here, the "Sushi language" is a kind of sign language. It is a protection. Words carry power, and for an Inumaki, a wrong word can blow up the head of the person you are talking to.

I learned fast. Faster than any other child, which made my grandfather, the Patriarch, very pleased. Perhaps having a child's fresh brain with a human adult mind gave a mysterious boost to learning.

The Sushi Language. This is the family's basic vocabulary:

Shake (Salmon): Yes, affirmation, agreement.

Okaka (Dried Bonito): No, negation, refusal.

Konbu (Kelp): Greeting, "attention", or sign of danger depending on the intonation.

Takana (Pickled Mustard Leaf): Concern, doubt, question.

Sujiko (Salted Salmon Roe): Love, affection, something precious. (My mother uses it a lot with me).

Mentaiko (Spicy Pollock Roe): Anger, aggression, challenge.

Tuna (Tuna): Focus, draw attention to something specific.

Tuna Mayo: A nuance of "do something now" or emphatic agreement (the favourite of the future Toge, I know).

My father, Togo Inumaki, Grade 2 sorcerer, appeared in the garden. He looked tired. He was the diplomat of the family, the one who had to deal with the old men from the Higher-Ups who came to hire us.

— Okaka... - he sighed, sitting down heavily.

My mother, Yuna Inumaki, appeared with tea. She wasn't a combat sorcerer, as her Cursed Speech was weak, but she is an excellent housewife.

— Konbu? - she asked, worried.

— Mentaiko… - my father replied, rubbing his temples (the side of the head between the eyes and ears). — Caviar… (Inside slang for the big shots of the Higher-Ups).

I understood. The Higher-Ups were pushing again. Probably wanting to cut our funding or demanding we hand over some promising member to be "tutored" (read: hostage).

I looked at my small hands. I needed to grow up soon. 1.85m tall, blonde and handsome... that was my old self, and it would be my future self. But right now, I was just a little stump of a person.

But I had something they didn't: knowledge. I knew about Sukuna. I knew about Kenjaku. I knew about the Prison Realm. I knew about Suguru Geto. About Shibuya and the Culling Game.

I am going to become a Special Grade. I won't be a support who coughs up blood after two words. I will refine my Cursed Energy, learn Reverse Cursed Technique to heal my throat instantly and train my body to be a combat machine.

— Sujiko… ~ - my mother touched my head, smiling. She had no idea her son was planning extreme survival at a tender age.

— I love you. - I answered her with my gesture of love. A hug.

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At 4 years old, the reality of our status became clear.

There was an invasion. Grade 2 curses, attracted or sent by someone, attacked the edges of the estate.

I saw my grandfather, Genjiro Inumaki, in action for the first time. He was a short, wrinkled man, but with an oppressive aura. He walked to the main gate, where the curses, grotesque creatures that looked like frogs mixed with corpses, tried to break the barrier.

I was hiding behind a pillar, watching and afraid. My mother and aunt were by my side, ready to defend me with a naginata in case something went wrong. My father and uncle were on a mission. My grandfather was the sole attacker.

Genjiro didn't even raise his hand. He just pulled down his kimono collar, revealing his marked mouth.

— CRUSH YOURSELVES.

The sound wasn't loud. It was heavy. I felt the air vibrate, an invisible shockwave that hit the curses.

SPLAT.

There was no fight. The three Grade 2 curses simply imploded. Purple flesh and black blood rained on the stone floor and vanished into dust.

Grandfather coughed, a dry and hoarse cough, and took a bottle of medicinal syrup he carried on his belt.

— Okaka. - he grumbled, wiping the corner of his mouth. He was getting old. The recoil of the technique was taking its toll.

That was amazing. And terrifying. The power of an Inumaki is unmatched against the weak, but it has a high price against the strong. Cursed Speech has power over two Grades below. For example, Genjiro is a Grade 2 sorcerer. The curses were Grade 2. His Cursed Speech would instantly destroy several Grade 2 and 1 curses, except for Supreme Grade 1 and Special Grade.

If he had used it against a Special Grade Curse, his throat would have exploded and the damage would be ineffective against the special curse.

I need to overcome this weakness. I need to be smarter and formulate a strategic plan for evolution.

Later, at that dinner, the mood was tense.

— Mentaiko! - Uncle Kenji banged the table. He wanted to counter-attack whoever sent the curses.

— Okaka. - my father, Togo, replied calmly. — Konbu. (We need to be careful).

— Tuna! - Aunt Elena pointed outside, agreeing with her husband. They were tired of living in fear, of living like hidden rats.

I ate my rice in silence. They were discussing internal politics:

Kenji and Elena represented the radical faction of the clan: they wanted to use our power to take respect by force.

My father and my grandfather were conservatives: they wanted to survive and keep the bloodline safe.

Me? I was on the side of survival, but with radical methods. I had about 12 to 15 years until the main plot started. Enough time to formulate my plans.

My fifth birthday didn't have a party with cake and balloons. It had a ritual.

It is a tradition in the Inumaki Clan. At five years old, the innate technique usually awakens completely and the marks appear, but the ritual serves ritualistically to channel the power, through cursed ink to reinforce the power of Cursed Speech. It is thanks to this ritual that a Grade 2 Sorcerer can destroy a Grade 1 curse.

I was taken to the inner shrine. The smell of incense was strong. My father, my mother, and my grandfather were there. I sat on the tatami mat, wearing a white ceremonial kimono.

— Draugon… - my grandfather spoke in the Sushi language. — You carry the blood of the snake and the fangs. Today, your voice ceases to be human and becomes a weapon.

He held a brush dipped in black ink, which was infused with years of cursed energy and rare herbs.

— Accept the burden.

He began to draw on my cheeks, over the mark of the innate technique. The ink burned on my cheeks and tongue. It felt like acid touching my skin.

I clenched my teeth, but made no sound. I was Vinicius, the man who lived in silence. Now I am a new person, Draugon Inumaki, I have to endure the pain with honour and masculinity.

I felt the Cursed Energy in my stomach. It was hot, viscous, like lava. It rose through my chest, wrapped around my lungs, and settled in my throat.

My tongue tingled. The symbol of the snake and fangs appeared on my tongue spontaneously, glowing intensely a dark purple before settling as a black tattoo.

My grandfather stepped back, impressed. It didn't have the same glow as his son, Togo Inumaki. It was stronger and brighter.

— Shake... - he whispered. The manifestation was strong.

My mother cried silently in the corner. She knew that from now on, I could never say "I love you" to her without risking hurting her. The isolation of an Inumaki began now.

But I smiled internally. I was waiting for this. I stood up. The power pulsed in my throat, begging to be released. It was an intoxicating feeling.

I felt... powerful.

The Inumaki Clan is decaying?

Outlaws?

Not for long. I am going to change that.

I looked at the wooden target placed in the centre of the shrine. A thick oak trunk, reinforced with protection talismans.

I took a deep breath. The air went in, became charged with cursed energy in my modified larynx, and I let out my first Cursed Word.

I didn't use sushi ingredients. The test required a command.

I opened my mouth. My voice came out distorted, with a metallic and supernatural echo, as if two people were speaking at the same time.

— BREAK.

CRAAACK!

It wasn't just a crack. The oak trunk exploded into violent splinters, as if a grenade had been detonated inside it. The shockwave threw the talismans away and made the shrine's candle flames flicker violently.

I felt a prick in my throat. A slight irritation, as if I had shouted too much at a rock concert. No blood. No excruciating pain.

My grandfather and my parents widened their eyes. That trunk should only crack with the strength of a five-year-old child. I pulverised it.

My reserve of Cursed Energy was abnormal for my age. Maybe it was the reincarnated soul strengthening the body, or maybe it was the fact that I understood the essence of the technique before even using it, or maybe the Gojo effect.

I cleared my throat lightly.

I turned to my family, who looked at me with a mix of fear and pride. I adjusted my white kimono with the calm of an adult and gave a perfect bow, worthy of a gentleman.

— Shake (I am ready).

The "Honoured One" might have the Six Eyes.

But the Inumaki Clan now has Draugon.

And I am going to make the whole world hear what I have to say.

To be continued…