While I was chanting a curse, the system said I was Xiao Yan?

The elderly men were still in the conference room.

Some were cleaning up the shattered pieces of the screen, some were rubbing their temples, and some were talking in hushed tones, their faces filled with gloom.

The middle-aged man with gold-rimmed glasses stood amidst a pile of broken wood. He had wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, but he still looked disheveled.

Everyone looked up when they heard the door open.

Then their expressions changed.

Satoru Gojo stood at the door, hands in his pockets, sunglasses perched on his nose, his white spiky hair standing out conspicuously in the dim candlelight of the conference room.

His expression was calm, even casual, but his eyes, hidden behind sunglasses, gleamed with a chilling light.

"Long time no see, everyone."

He spoke, his voice not loud, but every word echoed clearly in the conference room.

The old man on the left frowned: "What are you doing here, Gojo Satoru?"

"We did not summon you."

Ignoring the unwelcoming words, Gojo Satoru waved his hand and stepped into the conference room: "Don't be so formal. I love coming here. Coming back here feels like coming home."

He walked to the center of the conference room and stopped.

My gaze swept across the faces of those old men, from left to right, and from right to left.

Then he spoke up: "But I'm a little unhappy today."

"I heard everything you and Tianyan were saying outside."

His voice was very calm, almost too calm, like a bottomless pool of water, its surface undisturbed, but with undercurrents surging beneath.

The old men's faces grew even uglier.

Gojo Satoru ignored their expressions and continued speaking at a moderate pace, as if stating something perfectly natural.

"Tenen is my classmate, friend, and someone I'm protecting."

He paused, then slowly curved his lips into a smile. There was no warmth in that smile, only a condescending and unquestionable certainty: "If you want to touch him, try touching me first."

The air in the conference room seemed to be sucked out for a moment.

The old men's faces went from ugly to deathly pale; some had trembling lips, some had trembling fingers, and some were trembling all over.

They opened their mouths as if to say something, but in the end, they said nothing.

Seeing their angry but speechless expressions, Gojo Satoru's smile widened even further.

He withdrew his gaze, turned and walked towards the door, his steps light and quick, his shoes making a "tap tap tap" sound on the wood chips, as if he were dancing a light dance.

He stopped when he reached the door.

He turned his head and glanced at the old men: "That's right."

His voice was very soft, as if he were reminding me of something trivial: "Next time you're looking for Tianyan, remember to tell me in advance."

He paused, his smile deepening to reveal two rows of neat white teeth.

"I'm free, I can come anytime."

After saying that, he walked out.

The door closed slowly behind him with a dull thud.

The meeting room fell completely silent.

That silence wasn't stillness, but a deathly stillness born of being so frightened that one was speechless, as if someone had poured a basin of ice water into a pot of boiling oil, extinguishing all sound in that instant.

The silence in the meeting room lasted for a long time.

Then, an old man sitting at the very back spoke, his voice hoarse, filled with suppressed anger and helplessness.

"Is there... no way to deal with these two?"

No one answered.

The old man turned his head and looked at his colleague sitting next to him, his eyes filled with an urgent plea for him to say something.

The old man lowered his head, avoiding his gaze.

He turned his head again and looked in the other direction.

The person on the other side also lowered their head.

He looked at them one by one, and everyone he saw lowered their heads and avoided his gaze.

The air in the meeting room was as heavy as lead.

Finally, an old man sitting in the corner spoke, his voice very soft, as if he were talking to himself.

"Even if he's an adopted son of a Zen family..."

He paused, shook his head, and a bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth: "We really don't have much of a way to deal with the young master of the Gojo family..."

"Now the two of them are together..."

He didn't finish speaking.

But everyone understood.

The conference room fell into a deathly silence once again.

Just then, the door was pushed open again.

Everyone froze at the same time, their eyes turning to the doorway.

Ieiri Shoko stood at the door, a cigarette dangling from her mouth, her expression as nonchalant as if she were shopping in a supermarket.

Her gaze swept around the conference room and landed on the middle-aged man with gold-rimmed glasses who was slumped in a pile of wood chips.

"Oh, someone's injured?"

Her tone carried a casual air of "finally I have something to do": "Do you need some treatment?"

Although she was asking questions, she strode directly into the conference room and walked towards the middle-aged man, her pace neither hurried nor slow.

Shoko Ieiri walked up to the middle-aged man, squatted down, tilted her head to look at his bruised and swollen face, and then looked at the dried bloodstains at the corner of his mouth.

"It's quite a serious injury," she commented casually.

The middle-aged man looked at her, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he didn't say anything. As a first-level mage, being defeated in one move by a teenager was something he simply couldn't bring himself to say.

Upon seeing that the visitor was Ieiri Shoko, the old man above adopted his usual airs and issued a command to her in his usual tone: "You've come at the right time. Quickly treat him."

"OK~"

Ieiri Glass replied with a drawn-out sound, took out a pair of white rubber gloves from her pocket, and slowly put them on.

Then she raised her right hand, palm up.

Reversal spell activated.

A ball of white, warm magical energy emanated from her palm, radiating a soft light.

"Please lie still and try not to move during the treatment."

The middle-aged man was a little confused, but he still lay down.

Shoko Ieiri placed her hand on his chest, and white magical energy surged into his body.

The middle-aged man's body trembled slightly, the bruises on his face began to fade at a visible speed, and the wound at the corner of his mouth began to heal.

"Hmm, the treatment is working well," Ieiri Shoko muttered to herself.

Then she withdrew her hand.

The middle-aged man breathed a sigh of relief and was about to express his gratitude...

"Bang!"

The sound wasn't loud, it was muffled, like someone punching a thick piece of flesh.

"Ugh!" The middle-aged man's voice, clutching his stomach, was filled with obvious pain.

"This is part of the treatment."

Shoko Ieiri's voice remained calm, even carrying a faint hint of amusement: "Don't move."

He raised his fist and brought it down with a thud.

"Bang!"

Another one!

"you......"

"Bang!"

"This is really..."

"Bang!"

"......treat?"

"Bang!"

Shoko Ieiri gave a soft "hmm," her tone as serious as if she were lecturing a student: "Do you understand the principle of the Reversal Technique? Simply put, it's about stimulating the body's self-healing abilities by applying appropriate stimulation. What I just did was to help activate those..."

She paused, as if choosing her words carefully: "Sleeping cells."

The middle-aged man's voice had become intermittent, weak as if his soul had left his body: "Is...is that so?"

"I'm a professional."

"Bang!"

......

"Treatment complete~"

After a while, Shoko walked out with light steps.

The people above looked at the middle-aged man rolling his eyes and exchanged bewildered glances.

An old man slammed his fist on the table angrily: "Is there really no one who can deal with these three?"

The old man on the left glanced at the man: "A sure-fire future head of the Gojo family, a Zenin family member under his protection, and a top-tier doctor—how do you plan to treat them? And who do you intend to treat?"

No one answered.

The silence lasted for a long time.

Then another voice rang out, low and weary, but with a sense of resignation: "...Let's disperse for now."