Tokyo in March was still bitterly cold, clinging to the last traces of winter with a chill that pierced the bones.
Even the Cursed Spirits seemed to be in a slump during this seasonal lull—the frequency of incidents had dropped significantly.
But spring was here. Sooner or later, the earth would awaken.
...
Shiko Mishima showed up unannounced.
"There's a named mission we need to take," she told Sōjun Minamoto.
Named missions were assigned when sorcerers gained recognition during previous assignments, earning enough trust that clients specifically requested them. The rewards were often higher, and the experience more substantial.
Of course, sorcerers had the freedom to decline. But refusals were recorded, potentially leading to poor evaluations. More importantly—
"This one's from Jujutsu High," Shiko Mishima added.
"So, in other words, we don't have a choice," Sōjun Minamoto said thoughtfully.
Jujutsu High covered lodging and meals almost entirely, so it was inevitable some freeloaders would try to game the system and slack off.
But with policy comes countermeasures.
To avoid abuse, Jujutsu High set monthly mission quotas and allowed up to two compulsory missions per month, as long as they were within reason.
When Shiko Mishima said "named by Jujutsu High," it was really just a polite way of saying it was one of those forced missions—specifically for Sōjun Minamoto.
Fair enough. As a bounty sorcerer enjoying the school's benefits, fulfilling his responsibilities was only natural.
The two packed up and departed immediately.
In the car, Shiko Mishima briefed him on the mission.
"This is a Grade 1 Cursed Spirit exorcism. One appeared in the junior high section of a school and has caused significant casualties. We need to get there fast and eliminate it."
Before they even reached the school, Sōjun Minamoto spotted a dark vortex swirling above the building in the distance.
His paranoia began to stir—something felt off.
Once they arrived, he stepped out and immediately raised his sword fingers to cast a Barrier.
"Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure."
A black Curtain descended, then faded into the void. Through his link to the Barrier, Sōjun Minamoto extended his senses inward.
Shiko Mishima stood by, finding his actions a bit strange, but didn't question it. She simply stayed alert.
After working together so long, they shared a solid sense of coordination.
The two stepped inside the Curtain.
The school was eerily quiet. They didn't see a single Cursed Spirit along the way as they moved toward the vortex's center.
The silence was deafening. Something was wrong, yet the source of unease was elusive. The atmosphere was suffocating.
Sōjun Minamoto released the Fly Head to scout ahead. Their vision and senses were linked.
Gradually, they reached the heart of the vortex.
It was a completely ordinary school building—at least from the outside.
They exchanged a glance and entered through the front doors. Inside, a long hallway stretched before them, but the classrooms that should have been neatly lined along it were now warped—stacked and tangled in impossible ways, defying spatial logic.
Their senses immediately went haywire.
Sōjun Minamoto couldn't see the Fly Head anymore, but he could still feel its presence. That was enough to confirm it—this was spatial manipulation at play.
He shot Shiko Mishima a look. She responded by placing her hand on her sword hilt. They moved forward slowly, back to back.
Suddenly, a black hole opened beneath Shiko Mishima. She began to fall. Sōjun Minamoto grabbed her by the collar, trying to pull her up—
But the hole expanded.
They both fell through...
Sōjun Minamoto looked around. He had landed in an empty classroom—alone.
Faint glimmers of light leaked from his eyes as he began analyzing the space. Most school buildings shared similar layouts. The reach of spatial techniques wasn't unlimited. By combining the sensory data from himself and the Fly Head, and comparing it with his mental map of the structure, he could identify the irregularities.
He extended several strands of hair to probe the surroundings, picked a direction, and swiftly mapped out most of the building.
Retrieving the Fly Head, he located Shiko Mishima.
She was in the middle of a fierce battle with a Cursed Spirit.
They were evenly matched, so Sōjun Minamoto held back.
He could feel another presence watching them from the shadows.
He tensed slightly, scanning the area while keeping a close eye on Shiko Mishima.
No matter how well it hid, it would have to show itself eventually. He could wait. The question was—who had more patience?
Shiko Mishima clearly sensed it too. She didn't go all out in the fight, conserving strength so she could react if things turned.
The two sides fell into a tense standoff.
Motion and stillness. Light and dark.
Sōjun Minamoto stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Shiko Mishima. He gave her a look.
She nodded.
Suddenly, she unleashed her full power, charging the Cursed Spirit with a powerful slash that caught it off guard.
Seizing the opening, she quickly turned the tide. Her blade was poised to finish it—
But Sōjun Minamoto detected a sudden ripple in space. A hazy figure flickered into view. The glow in his eyes surged, casting a halo of pale light.
The hidden figure became clear.
It looked almost human—aside from the locust-like head.
Its grotesque mandibles opened and snapped, lips narrow and jutting forward. Two pairs of jaws—one large, one small—clashed with metallic clinks.
Cursed Spirits are driven by instinct.
But if they grow intelligent, they learn to avoid the strong—
And prey on the weak.
The locust Cursed Spirit vanished into the void again.
But Sōjun Minamoto had already locked onto it. He watched as it sprang toward Shiko Mishima, jaws wide, aiming to rip into her skull.
Her instincts screamed warnings, but she ignored them, pushing herself harder. Her next strike exploded with raw force, utterly obliterating the first Cursed Spirit.
Faced with death, her senses sharpened.
Her mind grew calm.
This had been the plan: kill one to draw the other out, then strike together.
Crude, but effective.
Danger? She scoffed. When wasn't a mission dangerous?
Besides, Sōjun Minamoto was right there.
As the second Cursed Spirit slipped back into hiding, Sōjun Minamoto's black hair unfurled behind him. Several strands extended, weaving together into webs that formed a barrier between Shiko Mishima and the attacker.
The hair, strong as steel, snapped one by one under the assault—but slower each time. The spirit flickered in and out of sight, gradually losing momentum as it reached the last few webs.
It reappeared—right in front of Shiko Mishima.
Just as it tried to charge again, the hair lashed out, coiling tightly around it. The strands screeched against its body as they constricted, then yanked it toward Sōjun Minamoto.
But midway through, it broke free with brute force.
Sōjun Minamoto didn't mind. He never expected to exorcise this one easily.
He walked up to Shiko Mishima. "You've done well…"
Shiko Mishima looked reluctant, but then something seemed to cross her mind. A smile of relief broke across her face, and before Sōjun Minamoto could finish, she cut in.
"I'll leave the rest to you."
Sōjun Minamoto blinked, then smiled too. He held out his hand.
"Lend me your sword."
...
The Cursed Spirit excelled at stealth, moved with incredible speed, and had impressive physical defenses. Most critically, it possessed intelligence.
This wasn't a mere Grade 1—it was clearly far beyond that, just a step short of Special Grade. Only Cursed Spirits capable of using techniques and demonstrating abnormal combat proficiency through Cursed Energy manipulation were classified as Special Grade.
This was a Cursed Womb with extremely high aptitude in Cursed Techniques.
If it could break through his hair, it could break through his defenses too.
So taking hits head-on was out of the question.
Sōjun Minamoto regenerated an arm from his back and gripped the tachi.
He didn't often use swords, but he was well-versed in hand-to-hand combat. At a certain point, the two disciplines overlapped. A weapon was just an extension of the body—a punch executed with a blade was still a valid strike.
The Cursed Spirit flickered through the air, phasing in and out around him.
Its stealth technique had already been decoded.
But it was still fast—too fast. Sōjun Minamoto had trouble tracking it.
Their defenses were on par. Strength-wise, neither had a clear edge.
A stalemate.
Thinking it over, all of Sōjun Minamoto's abilities were stable, permanent augmentations. Power surges or temporary buffs? Not his style. He disliked developing such techniques.
Which made situations like this a bit awkward. He couldn't be beaten—but he couldn't win, either.
Too few trump cards.
With that in mind, a savage grin crossed his face. The muscles on his third arm bulged violently, swinging the tachi with explosive force. Blades of wind howled outward in wide arcs.
If he could broaden the attack's range enough, then no matter how fast the enemy was, it wouldn't be able to dodge everything.
The cutting wind compressed the space around them. The Cursed Spirit was forced back into a corner, its skin splitting open as little crimson blossoms of blood bloomed across its body.
"Ssshh—shkrrkk—"
The locust Cursed Spirit suddenly let out a piercing shriek. A black semicircular Curtain materialized, expanding outward with it at the center, enclosing Sōjun Minamoto.
The Cursed Spirit blinked—and reappeared directly in front of him.
Its grotesque mandibles snapped toward his face. Sōjun Minamoto shifted aside, but the jaws clung to him, tearing a chunk of flesh from his shoulder. Bone showed through the gaping wound.
A guaranteed hit?
A Domain!
A genuine spatial-domain technique!
The tide had turned.
Muscle at the wound site writhed, stopping the bleeding. Sōjun Minamoto pumped Cursed Energy to rapidly regenerate tissue. The pain was sharp, but if there was one thing he could endure, it was pain.
It didn't matter.
The rush of near-death made his blood burn.
In a way, Shiko Mishima had been right. Dissatisfied with your growth rate? Go stare death in the face.
Cursed Energy flowed across his skin like water, cloaking him in a shallow veil of shadow.
The Cursed Spirit lunged again. Sōjun Minamoto leaned slightly back and twisted—
This time, he dodged cleanly.
The "guaranteed hit" effect had weakened.
Ha!
He let out a cruel laugh, his expression twisting with ferocity.
What Cursed Energy remained surged to the surface. His right arm swelled and hardened. Defined muscle cords rose beneath his skin, like steel wires tightly bound. Tendons, strong as gel, connected each muscle group in perfect alignment. His skin turned pale gray, strange markings etched across it, giving it a heavy, armored texture. Fingernails enveloped his fingertips, sharpening from plate-like into narrow cones—leaf-shaped and deadly.
A gray-white armored gauntlet formed, completely encasing his right arm from fingertips to shoulder.
...
The Cursed Spirit still blinked and dashed around him, occasionally grazing past and drawing blossoms of blood from his skin.
His clothes had been reduced to tattered strips, barely clinging to him. His entire body was riddled with gouges, where sinew and veins pulsed beneath the surface, forcibly stopping the bleeding and sealing wounds.
Sōjun Minamoto remained perfectly still.
He had only one shot—and he had the patience for it.
The Cursed Spirit vanished again. Then reappeared—lunging directly at him, a mocking grin on its face.
Its yellowed mandibles filled his vision.
It was smug. Its earlier caution was unnecessary. This guy wasn't strong. It licked its jaws—his flesh was delicious.
It wanted more.
It couldn't wait anymore. Blood-red light flashed in its narrow eyes, and saliva strung between its snapping jaws.
"Hsss—sskkk!"
It opened wide.
Boom—
A gray-white hand clamped onto its face. The raw force behind it locked the Cursed Spirit in place. Its head—like a basketball—was caught in Sōjun Minamoto's palm.
Got you…
Its mandibles scraped across the surface of the hand—but didn't leave a single scratch.
The Cursed Womb thrashed violently, clawing at the arm, its nails sparking on the surface—doing almost no damage.
Got you!!
Sōjun Minamoto's grip tightened, knuckles bulging. He hoisted the Cursed Womb off the ground.
Its feet dangled—speed advantage gone, spatial techniques suppressed. It was like a fish out of water, thrashing in vain, helplessly laid out on the butcher's board.
Sōjun Minamoto slashed.
Its limbs flew.
Over its screams and screeches, four strands of hair extended, their blood-tipped ends piercing into the severed stumps. New limbs formed—grafted in.
The Cursed Spirit's expression shifted—from fury to panic, then to pure despair... until it went completely still, like a pool of dead water.
The strands of hair retracted back to Sōjun Minamoto's head, all except one, which still connected to the back of the Cursed Spirit's skull.
...
From Shiko Mishima's point of view, Sōjun Minamoto and the Cursed Womb had been evenly matched. Then, he started to gain the upper hand—until the black Curtain descended, cutting her off from the battlefield.
It all happened in a matter of moments.
Once the fighting stopped, she refocused and waited as the smoke began to clear.
Through the haze, she could barely make out a tall figure with long black hair cascading behind him, strands swaying softly.
The only flaw—his hair looked like it had been gnawed by a dog, uneven and ragged.
Who else could it be but Sōjun Minamoto?
He turned and gave her a casual smile, revealing a gleaming row of white, razor-sharp teeth. Behind him, the scarlet glow of the Cursed Womb's aura slowly faded.
Sōjun Minamoto walked toward her.
The Cursed Spirit followed quietly at his heel.
Shiko Mishima felt a brief flash of joy—then nearly ground her teeth to dust, jealousy and frustration rising until it practically tore her apart.
Sōjun Minamoto returned the sword to her, wordlessly.