The morning breeze blew slowly through the narrow alleys of Fuyuki. Cigarette smoke danced in the air, rising in lazy spirals that dissolved into the clear sky. I was leaning against a stone wall, my gaze half-closed behind the shadow of my disheveled hair. My body, always alert, was more relaxed, but only those who truly knew me would know that I never completely let my guard down.
The lighter was still in his hand, twirling between his fingers like an old, unconscious habit. I inhaled slowly, releasing the smoke through my mouth with a soft sigh. My eyes watched the distant buildings, but my mind... wandered to something much deeper.
"This place still reeks of curse... even after all this time, that smell still reminds me of the Zenin clan..." I thought almost bitterly.
It was strange to be here. I didn't belong in this world, not really. My existence there seemed like a mistake, a forced detour from a destiny that I myself had already abandoned. And yet, there I was, again, in the middle of the board.
The cigarette burned slowly between my fingers, and the silence around me was broken only by the occasional sound of distant footsteps or a lone crow cawing in the distance. But my thoughts were heavy.
"Tch." He threw the cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his foot. "I always end up getting involved in other people's shit..."
However, even with that complaint, my feet were already moving. I didn't know exactly where, but my intuition, sharp as a predator's, guided me. And deep down, maybe I did know. Maybe part of me wanted to know what fate had in store.
A new scent in the air.
I stopped, my eyes narrowing. "Spiritual energy…? No. Something denser. Blood, anger… memory."
With a slight crack in my neck, I began to walk with more focus, like a shadow that merged with the streets. I still didn't know that I was about to meet a red-haired boy and a black-haired girl with a peculiar armor.
But I knew that something old... and violent... was about to start again.
Meanwhile...
In another dark and silent corner of the city, the dust danced in the dead light that passed through an old, fogged window. Kenjaku remained standing there, his hands behind his back, his gaze lost in some distant point of the world beyond the glass.
The room was muffled, filled with the smell of old wood and poorly extinguished incense. The silence was profound... until it was broken by light, almost floating footsteps that approached through the shadows of the room.
A figure revealed itself in the shadows: a girl with long dark hair, wild eyes and a provocative smile. One of the reincarnated ones. Her feet barely made a sound on the floor, and her gaze was intense like a newly sharpened blade.
"Hm… you keep looking out that window as if you expect the world outside to change on its own," she said, her tone sarcastic and curious.
Kenjaku didn't turn around, he continued to observe the decaying landscape.
"The world always changes, with or without my help, Mrs. Yorozu." he replied calmly. "But sometimes it's interesting to see how I can change it."
Yorozu stepped closer, her arms crossed. "You didn't answer my question. When are you going to bring him back? Sukuna."
There was a brief silence. Kenjaku finally turned around, his dark, unreadable eyes staring at the reincarnated woman.
"Are you still obsessed with him?" he said, with a half smile.
Yorozu clenched her fists, her nails digging lightly into her palms.
"Obsessed? No. Just… incomplete. Ever since I woke up in this body, everything has felt like an endless wait. I want to see him again. I want to fight, I want to feel his presence. I want to become one with him…"
"Your devotion is… remarkable. Initially, I was going to put you in Tsumiki's body, but she's still new to this reality, it would be quite difficult to fight in the body of a child, so I had to find a way." Kenjaku said, with a slight hint of veiled contempt. "But the king of curses is not so easy to be resurrected. His power has been fragmented, he needs a vessel… and he's with someone quite inconvenient."
Yorozu smiled sideways.
"That Yuji Itadori, right?"
"Yes. But he's not as 'whole' as he used to be. His soul is starting to crumble." Kenjaku said, turning back to the window. "All I need to do is wait a little longer. The breach will open, I already know who will be the next perfect vessel, that someone is from ages ago, much older than all of us here… and then, Sukuna will be able to be completely reborn."
Yorozu closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "So be it. But if you try to use Sukuna as a toy or a puppet, I swear I won't stay by your side for long."
Kenjaku let out a low, almost inaudible laugh. "Don't worry, my friend Yorozu. I have no intention of controlling him. Only… of bringing chaos."
Yorozu slowly moved away, but her eyes remained fixed on Kenjaku. "Then release him quickly... before I get tired of waiting."
And like a living shadow, Yorozu reappeared on the old wooden balcony, her footsteps silent on the floor that creaked slightly with each movement. The wind blew softly, making her hair dance for a moment. She stared at Kenjaku or rather, at the body he inhabited with an expression filled with something between distrust and amusement.
She approached once more, but this time with her arms behind her back, in an almost childish, almost defiant gesture. Her eyes, sharp as blades, seemed to analyze every little movement of the man's face in front of her.
"Kenjaku..." she said slowly, as if savoring the name. "Tell me something... How long do you intend to continue pretending to be this Noritoshi Kamo guy?"
Kenjaku smiled slightly, as if he had been waiting for this question for some time. His gaze remained calm, almost monotonous, but with that enigmatic glow that made anyone question what he was really thinking.
"You sound so offended, Yorozu." He turned to her, facing her head on now. "But this body serves me well. Respected, feared... With a past that guarantees me open doors among the most conservative in the jujutsu world. Why would I abandon it now?"
Yorozu frowned, her expression now bordering on boredom.
"Hmph. Respected, perhaps... but it's starting to rot." She walked around Kenjaku, as if she were evaluating a mannequin in a shop window. "The energy that exudes from you is less intense. You're starting to crumble, like an old house that only appears solid."
Kenjaku didn't answer right away. He just crossed his arms, looking at the gray sky. "Wearing is part of the price. That's what happens when you live for centuries without roots."
Yorozu stopped behind him, her voice now whispering: "Are you really so sure that you'll be able to bring Sukuna back… when even your body can't take it anymore?"
Kenjaku remained silent for a moment, and then answered, in an almost melancholic tone: "I never needed security. Only time. And that, I still have a little bit left."
There was a pause filled with tension between them, and then Yorozu, with a treacherous smile, spoke again: "Speaking of Sukuna…" She briefly took something out of her cloak, but quickly hid it again, as if she just wanted to show a glimpse. It was something wrapped in cloth, but the cursed energy that escaped was unmistakable—the faint smell of rot, the subtle weight in the air… A finger.
Kenjaku turned his face slightly toward her, his smile remaining unchanged, but his eyes narrowed.
"Interesting. And why hide it from me?"
"Because I can," she replied teasingly. "And because I know you have others."
Kenjaku let out a soft laugh. "Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. The question is... why do you keep him with you?"
Yorozu replied with a distant, almost nostalgic look, but there was something dark there. "Because he belongs to me. Not as an object, but as... part of who I am. If Sukuna is reborn, I want to be there. See it with my own eyes. Or... feel it with my own body."
Kenjaku turned completely, now looking straight into her eyes. "Do you love him or do you wish to destroy him?"
"Maybe it's both," she replied, without hesitation. "Love and destruction... are almost the same thing, when it comes to him."
Kenjaku smiled slightly, and then looked back at the old window. "How fascinating… A heart as twisted as Sukuna's own."
Yorozu chuckled softly and, before disappearing into the darkness once more, murmured: "Then take good care of that body, Kenjaku. Or the next finger may end up in another mouth…"
And with that, she disappeared like a restless ghost, leaving Kenjaku immersed in his thoughts, while the weight of eternity continued to press down on his shoulders.
Kenjaku remained before the old dusty window, his eyes looking beyond the present, as if staring at something on the other side of reality. The silence in that abandoned room was interrupted only by the presence of Yorozu, who had emerged again from the shadows, crossing her arms, looking at him with a mixture of contempt and curiosity.
"You speak so calmly about losing," she said, her tone slightly accusatory. "As if failure was part of the plan."
Kenjaku did not turn around. She simply raised a hand and gently brushed the dust off the wood of the window. Her voice, when it came, was calm, almost poetic: "This world... is just a testing ground. A draft for something greater."
Yorozu frowned, clearly frustrated by the enigmatic answer. "Testing ground? Are you saying that all this pain... all these deaths... were just an experiment? Just another step on your ladder?"
"Exactly." Kenjaku replied, now turning to her. "Everything here is limited. The curses, the humans, the gods themselves. All are prisoners of rules that can be bent but not broken."
Yorozu approached, his eyes narrowed. "So what do you want? To recreate the world?"
Kenjaku let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "No. I want to find one where I no longer need to recreate it. A world where I can continue where I left off, with my memories intact, with the knowledge I gained here."
She blinked in surprise. "That's impossible."
Kenjaku then removed a small object wrapped in black silk from within his cloak. Unfolding the fabric, he revealed a relic that looked like a bow, but made entirely of a mirrored material that distorted as if time itself trembled in its presence.
"Kagami no Yumi." he said. " 'The Mirror Bow.' "
Yorozu watched it with restrained amazement. The energy emanating from the object was unlike anything she had ever felt before—it wasn't just cursed energy, it was something that defied the senses, as if every particle of this bow existed simultaneously in multiple realities.
"A cursed tool created ages ago... it is said to have been forged by a sect that wished to communicate with 'the versions of themselves that won.'" Kenjaku continued. "With this bow, I can shoot my memories like an arrow. And when it hits a point of intersection between worlds... I wake up there. In another version of the world, with another chance."
"That..." Yorozu murmured, her voice a mix of fear and fascination. "That is blasphemy!"
Kenjaku smiled, not denying it. "Perhaps. But it is the only true power there is. Memory. Continuity."
Yorozu stepped back a little, trying to process what she had heard. "So... if this world is destroyed, you will simply... move on?"
"Not simply," Kenjaku replied. "I still need to find the right moment, the exact point where realities meet. I still need to prepare the shot. And, of course, I need someone to survive to carry part of the arrow."
"When do you plan to use it?" Yorozu said bitterly.
"I have always used it. And I have been used. And I am being used. It is the essence of existence, Yorozu. Someone must bear the burden of another. Someone must keep the spark alive, even if in another world, in another history."
She fell silent, her gaze fixed on the strange bow that seemed to pulse with something beyond time.
"What if I wanted to stop you?"
Kenjaku laughed, without anger, as if she had told a joke. "Even if you kill me here, in another reality, I will carry out my plan..."
For a moment, Yorozu seemed about to answer, but she remained silent. The weight of what she had heard was too much even for her, a reincarnated who believed she had already lived through everything.
Slowly, she turned, her voice coming softly as a whisper: "If you can really do this... then what are we, in this world?"
Kenjaku stared at the mirror of the bow and replied: "Just tests... or reflections. Attempts. Echoes of what could be."
And with that, silence reigned between them again, as if the world itself hesitated to continue.
Kenjaku smiled... A twisted, almost animalistic smile that carried centuries of arrogance, disdain and power. His eyes shone with a sickly glow, and the way his lips curved brought an innate discomfort, as if the room itself had become darker because of that gesture.
"Even if they kill me…" he said, his voice low and full of malice. "…my memories already have a certain destination. They will be launched… like an arrow… to a nearby reality. Like a divergent route in a game. A version where I might have already won. Or where I will have more time."
Yorozu turned her face slightly, disgusted, her arms crossed as if she felt the cold touch of his insanity on her skin. She didn't answer, but her expression was clear: it was repulsive. And at the same time… terrifyingly possible. She didn't believe in the limits of reality, after all, she was a reincarnated person, but there was something particularly blasphemous in the idea of Kenjaku surviving his own death by jumping to another reality like someone changing clothes.
He noticed the disgust in her gaze and tilted his head, as if appreciating her reaction.
"Are you scared, Yorozu?" he teased. "Or are you just embarrassed for not having thought of it before?"
She rolled her eyes, letting out a soft sigh of boredom mixed with contempt.
"Don't give me that!" she muttered, almost spitting the words out. "Talking to you is like talking to a hole. Deep, endless, and full of rot."
"That was poetic..." he replied, laughing. "But holes are also entrances to other worlds, if you dig deep enough."
Yorozu didn't take the bait. Instead, he looked away to the window and, changing his tone somewhat abruptly, asked: "What about Kashimo? Where is he?"
Kenjaku seemed genuinely surprised by the question. That hateful smile faded for a moment.
"Kashimo…?" she murmured, as if testing the name. "I haven't heard from him in a while."
"You don't know where he is?" she insisted, raising an eyebrow.
"He must be out there, waiting for the right moment..." Kenjaku stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Who knows, huh? Maybe Kashimo has already been defeated. Maybe he found what he wanted and disappeared."
Yorozu crossed her arms, thoughtful. For a second, she had the strange feeling that something was off the board, someone whose piece had disappeared from the game, but still influenced the movement of the others.
"He wasn't the type to die so easily..." she commented.
"Who knows..." Kenjaku said, looking back at the "Kagami no Yumi". "But if he's still alive… he could be useful. Or a problem. At this point, they're both the same thing to me."
Yorozu took a few steps away from him, without turning her back completely. There was something about being on Kenjaku's back that felt... dangerous. Like he could pierce her soul with a word.
"You think you're immortal, but that doesn't make you invincible," she said coldly.
Kenjaku didn't answer right away. He just looked back at the cursed bow. "Immortality is an illusion. But continuity... continuity is divinity."
The silence between them hung tense again, thick as smoke. Yorozu didn't say anything else. She hated to admit it, but she was beginning to fear what Kenjaku was capable of doing.
And maybe... what he had already done in other realities.
Meanwhile...
I watched from afar the scene between the two children named Shirou and Tachie, my eyes half-closed in growing boredom. The wind gently ruffled my dark shirt, while the fingers of my right hand drummed against the hilt of the still-sheathed katana. The two of them in front of me, the boy with reddish hair and the girl with eyes still filled with the fury of something ancient, seemed to be caught up in an emotional drama that the exorcist had no interest in watching.
"Tsk…" I snorted, almost like a growl. "This is a waste of time."
I had seen enough of this. The kind of emotional conflict, full of hesitant words and guilt-ridden looks, was something I avoided like a personal curse. This wasn't a fight. It was theater, and I had no patience for sentimental plays.
I turned my back, lighting another cigarette with a skillful flick of the lighter. The tip glowed red, and the smoke quickly escaped between his lips. The bitter taste of the smoke was almost a relief. I preferred that to having to listen to another half-dozen sentences about forgiveness or regret.
"If you're going to fight, fight. If you're not, walk away and move on." I thought with contempt.
Every step he took away from the two of them was a clear signal: I wasn't going to get involved anymore. I wasn't going to interrupt, but I wasn't going to save anyone either. I'd played this role for too long, and it never worked.
The sound of his footsteps was heavy, echoing lightly on the concrete street, as he disappeared into the horizon, slowly vanishing like a shadow released from the world. Back to the silence, the scent of blood and the call of the next real battle.
Drama was for the living.
As I walked through the empty streets of the city, I opened the inside pocket of my coat and pulled out a small folded piece of paper. It was a little wrinkled and stained with ash from the previous cigarette. I unfolded it in one movement and the paper creaked slightly between his calloused fingers.
Simple, direct letters. No embellishments. No flourishes.
"Next: Illyasviel von Einzbern."
I frowned. The name sounded strange, aristocratic. It sounded like the kind of name someone from a cursed lineage would carry. It wasn't uncommon. Many ancient families involved in magic carried that kind of weight in their names and souls.
"Von Einzbern, huh?" I muttered to myself, taking another drag on my cigarette as his eyes scanned the cloudy horizon. It sounds like the name of someone who's involved in some serious shit…
I put the paper back down with disinterest, but my expression darkened. Not that I cared who the girl was, but the name carried something… dense. Heavy. And for a hunter like Toji, those things left a different taste in the air, the taste of ancient curse and tragedy about to happen again.
I knew it wasn't by chance that this girl was on the list. And if someone had targeted her… then it was because, one way or another, she was important.
I threw the cigarette on the ground and crushed it with my heel.
"Time to meet this Illya."
Without further ado, I continued walking, disappearing into the city's alleys like a hunter going after his prey, without worrying about what he might find... but prepared to eliminate whatever was necessary.
I kept my hands in my pockets as I walked, the cold morning wind blowing against my face. The paper with the address of the woman Illyasviel von Einzbern was etched in my mind. It was an area further away from the city center, a quiet place, surrounded by large walls and tall trees—the kind of house that said, "Don't come near me unless you're invited."
With every step, I thought about the mission. Unlike other times, I hadn't been given many details, just the name and location. And that bothered him. Not because of insecurity, but because when someone like me is hired without much explanation, it means the target has more layers than it seems.
"They're putting a child in the middle of all this… Well, whatever." I grumbled in boredom, lighting another cigarette and throwing the empty matchbox into a street trash can. If it's like last time, there's going to be too much blood for little reason.
As I walked, the sounds of the city faded away. Few cars passed by, and the air seemed almost cleaner, or maybe it was just the silence that gave this illusion. Soon I found myself in front of an old iron gate, with arabesque details and the Einzbern coat of arms in the center. It was a European-style building, standing out from the Japanese architecture around it.
I stopped for a moment in front of the gate. My eyes calmly scanned every detail. No cameras were visible, but I knew someone was watching me.
I bent down and touched the ground with my fingers. Pieces of witchcraft were there, seals and spiritual traps. Nothing that would scare him. I knew this type of magic well, and I knew how dangerous it was for anyone other than myself.
"They're protecting themselves... or isolating themselves." I commented to myself, before standing up and taking a slight step back.
Instead of jumping straight in, I decided to knock. A symbolic, almost ironic gesture. Three sharp knocks on the iron of the gate echoed in the calm morning.
"Hello! Is anyone home?!" he said with a crooked smile, the cigarette balancing on the corner of his mouth. "Or I'll have to break in nicely."
I was calm, as if it were just another day. But deep down, I knew: the quieter the environment, the more dangerous what was hiding behind the walls.
I sighed lightly when I realized that no one would answer. The silence didn't bother me, in fact, I preferred it that way, after all, it was in this kind of stillness that I moved best.
Without hesitation, I climbed the wall with precise and agile movements. My well-trained body allowed me to move like a shadow, and soon I was on the other side, landing soundlessly in the property's inner garden.
"The Einzbern Mansion... yeah, it smells just like other cursed families," I muttered, staring at the imposing façade of the mansion. There was something about the place that seemed to prevent him from advancing directly through the main door. A barrier? Perhaps something more subtle, a spiritual rejection field that wouldn't let him cross the threshold of the mansion.
I wasn't a conjurer, but I could recognize when the air changed. My almost supernatural intuition said: "don't go in there."
"Tsk. Then let's go the way no one likes it," I said, looking around.
I began to search the outside area, silently circling the gardens, passing between tall trees and time-worn statues. My eyes soon caught what I wanted, a small stone structure next to the mansion, covered in vines and half camouflaged among the plants. An ancient trapdoor, secured with a magical lock weakened by time.
I crouched down, ran my fingers over the cold wood and murmured: "Underground. There's always one."
With a sharp, brutal tug, he ripped the lock off as if it were paper, ignoring the slight spiritual burn in my fingers. The wards were not made for someone like me. My brute strength, combined with my almost total absence of cursed energy, made me a perfect invader against wizards.
I opened the trapdoor and saw an iron staircase that descended into a dark tunnel, smelling of mold and ancient magic. This was the route of secrets, far from the eyes of the servants or the rituals on the surface.
"Time to see the cellars of the aristocracy…" I murmured with a slight smile, descending calmly, as if strolling down any alley.
I disappeared into the darkness, without making a sound, like a predator who had just found the trail of its prey.
I descended the steps slowly, with the cigarette hanging from the corner of my mouth. The smell of mold and damp earth mixed with the faint touch of rusted iron and something denser. Ancient magic, the kind that impregnated bones and walls. The iron steps echoed under his boots, but I didn't care about the sound. If there was something down there, I didn't plan on hiding.
After a few minutes of walking through the cold tunnels, with weak magical torches attached to the walls, I arrived at a stone hall. The ceiling was high, and there were circular symbols inscribed on the walls, probably seals of containment or protection. But it was what was in the center of the place that caught his attention.
A young man, similar in appearance to me, with disheveled pink hair and a tired expression, was chained by spiritual chains. His arms were raised above his head, the chains prevented him from moving freely, and his eyes, half open, revealed a state between physical exhaustion and forced wakefulness.
I stopped at the entrance to the hall. I took the cigarette out of my mouth and extinguished it with my fingers without hesitation, throwing the butt to the side.
"…Hmph. Did they lock someone up here?" I muttered, arching an eyebrow. He approached calmly, looking at the surroundings, analyzing the structure, the pattern of the chains, and even the way the young man was breathing.
He raised his head with effort. His eyes were half-closed, but they managed to focus on me, who was now observing him as if I were evaluating damaged goods.
"You… are not from the Einzbern house…" The scarred boy murmured, his voice slurred. "… Who are you?…"
I shrugged, as if the question was just noise in the air.
"I'm not friends with anyone here. I'm just passing through. But… what kind of plague left you in this state?" I bent down a little, looking at the chains more closely. "This isn't something for amateurs."
He was still breathing hard, but he didn't look away.
"You… are you a Servant?"
I let out a muffled laugh.
"Servant? Me? I'm no good for anyone, boss… Only a freelancer, get it?!" I stood up again, cracking my shoulders. "But since you're talking about it... who are you? What are you doing down here, looking like a mangy dog in a cage?"
He hesitated. He didn't know how much he could trust me, but then again... he didn't have much of a choice.
"My name is Yuji. I was captured by a woman named Uro. And... brought by Illya. You need to get me out of here."
I frowned in mild curiosity.
"Hm... And what would I gain from that?" I began to slowly walk around the chains, like a panther examining a trap.
"I'm not poor... So? Are you... going to let me go?" Yuji asked cautiously.
I paused for a moment. The look I gave Yuji was neither hostile nor kind. It was neutral. Cold.
"Maybe... I don't like to get involved in family matters... but if you're down here, someone is hiding big shit, and you have a little extra money... It makes me itch." I snapped my fingers. "And when I get angry… someone always dies."
Yuji swallowed hard.
I approached him once more, this time placing my hand on one of the cursed chains. The spiritual energy burned his skin slightly, but he didn't even blink. "It's… definitely something heavy here. But nothing that a good brute force can't solve."
I looked at Yuji once more.
"If I break this… what are you going to do?"
Yuji looked up, more determined now, despite his fatigue:
"I'm going to stop all this from continuing. Stop more people from suffering."
I was silent for a moment… and then I smiled, a discreet, dark and sarcasm-filled smile. "Heh… big words for someone in chains."
And then, without further warning, I reached for the hilt of the blade hidden under my overcoat, ready to cut the chains and, perhaps, change the course of this whole story.
I pulled hard on the spiritual chain that bound Yuji's right arm, and with a single, brutal swing of my cursed blade, I shattered the magical seal attached to the enchanted iron. The sparks of the curse reacted, but the raw power I wielded suppressed any resistance. I didn't need to understand magic; I simply crushed it with brute force.
Yuji fell to his knees when he was released, breathing heavily. His muscles ached, his bones felt like lead, but he managed to stand up, even though he was shaking.
"Why... why are you letting me go so easily? Was it because of the money?" Yuji asked, breathing heavily.
I shrugged, as if it were an irrelevant question. "That's right... It was because of the money."
Yuji frowned. The strange feeling of being tested by this man bothered him.
"And also because I was hired to kill this Illyasviel Von Einzbern." He said this, staring Yuji in the eye, unblinking.
The change in Yuji was immediate.
The exhaustion, pain, and trembling faded into the background. His fists clenched, and his eyes became firm. He took a step forward, now with a different posture, no longer a prisoner, but a protector.
"So that's it... I won't let you do this."
I raised an eyebrow slightly, as if I had heard something curious, but not exactly threatening.
"Oh?" I asked in a calm voice. "And what are you going to do, half-dead boy? Stop me?"
"If necessary, yes!" Yuji replied with conviction, even as his body screamed in protest. "She may be involved in all this... but I won't let you kill her. Not her... or anyone else."
I let out a short, dry laugh, more like an amused sigh than a mockery.
"Heh... you really have guts. But guts don't stop a blade." I turned around, walking towards the basement exit.
Change of perspective.
The black-haired man stopped halfway up the stairs when he felt a slight pressure in the air that was almost imperceptible, but for someone like him, it was unmistakable. His eyes narrowed, and he turned his face slightly back, looking at me over his shoulder.
The sound of chains on the floor still echoed, but now it was mixed with the sound of firm feet taking position. I was standing. My expression was not that of someone impulsive or desperate, it was that of someone determined.
"Hm... interesting," the man muttered, stepping to the side, slowly turning to face the boy fully.
I took a deep breath. The cold underground air bit into my lungs like needles, but it also woke me up. My fists clenched, and the faint vibration of my Blood Technique began to course through my veins, warming my arms, hardening my resolve.
"Are you serious, kid?" The man asked with a half smile. "You've barely been able to walk until now and you want to face me?"
"I got some sleep. It's not enough... but it's better than nothing." I took a step forward, the ground beneath my feet creaking. "I said I wouldn't let you hurt anyone. And I don't take that back just because I'm tired."
He laughed a little, almost humorlessly. "I don't think you stand much of a chance against me."
I didn't answer. I just moved quickly.
The change was subtle, but real. My posture before was less tense than now, more balanced. I had recovered a bit, yes. My feet moved with precision. It was as if every second of rest had been absorbed by the will to fight.
I advanced, throwing a straight punch that cut through the air with a sharp noise. The man dodged it with a slight movement of his body, as if he were dancing. But the second blow came quickly, a combination, more technique than brute force.
The man parried the punch with his forearm, but his eyes lit up for a moment.
"You have learned to use your body as it should." He stepped away from me with a slight push and drew his cursed blade. "Let's see how far that breath of yours will go."
I jumped back, creating distance. The aura around him wavered with controlled blood energy, mixed with remnants of cursed energy that flowed from his body like embers ready to rekindle a fire. "I don't intend to kill you... But if it's to protect someone, I'll fight with everything I have."
The man with the blades assumed his stance. For a moment, the two of them stood still. The sound of my breathing echoed in the muffled basement, along with the faint buzz of the blade vibrating against the latent energy in the air.
"Heh... nice." He smiled, his eyes shining like a predator who had finally found something interesting. "Show what you're capable of, man with the scar!"
And then, the battle began.
The man moved with a speed that cut through the air like an invisible blade. His steps barely touched the ground, but each thrust left such a strong pressure that the concrete of the basement began to crack in some parts. Even with my naturally sharp reflexes, I could barely keep up. My eyes tried to predict the movements, but Toji simply disappeared and reappeared with a cut in the air, a constant threat coming from any direction.
My body was still weakened. My legs were shaking, not from fear, but from the constant effort to stay upright. My muscles ached, my blood felt thicker, heavier. Still, I fought.
That was when I stopped trying to see the man with the blades. I stopped listening. Instead… he felt.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, took a deep breath, and tried to feel what surrounded me, the energy, the flow, the tension of the space around him. And then, I realized.
Something strange...
I couldn't feel his exact presence, in fact, he had no presence at all, it was as if the man were a shadow without cursed energy. But there was something that vibrated… something he carried. A familiar smell. An old sensation, like rust and burnt blood. A cursed aura, dormant, but still alive.
This is it… this isn't him… it's.
My blood ran cold.
"It's the finger..." I whispered. "You're carrying one of Sukuna's fingers..."
He listened, but didn't respond. Deep down, he thought that cursed item was just another asset among the many he had collected on his journey as an assassin and mercenary. He probably didn't fully understand the weight of what he was carrying.
Now I saw him with different eyes. He wasn't just a fast and lethal man. He was someone who carried a piece of the devil that still haunted my soul.
Anger grew inside me. Not for him. But for Sukuna's presence, always lurking, always returning in some way. It was as if fate was trying to force me to deal with that burden once again.
"Do you know what you're carrying?" I asked in a low voice, full of emotion.
He just arched an eyebrow. "A cursed talisman, much sought after. They said it was worth a fortune. And it seems you care too much about it."
I bit my lower lip.
"Give it to me, now!" He said with a firm gaze. "I can't let you carry that around."
"Hm... you say it as if you can stop me." The man said with a sarcastic smile, twirling the blade in his hand. "But if you really want it... come get it."
I clenched my fists.
Even though I was weakened, I now had a clear goal. I couldn't let another finger of Sukuna's fall into the wrong hands.
And, above all, I wouldn't let this hellish cycle repeat itself.
I took a deep breath, my eyes fixed on the small scarlet glow emanating from the inside of the man's jacket. That energy was like a scar that would never heal, something that vibrated inside my chest like a call, a muffled scream from a past that I tried to bury, but that insisted on resurfacing.
I clenched my fists, ready to advance... but stopped.
My body was ready to fight him. But my spirit, my soul, didn't want to repeat that cycle of senseless violence anymore. Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna... It was always him. Always that damned name, always the weight of a curse he never chose to carry.
I let my fist relax little by little, lowering my posture slightly. He noticed. That took him by surprise.
"What's wrong? Are you tired of playing around?" The man asked with disdain, pointing the blade at me.
"I don't want to fight you." He said firmly, but with emotional exhaustion. Not out of pride. Not out of honor. I just want that finger. It needs to be destroyed. You have no idea what it carries.
He watched me carefully. He saw no fear in my eyes, only determination... and a pain much older than anyone should carry.
"Goddammit..." Toji replied, still on guard. "If it's that important to you..."
"Because if I fight you... I might end up killing you. And if you die with that finger... The curse you're holding might manifest. You don't know what kind of things you're risking just by having it."
The silence between us grew heavy. Toji's blade remained still in the air, but his eyes narrowed, considering. He didn't like being threatened, or being lectured about what he could and couldn't do. But the way I spoke... wasn't arrogant. It was sincere. Desperate, even.
So I took a step forward, my hands open, with no intention of fighting. It was a risky gesture, especially against someone like him, but I had to try.
"Give me the finger. I won't use it against you. I just want to prevent anyone else from getting hurt because of it."
He was silent for a long time. He stared at me as if searching for some sign of deception, some trap. But there was none of that.
Finally, he removed a small cloth bundle from inside his jacket and threw it on the ground, making the object roll to my feet. When the cloth opened, there it was... Sukuna's finger. Dark, twisted, pulsing with a cursed energy that made the ground beneath it tremble slightly.
I knelt down slowly, carefully picking up the finger, as if I were touching a piece of pure poison. My hand was shaking. Part of me wanted to destroy him right then and there. Part of me wanted to run away.
"You're not just any guy, are you?" He finally said, putting his weapon away.
Without looking at him, I replied: "No. I'm someone who's lived too long... And now... just wants it to end."
He just nodded silently, as if he were recognizing a tired warrior.
Without another word, he turned to leave through the same staircase he'd come from. I stood there, alone for a few moments, staring at that finger... another one among many.
But this time, I had reclaimed it with words. And not with blood.
The man stopped on the last step of the staircase, his foot ready to go, but something in his back weighed down. He turned his face slightly, just enough to glance at me, who was still holding Sukuna's finger as if it held the very fate of the world.
"Tell me something…" the man with the blade began, his deep voice echoing through the stuffy underground corridor. "Why didn't you kill me? You didn't even try. I gave you every chance."
I slowly looked up, still kneeling on the ground, the scarlet glow of my finger reflected in his tired pupils. I took a deep breath before answering: "Because I'm not a boy anymore... I stopped being one since the day I became a Jujutsu Sorcerer. The one who thought that everything could be solved with force, with a beating... unfortunately, that's not the only way to solve things."
I stood up, still panting, but with a firm posture.
"A lot of people have died because of me. A lot of things were destroyed when I thought that 'winning' meant 'eliminating the enemy'. I almost lost everything... And now, the only thing I want... is to save someone."
I squeezed Sukuna's finger tighter, as if I wanted to crush the cruel fate he represented. "Illya. She's trapped in this madness, involved in plans that weren't hers, hurt by things she shouldn't even remember. I just want to get her out of this. Even if I have to lose myself in the process."
The man was silent for a long time. A strange, dense, almost uncomfortable silence. As if he was trying to understand someone from a world he himself had already left behind.
"Hah…" he let out a mocking sigh. "You talk like an old man. And you act like one too."
...
He turned around completely, finally looking at me head on. That penetrating, murderous gaze now seemed more curious. It wasn't admiration, but perhaps… respect. "If you want to save this girl so much… I hope you're ready to get your hands dirty again. Because in this world, you can't keep your hands clean all the time."
I just nodded. "I know. But now… I choose who to get dirty for." The man gave a slight nod and then, without another word, disappeared up the stairs, like a shadow that comes and goes without ever leaving a trace.
I stood there for a few more seconds. Sukuna's finger now weighed a little less. Not because the curse had diminished, but because, for the first time in a long time, I knew exactly why I was fighting.
As his footsteps echoed down the stairs, ready to leave him behind, I raised my voice with some hesitation, not out of fear, but out of instinct. Something about that man... the way he moved, the sharp gaze, the total absence of malice even in the midst of the intent to kill. It was strange. It was familiar. And I didn't want him to be just another figure in my memory.
"Hey..." I called, making him stop for a brief moment, without turning around. "What's your name?"
The man turned his neck slightly, the cigarette almost going out between his lips. He was silent for a few seconds, as if pondering whether it was worth answering. But there was something in the boy's gaze that convinced him.
"Toji. Fushiguro Toji..."
I blinked a few times. The name hit him like silent thunder.
Fushiguro.?
My body tensed. The surprise was evident, but I tried hard to hide any reaction. I immediately remembered Megumi, his friend, his battle partner, practically a brother. And that man... it was impossible. But the surname left no doubt. I didn't know if I should say something. Still, his curiosity got the better of him.
"Fushiguro...?" I repeated with a slight tone of disbelief. "Name... Familiar."
Toji noticed the pause. One corner of his mouth lifted in an almost cynical smile.
"Yeah, I know. What's your name again? I just forgot..."
I hesitated for a moment. I was still trying to process what I had just heard. But I couldn't run away.
"Yuji. Itadori Yuji."
Toji raised an eyebrow. He looked me up and down for a moment, as if he were recording the name in some hidden corner of his memory. Then he let out a soft grunt.
"Hm... Itadori, you're a teacher, right?..."
And he turned around again to go upstairs, this time without pausing. I remained there, motionless for a few moments. My heart was beating faster than it should, not out of fear... but because of a whirlwind of questions that I didn't dare ask.
"Toji Fushiguro... so it was true. Megumi... he... is your father?"
But I kept that information to myself. Megumi was already carrying so much pain. And I... he still didn't know what to think.
All I could do now was move forward. One step at a time, even when paths crossed with shadows from the past.
Somewhere else...
Far from the chaos that was happening in the shadows of Fuyuki, Arturia slowly opened her eyes. Her breathing was still weak, but rhythmic, as if she had fought a thousand wars in her dreams. The morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the room, caressing her pale skin gently. Her body still ached in several places, and her mana felt like a thread that was almost broken, fragile but present.
She put her hand to her head, trying to remember the last things that had happened. Fragments emerged slowly, like broken glass trying to reassemble itself: the battle in the domain, Yuji's blood, the weight of Excalibur being called upon in the midst of the collapse... and, finally, the darkness.
"...Yuji..."
End of chapter 15