The morning sun cast a golden hue over the high school gates, its light catching on the glossy leaves and the dull steel of bicycles parked in neat rows. Students streamed past, laughing, chatting, or glued to their phones — a typical day at Sugisawa Third High.
But that calm shattered the moment a loud, mocking voice rang out.
A blond-haired delinquent with a single earring leaned lazily against the school gate, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His sharp eyes narrowed at the boy standing before him — Araki Itsuki — a transfer student with calm eyes and a faint, almost amused smile.
The blond thug tilted his head, studying the new face with contempt. "What's wrong with you, huh? You saying this planet belongs to you?"
Itsuki smiled, tilting his head as if he found the question amusing. "Of course. Every step I take, every breath I draw — that's all under my domain. So yes, this planet is mine."
The thug blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. "You serious? You're insane!"
But behind his laughter was irritation. Few people had ever dared mock him in front of others. "You wanna experience my iron fist, you little punk?"
Without warning, he threw a punch. His fist cut through the air, aiming straight for Itsuki's face — confident, practiced, and fast.
But before it even connected—
Smack!
Itsuki's hand moved like lightning, slapping the blond's cheek so hard it echoed down the gate path. The sound turned heads, freezing the nearby students in disbelief.
The blond staggered back, clutching his swollen cheek, his vision spinning. For a brief moment, he genuinely wondered if he'd just been hit by a truck.
Itsuki's calm voice broke through his confusion.
"Now," he said, gesturing toward the ground, "pick up that cigarette butt."
The blond blinked dumbly, his pride crumbling. "Huh?"
"You heard me. Be civilized — set a good example. No littering on my planet, okay?"
The tone was light, but the gaze behind it made the blond's heart pound. He didn't dare argue. Silently, he bent down, grabbed the cigarette butt, and tossed it into a nearby trash can.
Itsuki clapped his hands once, as though pleased with a student's effort. "That's better. Remember, cleanliness is next to godliness."
"Sorry, sorry!" the blond mumbled and bolted down the street, disappearing into the crowd.
Itsuki watched him go with a small chuckle. "Humans are so easy to teach," he murmured, his eyes glinting with amusement.
---
On the other side of town, a different scene unfolded — one far more somber.
Inside a dim hospital room, Itadori Yuji sat at his grandfather's bedside. The old man's voice was raspy but firm as he gave his last bit of wisdom.
"You're strong, Yuji. So help people. Save them if you can," his grandfather said, his breathing shallow. "Even if no one thanks you… even if it feels pointless… do it anyway."
He paused, looking up at the ceiling with a faint smile. "And when you die… make sure you're surrounded by others. Don't end up like me."
Yuji clenched his fists, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Grandpa—"
But before he could speak further, his grandfather's breathing stopped. The monitor flatlined into silence.
Itadori Yuji bowed his head. He didn't cry — not then — but the words carved themselves deep into his heart.
Later that evening, after the simple funeral rites, Yuji stepped out of the crematorium only to find a stranger waiting for him.
"Are you Itadori Yuji?"
The speaker was a tall boy with dark hair and a calm, serious face — Fushiguro Megumi. He held a photo of an old, worn box wrapped in talismans.
"I'm from Jujutsu High," he explained quickly. "I'm sorry, but there's no time. The cursed object you possess is extremely dangerous. I need it immediately."
Yuji blinked, confused. "Uh… cursed object?"
But when Fushiguro showed him the photo, Yuji's face froze.
"That box… uh… about that…"
"What?" Fushiguro's voice turned sharp.
Yuji scratched the back of his head, grimacing. "I kinda… already gave it to my seniors. They wanted to open it tonight for fun."
Fushiguro's expression darkened. "What?!"
"Is that bad?" Yuji asked sheepishly.
Fushiguro's jaw tightened. "More than bad. They're going to die."
Without another word, the two sprinted toward Sugisawa Third High, the night already deepening around them.
---
Inside one of the empty classrooms, the lights were off. Only a single candle flickered weakly, its glow trembling like a frightened heartbeat.
Sasaki, a cheerful girl with a curious streak, sat cross-legged on the floor, holding a small box covered in sealing talismans. Across from her was Iguchi, her timid friend, who kept glancing nervously at the door.
"Why won't it open?" Sasaki grumbled, tugging at one of the seals.
"Do we really have to do this here?" Iguchi asked, his voice trembling. "Why sneak into the school at night? It's creepy."
Sasaki smirked. "Exactly! If we're gonna open something supposedly cursed, we need the right atmosphere!"
"You're insane," Iguchi muttered.
Just as Sasaki managed to peel off another layer of talisman—
Tap.
A hand gently patted her shoulder.
"Don't open it."
Sasaki froze. The voice was calm, almost amused. Slowly, she turned her head — and screamed.
"GHOST!!!"
Her shriek echoed down the empty hallway, scattering the candlelight.
But when she saw the person standing behind her, she blinked in confusion. It wasn't a ghost — it was a boy. A handsome one, too, with dark hair and eyes that seemed to glow faintly purple under the flickering light.
Araki Itsuki.
He sighed, brushing imaginary dust from his uniform. "You like this kind of scary atmosphere, right? I was just giving you some excitement."
Sasaki's face turned red. "E-Exciting?! I almost had a heart attack!"
"Sorry," Itsuki said with an easy smile. "Anyway, I'd recommend not opening that."
Sasaki frowned, clutching the object protectively. "Why not? It's just an old relic, right?"
Itsuki took a step forward, his expression turning serious. "That's no relic. It's the finger of a cursed demon. If you open it, you'll release misfortune and death upon everyone nearby."
Sasaki stared at him, half convinced he was joking. "You're lying…"
But Iguchi's voice trembled. "Sasaki… he appeared out of nowhere. I was watching the door. No one came in. He just—was suddenly there."
Sasaki's blood ran cold.
Itsuki smiled faintly. "Relax. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm just here to—"
Then, before either of them could react, he grabbed the box.
"—turn the gears of fate myself."
With a swift motion, he tore off the talismans.
The paper seals fluttered to the floor like snowflakes, revealing what lay within — a grotesque, mummified finger.
It looked dry, cracked, and ancient, the nail sharp as a blade. The air instantly grew heavy.
Sasaki gasped. "That's… that's human!"
Before she could speak further, a low, guttural sound echoed from above.
Sizzle. Sizzle.
Dark mist poured from the ceiling, forming twisted, howling shapes. Dozens of Cursed Spirits oozed into existence — grotesque limbs, eyeless faces, and chattering mouths that whispered incoherently.
Sasaki screamed again. "What… what is that?!"
Itsuki stepped in front of them, his eyes glowing with calm confidence.
"Cursed Spirits," he said. "They're made of fear, hatred, and all the negative emotions of humanity. Normally, you can't see them — unless you're about to die."
The words made Sasaki shiver uncontrollably. "Th-then are we going to die?!"
Itsuki smiled gently over his shoulder. "Not while I'm here."
A shadow passed over his face, and the faint amusement in his tone vanished. His purple eyes deepened into a void of darkness.
The largest of the spirits — a grotesque, frog-like creature covered in black fur — stepped forward, muttering, "What… time is it now…?"
Itsuki vanished.
One heartbeat he stood before Sasaki, the next, he was beside the spirit, his hand glowing with dark, purplish energy.
"Learn to tell time yourself."
His palm sliced cleanly through the Cursed Spirit's body like a blade through paper. The creature shrieked, its form collapsing into smoke as Itsuki's shadowy arm absorbed the fragments of cursed energy.
Darkness, hatred, fear — all of it was drawn into him like a black hole devouring starlight.
And he smiled.
"Not enough," he murmured. "Still not enough…"
---
When Itadori Yuji and Fushiguro Megumi burst into the classroom minutes later, the floor was already slick with blackened blood. Torn limbs, shattered desks, and fragments of dissolved spirits littered the room.
At the center stood Araki Itsuki, drenched in crimson, his right arm twisted into a shadowy appendage that pulsed with energy.
Fushiguro froze, every instinct screaming danger. No cursed energy detected… but he's killing Cursed Spirits effortlessly?!
Itsuki gripped a massive Cursed Spirit by the throat, the shadow-arm coiling around it like a serpent.
The creature wailed, clawing desperately, but Itsuki's grip only tightened. The spirit's body shriveled, its essence devoured by the boy's insatiable hunger.
When it finally collapsed into dust, Itsuki exhaled, a manic grin spreading across his bloodstained face.
"Still not enough…" he whispered. "Let my soul drink its fill!"
He tore the next Cursed Spirit in half, blood raining down like ink.
To Sasaki and Iguchi, the sight was beyond comprehension — a single boy, bathing in death, yet grinning as though he found beauty in the carnage.
To Fushiguro, one truth became painfully clear.
"This young man…" he muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as cursed shadows gathered behind him.
"He's not human."
---
End of Chapter 2
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