Wooo-wooo—
The piercing sirens of fire trucks and police cars cut through the night sky. In the bustling night markets of Tokyo, a thick plume of black smoke rose straight into the air—a highly abnormal sight.
"What's happening?"
Pedestrians watched as specialized vehicles, sirens blaring and red-and-white lights flashing, roared past one after another. Whispers spread through the crowd.
"Probably another underground gas pipe explosion somewhere..."
Bzzt... static...
"Ministry of Defense, Supernatural Countermeasures Headquarters Command Center to Special Tactics Unit 1."
"Target is moving south along the Shuto Expressway Route 5, advancing at maximum speed towards North Ikebukuro."
"Mobile Squadron of Special Tactics Division 1, copy that."
"Close all expressway entrances in the sector. Divert all civilian vehicles off the route immediately."
"Issue containment orders and information control directives to all news agencies. Declare Level 1 Wartime Readiness."
"Pretty professional."
Kenmei Isayama leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He was dressed in a sharp black suit.
"But these guys really don't feel a thing spending taxpayer money."
"Hahaha, Kenmei, that goes without saying."
Leaning against the wall not far from Kenmei was a middle-aged man with a blond buzzcut, also wearing a black suit. His grin was terrifyingly grotesque.
A large chunk of muscle was missing from his right cheek near his mouth, exposing his gums and teeth.
This was Shin Kiyono, a member of the group Kenmei was "working" with.
"Unlike us freelancers, they're the regulars."
Just the brand-new, massive 4K screen in front of Kenmei looked expensive as hell. Not to mention the staff in uniform uniforms, sitting at computers with serious expressions.
The big screen was broadcasting a live feed of a military assembly at a Japanese base, almost as if they were showing off—no, flexing their muscles.
Under searing white floodlights that turned night into day, a large number of soldiers armed to the teeth with the latest weaponry were assembling.
Behind them serving as the backdrop were three Black Hawk attack helicopters and two Chinook transport aircraft. Every single one was fully loaded with weapons, their massive rotors chopping the air with a high-pitched scream.
Soldiers were boarding the helicopters in an orderly fashion, their expressions solemn, as if heading to a war zone.
The murderous atmosphere practically overflowed from the screen, infecting the staff in the command center. They monitored every change on the field, ready to relay information instantly.
Compared to the busy staff, Kenmei's group of idlers looked completely out of place.
"Mr. Akutagawa, what do they mean by this? Leaving us hanging here, ignoring us completely."
Even with Kenmei's usually calm demeanor, being left out to dry for so long was testing his patience. He asked Mr. Akutagawa, who had just walked in from a phone call outside.
The man in the black trench coat and matching black tie was Mr. Akutagawa. He had the fierce, somewhat heroic aura of a seasoned veteran.
He was burly, with a gruesome scar running down the entire left side of his face. The jagged tear looked like the work of a bear or some other large beast. His left eye was completely blind.
Aside from the young, handsome, and able-bodied Kenmei, the other members of this eight-man group averaged over 40 years old and all had some degree of physical disability.
Each of them was surrounded by an aura of malice so intense it would terrify even Cursed Spirits. Their killing intent was sharp, and their scarred bodies alone were enough to instill fear.
No wonder students thought Kenmei was involved with the Yakuza when they saw him with them. But knowing their true identities, Kenmei felt only admiration and respect.
"Orders from above."
Hearing Kenmei's question, Mr. Akutagawa took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, took a drag, exhaled slowly, and then spoke.
"Wait and see."
This answer pissed off the other members, who started cursing.
"Those old farts at the top are getting senile. It's been this long and they still haven't finished negotiating with the government?"
"Just leaving us brothers to wait here? Getting the cold shoulder from these bird-brains."
The one speaking was Mr. Ishihara, a man with fiery red hair carrying a massive hammer. His personality was as hot as fire. His bronze, muscular arms were covered in terrifying Cursed Energy as he cursed.
"Screw the higher-ups."
Mr. Kiyono from earlier, and the bald Mr. Iwata—these guys all had explosive tempers. There was no way they were going to sit quietly just because the higher-ups said so.
Mr. Akutagawa ignored his team's outburst, staring out the window and smoking, as if silently permitting it.
Hearing the news and the sound of various weapons being unsheathed around him, Kenmei stopped leaning against the wall.
He didn't care about the politics. He only cared about Points. Rotting in this room wouldn't earn him a single one.
Sensing that things were about to get ugly with the chorus of creative profanity coming from the group, the person in charge of the command center finally arrived.
"Apologies, guests from the Jujutsu Association. Sorry to keep you waiting."
A somewhat portly middle-aged man in a military uniform walked up. Judging by his shoulder insignia, his rank wasn't low—a Lieutenant General in the Ground Self-Defense Force.
"I am Kazuo Mafune. Pleased to meet you."
The Lieutenant General extended his hand for a friendly shake, but none of the men even looked at him. He was about to get angry, but then remembered his small frame probably couldn't take a single punch from any of them.
So, Kazuo Mafune put on an apologetic smile.
"Since today is the first operation for the Ministry of Defense's Supernatural Countermeasures Headquarters, things are a bit chaotic. I apologize for the neglect."
"Cut the crap. Why did you call us here?"
Ishihara gripped his massive hammer, his arm muscles hard as rock and veins bulging like dragons. He glared viciously at the Lieutenant General representing the headquarters. It looked like if the answer wasn't satisfactory, he'd smash the man into meat paste.
"It's like this."
Kazuo Mafune wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and forced a calm tone.
"There is an iron rule in the Jujutsu world: only Curses can kill Curses."
"But I wanted to invite you, the renowned 'Cleaners' team of the Jujutsu Association, to observe. To see how we use the power of science to eliminate a Cursed Spirit."
"Of course, if you could offer some guidance, that would be best."
"The Cleaners" were a special squad under the Jujutsu Association. Most members were former Grade 1 Sorcerers.
Because they had suffered severe injuries in battles against Curses and were assessed as unfit for frontline combat, they had retreated to the second line.
Their main duties were extermination operations for Curses below Grade 2, assessing Grade 2 and higher incidents to report to the Association (without engaging directly), and cleaning up residual Cursed Energy afterward.
It was a way for them to still be useful. Kenmei tagged along with these "semi-retired" uncles, scavenging the Cursed Spirits they killed for fresh Points.