What is this old woman playing at?
Touko stared at the stage through the slats of the bamboo blinds. Actors in elaborate masks moved across the wooden platform, their voices rising and falling in the ancient cadences of the Night of Vengeance play. But instead of actually watching it, she just absentmindedly stared at them while thoughts ran wildly like never before.
Blessing my relationship? Helping me get out of this jujutsu world with no repercussion?
Her fingers curled against her knees.
Just one of those would be unbelievable enough. But all of them combined together? What is it that she actually wants?
Naobi laughed at something on stage, her voice light, carefree. The sound grated against Touko's ears.
No doubt, she will want something from me. Something that would bind my affiliation to this clan. Even if she said she will help me get "banished", there's no way I'm naïve enough to believe she did it out of the goodness of her heart.
Touko's jaw tightened.
Hmmph. As if this old fox has anything resembling a heart. Earthworms and maggots have more compassion than she does.
The music swelled. A drummer near the edge of the stage pounded out a rapid rhythm, the beats echoing off the wooden walls of the main hall. Lantern light flickered, casting long shadows across the performers' faces.
Naobi leaned forward slightly, her eyes fixed on the stage. Then she turned to a nearby attendant—a young woman kneeling at the edge of the booth, her head bowed.
"Oh! That man certainly looks good. Who is he? I've never seen him before."
The attendant lifted her head, following Naobi's gaze toward the stage. A male performer in a dark kimono was delivering a dramatic monologue, his voice resonant with fluid movements. His hair was long, tied back with a white cord, and his face was sharp, almost pretty.
"That's a performer we hired from the outside," the attendant said. "He specializes in tragic hero roles. This is his first time performing for the Zenin."
"You people have good eyes," she said, her voice dropping slightly. "And even more good taste, I presume."
She gestured toward the stage with her sake cup.
"What do you think, Touko?"
Touko did not look at the performer.
"…Nothing."
The word was tinged with a little surprise.
She had spent most of her life drowning in debauchery. Men. Bodies as interchangeable as weapons. She had never thought twice about it—never felt the need to. Pleasure was pleasure. Release was release.
She had never expected a sentence like that—"Nothing"—would ever come out of her mouth while watching beautiful men perform on a grand stage.
But that's how it simply is now.
Her life had been turned upside down ever since she met Keyama.
She thought of his face. The way his eyes would wrinkle whenever he grinned at something stupid. Deceiving looks that made you think the guy was a refined gentleman when he was actually the farthest from that word, but even so, every action he ever took was always coated with sincerity and compassion. Like the way he looked at her as if…
As if she was the most precious thing in this entire world. Not something to be scared of, not a defect to show disdain at, and certainly not as something broken that needs fixing. He simply saw her as…her.
What did you do to me? she asked him, silently, across the distance that separated them.
Naobi was watching somewhat intensely with an obviously assessing gaze.
"Nothing?" Naobi repeated. "You're telling me you feel nothing watching that?"
Touko turned her head. Her empty eyes met Naobi's sharp ones.
"Yes," she said. "Nothing."
Naobi's smile flickered—just for a moment—then returned.
"How interesting," the clan head murmured, turning back to the stage. "How very interesting."
Touko said nothing.
The performance continued.
After an agonizingly long and boring consecutive show—performance, art, and whatever bullshit the elders had prepared to show the clan "culture" and "history" to the outsider visitors—a bunch of nonsense, why would you do something like this just to brag? Just buy a whole ship or something—it was all finally over.
Now was the time for the elders and everyone deemed important to do the solemn ceremony.
This is my favorite part, Touko thought, watching Naobi rise from her cushions. Because then, at least everyone turns quiet.
Naobi sat up, straightening her deep blue kimono. The silver cranes glistened in the lantern light as she moved. She stepped toward the stage, her posture commanding as her cursed energy swallowed the room whole.
Several other elders whose names Touko had forgotten or never bothered to learn followed.
They arranged themselves in a formal line, their faces grave, their hands folded inside their sleeves.
Touko began to tune out.
The priestess stepped forward. Her voice was high and clear, reciting the ancient words—
Something about Taira no Kado. Something about vengeance. Something about—
Touko's gaze drifted to the ceiling beams.
The elders raised their arms in unison. Their voices joined the priestess, a chorus of hollow reverence—
Touko blinked. Seems like she had missed a lot. Fortunately, she didn’t care.
Someone pledged something. Loyalty, perhaps. Or fealty. Or the continued prosperity of the clan under Naobi's wise and benevolent leadership.
The words washed over Touko like water over stone.
She stopped listening.
The speech began.
Touko wasn't sure who was speaking. Naobi, maybe. Or one of the senior elders. The voice was deep, resonant, full of practiced gravitas.
"...and on this night, we remember the sacrifices of those who came before..."
Touko's eyelids grew heavy.
"...the blood of our ancestors flows through our veins..."
The lanterns blurred and the incense smoke curled into shapes that could not possibly exist.
"...let us honor their memory by standing united..."
Her chin dipped, then her breathing slowed.
"...for the Zenin clan is eternal, unchanging, unmovable..."
Unmovable, Touko thought. Like a coffin.
"...and those who stand against us shall be crushed beneath our heels..."
Her eyes closed.
"...as the heavens themselves bear witness..."
The voice faded into a murmur. Then into silence.
Touko slept.
When she woke, the ceremony was over.
The elders were filing off the stage while the crowd was murmuring faintly, stirring from their seats. Naobi was already walking back toward the booth, her expression unreadable.
Touko straightened her posture. Wiped a trace of drool from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were still heavy, but she forced them open.
Naobi stopped a few paces away, her head tilted.
"You actually managed to sleep in this kind of situation?" The clan head's voice was caught between amusement and disbelief. "I don't know whether to be impressed with you or what."
Ignoring that, Touko got up. Her knees didn't crack—she wasn't that old—but the cushions had left imprints on her legs. She brushed off her dark kimono.
"The ground for the Grand Purification Ritual is still the same, right?"
"Yes, but let's go there toge—"
Touko went away with a burst of speed.
The bamboo blinds rattled. Naobi's attendant yelped. By the time the clan head finished her sentence, Touko was already gone.
As if, Touko thought, her feet barely touching the tatami, I would want to be with that old woman for even a second longer.
The purification ground was at the eastern edge of the compound, a vast field of packed earth surrounded by ancient trees. By the time Touko arrived, she was still alone.
The field stretched before her, empty and silent. Braziers had been placed at the four cardinal directions and with their flames already lit, it casted long shadows across the ground. The sky above was with no moon tonight.
Good, she thought. This whole thing is much more preferable this way.
She stood at the edge of the field, arms folded, waiting.
Soon, the first of the attendants arrived—men in dark kimonos carrying cages of woven bamboo and iron. Inside the cages, cursed spirits writhed and hissed.
Grade 4. Small, weak, barely more than shadows with teeth.
Then more attendants. More cages.
Grade 3. Twisted shapes with too many limbs, their curses leaking through the iron bars in thin, acrid wisps.
Touko's eyes tracked them without interest.
Grade 2. Larger reinforced cages. The spirits inside pressed against the bars, their eyes glowing in the darkness. One of them—a thing with a woman's face and a spider's body—hissed at her as it passed.
She didn't flinch.
Semi-grade 1, she noted, as the last cage was carried in. A massive thing, shrouded in shadow, its shape barely visible. The attendants carrying it were sweating with their faces pale.
They really went all out this year.
She glanced toward the main hall, where the lanterns still burned bright.
Probably because of the subtle pressure the Gojo keep on giving.
The Six Eyes brat who kept on getting stronger and stronger every day. Every clan in the whole world of Jujutsu were getting nervous. And they couldn’t even rely on the one special grade they have because he kept on going on overseas trip.
The more nervous they are over a little brat, Touko thought, the more entertained I will be.
The attendants set the cages in a wide circle around the field. Others began preparing the ritual arena—a square of packed earth demarcated by twisted shimenawa ropes, their rice straw cords hung with paper streamers called shide. At each corner, a wooden post carved with ancient protective symbols. In the center, a small altar bearing offerings: rice, salt, sake, and a mirror of polished bronze.
The purification ground was taking shape.
Touko watched quietly with no movement, arms still folded.
People wisely kept their distance from her. Attendants gave her a wide berth. Even the other sorcerers who would participate in the ritual—lower-ranked women in white ritual kimonos—steered clear, their eyes sliding over her as if she were a hole in the air.
Good. Stay away.
Then the crowds came.
They poured from the main hall in droves—clan members, distant relatives, guests from other families, all chattering and laughing, their voices like a low roar that filled the night air. The lanterns they carried bobbed like fireflies.
And then the kago arrived.
Three of them, suspended from long bamboo poles carried by teams of attendants in formal dress. Not the small, single-person palanquins of old—these were grand, large enough to seat four or five, their roofs lacquered black and gold, their sides hung with silk curtains embroidered with the Zenin clan crest. The poles were wrapped with fresh shimenawa ropes, and paper lanterns dangled from each corner, swaying with each step of the bearers.
The first kago carried Naobi and her senior advisors. The second carried the honored guests—elders from the Kamo clan, their crests visible even in the dim light. The third carried minor dignitaries and high-ranking branch family heads.
The procession stopped at the edge of the purification ground. The bearers lowered the kago with perfect synchronization.
Before the first kago even touched the ground, Naobi hopped down.
"You didn't say it was going to take this long," Touko said, her voice flat.
Naobi stopped a few paces away, hands on her hips.
"I didn't. But I did tell you to go here together, didn't I?" She tilted her head. "What?"
Touko's jaw tightened.
"Damn witty old fox."
Naobi laughed and walked past her toward the cluster of elders and guests waiting near the ritual arena.
Their conversation was over.
Touko watched her go, then returned her gaze to the purification ground.
The crowds had settled into designated areas—raised wooden platforms roped off by rank and status. The common clan members stood on the packed earth, jostling for position. The higher-ranked guests sat on cushions behind low barriers. The elders had their own enclosed booths, screened by bamboo blinds.
Everyone in their place, Touko thought. It’s finally about to start.
She was about to turn away when a woman approached.
She was young—mid-twenties, maybe—with a round face and dark hair pulled into a severe bun. She wore the white ritual kimono of a participating sorcerer, but her hands were trembling. Not visibly, not to anyone who wasn't looking. But Touko was always looking.
The woman stopped at a respectful distance. Bowed. Her voice was polished and formal.
"Touko-sama. I am Suzuki Hana, grade 2 sorcerer assigned to the second purification team." She paused, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. "The senior exorcists have designated that you will handle the semi-grade 1 curse. I wished to inform you personally, as you are… present."
Her smile was perfect. Polite. Professional.
But her eyes—
Fear, Touko recognized. Pure, naked fear.
Touko looked at her for a long moment.
"Do your job," she said. "I'm not here to watch you."
The woman's smile flickered. She bowed again—deeper this time, her forehead nearly touching her knees.
"Yes, Touko-sama. Thank you, Touko-sama."
She retreated quickly, her white kimono swishing against the packed earth, and disappeared into the crowd of other ritual participants.
Touko watched her go.
Fool, she thought. I don't kill sorcerers here.
Not unless they get in my way.
Then it finally began.
The head priestess stepped forward, her white robes billowing in the night wind. She raised a wooden wand—shakujo, brass rings clinking—and chanted the words of opening.
The first cage was opened.
Grade Four
A young woman stepped into the arena. Barely twenty, her white ritual kimono cinched with a red cord. Her face was pale but determined—this was likely her first public exorcism. The crowd leaned forward.
The curse slithered out of its cage: a grade four, barely more than a shadow with teeth. To the common folk who couldn't see curses, the arena must have looked empty save for the sorceress making strange gestures. But the attendants had placed paper talismans around the perimeter, their seals glowing faintly, revealing the curse's outline in shimmering light.
The sorceress raised her hands.
Fire erupted from her palms—not a focused blast, but a spiral, a whirlwind of orange and gold that lit up the night sky. She wasn't trying to kill the curse quickly. Twirling, spinning, her sleeves trailing like ribbons of flame. Each and every single one of her movements were clearly made to impress and draw a gasp from the audience as if she’s performing a show.
The curse shrieked. It tried to flee, but the fire cut off its escape. She drove it toward the center of the arena, then—with a final, dramatic flourish—clapped her hands together.
The flames collapsed inward.
The curse dissolved into ash.
The crowd cheered.
The sorceress bowed, breathless, and exited the arena.
Touko watched with empty eyes.
Flashy. Quite the cursed technique too, but too inefficient. But the crowd loved it.
That's the point, isn't it? This isn't about killing curses. It's about reminding everyone why the Zenin exist.
Another cage was opened.
Grade Three
The grade three exorcisms were less entertaining than grade four.
The curses were stronger. But the sorcerers? The sorcerers were washed up. Men and women in their forties and fifties, their bodies softened by years of administrative work, their techniques rusty from disuse.
Trying to prove they're someone they're not, Touko observed.
One man—balding, with a paunch that strained his ritual kimono—faced a grade three curse shaped like a bloated frog. He had a technique that should have been impressive: the ability to turn his own shadow into blades.
But his control was sloppy.
The blades came out crooked. Too slow. He tripped over his own feet trying to dodge the curse's tongue—a whip-like appendage that cracked against the packed earth. The crowd winced. Someone laughed.
He finally killed it, but it took him three times longer than it should have.
He bowed to the crowd, sweating, red-faced, and retreated.
Touko's lip curled.
Pathetic, she thought. This is what the clan trots out to represent itself?
No wonder the Gojo are winning.
Another sorcerer. Another mediocre performance. A woman who could freeze curses solid but nearly froze herself in the process. A man who summoned weak shikigami that the curse tore apart before he could land the killing blow.
The crowd's enthusiasm dimmed.
They clapped. They cheered. But the energy was thinner now.
Grade three. The rank most sorcerers will ever achieve.
This is the ceiling for most of them.
Grade Two
The grade two exorcisms were a little more heart-pounding—at least for the common people.
The curses were larger. Stronger. Their forms fully manifest, their curses palpable even to those without training. The ground trembled when they moved. The air grew heavy, thick with malevolent energy.
This was, after all, the grade where people without talent ended up after decades of efforts—and where people with talent started.
The first grade two curse was a hulking beast with too many legs and a mouth that split its torso in half. Its cage had been reinforced with iron bands, and when the attendants opened it, they scrambled backward, nearly tripping over themselves.
The sorcerer who stepped forward was young. Mid-twenties. Clean-limbed, with sharp eyes and a blade at her hip.
She moved.
Her cursed energy flared—blue-white, electric—as she closed the distance in a heartbeat. The beast swung a claw the size of her torso. She ducked under it, pivoted, and drove her blade into its neck.
The earth cracked beneath her feet from the force of her strike.
The beast howled. Thrashed. It tore a gash in the arena floor, sending clods of dirt flying. The crowd gasped, some of them stumbling backward.
But she didn't flinch.
She ripped her blade free, spun, and struck again. And again. Each blow precise, economical, deadly.
The beast collapsed.
The crowd erupted.
The sorceress sheathed her blade, bowed once to the elders, and walked out of the arena without looking back.
Finally, someone a little competent appeared.
Grade two, she thought. The bottleneck.
Below it, mediocrity. Above it, talent.
And above that...
She glanced toward the remaining cages. The largest one, shrouded in shadow.
...the semi-grade one.
.
.
.
Author's Note
Toji and Maki (and by extension, Touko in this story) can actually just straight up see curses. No outline gimmicks, no sensing through "negative space" – they have full visual perception of cursed spirits. The one who couldn't see curses and instead sensed them by knowing "they are there because everything else isn't there" is Hagane Daido from the Sakurajima Colony arc.
So when Touko watches the grade four exorcism and sees the curse's outline revealed by paper talismans, it's not because she can't see it. She can see it perfectly. The talismans are for the audience – the common folk and non-sorcerer guests who wouldn't be able to perceive the curse otherwise. Just wanted to clarify that.