“It looks like it’s getting late.
Time to head out and see the world.” After getting dressed, Taira no Minamoto stood before his door and took a deep breath.
A mix of anticipation and trepidation swirled in his chest; he was about to face a brand-new world.
From his inherited memories, he knew that leaving his room was often a gamble—there were frequently Cursed Spirits lurking just outside the door.
It was a bizarre reality.
Ordinary people lived in constant peril, targeted by invisible monsters they couldn’t see.
Meanwhile, the sorcerers who could see them lived lives of exhaustion, endlessly hunting the shadows.
It was a strange, macabre cycle: human negative emotions birthed Curses; Curses hungered for humans; sorcerers exorcised Curses; and humans, in turn, birthed more sorcerers.
The number of Curses was directly proportional to the human population.
The larger the crowd, the more sorcerers were needed to balance the scales.
He slid the door open and glanced around.
To his relief, there were no Curses in sight.
Instead, a man and a woman stood waiting in the hallway.
The man appeared to be in his thirties, sharing a striking resemblance to Minamoto—the same hair color and sculpted features.
His black hair hung loosely, framing a face that looked like it had been carved from stone.
What stood out most were his heterochromatic eyes; they were sharp as blades, giving him an unapproachable, intimidating aura.
In reality, however, he was a boisterous, carefree man who was hopelessly “henpecked” by his wife.
This was Minamoto’s father, Taira no Tokumori.
Standing beside him was a woman who radiated a gentle, refined grace—the quintessential Yamato Nadeshiko.
However, her sharp “phoenix eyes” gave her a sudden, piercing intensity that shattered the illusion of a submissive housewife.
This was Taira no Minako.
She was the kind of woman who lived by the book: strict etiquette, a commanding tone, and an image that was perhaps too dignified.
She didn’t exactly fit the mold of a “tender wife” or a “doting mother.” Minamoto quickly fell into the role dictated by his memories.
“Good morning, Father.
Good morning, Mother.” His mother gave a simple “Mm” in response.
She turned and knelt on the tatami mat, gesturing for Minamoto to sit across from her.
“Honestly,” Minako said sternly, “to faint from such a minor shock…
how are you supposed to become the head of the Taira clan like that?” Tokumori tried to smooth things over.
“Now, Minako, don’t be so hard on him.
You were worried sick yesterday, too.” She shot him a sharp look.
“Since you are the current head of the Taira clan, why don’t you do the talking?” Tokumori cleared his throat and straightened up.
“The Taira clan is one of Japan’s oldest jujutsu families.
As the eldest son, you must learn how to exorcise Curses starting today.
The training will be grueling.
Do not slack off.” “I understand, Father,” Minamoto replied with practiced respect.
“You two have a lot to catch up on,” Minako added.
“Now that you’ve awakened your technique, you’re no longer a child.
I’ll leave the ‘men’s business’ to the two of you.” Once she had left, Tokumori let out a long sigh of relief.
His posture slumped instantly as he sprawled his legs out into a more comfortable position.
“Minamoto, relax.
You don’t have to be so formal with me.
So what if you didn’t inherit the ancestral technique?
It’s not the end of the world.” “Let me give you a little history lesson on the Taira family.” “Our ancestor was Taira no Masakado, one of the Three Great Vengeful Spirits.
You know this.
Because of our history of ‘the low overmastering the high,’ the higher-ups in the jujutsu world don’t exactly fondle over us.
Consequently, we don’t have much status.” “But that’s not the point.
Failing to inherit the Dragon-Snake Body technique isn’t a dealbreaker.
The reason the Taira family survived the Heian period wasn’t just physical power—it was the specialized ability of the Clan Head: the Eyes of Future Sight.
You’ll awaken them yourself once you officially take over.” Even if they couldn’t see years into the future, the eyes were top-tier when it came to combat precognition.
“Come on, Minamoto,” Tokumori said, standing up.
“I’m taking you to exorcise your first Curse.” As they walked, he offered some words of comfort.
“Think of it this way: if conventional weapons worked on Curses, a Grade 4 could be handled with a wooden bat.
A Grade 3?
A handgun.
For a Grade 2, you might scrape by with a shotgun.
Grade 1 would require a tank—and even then, it’s not safe.
As for a Special Grade?
You’d need carpet bombing with cluster munitions.
Of course, all that is far beyond you for now.” It should be fine…
Minamoto thought.
With his Tracing technique and an unexpectedly large reserve of Cursed Energy, he felt he could handle a low-level test.
A driver from a side branch of the family, Taira no Shigetoki, took them to an abandoned school.
“Lord Head, allow me to lower the Veil,” Shigetoki said respectfully.
Tokumori patted his shoulder.
“Go ahead.
And relax a bit, Shigetoki.
You’re always so serious.” “I cannot slacken my guard when protecting the Head and the Young Master.
I shall keep watch outside the Veil.” Shigetoki set the “stakes” and began the incantation: “Emerge from darkness, blacker than black.
Purify that which is unclean.” As the black dome of the Veil descended, Minamoto looked at the school.
He wasn’t surprised by the location.
Japanese students were famous for their stress; combine that with school ghost stories and a buildup of negative emotions, and the birth of Cursed Spirits was inevitable.
The darkness held things that defied common sense.
In the shadows of the decaying building, small, black, blob-like creatures floated in the air.
Sensing fresh prey, they swarmed forward.
Tokumori didn’t look worried.
As a Grade 1 sorcerer, these things posed zero threat to him.
He casually reached out, snatched one from the air, and held it out toward his son.
“Look, son.
This is a ‘Fly Head.’ It’s not even a Grade 4.
Cute, right?
Go ahead—try using your technique to finish it off,” he said with a mischievous grin.
Minamoto pushed his father’s annoying face away and focused.
He channeled his Cursed Energy, visualizing the flow just as he had seen in his “memories.” He whispered the command: “Trace on.” Faint sparks of blue electricity crackled in his palm, exactly like the scenes from Fate.
A black shortsword materialized in his right hand.
Kanshou.
It was one of the pair of legendary Chinese swords—Kanshou and Bakuya.
They were a pair of “Yin and Yang” blades crafted through the arts of Gan Jiang and Mo Ye.
The black blade was the “Yang” sword, Kanshou, while the white was the “Yin” sword, Bakuya.
As “husband and wife” blades, they possessed a powerful bond; even if one were lost, it would eventually find its way back to its master.
Ranked at C- Grade as Noble Phantasms, they were Emiya Shirou’s most reliable weapons.
Minamoto chose them because they were efficient to construct, low-cost, and he felt an instinctive familiarity with them.
They were perfect for dealing with the pests in front of him.
Gripping the hilt with both hands, he infused the blade with Cursed Energy and lunged.
The Fly Head was slow; with one clean sweep, the creature dissolved into black smoke.
Minamoto overextended slightly, nearly losing his balance.
The boost from his Cursed Energy made him much stronger than he anticipated, making his movements difficult to calibrate.
As the foul aura dissipated, his first exorcism was complete—even if it was just a lowly Fly Head.
Before he could even celebrate, he heard his father burst into laughter.
“Hahaha!
Minamoto, that was pathetic!
What happened to that ‘refined young master’ act you usually put on?” “Shut up, you old man!” Minamoto snapped, his face flushing red.
He used the bickering to mask the genuine adrenaline and excitement thrumming through him.
Tokumori reached out and ruffled Minamoto’s hair.
“You’ve still got a long way to go.
Keep training.” The father glanced at the sword in his son’s hand.
What a strange blade, he thought.
Does it have some kind of ‘anti-evil’ property?
He smiled but chose not to pry.
The two walked away, their voices fading into the night as they continued to bicker.
The darkness could hide many things, and in the hidden corners of the wilderness, many Curses were still watching.
But as the pair emerged from the Veil, Shigetoki retracted the stakes and opened the car door without a word, letting them in before driving away.
For the first time, Minamoto—who had been a mere ordinary human in his past life—possessed power.
He was willing to endure any hardship to keep it.
He never wanted to feel helpless again—standing with empty hands and useless courage while waiting for someone else to save him.
In this world, the good suffer misfortune and death just like anyone else.
But in a world so lacking in grace, a miraculous salvation wasn’t such a bad thing.
After all, waiting for a miracle is a fool’s errand.
It’s better to be the one who makes it happen.