Yoshiko’s home was a small two-story building facing the street.
A few pots of nameless flowers sat before the entrance, blooming in a chaotic, unruly tangle—not particularly pretty, but lively to look at.
When Yasui knocked on the door with the little girl in his arms, the person who answered was a woman appearing to be in her twenties.
Neither gorgeous nor ugly, but very gentle, wearing a floral apron with flour still dusting her hands.
She was likely in the middle of cooking.
“Afternoon, ma’am.”
Yasui greeted her with a nod, pointing at the kid in his arms.
“This little brat…
err, your child was playing hide-and-seek with others and ran into that unfinished building.
Yes, that exact rundown, broken place with that godawful restaurant nearby.”
“She…
well, accidentally took a fall and got her neck scratched by a piece of broken glass, but she’s fine.”
Ordinary people couldn’t see Cursed Spirits anyway, so there was no point in mentioning it.
Yasui curved his eyes, voicing his earnest request: “Kids need to learn, ma’am.
Give her a good beating.”
Yoshiko froze, following his finger to look at the little girl in Yasui’s arms, then recalled that unfinished building.
Her face turned pale in an instant.
“Kasumi!”
Yoshiko took her daughter in a frantic rush, desperately inspecting her to see where she was hurt.
She checked the little girl from head to toe.
When her fingers touched the piece of gauze on her neck, tears spilled out instantly, hitting the child’s shoulders in heavy drops.
“Mom didn’t keep a good eye on you…
It’s all Mom’s fault…”
Her voice trembled violently as she gathered the girl completely into her embrace, burying her face against that soft water-blue hair, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
The little girl had stopped crying, but held by her mother like this, her eyes reddened all over again.
Her tiny hands clutched Yoshiko’s apron as she softly called out, “Mom.”
Yasui stood at the doorway, arms crossed.
His face was devoid of expression.
He watched Yoshiko kneeling on the floor, wrapping her entire daughter in her arms as if shielding the most precious thing in the world.
Her tears fell as if they cost nothing, repeating those few words of self-blame over and over, her voice so soft as if she were terrified of scaring the child in her arms.
A parent’s love for their child.
Yasui shifted his gaze away.
He didn’t really care to look at this.
Leaning against the doorframe, he lowered his eyes, staring at the dust clinging to the tips of his shoes.
The images floating through his mind failed to overlap with the scene before his eyes.
What he remembered was his mother.
His mother would never hold him like this.
His mother would only hurl objects at him, or sweep her eyes over him as if looking at garbage, mouthing the words, “Why aren’t you dead yet?”
Occasionally, she would even take hands-on action to demonstrate.
His father was the same.
The two were quite a match—a pair of psychopaths.
So whenever he saw other people’s children being treated like this…
Whenever he saw other children held carefully in the palm of a parent’s hand…
Whenever he heard another parent say “it’s my fault” in a trembling voice…
Yasui always felt an indescribable sense of dissonance.
It was as if they weren’t living in the same world at all.
Inside the window, the prized pet cats of others had canned food, cat scratchers, soft fur, and were held gently to be petted on the head.
The scene was beautiful, warm and touching, but when he—this stray cat—reached out his paw, all he could touch was cold glass.
A strange feeling, hard to put into words.
Yoshiko cried for quite a while before composing herself.
Wiping her tears with her sleeve, she settled her daughter on the sofa, then stood up and bowed deeply to Yasui at a ninety-degree angle.
“I am truly, terribly sorry for bringing you so much trouble.”
Her voice still carried a heavy nasal tone from crying, but her demeanor was solemn to the extreme.
“Thank you so much for bringing Kasumi back.
Truly, thank you.”
Yasui kept his arms crossed, lazily drawling: “No biggie, tiny favor.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to beat her up?”
Little girl: *?!*
Thinking Yasui was merely joking, Yoshiko shook her head with a smile.
Yasui: Face full of disappointment.
Yasui was still a bit unhappy: “You’re really not going to beat her up to teach her a lesson?”
Hearing him keep making the joke, though not quite understanding the punchline, Yoshiko smiled along obligingly.
Straightening her back, she said, “Please hold on for just a moment.”
She walked briskly into the kitchen and brought out a plastic container filled with freshly fried tempura, its outer layer golden and crispy, still steaming hot.
A bit embarrassed, she pushed the container into Yasui’s hands.
“It’s nothing grand…
just something I made myself.
If you don’t mind—”
Yasui didn’t mind; he wasn’t a picky eater himself.
Of course, he didn’t eat literal trash either.
That restaurant from earlier today was way too disgusting, challenging the absolute limits of human endurance.
Same old sentence:
The pig died in vain.
Taking the container, he opened the lid, pinched a piece with his fingers, and stuffed it straight into his mouth.
The batter crunched delightfully under his bite.
The shrimp inside was still piping hot, its fresh sweetness bursting on his tongue.
Chewing away, he mumbled a vague “not bad,” then reached in to grab a second piece.
Seeing him eat with such gusto, Yoshiko smiled as if relieved, then turned around to lead the little girl huddled on the sofa over.
“Kasumi, quickly say thank you to big brother.”
Kasumi Miwa: *?*
The little girl snapped her head up, her round eyes widening even further, looking as if she had just heard something that shattered her worldview.
She stared at Yasui.
Long black hair tied in a low ponytail resting over his shoulder, with a few stray strands on his forehead tossed by the wind.
Purple eyes reflecting a subtle reddish tint in the evening light, the outer corners tipped slightly upward, looking at people with a lazy, embedded smile.
A red mark sat right between his brows, unknown whether drawn on or natural.
(Haha, actually a gift from his mother.)
His skin was excessively pale, the line of his jaw somewhat sharp, yet offset by eyelashes that were long and dense.
This impossibly stunning person was a…
Kasumi Miwa’s face was practically stamped with four large words: *I do not understand.*
She thought of the boys her age.
They all had short hair, liked climbing trees to steal bird eggs, enjoyed playing “war,” and liked eating their own boogers.
Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again.
Finally, in a tone of a worldview undergoing complete reconstruction, she stammered out: “Th-Thank you, big brother.”
Hearing Yoshiko say “big brother,” Yasui tilted his head and cast a glance at Yoshiko.
Pretty good.
This mom had far better eyes than her daughter.
He looked down at the little girl who was still processing her shock.
Water-blue hair, side bangs, named Kasumi.
Kasumi Miwa.
Biting off half a fried shrimp, Yasui recalled that manga and anime in his head.
Jujutsu Kaisen.
Kasumi Miwa.
That girl who would later enter Kyoto Jujutsu High, dirt-poor, becoming a Jujutsu Sorcerer just to support her family.
What was her innate technique again…
forgot.
Whatever, doesn’t matter.
And that Mechamaru.
Chewing his tempura, he lowered his eyes to look at Kasumi Miwa’s big, dazed eyes.
He suddenly found it a bit amusing, mixed with some other emotion he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
She and Mechamaru were quite a pity.
That kind of ending, no matter when he thought back to it, always felt a bit unfair.
He personally didn’t like seeing young couples hit a Bad Ending.
He shook his head.
Just as he was about to grab another piece of tempura, he raised an eyebrow.
Here they come.
He heard it.
Far off in the distance, something was approaching this direction.
Not just one, but a swarm.
Like moths drawn to a flame, buzzing as they gathered toward this location from all directions.
Their aura spun a filthy net in the air, drawing closer, denser by the second.
Yasui snapped the lid back onto the plastic container, tucked the box under his arm, and waved a hand at Yoshiko.
“Gotta go.”
Moths flying into a flame, huh?
Well, he wasn’t just going to be the light—he was going to be the fire itself.
Having uttered those words, he turned and left, his pace neither rushed nor slow, yet covering a great distance within just a few steps.
The hem of his windbreaker was lifted by the evening breeze, unfurling a small black arc behind him.
Yoshiko took two steps out to follow: “Eh?
Sir…”
“Don’t bother seeing me off.”
Yasui didn’t turn back, merely raising a hand to wave casually, his voice scattered by the wind.
“The tempura’s great.
Pity I’m allergic to seafood—eat too much and I’ll die~”
Yoshiko: *!*