He shifted into yet another position, propping his elbows on his knees while supporting his chin with his palms, starting to chatter about whether the rice balls in convenience stores or the bread in convenience stores tasted better.
In passing, he hurled a few curses at the dead pork cutlet and rag-tasting miso soup place he had eaten earlier, before sliding effortlessly from that topic all the way into “whether curry bread counts as a dessert or a staple food,” and eventually to “Geto, was your bang born like that or did you cut it yourself?”
“Cut it myself.”
Under this relentless barrage of utter nonsense, Suguru Geto finally found an opportunity to chime in.
Who in their right mind would be born with hair naturally growing into a single lone bang?
What kind of brainless logic was this?
“Oh.”
Yasui nodded, his tone carrying a solemnity as if he had just grasped some deep truth.
“Pretty good.
Very recognizable.
Walking down the street, one look at the bang and people know it’s you.”
“…Usually, no one recognizes people by their bang.”
“That’s why I said ‘one look at the bang and people know it’s you,’ not ‘one look at the bang and people recognize you.’ You weren’t listening to me carefully, Geto.
I’m very disappointed in you, and I suspect you’re a child of limited intelligence.”
Geto took a deep breath, stuffing the last bite of tempura into his mouth and chewing a few degrees harder than usual.
Seeing him eat without talking, Yasui swapped to yet another topic, starting a discussion with Geto on “if Cursed Spirits were edible, would deep-frying or charcoal-grilling be better?”
The premise itself was absurd enough to make one roll their eyes, yet Yasui discussed it with extreme devotion, covering everything from texture to cooking duration to what dipping sauce should be paired with it.
Every single point was analyzed with flawless logic.
By the end of it, he even nodded to himself, as though completely persuaded by his own argument.
“I’m a genius.”
Yasui praised himself.
“Steaming them should be pretty nice too,” he appended, his expression thoroughly sincere.
The polite smile on Geto’s face was already getting rather difficult to maintain.
The arc of his lips remained, but the corners of his eyes were beginning to twitch subtly, a vein on his temple throbbing imperceptibly.
What on earth is this guy talking about?
At the start, it was at least a normal conversation, but later on, the topics began hurtling all across the universe.
Every single sentence sounded like proper speech, yet strung together, they turned into a mess of inexplicable nonsense.
*Hey, you bastard, what the hell are you even saying?!*
Geto finally couldn’t hold it together anymore.
He opened his mouth, preparing to say something to halt this linguistic catastrophe—at least pulling the topic back from “the culinary feasibility of Cursed Spirits.”
Because he *personally* knew what Cursed Spirits tasted like—disgusting Cursed Spirit Orbs, like foul rags soaked in vomit.
Yet before he could even open his mouth—
Yasui stood up.
The movement was abrupt, as if he were about to throw another episode of madness.
He dusted off the grime clinging to his windbreaker, solemnly took the leftover bread out of his pocket, shoved it into Geto’s pocket, and then turned around to face the wide open sky and the gathering twilight outside the rooftop.
“Buddy.”
His voice was light as a feather, laced with amusement, the lilt of his Kansai dialect sounding exceptionally crisp.
Carried by the evening wind, the sound drifted right into Geto’s ears.
“Plants vs.
Zombies is about to start.
I hereby declare that you’re Crazy Dave now~”
With that, he took a direct leap forward.
Just jumped straight down like that.
The hem of his windbreaker billowed mid-air, his long hair fanning out as he threw up a peace sign in the sky.
His entire body vanished from sight over the edge of the rooftop, clean, swift, without a single shred of hesitation.
Geto: *?*
He bolted up, rushing to the edge of the rooftop and leaning one hand against the concrete ledge to look down.
On the open ground below the building, four Cursed Spirits had gathered at some unknown moment. Get faster updates on g.com.
They were like hyenas drawn by a scent, pacing and roaring below the building, their twisted torsos appearing exceptionally hideous in the dimming light.
Geto judged their grades at a single glance.
Unlike Yasui, that half-baked amateur, ever since he could see Cursed Spirits in middle school, he had been exposed to the Jujutsu world and was capable of evaluating a Cursed Spirit’s rank.
One Grade 4, two Grade 3s, and one Grade 1 with a noticeably larger build and a far more turbid aura.
Four Cursed Spirits.
For the vast majority of Jujutsu Sorcerers, this lineup was a force that required cautious handling.
He prepared to go down and help.
Then he saw Yasui land on the ground.
He didn’t look up at him, but waved a hand in his direction.
Yasui had no cushioning movement upon landing, nor any trace of Cursed Energy release.
He just fell straight down like that, as nimble as a little cat hopping off a single step.
The next second, Yasui twirled the cold, gleaming boning knife in his hand.
A knife jet-black all over, its blade narrow and thin.
Held in Yasui’s grip, it formed a stark, vivid contrast against that excessively pale hand.
On the rooftop, Geto narrowed his eyes, staring at that knife for two seconds.
That wasn’t an ordinary knife; it seemed to be a Cursed Tool.
Geto sat down cross-legged at the edge of the roof, propping his chin with one hand, intending to see what this guy full of nonsense was actually up to.
Then, he saw it.
Holding that knife, Yasui’s stride as he walked toward those four Cursed Spirits was lazy, like taking a stroll in his own backyard.
He didn’t even assume any combat stance—no hand seals, no incantations, no activation of any innate technique.
He simply walked up to the nearest Grade 4 and Grade 3 Cursed Spirits, raised his hand with outrageously fast speed, swinging with broad, sweeping movements without a trace of mercy, instantly slicing both the Grade 3 and Grade 4 to pieces.
Geto: *?*
Those two Cursed Spirits didn’t even get the chance to react, splitting straight from head to tail.
Their foul torsos shattered into two halves like shredded paper before vanishing.
The other Grade 3 Cursed Spirit and the Grade 1 Cursed Spirit lunged forward simultaneously.
Yasui sidestepped to dodge the claws swung by the Grade 1, casually dealing them a blade slash while laughing merrily.
His movements lacked redundant flourishes or exquisite swordplay; it was pure slashing, stabbing, chopping, and slicing—the most basic actions.
Yet every single slash was ridiculously fast, ridiculously precise, and every single blow struck the Cursed Spirits without fail.
And he didn’t block.
Yes, he didn’t block at all.
The Grade 1 Cursed Spirit’s tentacle whipped across his shoulder, sending his entire body stumbling sideways.
Blood splattered from his shoulder, staining the collar of the white short-sleeved shirt under his windbreaker.
Geto subconsciously wanted to jump down to help, his body leaning forward, only to see Yasui not even bother turning his head as a layer of faint white light shimmered over the wound on his shoulder.
Reverse Cursed Technique.
The healing speed was visible to the naked eye, flesh growing back within seconds, as if that deep wound exposing bone had merely been an illusion—though the shredded fabric on his shirt proved it had genuinely happened.
Yasui didn’t even glance down at his injury, backhanding a slash to chop off the final tentacle of that Grade 1 Cursed Spirit, then stomping his foot right onto the Cursed Spirit’s face before thrusting the boning knife downward.
*Pfft—*
The Grade 1 Cursed Spirit let out a low wail, its body beginning to collapse as its fragments dissolved into nothingness in the air.
Four Cursed Spirits.
In under three minutes total, every single one had turned into black residue dissipating on the ground.
Geto sat cross-legged on the roof, chin propped on his hand, staring expressionlessly at the guy wiping his blade below.
*I thought you were a mage, but you’re actually a warrior?*
*And a berserker who only attacks without defending.*
Sheathing his knife, Yasui suddenly seemed to sense something, raising his head thoughtfully.
His gaze crossed the open ground before him, looking toward a certain direction in the distance.
The very moment he had begun attacking the Cursed Spirits, the sky had darkened.
It wasn’t just the sun going down.
The sun had indeed sunk below the horizon, the twilight drawing to a close.
Yet this darkness came more abruptly, more thoroughly, like a layer of ink-black gauze draped down from overhead, isolating this area from the outside world. This chapter was taken from novelping.com without permission.
It was a “Veil.”
Someone was casting a Veil.
This was his first time seeing one; it was quite a novelty.
Yasui stood in place, thought for a moment, and said to the system in his mind:
“Give me a super flashlight~”
When he chopped those few Cursed Spirits just now, those things felt pain, resulting in a small fortune of points rattling into his account, plus 9 points from getting injured himself.
He used a portion of those points to redeem an item.
The next second, a super flashlight appeared in his hand.
The size of this thing leaned a bit large; it looked quite normal, yet held in his hand, it also resembled a weapon, its silver-white metallic shell gleaming coldly in the dim space.
Yasui curved his eyes, his purple eyes glowing a bit excessively bright in the dark.
He pointed the flashlight straight in the direction where his ears picked up sound.
There was movement over there—three people quietly crouching in a corner.
One of them held an unlit cigarette in hand.
The breathing and footsteps of the three blended together, very light, but Yasui heard them nonetheless.
He pressed the switch.
A beam of downright terrifying white light tore through the darkness inside the Veil, striking with pinpoint accuracy onto those sneaky figures in the corner, illuminating them with extreme clarity.
Those few Assistant Managers had originally been observing in secret to confirm the situation inside the Veil, when suddenly a blinding glare was slapped right onto their faces.
The piercing light forced them instinctively to squint and raise their arms to block it, one person even staggering a step backward, nearly tumbling over.
This was no flashlight; this was clearly a man-made sun.
They were thoroughly spooked.
“Hello everyone~”
A voice materialized out of thin air right beside their ears—a lazy Kansai dialect, dragging out a soft, deliberately infuriating tail tone, laced with a raspiness soaked in amusement.
“I’m Yasui Shigeru.
Is there anything you’d like to chat about with me?”
The several Assistant Managers whipped their heads around in a flash.
It was merely an instant.
Yasui had already stood behind them at some unknown moment, his movement completely silent.
Seeing them startled, Yasui nodded in satisfaction.
Now that was more like it.
It made sure the effort he spent sprinting over wasn’t wasted, not to mention instantly buying two massive lights—placing one on the dilapidated stone ledge and running wildly with the other in hand.
He dimmed the light of the flashlight slightly so it was no longer blinding, transforming into a gentle beam that framed his outline sharply.
His long black hair was unbound, casually draped over his shoulders, a few stray strands hanging beside his cheeks, illuminated from the side with a layer of cool white halo by the flashlight’s glow.
His purple eyes bubbled with laughter, the outer corners tipped slightly upward, carrying a natural, almost demonic bewitchment when looking at people.
The red mark between his brows was exceptionally striking under the light, like a drop of cinnabar fallen upon white jade.
The collar of his windbreaker was still stained with the blood splattered earlier, yet his whole demeanor appeared leisure and composed, as if that blood were merely a decoration on his clothes.
At first glance, the exact same thought popped into the minds of all three Assistant Managers present simultaneously.
*Could this be a fox spirit that escaped from a myth?*
Only at second glance did they dare confirm that this was a real living person.
The white vapor brought out by his breath dispersed in the early spring night wind—he had a shadow, a body temperature, and a tangible texture of real existence.
Yet before they could even breathe a sigh of relief, they heard another voice.
Suguru Geto came down from the rooftop via his Cursed Spirit.
A flying Cursed Spirit with a decent appearance carried him to a steady landing on the ground.
He hopped down, stepped up beside Yasui to take a stance, and nodded toward the several Assistant Managers who had yet to regain their senses.
“Hello, I’m Suguru Geto, a new recruit for Jujutsu High, though I haven’t officially enrolled yet.”
His tone was polite and steady, forming a stark contrast with the guy beside him whose entire body practically screamed “I’m so glad I scared you.”
The several Assistant Managers exchanged bewildered glances.
A mysterious youth covered in blood, holding a dead-bright flashlight, looking like the reincarnation of a fox spirit, and a youth with a strange bang claiming to be a new Jujutsu High student, appearing simultaneously in this abandoned building area shrouded by a Veil.
*What are you two even doing?*
Actually, they weren’t doing anything—it was a pure accidental encounter.