Mid-March, still a short while away from the April school opening.
The cherry blossoms in Tokyo had not yet bloomed, and a chill of early spring lingered in the air, but the sunlight was no longer quite so stingy.
On occasional clear afternoons, people on the streets would unconsciously slow their pace.
Yasui did not have this habit.
He simply couldn’t sit still.
Or rather, he loved entertaining himself far too much.
Though living in the Jujutsu High dormitories was comfortable, the surroundings were altogether too quiet—quiet to the point that there wasn’t even anyone around to talk trash with.
Suguru Geto did live right next door, but Geto was far too proper; while teasing him was fun, one couldn’t pick on the exact same sheep to pluck wool from all day long.
As for Senior Mei Mei, he bumped into her occasionally, but her style of giving him a once-over, uttering an ambiguous remark, and drifting away hardly constituted effective social interaction.
And so, Yasui went out.
He went out with exceptionally high frequency.
So high that sometimes when Geto knocked on his dorm room door in the morning to invite him to breakfast, he would find the door left ajar and the person already gone, leaving behind only a ball of blanket bundled up on the bed and a few long strands of hair resting on the pillow.
Yasui’s reasons for going out were strange and varied.
Sometimes it was because he heard a rumor about a particularly delicious taiyaki shop over in Asakusa that he needed to appraise.
Sometimes it was because he saw on TV that a new electronics store had opened in Akihabara, and he wanted to browse around.
Sometimes there was simply no reason at all—he just felt the weather was nice and suited for a walk, so out he went.
And his physique dictated the “side attractions” of his outings.
No matter where he walked, as long as he lingered long enough, Cursed Spirits would come knocking on his door.
Still like moths to a flame, Yasui was that solitary torch in the night.
One, two, three, four—of varying grades, each uniquely ugly.
All coming over to seek their own deaths.
When he encountered them for the first time, Yasui had actually observed with quite a bit of patience, his gorgeous dark purple eyes narrowing slightly.
That Grade 3 Cursed Spirit poked half of its twisted head out from behind a convenience store sign, its turbid eyeballs staring at him as if verifying something.
Once verified, it lunged forward.
Yasui had just bought a strawberry daifuku back then and hadn’t even had the chance to take his first bite, so he could only stuff the daifuku into his mouth to dangle it between his teeth while freeing his hands to pull out his boning knife.
With a single slash, the Cursed Spirit shattered into pieces, while the strawberry daifuku remained steadily clamped in his mouth as he muttered vaguely, “Damn it, really knows how to pick its timing.”
Ugly as hell, completely ruined his appetite.
Later, as the encounters grew more frequent, he began to find it boring.
Things like Cursed Spirits were hideous, low in intelligence, and fought with zero novelty.
Aside from racking up a few points for him, they were basically wild mobs spawning by the roadside.
But what kind of person was Yasui?
He was the type who could find entertainment even within boredom.
He discovered a brand-new way to play.
These Cursed Spirits turned into a pile of black residue upon death, leaving nothing behind.
But what if he left them with a single breath of life?
What if he left them alive on their last breath and then called the guy who could roll Cursed Spirits into balls and swallow them down?
The thought made Yasui’s eyes light up, his purple pupils shimmering under the sunlight with an excitement akin to finding a new toy.
And so, a brand-new “Yasui-style entertainment project” was born.
That afternoon, Geto was reading a book in his dorm room.
It was a textbook on foundational Jujutsu theory that Masamichi Yaga had handed him in advance, saying it would be used after the term started.
He was reading attentively, occasionally making a few notes along the margins with a pen.
Sunlight streamed through the window, casting dappled light and shadows onto the pages.
The only sound in the entire room was the turning of pages, peaceful enough to put one’s mind at ease.
Then, his phone rang.
A name jumped onto the flip phone screen: Yasui.
Geto stared at that name for two seconds.
Normally, when Yasui looked for someone, he never sent messages or made phone calls; his method of communication was either knocking directly on your door or simply running his mouth the moment he bumped into you in the hallway.
Making a formal phone call didn’t quite match his style.
Geto answered it.
The voice coming from the other end of the line was lazy as always, the trailing tones of his Kansai dialect dragged out long, sounding like he had just woken up or hadn’t slept at all.
The background noise was very cluttered—there was the sound of wind blowing, alongside the distant noise of vehicles and pedestrians on the street.
He should be outdoors.
“Hey, Classmate Geto, eaten yet?”
Geto closed his book and glanced at the clock on the wall.
3:30 PM.
Asking “eaten yet” at this time meant either brunch or afternoon tea, but certainly not a proper mealtime.
Yet he answered truthfully nonetheless: “Not yet.
What’s up?”
“Come over and eat a bit?”
Geto fell silent for a beat.
He had a bad premonition.
Yasui’s tone was far too casual—so casual it sounded like inviting him to buy a bun at the convenience store.
Yet precisely because it was too casual, it aroused suspicion instead.
The number of times Yasui treated someone to food could be counted on one hand, and every single time came with extra circumstances—like that tempura last time.
Setting aside his own allergic reaction, it came bundled with four Cursed Spirits right beside it.
“Where are you?”
“Over in Shibuya, at an abandoned underground parking lot.” Yasui gave an address.
Geto: “…You went out again.”
“What do you mean ‘again’?
I never went back.” Yasui was supremely full of confidence.
Geto let out a silent sigh, slipped his bookmark inside, grabbed his jacket, and headed out the door.
A gentle-tempered mother was destined to be harassed by her child.
His current lodging was a bit of a distance from Shibuya, but he possessed a flying Cursed Spirit, making commuting rather convenient.
Standing below the dorm building as he released his Cursed Spirit, he suddenly realized something.
Upon receiving a head-and-tail-less phone call and hearing the four words “come eat a bit,” he had actually already begun putting on his jacket.
When this habit was trained, he wasn’t sure.
But he was certain Yasui definitely knew he would come.
Therefore, one couldn’t have too good a temper, or else those who pushed their luck would only push even further.
That abandoned parking lot was situated at the end of a small alley in Shibuya, its entrance largely blocked off by construction barriers, so ordinary people wouldn’t walk this way.
As Geto walked down the slope, the first thing he caught was the damp odor peculiar to underground spaces, mixed with the residual scent of dust and gasoline.
Then he heard a sound.
It wasn’t the roar of a Cursed Spirit, but the hum of a human singing.
Yasui was crouching on the ground, the hem of his black windbreaker dragging across the dust-covered concrete floor without him caring about the filth in the slightest.
In front of him lay a rather large Cursed Spirit with a hideous appearance.
Its torso bore several deep blade marks exposing bone, and black residue was oozing outward from the wounds, yet it wasn’t fully dead.
The Cursed Spirit’s aura was extremely weak, clinging to life on its last breath.
As for Yasui himself, he was crouching right beside that Cursed Spirit’s head, supporting one knee with one hand while holding the hilt of that black boning knife with the other, boredly drawing circles on the floor with the tip of the blade.
His mouth was humming an out-of-tune melody, sounding like something he had casually made up.
Hearing footsteps, he raised his head and flashed a smile toward Geto.
That smile shone blindingly white in the dim lighting of the underground parking lot.
“You’re here~”
He stood up, stretched his arms, and then gestured his chin toward that half-dead Cursed Spirit, his tone sounding as if he were saying, “Look, I saved half a cake for you.”
“Take a look at this one.
Pretty good quality, right?”
“Grade 3, almost breaking into Grade 2.
Large build, plenty of Cursed Energy too.
It was seriously fast at running—I chased it down two streets before trapping it here.
I could have finished it off in one slash, but after thinking it over, I saved it for you to use as a mount.”
When he said this, his expression was thoroughly sincere—so sincere it was as if he were reserving a limited-edition wagashi or daifuku for a friend.
Geto stood in place, looking down at that Cursed Spirit lingering on its last breath.
The Cursed Spirit looked up at him with a gaze that could almost be called “aggrieved,” as though between these two humans, Geto was the only one who might be reasonable.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, then closed it again.
Yasui treating someone to food…
So it was “eating” in *this* sense.
Calling Geto over to “eat a bit”—this was what he was eating.
Geto realized that when Yasui said “come over and eat a bit,” he wasn’t talking about tempura, bread, or convenience store rice balls at all, but rather this Cursed Spirit that had been sliced down to its final breath.
Geto: “…The ‘good thing’ you mentioned is *this*?”
“Yeah.”
Yasui nodded as a matter of course, his purple eyes sparkling with a light that said “Don’t you think it’s awesome?”: “Living, fresh, hasn’t gone cold yet.
Much fatter than the ones I killed before.
It’s really one huge blob!”
“Roll it up quick, I’ll watch you roll it.”
Geto remained silent for quite a while.
He could actually refuse.
He could tell Yasui that there was no need to deliberately spare live ones in the future, and if he needed Cursed Spirits, he could capture them himself.
He could explain clearly to Yasui that the process of absorbing Cursed Spirits via Cursed Spirit Manipulation was not particularly graceful; while he didn’t mind it, it was hardly something he enjoyed, so there was no need to save them specially like bringing back local souvenirs.
Yet Yasui was crouching right there, the corner of his windbreaker dragging a patch of dust across the ground, his fingers still stained with Cursed Spirit residue, his hair slightly disheveled—he had clearly been running for real when chasing it across two streets earlier.
This guy was too lazy to run even when fighting four at once, preferring to stand and slash without moving a single step extra if he could help it, yet he had sprinted across two streets just to save a “fresh” Cursed Spirit for him.
Looking at Yasui’s bright, twinkling eyes, all the words Geto wanted to say turned over in his throat, ultimately transforming into a soft sigh.
“You don’t need to save them specially next time,” he said, his tone carrying a gentle, harmless dissuasion.
“I—”
“Roll it up quick.”
Yasui cut him off, not wanting to hear a single word of it.
Good-natured people were destined to be bullied.
Eat up quick, buddy.
Geto closed his eyes briefly and resigned himself to fate, reaching out his hand.
Wrapped in Cursed Energy within his palm, that Grade 3 Cursed Spirit’s twisted torso began to rotate and compress, gradually shrinking down into a fist-sized black orb.
Yasui watched with great relish from the side, even crouching down to lean closer, as if watching some spectacular cooking showcase.
The moment the black ball took form, Geto lowered his head and swallowed it into his mouth.
That expression—Geto’s expression.
Geto knitted his brows slightly, pressing the corners of his mouth downward as his Adam’s apple rolled.
Every time he swallowed a Cursed Spirit, he wore this exact expression—not quite agony, but definitely far from comfortable.
“Is it really that terrible to eat?” Yasui tilted his head and asked him.
“…Would you like to taste it?” Geto’s tone was infused with a rare trace of resignation toward life.
“No, no, isn’t this stuff your exclusive delight?
How could I have the nerve to snatch it from you?” Yasui stood up smilingly, dusting the grime off his knees before adding, “What’s it taste like?”
Geto thought for a moment.
The disgust on his face hadn’t completely faded, yet he answered very seriously: “…Like a rag used to wipe up vomit.”
*Hehehe, triggered the line.*
“Oh, oh, a classic flavor.” Yasui nodded, offering a solemn evaluation.
“Then next time you can try pairing it with different dipping sauces.
Maybe it’ll be better.”
Geto looked at him: “…Dipping sauces?”
“Yeah.
Like strawberry jam, for instance.
Don’t you think strawberry jam can cover up any weird flavor?
If that doesn’t work, then ketchup—ketchup is one of the greatest inventions in human history.”
“Strawberry jam and Cursed Spirits—putting those two things together is inherently weird.”
“How would you know without trying?
As a human, one must possess an exploratory spirit.”
Either way, he intended to purchase “Cursed Spirit Manipulation” in the future anyway.
He could use little friend Geto as a guinea pig to experiment first.
Geto took a deep breath, deciding not to continue this topic.
He noticed a tear in Yasui’s sleeve, revealing the skin on his forearm.
The Reverse Cursed Technique had healed the wound, but the clothes remained torn.
Which meant this injury was freshly added.
“Injured?”
Geto gestured his chin toward the torn fabric.
Yasui looked down at his arm as if he had only just realized it: “Ah, this.
Running too fast while chasing it, got scraped by some random thing.
Think it was a sheet of rusty iron?”
“Lucky I have Reverse Cursed Technique, otherwise I’d have to go get a tetanus shot.”
He spoke completely unconcernedly, but Geto’s gaze lingered on that red mark for two seconds longer before shifting away.
He didn’t say anything like “be more careful next time,” because saying it would be useless.
Yasui fought using this exact playstyle—he had already witnessed it firsthand: all offense and no defense, healing with Reverse Cursed Technique whenever injured, and continuing to chop once healed, repeating the cycle over and over.
Geto settled the Cursed Spirit he had just swallowed inside his body, then raised his head to look at the sky outside.
The afternoon light was shifting toward twilight, and the chill in the air was beginning to grow heavier.
“Let’s go,” he said, his tone returning to its usual gentleness.
“We’ll pass a convenience store on the way back.
Didn’t you say you wanted to eat that newly released pudding?”
Yasui nodded lazily, stowing the boning knife into his System Space, clapping his hands, and quickening his pace to keep up with Geto.
“Right, that caramel pudding.
It was sold out last time I went.
It should be restocked today, right?
What if it’s sold out again?”
“Then we’ll switch to another store.”
“What if it’s not at the other store either?”
“…Then we’ll buy it tomorrow.”
“What if it’s sold out tomorrow as well?
Have you considered that possibility?
Selling out two days in a row indicates a severe supply-and-demand imbalance for this product.
We should write a complaint letter to the convenience store headquarters.
Geto, you’ve got good writing skills—you write it.”
“I’m not writing it.”
“Why?
Aren’t you an honor student?”
“Honor students aren’t responsible for writing complaint letters.”
“Then what are honor students responsible for?”
Geto paused his steps slightly, turning his head to glance at Yasui.
Yasui was tilting his head back to look at him, those purple eyes reflecting a faint light in the late afternoon sun, the corners of his mouth curled up—obviously waiting for him to pick up the cue so he could keep blabbering on.
“Responsible for being tormented by language,” Geto said.
Yasui blinked, then burst into laughter.
The laughter echoed briefly at the entrance of the vacant parking lot before being swallowed up by the noise of the streets outside.
By the time they returned to Jujutsu High, it was already dusk.
The two bid each other farewell in the hallway and returned to their respective rooms.
Geto shut the door, hung his jacket over the back of a chair, and sat by the edge of the bed for a while before reaching out to press down on his stomach.
The taste of swallowing a Cursed Spirit was forever that disgusting.
*A rag used to wipe up vomit*—that description was fitting indeed.
He lowered his eyes, thinking of that guy who had chased a Cursed Spirit down two streets, got scraped, and yet still sat grinning beside the Cursed Spirit waiting for him to arrive.
*You don’t need to save them specially next time.*
He had spoken those words, but he knew Yasui wouldn’t listen.
That guy never listened.