Rewind to four hours earlier.
Ijichi Kiyotaka gripped the steering wheel, watching through the rearview mirror that black-haired youth—like a treasured blade drawn from its sheath—and his pair of soul-stealing crimson eyes, and began to carry out his duties as assistant supervisor.
“So then, Mr.
Uchiha, allow me to walk you through the specific intelligence on your first mission.” The sedan came to a stop at a red light, and Ijichi pulled a file from the briefcase in the passenger seat, passing it back: “The target of this mission—its true form is the ‘Slit-Mouthed Woman’ who once caused an enormous uproar in society.” “The Slit-Mouthed Woman?” “That stale old urban legend about the one who carries a giant pair of scissors and asks people whether she’s pretty?” Ayato took the file and flipped it open.
Several gory crime-scene photos were marked in red ink, the victims all with their cheeks slit open, their corpses ghastly to behold.
“That’s right.” Ijichi nodded, his tone growing more serious: “The legend of the Slit-Mouthed Woman first erupted on a massive scale in 1979.
Because it triggered nationwide, widespread panic, the negative emotions that converged at the time directly gave rise to a Special Grade Imaginary Vengeful Spirit.” “The college of that era paid no small price, but finally succeeded in exorcising it in August of the same year.” Ijichi paused, then continued: “Generally speaking, after a Cursed Spirit is destroyed, give it a century or two and a Cursed Spirit of the same origin will indeed be born again.” “But…” “But the urban legend of the Slit-Mouthed Woman has endured for ages, and on top of that, with the spread of the internet…” Ayato skimmed those crude field notes and finished the sentence Ijichi had left hanging: “The fear passed by word of mouth accelerated the incubation process, so it’s resurfaced into the mortal world after only forty years.” “That’s right.” Ijichi stepped on the gas pedal again: “In just the last ten days or so, she’s already caused several deaths, including that of a Grade 2 Sorcerer.” “Based on the Window’s preliminary assessment, this newborn Slit-Mouthed Woman has likely already attained Grade 1 caliber.” “Her area of activity has been pinpointed to Setagaya Ward, so we’ll head over there first to investigate.” Uchiha Ayato gave a light nod and turned his gaze back out the window.
An hour later, the car came to a stop at the mouth of a dim alley.
A yellow-and-black cordon was strung across the area, and dark bloodstains that hadn’t been fully scrubbed away still lingered on the ground.
Ayato pushed open the car door, stepped straight over the cordon, and began observing the state of the scene.
The residual cursed energy was astonishingly faint—the air held only the smell of blood and a feeble, gloomy chill.
For a Grade 1 Cursed Spirit, this degree of residue was practically as if it had vanished into thin air right after committing the deed.
Ijichi hurried up after him, took one look at the scene, and his face abruptly turned ghastly pale: “Residue this faint?” He stared at his surroundings in disbelief: “A Cursed Spirit usually only lingers at its place of birth.
This is clearly where she killed someone last night—even if she’s left, given cursed energy on that scale, the residue should stretch out for several blocks at the very least.
How could it…” Uchiha Ayato looked toward the mouth of the alley, where two schoolgirls with backpacks were craning on their tiptoes to peer over this way.
“Did you hear?
That case near here last night…” “For real?
Wasn’t it supposed to be some pervert’s crime?
Could there really be a Slit-Mouthed Woman?” “I don’t even dare walk at night anymore…” Fragments of their words drifted in on the wind and into Ayato’s ears.
He pushed his perception of “Chakra” to its maximum, then finally shook his head: “Mr.
Ijichi, no need to keep searching.” “This is most likely an abandoned stage.” “If I’m not mistaken, that thing very likely possesses the ability to teleport.” Uchiha Ayato patted the dust off his clothes, and the formerly sharp aura around him slackened once more.
It wasn’t composure—it was being out of options.
Against an enemy this elusive, at his current stage he really couldn’t think of any good approach.
“Teleport?” Ijichi was taken aback, cold sweat beading on his forehead: “You mean to say, this Imaginary Vengeful Spirit…doesn’t rely on physical paths to move?” Uchiha Ayato nodded: “It’s only a preliminary guess.
Wherever fear ferments, that’s where the legend manifests.” “Mr.
Ijichi, I’ll have to trouble you to notify the Window to step up surveillance across several wards.” “Get ready to be running around all night without rest—looks like we won’t be getting any sleep tonight.” Ijichi nodded rapidly like a pecking chicken, pulled out his phone, and dialed the headquarters’ direct line: “Y-yes, yes, the residue here in Setagaya Ward has vanished…” “Understood, requesting an increase…” Before he could finish, Ijichi’s expression suddenly changed, and his already bloodless cheeks went deathly white in an instant.
He hung up the phone and whipped his head around toward Ayato, who was just about to pull the door open and climb in: “Mr.
Uchiha!
The Window just sent an emergency alert!” “An extremely dense burst of cursed energy has been detected in Kita Ward!
The reading is already approaching semi–Special Grade…” “It’s her!” “Kita Ward?” Uchiha Ayato was taken aback for a moment, a fleeting edge flashing through his eyes: “Since she’s shown herself, then this is easy.” “What are we waiting for then, Mr.
Ijichi?” “Let’s go—finish early, clock out early.
We might even make it in time for the half-price bento at the supermarket.” The tires screeched against the asphalt with an acrid, burnt stench as the black sedan, like a stampeding bull, charged into Tokyo’s evening rush hour.
………
Wakaba Mutsumi collapsed to the floor, both hands clamped tightly over her own mouth.
She didn’t dare make even the slightest sound.
In the second their lines of sight met, all the blood in Wakaba Mutsumi’s body froze.
Driven by instinct, she yanked the curtains shut and scrambled on all fours to lock the bedroom door.
The heavy fabric blocked out the dim light from outside, but it couldn’t keep out that bone-soaking dread.
“Click, click…” From downstairs came the crisp snap of the courtyard gate’s and the front door’s security locks being violently sheared apart.
That thing had gotten in.
Don’t come over…don’t come over…
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, accompanied by the sharp, grating screech of some heavy metal being dragged across the solid wood floor.
The monster was clearly still downstairs, yet that rotten stench of blood had already seeped through the gap beneath the door and filled the entire room.
The footsteps stopped outside the door.
The girl’s tears soundlessly burst their banks.
In the countdown before the reaper raised its scythe, her mind began forcibly flipping through old film negatives.
She saw the empty dining table, her parents as cold as strangers.
She saw that pink guitar—she still hadn’t managed to make it sing.
She saw Sakiko, on the day she left the band, those eyes that always used to shine now wholly ashen and dead.
If I die just like this, will Saki cry for me?
I’m sorry…
“Bang——!” The flimsy wooden bedroom door was brutally run through from the outside by a giant rusted pair of scissors, wood splinters flying, the chill slicing the air apart.
The door panel crashed down, and above the ghastly white mask, a pair of murky eyeballs filled with malice fixed dead on the girl on the floor: “Am I…pretty…” The enormous scissors were raised high overhead, the shadow of death crashing down upon her, and Wakaba Mutsumi shed tears of despair.
Save me…
In that instant, the figure of that person she’d seen on the streets of Ikebukuro before flashed across Wakaba Mutsumi’s heart.
“KA-BOOM——!!” The entire floor-to-ceiling window, plaster and all, blasted inward and shattered in a single instant.
LUV ME!
LUV ME!
~♫ HATE ME!
HATE ME!
~♫ A blinding azure lightning glow filled her retinas ahead of any sound, and the frenzied gust of air whipped up a floor’s worth of wood splinters and shattered glass.
Wakaba Mutsumi only felt a strong wind tear past overhead, immediately followed by the crisp sound of cracking bones.
A tall, slender figure stood with its back to her amid the wreckage strewn everywhere, one hand thrust into the pocket of his school-uniform trousers, the undissipated blue lightning leaping all around him, like a god descending into the mortal world.
His slightly curly black hair lifted gently in the night breeze.
The figure turned, not a trace of the tension of a deadly battle on his handsome face.
Looking at the green-haired girl slumped on the floor with vacant eyes, he even had it in him to crack a joke: “Sorry, hit a bit of traffic in the evening rush.” “Did I come too late?” ———— Author’s Note: I know Jujutsu Kaisen does have its Naruto/Bleach crossover stuff—there’s even that bit in the anime where Itadori tries to whip up a Rasengan and play with a Zanpakuto.
But this is a fanfic, so for the sake of the plot, let’s just pretend that doesn’t exist.