Yet amid the chaos, a surge of heat suddenly exploded in both my eyes, far sharper than before, as if red-hot iron were being pressed directly against my eyeballs without mercy.
"Aaahhhh! Hot…! It burns—my eyes feel like they're on fire! Damn it!"
I immediately stabbed my sword into the purple flames I had summoned. The strange blaze trembled faintly, pulsing like a living creature, as though it were responding to my condition.
At the same time, I dismissed the energy shield protecting me, allowing my body to be fully exposed to the evening air—and to pain in its raw, unfiltered form.
After that, I covered both of my eyes with my palms, pressing down hard, hoping the searing heat would lessen even a little. The seconds dragged on in agony.
The heat felt as if it were burning from the inside, crawling up into my head, making my temples throb violently. I clenched my teeth, forcing back a groan before it could escape.
Two or three minutes felt like an eternity.
Slowly, the heat began to subside, though it left behind a dull, lingering ache that refused to fade. I lowered my hands bit by bit, my eyes still closed, my breathing finally starting to steady.
"Haaah…" I let out a long breath. "Is this a side effect of the purple flames in my eyes? But if those flames really can erase illusions… then I guess this is worth it. I think."
My voice was hoarse, nearly drowned out by my own breathing. In my mind, doubt had not completely vanished, yet behind it grew a faint but steady sense of certainty.
So this was the price of my ability. The pain was real—brutal—and it left no room for pretending to be strong. But in exchange, even that man's most powerful illusion could be shattered without a trace.
Even without inhaling the flower pollen, the illusion had still been able to function earlier, crushing my thoughts until my body froze in place.
That alone was proof that the man's power was not something to be taken lightly. And yet, an illusion of that caliber collapsed the instant the purple flames ignited in my eyes, vanishing like a fragile shadow swept away by light.
In fact, even after the purple flames disappeared, the burning sensation only intensified, tormenting me and making my body tremble faintly. Still, it all felt worth it. Now I knew something vitally important.
I had a way to counter illusion-based attacks.
Even if the cost was pain that was anything but trivial.
...
...
...
By then, the sky had been completely swallowed by darkness. The last traces of twilight had long since vanished, as if slowly devoured by the night that descended without leaving anything behind.
Above my head, a vast expanse of deep bluish-black stretched endlessly. Not a single star was clearly visible, hidden behind thin clouds drifting lazily across the sky.
The watch on my wrist showed a little past six. The hour when night had only just taken over, yet the air was already cold and silent.
A gentle wind blew by, carrying a faint scent of dust and metal, making the atmosphere feel emptier somehow—as if the world itself were holding its breath and choosing to remain still.
I shifted my gaze to the old man's body lying motionless in front of me. His corpse lay stiff across the rooftop, his tattered clothes folded in disarray beneath him.
His face was frozen in an expression that never had the chance to change—eyes half-open, vacant, reflecting the dim glow of a distant streetlight that flickered weakly, as though uncertain whether it should remain lit.
There were no signs of life left. His chest no longer rose or fell, there was no pulse, no meaningful warmth remaining. I let out a quiet breath.
Not out of regret, nor guilt, but out of habit—a reflex left over from who I used to be, before blood, death, and lifeless bodies became part of my everyday reality.
Without hesitation, I raised my hand. My fingers slowly spread apart, and from my palm, purple flames emerged.
It began small, barely more than a candle flame, then grew calmly. The fire spun gently, moving in time with a rhythm that only I could feel, like a living creature patiently awaiting a command.
The color of the flames never failed to captivate me. A deep, saturated purple with a dark sheen that felt unnatural—nothing like the color any ordinary fire should possess.
The light it emitted was not warm. Instead, it felt cold to the eyes, as though the flame did not belong to this world at all, but came from something far deeper, far more ominous.
Without hesitation, I hurled the purple fire toward the old man's body.
The moment it made contact, the purple flames engulfed him completely. There was no scream. No thick smoke like that of normal combustion. No sound of flesh burning, no cracking of bone.
The fire worked in a way that was far quieter, far cleaner—as if it was not burning him, but erasing him. The old man's body slowly turned to ash, vanishing piece by piece, like a shadow exposed to light that was far too intense.
Yet in the middle of that process, something strange happened inside my mind.
An unfamiliar sensation suddenly spread through me, like an electric current slipping into my head. It wasn't painful, but it was strong enough to make me freeze. Information began to pour in, forced upon me without permission, without warning.
Fragments of knowledge appeared out of nowhere—not in the form of words or sounds, but as raw understanding that rooted itself directly within me, as though I had always known it from the very beginning.
I fell silent, my brows knitting together. My gaze remained fixed on the still-burning purple flame, yet my thoughts raced, desperately trying to process what had just occurred.
"This is…? What just happened?" I murmured softly, my voice nearly swallowed by the stillness of the night. "Could it be…?"
The fire gradually dimmed, its glow shrinking until it finally went out completely. The old man's body was gone without a trace. No bloodstains. No scorch marks. Only the rooftop beneath my feet, still warm, served as the sole proof that something had happened there moments ago.
Yet inside my head, that understanding remained. Clear. Complete. Unfaded.
"Hahahaha!"
Laughter burst from my mouth before I could stop it. My voice shattered the silence of the night, loud and unrestrained. "So that's how it is! I get it now!"
I laughed openly, my shoulders shaking, my breath growing ragged from laughter that was far too genuine. A wide grin spread across my face—not a thin smile of quiet satisfaction, but the smile of someone who had finally found a missing piece of a puzzle that had plagued them for so long.
At that moment, a new fragment of understanding about my Innate Technique finally fell into place.
I never possessed Cursed Energy in quantities like Gojo's. Nor could I possibly match Yuta, with his absurd reserves of Cursed Energy that seemed to have no limit. I was not born with overwhelming raw power, nor was I categorized as Special Grade from the very beginning like they were.
From the start, my power had always felt… strange. Crooked. Not straightforward. Difficult to explain, and even harder to use consistently. At times it felt weak; at other times, it moved beyond even my own expectations.
But now, I understood.
My strength did not lie in quantity. Not in how much energy I possessed, nor in how violently I could destroy. My strength lay in flexibility. In the way my power adapted, absorbed, understood, and transformed itself in response to any situation.
And tonight, atop this silent rooftop, I finally truly understood what that meant.
This purple flame—my Innate Technique—possessed the ability to create a wide variety of Cursed Tools. But that was only the most superficial explanation. This fire was not merely fire, nor was it simply a tool.
It was a vessel, a medium, and the very process of creation itself. Everything occurred within its purple glow, from beginning to end, without the need for any other intermediary.
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