(POV Kenji)
After wandering around for several dozen minutes, I decided to head toward the forest on the outskirts of the city.
Why the forest?
Because the city had far too many eyes. Security cameras perched at street corners, residents unconsciously observing their surroundings, even curious children could become a risk. Changing my appearance inside a public restroom or a narrow alley was still dangerous. One small mistake, one accidental witness, could spark unnecessary suspicion.
In the quiet heart of the forest, among towering trees with sturdy trunks and leaves brushing softly against one another, I came to a stop. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the canopy, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the ground. The wind whispered gently, accompanied by distant birdsong. There was no one around.
I tapped the forehead of the mask five times.
The transformation began instantly. My adult face faded like a shadow being pulled back to its source. My bone structure shrank, shoulders narrowing, my height decreasing with a brief sensation of pressure in my joints. The neat clothes I was wearing gradually vanished, replaced by a plain white T-shirt and simple shorts. My black shoes dissolved into ordinary white socks.
A fleeting discomfort ran through my bones and muscles, like a forced stretch lasting only a fraction of a second, then it disappeared without a trace.
I had returned to my original form—a child.
Without wasting time, I removed the three Cursed Tools still connected to me. I fully retracted the energy flowing through them before summoning my purple flames. The fire appeared in my palm, trembling softly yet steady—my Innate Technique, something that had become an inseparable part of me.
One by one, I submerged the tools into the flames. They did not burn in the usual sense; they dissolved, merging and vanishing without a trace, stored safely within my internal energy reserve.
Once everything was done, I brought out my original clothes: a slightly loose black short-sleeved shirt, simple long pants, and a pair of sandals I wore daily.
Dressed like an ordinary orphanage child, without a striking aura and without any suspicious traces of energy, I walked back toward the orphanage I had left earlier.
My steps felt lighter this time.
Today, one important matter had been settled.
...
...
...
(POV Mei Mei)
My name is Mei Mei. I was born into a Jujutsu Sorcerer family deeply rooted in the world of curses—a family that not only understood Cursed Energy, but treated it like currency, something whose value could always be calculated.
Since I was old enough to stand upright without falling, I had been taught a single unchanging principle: everything has value. Power has a price. Information has a price. Even people have a price, depending on how much potential and benefit they can offer.
I am currently nine years old, and in a few months I will turn ten. For ordinary people, that age might be associated with playing games and learning to read.
But in the world of Jujutsu, age is merely a number with little significance. What truly matters is how deeply one understands curses, and how far one can survive within their midst.
That day, I received what should have been a simple mission: exorcise a low-grade Cursed Spirit that had been disturbing a small town. However, the Cursed Spirit managed to escape, and eventually I tracked it down to a forest on the outskirts of the city—the location marked in the report.
There was nothing remarkable about it—only tall trees stretching skyward, damp air that felt heavy in the lungs, and the scent of wet soil mixed with lingering negative energy.
I arrived slightly too late.
The moment my foot touched the ground, still cracked from the aftermath of an energy blast, I immediately understood that my task had already been completed—by someone else.
Traces of Cursed Energy still lingered in the air, faintly trembling like smoke not yet fully dispersed. The remnants of the cursed aura had not completely faded, yet the Cursed Spirit that had been my target had been cleanly exorcised.
And that was when I saw the boy.
A young boy stood not far from the center of the destruction. His body was small, his hair slightly disheveled, and his clothes were stained with dirt and dust. His name was Kenji.
Kenji's expression made me stop mid-step. There was no arrogance on his face, nor the fear one would normally expect from a child his age after confronting a cursed creature. Only a calm gaze—too calm. A gaze that did not align with the world he had just touched.
I focused my Jujutsu senses and felt the lingering traces of Cursed Energy around Kenji. The energy pulsed faintly, unstable yet undeniably real. Kenji had clearly used Cursed Energy. It was not a coincidence, nor a mere stray spark.
But what truly caught my attention was the fact that Kenji himself did not understand what he had done.
When I asked casually, he answered with innocent confusion. He did not know the term Cursed Energy. He did not know about Sorcerers, about curses, or about the system that governed this dark world. Kenji simply said that he had "wanted something to happen," and his body responded. An instinct.
Kenji had used Cursed Energy instinctively—without theory, without training, without guidance. That alone was enough to set him apart from most people.
But the surprise did not end there.
During our brief conversation, I realized something far more valuable. Kenji explained that he had "restricted himself" so his power would not spiral out of control—he had consciously set rules for himself, believing that by sacrificing certain freedoms, the effect he desired would become stronger.
Technically, that was a Binding Vow.
He did not know the term. He did not know the risks. And yet he had applied a concept that even many official Sorcerers hesitate to use without careful calculation. A Binding Vow is no child's game; a single mistake can be fatal.
And this boy had done it intuitively.
At that very moment, I made a rational decision.
Kenji was an investment.
I did not give him all the information. I am not foolish enough to hand out knowledge without a guarantee of return. I merely pulled back the curtain slightly—just enough for Kenji to realize that the world he stood upon was far broader and more dangerous than he had imagined. Enough to spark curiosity. Enough to make him understand that what he possessed was not mere coincidence.
I told him I would return at the end of the month.
If Kenji was still alive by then, I would teach him the basics of hand-to-hand combat. Not out of kindness—but because an asset left unpolished loses its value. If he died before I returned, then my loss would be nothing more than a failed minor experiment. The world of Jujutsu never makes room for the weak.
However, there was one thing that slightly bothered me.
Kenji showed no particular interest in me. No awe, no fear, no dependency—the reactions that usually appear when someone is shown the doorway to a new world. He simply nodded, accepting my information as though it were nothing more than an ordinary fact.
He was not captivated. Not intimidated. Nor did he display even the faintest trace of admiration. His demeanor remained steady, far too steady for a child who had just been given a glimpse into a world filled with curses and death. His gaze did not waver, as if I were merely explaining something mundane, not revealing secrets of a hidden realm that could claim his life at any moment.
Hmph. That attitude was almost irritating. This boy truly had no idea who he was speaking to. And yet, instead of feeling offended, I found myself intrigued. Such indifference is rare. Most people show one of two reactions: fear… or excessive fascination.
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