(POV Mei Mei)
Kenji's argument sounded clean. Logical. Almost impossible to counter.
In the end, I relented—or rather, I decided to accept the contract he proposed.
Thirty percent was still a significant cut if the item itself carried high value. And from the way Kenji spoke—calm, measured, without the slightest hint of exaggeration—I was convinced that his Cursed Tools were far from ordinary grade.
Just as I was about to leave, assuming our discussion had concluded, Kenji suddenly called out to me. His movement was composed, lacking any dramatic flair. From beneath his clothing, he drew out a Cursed Tool shaped like a mask.
The surface was smooth and coated in a deep, matte black. Faint engravings stretched across it, forming patterns that resembled ancient markings. They were subtle, almost hidden, yet the longer I looked, the more they seemed to carry a quiet weight of history. A thin but steady current of Cursed Energy radiated from the mask, pulsing gently like calm, controlled breathing.
Kenji extended the mask toward me.
Its function was simple yet invaluable: it concealed the wearer's identity and suppressed their Cursed Energy aura. For someone like me—who frequently moved between factions, sometimes acting as an intermediary, sometimes as a negotiator, and other times as an unseen presence who preferred anonymity—this was an exceptionally useful tool.
A gift. Free of charge.
I couldn't stop my smile from widening. Being paid for work was one thing. Receiving a bonus on top of it? That wasn't merely good business. It was the foundation of a highly promising partnership.
This kid truly understood how to deepen my interest—and reinforce my belief that choosing to support him had been the correct move.
A few days later, with the mask secured perfectly over my face and my Cursed Energy tightly sealed as though wrapped in mist, I made my way to the largest auction venue in Tokyo—a black-market establishment operating beneath the brilliant façade of Akihabara.
Behind the dazzling neon lights and the bustling crowds of tourists searching for electronics, there existed an exclusive underground chamber. Its entrance was heavily guarded, accessible only to those with verified codes and established reputations.
The first Cursed Tool Kenji entrusted to me for auction was a Cursed Spirit detection device. It took the form of a compass filled with fine sand. When a Cursed Spirit entered its detection range, the sand would gather into a small mound, and a needle would point toward the Spirit's location.
On the surface, its function sounded straightforward. It merely detected Cursed Spirits within a certain radius. It offered no offensive capability. No defensive barrier. No enhancement to the user's combat strength.
The tool itself was compact, small enough to fit comfortably in one hand. Its body was crafted from dark metal, with a thin transparent glass layer revealing the sand within. That sand served as the indicator, shifting with precise sensitivity to nearby Cursed Energy disturbances.
And that simplicity was precisely where its true value lay.
In a world filled with unseen threats, information was paramount. Detecting a Cursed Spirit before it detected you could determine whether you survived—or didn't.
For wealthy Jujutsu families fearful for their children's safety, for researchers seeking reliable field data, or for sorcerers who preferred efficient hunts without wasted effort, this device was not merely a convenience. It was insurance.
When the demonstration began, the atmosphere inside the auction room tightened noticeably. The lights dimmed slightly, directing every gaze toward the modest stage at the center.
A low-grade Cursed Spirit, sealed within a specially reinforced container, was brought forward. The container was layered with talismans and binding charms to prevent escape. Even through the barriers, its distorted silhouette twitched faintly, an unsettling reminder of the danger it posed.
The moment the container entered the device's range, the compass needle moved. The sand inside shifted, gathering into a clear mound. A faint glow intensified across the display, and the numerical readings changed rapidly yet consistently.
Accurate. Responsive. Immediate.
Several attendees who had initially appeared relaxed straightened in their seats. Their expressions sharpened, calculating.
I had originally estimated the final bid would peak somewhere between thirty and forty million yen. That calculation already factored in optimism based on previous auctions.
I was completely wrong.
The bidding climbed swiftly, almost viciously. Fifty million. Sixty. Seventy. The auctioneer had not even managed to raise the gavel before a new number appeared on the screen. The atmosphere grew heated, the tension of competition thick as a faint haze spreading through the room.
Several participants clearly had personal stakes—whether to secure protection for their families, to push forward experimental research, or perhaps to hunt high-level Cursed Spirits in pursuit of darker ambitions.
Eighty million was surpassed without hesitation.
The final price stopped at ninety million yen.
Ninety million.
Behind the mask covering my face, I nearly laughed. Even after the auction house deducted its ten percent commission, the remaining amount was still extraordinary. Thirty percent of that alone was more than enough to make me smile on the way home—perhaps even for the rest of the month.
Half-jokingly, yet not entirely unserious, a thought surfaced in my mind.
Maybe I really should marry Kenji.
If I succeeded in tying Kenji to me in an official relationship, my financial future would become far more secure.
A comfortable life, an extensive business network, steady access to rare Cursed Tools—those were not idle dreams. They were long-term strategy. In a world like ours, personal connections often served as the most reliable investments.
A few days after the auction, I went to meet Kenji again in the forest where he usually trained. The scent of damp soil and lingering traces of Cursed Energy welcomed me, familiar and sharp.
This time, Kenji proposed a Binding Vow between us. Apparently, a small measure of distrust still remained. That was understandable. Our world was built on betrayal and calculation. Spoken promises were never sufficient.
We established clear terms—no deception in transactions, no withholding crucial information regarding any Cursed Tool being traded.
A thin stream of Cursed Energy flowed between us as the vow formed, subtle yet undeniable, like an invisible thread binding our wrists together.
I accepted the Binding Vow without hesitation. The benefits I would gain far outweighed the limitations it imposed.
But the surprises did not end there.
Kenji handed me two Cursed Tools shaped like thermos flasks. Their surfaces were smooth, sealed with intricate symbols. Inside, a faintly shimmering liquid glowed—Cursed Energy that had been transformed into Positive Energy. Healing energy in liquid form, stabilized and controlled.
One was meant to be sold.
One was for me.
For a moment, I was genuinely speechless. My heartbeat quickened slightly.
Healing-type Cursed Tools were already rare. One capable of storing Positive Energy in stable liquid form—without dissipating instantly or damaging its container—was nearly beyond value. Major organizations would compete fiercely to obtain such an item.
And that was not all.
Kenji also gave me a teleportation-type Cursed Tool—a small glove that allowed instantaneous travel within a single country, as long as the coordinates had been marked in advance.
Teleportation.
A high-tier rarity. The kind of tool usually possessed only by powerful clans or individuals with immense influence.
Seeing all of this, something inside me warmed. Kenji might be rational and cautious, but these actions reflected genuine trust. He was not thinking solely about profit. He was also considering my standing.
A faint smile curved my lips.
A difference of a few years in age meant nothing. In the world of Jujutsu, power, value, and vision mattered far more than numbers on an identification card.
I had already made up my mind.
Whatever happened—whether I became part of Kenji's harem or not—I would be part of his future. As a business partner, an ally, or perhaps something more.
With light steps, I approached him and pressed a kiss to his forehead. The touch was brief, warm, deliberate enough to leave an impression. His slightly startled expression, eyes widening for the briefest second, brought quiet satisfaction.
My small plan was unfolding smoothly.
Afterward, I turned and left the forest where he trained, my steps light while my mind remained sharp with calculation. My ambition had now split in two—expanding my business empire through the sale of Cursed Tools, and securing my place at Kenji's side as his future wife.
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