June 2018.
Tochigi Prefecture. An abandoned multi-story parking garage. Night.
"Come on! Let's kick off tonight's hardcore brawling, the Club Elimination Tournament!" the bald announcer roared in a frenzy. "Live commentary brought to you by yours truly, John Bobby!"
He was riding high on adrenaline, standing at the commentator's desk, waving his arms wildly, his voice deafening.
Through the loudspeakers, his frantic energy completely ignited the surrounding crowd. The audience threw their hands up and roared in unison. Suddenly, the announcer shifted gears, shouting his introduction:
"First up, let me introduce tonight's challenger! The arrogant fool, the Pure White Evil, the man who claims he is destined to ascend the throne of godhood—MA—HI—TO!"
Mahito shook his head, feeling genuine, deep-seated embarrassment at the introduction. Sure, he did claim he was destined for godhood, but hearing someone else scream it out loud felt entirely different from saying it himself. He didn't think much of it when the words left his own mouth, but hearing the announcer hype it up made him cringe out of his skin.
Jogo, who was accompanying Mahito, felt no such embarrassment. Quite the opposite—he was practically vibrating with excitement.
"The Pure White Evil, the man destined for godhood... Heh heh, these old-breed humans kinda get it, don't they? Mahito, our grand conquest begins right here. I can hardly wait."
Hanami, standing nearby, chimed in with a string of praises.
Mahito genuinely felt that the mental age of these highly intelligent Cursed Spirits was pathetically low—at best, equivalent to a human middle-schooler in the depths of their chuunibyou phase. Otherwise, there was no way they would sincerely find the announcer's cheesy lines cool. And yes, Mahito could sense it: both Jogo and Hanami were completely sincere.
Now that he thought about it, he hadn't ever asked how old they actually were. Logically, despite their mature appearances, they couldn't be very old since they hadn't even heard of Satoru Gojo before—literal "country bumpkin yokai." Yet when Jogo fought Gojo, he distinctly called him a "brat."
*Isn't that age dynamic a bit messed up?*
Pushing these trivial gossipy thoughts aside, Mahito waved a hand casually. "Well then, Jogo, Hanami. I'm up."
Jogo immediately bellowed with excitement, "Mahito! Let the hegemony of our new race begin this very moment—show these old-breed monkeys the sheer power of the new humans!"
Hanami didn't yell but offered a few calm words of encouragement.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, Jogo, Hanami," Mahito said dismissively. "I'm just going to use this match to test out my new vessel—this Half-Cursed Spirit body."
Mahito slowly walked out of the fighter's tunnel.
The announcer's voice remained at a fever pitch. He threw his arms wide, introducing the opposing fighter. "And the man facing the 'Pure White Evil' is none other than—"
"The absolute powerhouse, the undefeated legend—JIRO—AWASAKA!!!"
The crowd in the stands erupted into a deafening roar. Compared to the unknown Mahito, Jiro Awasaka was the true lord of this underground fight club. The audience screamed at the top of their lungs, unleashing their primal anticipation for a blood-and-guts brawl.
Jiro Awasaka was a burly, middle-aged man. His nearly bald head sported a wispy tuft of hair that looked like a wisp of smoke. He had thick eyebrows, a goatee, and large, round eyes. He wore a white dress shirt and a waist sash. The bulging muscles across his body stretched the white shirt so tight it looked like the fabric would shred at any moment—explosive muscle mass in the truest sense.
He marched out of the tunnel step by step, lifting his head to lock eyes with his opponent.
The Cursed Spirit who sought to ascend to godhood: Mahito.
Within the Curse User community, rumors had been circulating about a terrifying human-on-human curse manifestation. Every Curse User who knew of this special Cursed Spirit had been forced into a Binding Vow, ensuring that even if their mouths were torn open, they couldn't leak the information to Jujutsu Sorcerers, because this Cursed Spirit possessed the power to upend the entire Jujutsu world.
It wasn't a matter of combat strength. It was the sheer, terrifying nature of his ability—he could force people to 'evolve.'
*Evolution*—such an alluring word. *Evolution*—such a terrifying word.
A Curse User granted this evolution would experience an explosive surge in growth: Cursed Energy output, recovery rate, reserves, efficiency, and most importantly for a Sorcerer, their cognitive understanding of the core of Cursed Energy itself. Every single metric would drastically improve.
Just as the word implied: true evolution.
Because of this, countless Curse Users were desperately searching for this specific Cursed Spirit, hoping to be blessed.
An intelligent Cursed Spirit. A manifestation of humanity's hatred and fear toward itself. A Cursed Spirit seeking godhood.
And, the King of Cursed Spirits born in this millennium—Mahito, who was standing right in front of Jiro Awasaka right now...
Honestly, Awasaka was very disappointed.
Jiro Awasaka felt absolutely zero aura of a powerhouse radiating from the man in front of him.
Experienced veterans could gauge an opponent's strength just from their stance. Jiro Awasaka was exactly that kind of veteran. He had fought and butchered enough Jujutsu Sorcerers to instinctively judge their power level. Yet, standing before this supposedly legendary King of Curses, he felt absolutely no overwhelming strength.
This was just a young man. He had long, white hair that draped over his shoulders, unkempt as if he never bothered brushing it. His heterochromatic eyes were lazily half-lidded, making him look like a college student who hadn't gotten enough sleep. His handsome face carried a trace of annoyance, like a poor sap forced to wake up at 3 AM to cram for an exam.
Even his clothes screamed 'college kid running an errand': a white dress shirt, black slacks, and sneakers.
Awasaka carefully examined Mahito's eyes. True to the rumors, they were heterochromatic. But colored contacts were so common nowadays that mismatched eyes were hardly a unique anomaly anymore.
Awasaka couldn't fathom how *this* was the infamous King of Curses.
Sure, a lonely rich housewife might swoon over that face, but Awasaka felt nothing but sheer disappointment. He was let down that this notorious overlord of curses was so utterly unremarkable, lacking even a shred of a conqueror's 'aura.'
So, Awasaka naturally voiced his doubt: "You're Mahito?"
"Hm? You know me?" Mahito asked curiously.
"Your name is flying everywhere in the Curse User circles, though Binding Vows have kept it from leaking to the Sorcerers for now. But that's just a matter of time," Awasaka said flatly. "Rumor has it you possess the ability to force human evolution. You can turn ordinary humans into Sorcerers, and if they're already Sorcerers, the evolution is even more drastic. I actually had some expectations, but the moment I laid eyes on you, they all vanished. You don't look anywhere near as powerful as the rumors claim."
Faced with this thinly veiled insult, Mahito didn't look angry in the slightest. Instead, he replied with total calm:
"I was never aiming to be 'the strongest' to begin with," Mahito said. "I am merely walking the path of 'evolution,' and along that path, some Curse Users come begging for my help. As test subjects mapping out the road ahead, I'm willing to grant them some abilities. Call it an equitable exchange."
"...You treat people seeking your evolution as lab rats?" Awasaka's eyes widened in disbelief.
Mahito stuck his tongue out playfully like a child and offered a breezy apology. "Oops, sorry. I meant... fellow travelers."
Awasaka flew into a rage. "You mere Cursed Spirit—!"
Mahito suddenly raised a finger, waving it dismissively. "No, not a Cursed Spirit. A Half-Cursed Spirit. Haven't you noticed? The audience watching our fight, including all the normal humans... every single one of them can see me."
Jiro Awasaka suddenly froze. He subtly scanned the grandstands. When he first heard a Cursed Spirit was scheduled to fight him, he thought it was some sick joke. After all, the primary demographic of this underground fight club was still normal humans. Even though Curse Users looking for a quick buck could enter, the club owners had strict rules against using incomprehensible cursed techniques.
At the end of the day, it was an underground business. If the main paying demographic couldn't understand what was happening, they wouldn't make money. So the most basic rule was that the fight had to be something the audience could 'understand' and, more importantly, 'see.'
Cursed Spirits were the literal aggregates of leaked Cursed Energy. Normal humans without Jujutsu talent couldn't see them at all.
So when Awasaka found out his opponent was a Cursed Spirit, he assumed he was going to be shadowboxing in front of a crowd of normal people like a complete lunatic.
He was naturally pissed off, but two things convinced him to step into the ring.
First, the prize money. If he won, he got triple the payout, and even if he lost, he still got his regular cut. He couldn't complain about that.
Second, he had heard the Curse's name was Mahito, and he wanted to meet him.
But now, at the very least, he didn't have to worry about looking like a schizo punching empty air in front of a mundane crowd.
—Because every single person in the room could clearly see the King of Curses standing before him!
"What did you do?" Awasaka asked, failing to hide the slight tremor in his voice.
Cursed Spirits were the physical sediment of Cursed Energy leaked by humanity. Without the talent for Jujutsu, they were completely invisible.
Yet, this invisible entity had manifested into a visible existence. Awasaka's common sense had been pulverized!
Suddenly, Mahito opened his lazy, half-lidded eyes. The gold and blue irises flared with blinding radiance. He spread his arms wide, like a god embracing the world. He was just wearing a simple white shirt, but at that exact moment, Awasaka genuinely witnessed the birth of a deity.
Only now, in this very second, did Jiro Awasaka finally feel Mahito's "aura."
"I have become complete," Mahito said. "Have you not realized it yet? I have already... descended upon this place."
*Descended.*
Only a god was worthy of a descent.
Awasaka finally understood why he hadn't felt any aura from Mahito initially. It was because they existed in entirely different dimensions. It was like a human walking down a paved road; even if an ant screamed its lungs out at the edge of the human's shoe, the human wouldn't even spare it a glance.
An ant—naturally—couldn't be considered an enemy.
Right now, Jiro Awasaka was the ant. And Mahito was the human.
Awasaka felt his mind and body tremble. His instincts screamed at him to run away that very second, but he didn't. Suddenly, an overwhelming desire to brawl with this 'human' seized him. Terror and thrill—two violently contrasting emotions—twined around his heart. He flashed back to the assassination mission for Satoru Gojo years ago. It had been far too long since he had felt this kind of fatal dread, this sensation that he might die in the very next second. It filled him with a nostalgic, destructive urge.
If it were Satoru Gojo standing there, he would have bolted already. Gojo was the type of monster where, even if you had all his data laid out in front of you, you were still utterly helpless.
But this King of Curses was different. His data was also circulating among Curse Users: he possessed the ability to alter human souls. It sounded terrifying, but in reality, he could only alter what his hands touched. As long as he avoided those hands, there was a way to win.
Besides, this was a fight club, not a deathmatch. Mahito probably wouldn't kill him.
*No, from his perspective, figuring out how NOT to kill me is probably what he's thinking about. Because... I'm just an ant!*
Awasaka was breathing heavily, intoxicated by an intoxicating frenzy.
Mahito seemed to notice Awasaka's fanaticism. He split his lips, his smile curving dramatically upward like a crescent moon in the night sky, radiating terror and mystery.
He asked softly, "Mr. Awasaka, care to try?"
Awasaka instinctively shot back, "Try what?"
"Challenging a god."
Mahito lowered his welcoming arms and reached one hand out toward him, his four fingers curling loosely as if beckoning him forward.
He smiled and said, "Considering you might hesitate, let's make a bet. If you can land a hit on me, I will grant you a perfect evolution with absolutely zero side effects. Even if you fail, I promise that as long as you're breathing, I will grant you rebirth."
With the stakes pushed this high, how could Jiro Awasaka refuse? How could there even be room for refusal? How could anyone suppress this?
He couldn't. It was impossible to hold back. He couldn't endure it no matter what!
A massive wave of fanaticism instantly swallowed Awasaka's brain, completely shattering his rationality in a split second.
*Challenge a god? No...*
*I! WILL! SLAUGHTER! GOD!*
Jiro Awasaka let out a primal roar. He felt his life—a life where Gojo had reduced him to cowering in the shadows, only daring to vent his frustrations in an underground fight club—was now entirely devoid of regrets. He almost wanted to thank Satoru Gojo; if not for Gojo, he never would have ended up in this fight club, and if he had never ended up here, how could he have gotten the chance to challenge a god?
A mere Cursed Spirit? No, this was a god!
Challenging a god was biting off more than he could chew? No! It was glory!
A glory belonging exclusively to Jiro Awasaka!
And now, Jiro Awasaka was about to sacrifice himself for that glory!
"JIRO AWASAKA!" he roared, his muscles twisting and bulging violently like a tsunami crashing against a cliff face. "BRING IT ON—!"
*Humans are so easy to manipulate,* Mahito thought.
*Yup, the cursed technique to modify the soul through eye contact and induce fanaticism was a success.*