A dark, dead-end alleyway.
Rain dripped from the eaves, pooling into murky streams on the ground.
Mahito stood in the shadows with his hands in his pockets, that same playful, cynical smirk plastered on his face.
"Oh my, I've been spotted."
He tilted his head as he watched Yoru approach with slow, steady steps, looking almost disappointed.
"And here I was hoping to have a deep philosophical chat with that boy, Junpei."
"You see, that child has so much talent."
Mahito pointed toward the other end of the alley, where Junpei's lonely figure could be faintly seen in the distance.
"Bullied, isolated, and filled with resentment toward this world..."
"All he needs is a little power, a tiny nudge to change his shape."
"He could become a truly magnificent killing machine."
Mahito spoke with a lighthearted tone, as if discussing what to have for dinner.
He was completely oblivious to the fact that, as he spoke, the air around them was rapidly plummeting in temperature.
Yoru stopped ten meters away from Mahito.
This distance was the optimal range for Sun Breathing.
"The stench coming from you is revolting."
Yoru calmly spoke the other's name.
"Mahito."
Mahito's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before widening even further.
"Oh? It seems I'm already quite famous. Even the students from Jujutsu High recognize me."
"A curse born from the hatred humans harbor for one another..."
Yoru's hand didn't move toward his hilt; it hung naturally at his side.
However, his presence had already completely locked onto the Special Grade Cursed Spirit before him.
"Your birth into this world might not be a mistake in itself."
"But your mistake lies in attempting to toy with fragile and precious souls."
In the vision provided by his Transparent World, Mahito's soul appeared as a chaotic, twisted mess.
Like a monster forcibly stitched together from countless agonizing souls.
"How cruel. And here I am, just a newborn life."
Mahito spread his hands, putting on a look of mock grievance.
"Since humans gave birth to me, isn't it only fair that I give something back to them?"
"It's like a child taking a toy apart to see how it works inside. What's wrong with that?"
Before his voice even faded, Mahito's figure vanished from the spot.
A second later, he appeared right in front of Yoru, his right hand transformed into a razor-sharp bone blade lunging straight for Yoru's heart.
The speed was incredible.
Hardly what one would expect from a newly born curse.
"For instance, I could turn you into my latest collectible!"
Malicious madness flickered in Mahito's eyes.
Yet, faced with this lethal strike, Yoru didn't even blink.
Just as the bone blade was about to pierce his chest—
Whoosh!
An afterimage flashed.
Yoru's body slid half a step to the left like a ghost, perfectly evading the edge of the bone blade.
At the same time, his left hand shot out like a bolt of lightning, clamping firmly onto Mahito's wrist.
"What?"
Mahito's pupils shrank.
He wasn't surprised that Yoru had dodged; he was shocked that Yoru had dared to make direct physical contact with him.
His innate technique was Idle Transfiguration. As long as he touched the opponent's soul, he could reshape them at will.
For anyone without cursed energy to defend themselves, a single touch meant certain death!
"Hahaha! What a moron!"
Mahito let out a manic laugh and immediately activated his technique.
"Idle Transfiguration!"
A surge of cursed energy flowed from his wrist toward Yoru's palm, attempting to invade his body and warp his soul.
However, the moment their souls made contact—
Sizzle—!
The sickening sound of searing flesh suddenly rang out.
"AAAAAAAGH!"
The smile on Mahito's face instantly froze, replaced by extreme agony and terror.
He felt as though he hadn't touched a human soul at all.
Instead, it felt like he had reached out and grabbed a blazing sun!
That terrifying heat surged from the point of contact, frantically scorching the depths of his soul.
Forget warping it—his own soul felt like it was about to melt away!
"Get off me!"
Mahito let out a pained shriek. His left hand instantly morphed into a massive hammer, which he slammed into the ground, using the recoil to forcibly break free from Yoru's grip.
He stumbled back dozens of paces, not stopping until his back hit the wall.
Looking down—
There was a blackened handprint burned into his previously smooth wrist.
The mark hadn't just burned his skin; it had seared deep into his very soul.
No matter how much cursed energy he channeled, the wound wouldn't regenerate. Instead, it continued to hiss with black smoke.
"Just what the hell are you?"
Mahito looked up, staring fixedly at Yoru. For the first time, a sense of dread appeared in his eyes.
Since his birth, he had never encountered a natural predator like this.
Despite not having a shred of cursed energy, that soul was horrifyingly hot!
"I am Yoru."
Yoru slowly raised his right hand, gripping the hilt of the black katana at his waist.
"And I am the one who will cut down your sins."
Clang—
With the clear ring of steel,
The Special Grade Cursed Tool, Shiranui, was slowly drawn an inch from its sheath.
Just a single inch.
A golden-red light instantly illuminated the dim alleyway.
It was the radiant glow emitted when the energy of Sun Breathing resonated with the Special Grade Cursed Tool.
The moment the surrounding rain touched this light, it was instantly vaporized into white mist.
Yoru stood bathed in mist and golden light, his red eyes reflecting Mahito's terrified face.
In that moment.
In Mahito's eyes, the youth before him looked like a god of death emerging from purgatory.
The pressure emanating from the depths of that soul made him feel a sudden, primal urge to turn and run.
"Your hands are far too filthy."
Yoru spoke softly.
His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried the weight of a final judgment.
In the next instant, his figure vanished.
Total Concentration: Sun Breathing.
"First Form: Dance."
Boom!
A perfect circular slash of flame suddenly bloomed in the rainy night.
It was too fast.
So fast that Mahito's retinas couldn't even track the trajectory of the blade.
He only felt a sudden chill in his chest.
Immediately followed by an indescribable, burning agony that swept through his entire body.
"Pfft—!"
A large spray of violet-black blood erupted.
Mahito looked down at the deep, bone-exposing wound on his chest. Golden-red sparks flickered along the edges, preventing any chance of regeneration.
"This... what kind of fire is this..."
Mahito staggered backward, the terror in his eyes turning into sheer horror.
This fire... it could actually burn the soul itself!
"It's not over yet."
Yoru's voice sounded right behind him.
Like a lingering curse.
Mahito whipped around, only to see a pair of emotionless red eyes and the katana raised once more, wreathed in roaring flames.
"Second Form: Clear Blue Sky."
The flames soared toward the sky.
Lighting up the pitch-black rainy night as if it were broad daylight.
In this forgotten corner, the Special Grade Cursed Spirit—the manifestation of human malice—had finally met its natural enemy.
A swordsman without cursed energy, yet possessing a soul hotter than the sun.