Curse users

Broken coughs rose from the bottom of the charred, glassy crater.

Amid the faint rattle of falling rubble, a shadow scorched by intense heat slowly stretched through the rising white smoke, finally straightening up again amid the devastated ruins.

"But the drawbacks are a little too severe. Gathering this positive polarity energy puts a lot of pressure on my Heavenly Restriction body.

If it catches me in the blast, it can easily impair the efficiency of the liquefaction I use to avoid damage. I'll still need to improve it..." Feng sighed.

Satoru Gojo remained crouched on one knee at the crater's edge, casually brushing aside a small tuft of singed white hair with his long fingers.

His azure Six Eyes peered over his lenses, looking down at the swaying figure that had nevertheless stood back up at the bottom.

At that assessment of the "backlash," a low chuckle escaped his throat.

"Of course it does. Positive energy is healing by nature, but to curses made entirely of negative cursed energy, it's a lethal poison.

Since your flesh is a crystallization of cursed energy forged by Heavenly Restriction, forcibly refining positive energy inside your body and detonating it is practically the same as pouring concentrated sulfuric acid into your veins."

Satoru Gojo stood up. His leather shoes pressed against the still-scorching earth with a grating crunch.

He glanced down at his largely burned-away uniform and his exposed arms, covered in alarming red marks.

Faint white light flickered along the edges of his wounds. Suppressed by the laws of "Clear Skies," his Reverse Cursed Technique struggled to mesh like rusty gears, slowly repairing his flesh.

He strode slowly down the crater's slope, his soles grinding through a puddle of muddy water that had been brought to a full boil and was still bubbling.

"Still, using a clone as a buffer vessel and only channeling that 'poison' into your main body to detonate at the last moment-your control is already as precise as a scalpel.

As for the suppression of your liquefaction..."

Satoru Gojo stopped three paces from the center of the crater.

The surrounding air still shimmered slightly with heat, but the oppressive presence of the strongest sorcerer hadn't weakened in the slightest from his injuries. If anything, the scent of smoke and blood made it sharper and more imposing.

"If you want to solve that problem, simple cursed energy manipulation has already reached its limit.

You need an 'external valve.'

For example, you could establish some strict [binding vow] to transfer the burning cost of positive energy elsewhere. Or find a special grade cursed tool that can withstand extreme temperatures and positive polarity energy, and use it as a medium for releasing your Cursed Technique Reversal. Get your body out of the seat at ground zero."

His long, well-defined fingers slipped into what remained of his trouser pocket and rummaged for a moment, apparently searching for a piece of candy. Clearly, though, everything inside had been reduced to ash in the explosion.

Satoru Gojo pursed his lips and looked up at the devastated School Grounds, his tone carrying a touch of casual amusement.

"There's certainly plenty of room for improvement, but that ball of light you haven't properly named yet is already enough to blow a huge hole in a meeting of Jujutsu Society's higher-ups.

All right, we've more than fulfilled today's physical training quota. Considering my Reverse Cursed Technique is now like a jammed vending machine, and you're nearly roasted dry-"

He turned his back on the center of the crater and casually waved his burn-covered arm. His tall silhouette cast a slanting shadow beneath the fractured afternoon sunlight.

"Let's go see Shoko.

If she sees me burned this badly by someone who hasn't even earned a special grade classification yet, that woman's laughter will blow the roof off the Infirmary."

You've got to be kidding.

Feng was a little speechless. Hurting Satoru Gojo this time had nearly emptied his cursed energy reserves. At the very least, he had less than a tenth left.

Gojo, on the other hand, hadn't opened his domain or used his Hollow Technique-of course, Feng would have run for it if he had-and hadn't even deployed Falling Blossom Emotion or Simple Domain inside the domain.

Still... Feng stood up, considering it.

"I really have crossed the threshold into special grade..."

In today's Jujutsu Society, the people capable of injuring Satoru Gojo could probably be counted on one hand. Now Feng could add himself to that list.

There had been some holding back involved, but Feng was only sixteen, and he had joined Jujutsu Society barely five months ago.

Achieving this much already made him a genius among geniuses.

Two days later...

According to the information, this is a solo mission to eliminate a curse user hideout in the outskirts of Harajuku. Satoru Gojo had something to take care of and went abroad on business again.

I'm on my own this time. Based on the intelligence, there are roughly four grade 2 curse users, three semi-grade 1s, and two grade 1s at the hideout.

Feng thought as he strolled along.

The night wind on Harajuku's outskirts carried the chill of early autumn through the weed-choked, abandoned industrial district.

The rusted chain-link gate rattled gratingly in the wind.

Inside the Underground Water Treatment Plant's settling tank hall, the air was stale, thick with years of mildew and rust.

Dim emergency lights flickered overhead, casting long, distorted shadows from the massive concrete support pillars.

As the heavy iron door leading to the underground hall was pushed open, a dull metallic scrape echoed through the empty building.

A figure with black hair and dark red eyes appeared in the doorway, his slightly long bangs casting faint shadows in the dim light.

He held the specially modified [Replica Mikazuki Munechika] point-down in his hand. No light reflected off its blade; only faint traces of cursed residue flowed along it.

The hall's occupants were not unprepared.

In fact, one second before the iron door opened, the Alarm Barrier set around the building's perimeter had already been silently severed.

At the center of the hall, nine figures of varying heights had spread out in a tactical formation. Two grade 1 curse users stood at the front.

The man on the left was bald and scar-faced, both hands wrapped in bandages saturated with dark red cursed energy. The woman on the right wore a tight leather outfit and held several slender, poisoned Thousand Needles between her fingers.

The scar-faced man didn't charge immediately. His bloodshot eyes fixed on Feng in the doorway, darting across his face, his grip on the sword, and the empty corridor behind him.

"Just one brat? That white-haired Six Eyes from the intel isn't here?"

The woman lowered her center of gravity slightly, her leather boots making a faint scraping sound against the rough concrete.

Her gaze was cautious. She hadn't let her guard down simply because the intruder looked young.

"Don't get careless, Kuroda. The grade 2 Alarm Barrier outside was dissolved instantly. It didn't even send back a warning of a cursed energy clash.

The way this brat's cursed energy flows is strange. Don't let his age fool you."

The scar-faced man called Kuroda bared his teeth in a cruel sneer, but there was no trace of underestimation in it.

He raised his bandage-wrapped right hand and gave a discreet tactical signal.

"Whatever his background, if he dares break into our hideout alone, we'll bury him here.

Team two, suppress him with ranged fire! Probe his cursed technique!

Team three, block his retreat! Nobody engages in close combat until we've figured out his trump cards!"

The instant the orders were given, murderous intent erupted throughout the building.

Three grade 2 curse users concealed on the abandoned second-floor iron walkway revealed themselves simultaneously.

With the snap of launching mechanisms, six rune-inscribed steel crossbow bolts tore through the air from three tricky angles, aimed precisely at Feng's head, throat, and heart.

The bolts whistled shrilly through the air, detonation tags trailing from their tails, ready to explode.

At the same time, a semi-grade 1 curse user hidden behind a support pillar slammed both hands against the ground.

With a dull rumble, the terrain at the entrance changed instantly.

The hard concrete beneath Feng's feet rapidly softened and collapsed like a boiling mire.

The aim was to pin Feng's legs in place at the exact moment the bolts arrived, stripping him of any room to dodge.

There were no wasted words, no contemptuous probing attacks. This was a team of curse users who had survived countless battles to the death, greeting an unknown intruder with the most vicious, lethal opening kill net they could muster.

The sharp tips of the bolts were already closing in on those dark red eyes as the detonation tags suddenly flared in the dim hall.