Jujutsu Society was already a mid-sized den of evil

Cursed energy surged wildly, feeding Kitetsu without pause. The finely controlled cursed energy erupting from that abyss tasted so delicious that the Demon Blade began to radiate palpable killing intent.

With the folding screens no longer hiding them, the six Higher-Ups were exposed: three men and three women, all elderly.

Amid the raging cursed energy and killing intent like mountains of corpses and seas of blood, the Higher-Ups instantly huddled together in terror, their frightened faces pressed against the dark wall behind them.

The three Grade 2 Jujutsu Sorcerers presenting the rewards bore the impact of the cursed energy and killing intent at close range. Unable to resist, they were knocked unconscious.

Below the attic, two terrifying, intertwined auras swept through every corner of the residence, sending all the students and teachers in Kyoto rushing over in alarm.

The Higher-Ups might have been lazy freeloaders, and some were hopelessly hidebound.

But if they were assassinated right under Kyoto's nose, how could the teachers and students ever show their faces again? How could they keep their footing in Jujutsu Society?

Yet the moment they approached the attic, they regretted it. The two auras pinned them down, bending their backs little by little.

"Masamichi Yaga, what are you doing here? Who's upstairs right now? If you dare hide anything, our two schools will be at war tomorrow!"

As everyone stubbornly used their cursed energy to resist, an angry, aged voice rang out from an old man who bore a striking resemblance to Captain-Commander Yamamoto.

Masamichi Yaga ignored him. Deeply worried, he used his cursed energy to resist the two auras, regretting that he had brought his beloved student to Kyoto.

"Tsukasa, I'm begging you as your teacher. Don't do anything foolish..."

Tsukasa had joined Jujutsu High at his invitation. If he became a Curse User despised by everyone, Yaga would spend the rest of his life drowning in guilt and regret.

Up in the attic, Kitetsu's frenzied consumption of cursed energy gradually slowed. Perhaps it had eaten its fill; little by little, it grew quiet.

Tsukasa Hatayama withdrew his raging cursed energy and raised the blade horizontally before him, curiosity written all over his face. His gaze kept roaming over it as he examined the Demon Blade up close.

Overall, it looked quite plain. It was longer than the samurai blades of Sakura Country and rather straight, looking more like a straight sword than a saber.

A dark brown wooden scabbard encased its long, slender blade. Its pale yellow, oval guard had a notch in it, giving it an understated look.

The grip was a little unusual, with pale yellow and pale black complementing each other. Two fine diagonal slashes were etched into the pale black portion, while the pale yellow portion was clean and unmarked.

An unremarkable little yellow ring hung from its pale yellow base.

Clang.

Tsukasa Hatayama drew the blade from its scabbard. The long, slightly curved blade gleamed without a single pattern on its surface, polished brightly enough to reflect a person's face.

With a chuckle, Tsukasa Hatayama said fondly, "You'll be staying with me from now on. Once I get bored of playing with you, I'll go back to using my knife properly."

Perhaps the famed blade possessed a spirit, for its long, gleaming blade actually gave a plaintive ring, as though asking how a little knife could possibly be more fun than it was.

Tsukasa Hatayama could not help laughing as he slid it back into its scabbard. The First Kitetsu was certainly good, but with his Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, a knife kept close at hand would be most effective.

In the future, he would leave this blade to the prodigious Special Grade Sorcerer, Yuta Okkotsu.

Holding Kitetsu in one hand, Tsukasa Hatayama surveyed the disordered room with some embarrassment.

Shattered pieces of the folding screens lay everywhere. Fortunately, the Japanese yen had been stacked neatly. If he had to pick the bills up one by one, who knew how long it would take?

As for the six Higher-Ups... they were wrapped in dark matter in a corner.

Given how weak the six of them were, they might already have been shaken into dementia if he had not protected them with his Cursed Technique.

As the matter faded away, the Higher-Ups leaned against the wall, gasping for breath after their narrow escape. Their gazes held a deep, lingering fear as they looked at Tsukasa Hatayama.

That cursed energy had erupted as though it cost him nothing. Had they not weathered their share of storms, they might have wet and soiled themselves on the spot.

A little embarrassed, Tsukasa Hatayama said, "I got a bit excited. Sorry. Also, I really like the blade. Thank you, seniors, for parting with it."

At his sincere apology, vanity successfully replaced the six elders' lingering fear. Still pale, each waved a hand to show that it was nothing.

The old man who had been speaking with him all along even patted his chest, pretending to be perfectly fine. "Your Cursed Technique protected us. We were quite safe."

"They say a treasured blade belongs with a hero. Those words could not suit Special Grade Sorcerer Hatayama better. I'm sure Kitetsu will become renowned far and wide in your hands."

"Yes, yes, our senior is right. It will certainly become renowned far and wide!" The other Higher-Ups, still pale, forced smiles as they echoed the old man.

Tsukasa Hatayama modestly made no reply. Silently, he used Dark Gravity to draw the scattered stacks of Japanese yen back into the cases, leaving them suspended in midair with not a single bill missing.

"Ahem..."

The old man cleared his throat a few times and said amiably, "Special Grade Sorcerer Hatayama, each case contains one billion. I know you aren't short of money."

"But this is a small token from the six of us. Please accept it."

Tsukasa Hatayama said nothing. His blood-red eyes quietly studied the Higher-Ups, making cold sweat involuntarily bead on all six foreheads.

The boy before them looked young and underage, but not one person present dared underestimate him. Anyone who did might already have ended up in a Curse Extermination Report.

After a long pause, Tsukasa Hatayama slowly said, "Two billion is too much. I'm still a minor. Taking it all would lead me astray, so I'll take one billion."

The tense, anxious Higher-Ups inwardly rejoiced at his words. As seasoned old hands, how could they fail to understand what he meant?

Taking everything meant accepting the Higher-Ups' disgusting deeds; taking nothing meant disapproving of those deeds.

Taking half meant turning a blind eye.

Sometimes, communication between people was that simple: put something important before them, then see what they chose and how they acted.

Tsukasa Hatayama extended his right hand, and one case of Japanese yen descended into it. He certainly disliked the Higher-Ups, but they were merely power-hungry and afraid of death.

Compared with Jujutsu Society's self-preservation, obsession with power, greed, hereditary privilege, arrogance, conservatism, hidebound thinking, and mediocrity without self-awareness, the Higher-Ups were relatively decent.

Jujutsu Society was already a mid-sized den of evil. If he killed the Higher-Ups now, another, even greedier batch would simply take their place.

To bring about real change, he would have to overthrow Jujutsu Society in a bloody purge. But he would leave that grand dream to someone else.

What he needed to care about was whether his family and closest friends would survive in the future. Schemes and intrigue were nothing in the face of power.

Turning a blind eye and focusing on his training was the best course. As for this billion, he would take it to his senior, Mei Mei, and make her happy.

With a case in one hand and the blade in the other, Tsukasa Hatayama calmly bade them farewell. "Since all six of you are fine, I'll be heading back now."

"The six of us will see you out. The disturbance just now was rather large, and I'm afraid those lower-grade sorcerers might offend you."

"All right. Thank you."

Tsukasa Hatayama did not refuse. He could sense a group of seniors and upperclassmen gathered below the attic. Having the Higher-Ups go down and explain could not have been better.

Otherwise, one blast of his All Men Are Created Equal Cursed Pressure might only make the misunderstanding worse.