Chapter 15

“Crack.”

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the air.

Yemo, behind his dark glasses, widened his eyes in surprise. He clearly hadn’t expected such a formidable Grade 1 Cursed Spirit to be so easily dealt with.

The vanquished Cursed Spirit was stunned as well. It never imagined itself to be so fragile—though its weakness lay to its right rear, that was only relative and didn’t imply it was truly brittle.

A coincidence?

“Yes, it was indeed a coincidence.”

Much like how some vital points on the human body, if touched just slightly, can cause death.

Yemo’s strike had been aimed precisely, one hundred percent, at the Cursed Spirit’s weak spot; in other words, the spirit’s defense was effectively zero.

So, yes—“it was indeed a coincidence.”

Unlike humans, Cursed Spirits don’t have glaringly obvious fatal spots, nor are they easily vulnerable without external aid. They possess their own means of protection.

Yet, under this premise, it seemed the goddess of fortune had smiled upon Yemo, who by some twist of fate landed a fatal blow that broke through the defenses.

Not only was the Cursed Spirit physically breached, but surely, in its final moment before vanishing, its spirit was shattered as well.

The crowd gathering nearby grew larger by the minute. Many newcomers, curious about the commotion, flocked over to witness what was happening.

Yemo turned and strode quickly toward the cosplayer. As they brushed past, he grabbed the cosplayer’s sleeve and whispered, “Follow me,” leading him silently through the crowd.

They stopped in a quiet, secluded corner. Ensuring no one was paying attention, Yemo sighed in relief and turned to regard the youthful figure who had hurried along, his face now showing signs of fatigue and a complex expression.

“Was that your cursed technique just now?” Yemo asked cautiously.

He still did not know Fyodor’s abilities, having planned to learn more during the freshmen introductions after the school term began.

If the young man’s technique was indeed what Yemo suspected, it was undeniably a powerful ability.

Speaking of this year’s newcomers, they were truly exceptional—one with six eyes, another wielding cursed spirit manipulation, and yet another capable of reversing others’ cursed techniques...

If Fyodor’s ability was equally potent, the neighboring Kyoto branch would surely be green with envy, perhaps needing to keep both eyes on watch even while sleeping at night—just a joke, of course.

Though a joke, it underscored just how outstanding this year’s Tokyo branch intake was.

“Um, you mean…?” The youth coughed twice, a flush coloring his pale cheeks, finally bringing some life to his complexion.

“That Cursed Spirit wasn’t weak, yet I eliminated it in one strike. That’s abnormal,” Yemo said gravely. “Is your ability to impose a ‘one-hit kill’ weakness on Cursed Spirits or something similar?”

The cosplayer hesitated, then shyly scratched his cheek with his right hand and murmured, “Something like that.”

—Originally, he had planned to present his core technique as the ability to see Cursed Spirits’ weak points.

Taking inspiration from Kento Nanami’s power, though Nanami forcibly created weaknesses, the cosplayer’s approach was to glimpse into others’ mental worlds—to observe their thoughts, including those of Cursed Spirits—through a hazy filter that even tricksters would envy, feeling inferior in comparison.

But that was before. Now, the cosplayer had other considerations.

*

After parting ways with Yemo, the cosplayer did not rush back to the headquarters; he needed to conduct some experiments.

—Experiments on the discovery he had just made.

He recalled his recent attempt to enter a Cursed Spirit’s mental world, where he encountered an overwhelming flood of malice. Within that malice, he spotted the spirit’s concealed weak point. Suddenly, an idea struck him. He reached out to touch the textual depiction of that weakness and activated his ability.

The next moment, he was snapped back to reality, right as Yemo struck precisely at the Cursed Spirit’s weak spot and the spirit died.

A coincidence?

Of course not.

Even Yemo did not believe it was a coincidence, attributing the outcome to the cosplayer’s ability. The cosplayer himself was far from naive.

On the day he first arrived in this world, he had not realized he could enter a Cursed Spirit’s mental realm; otherwise, he wouldn’t have coughed up so much blood then—

He discovered that deploying a fatal ability within the mental world expended far less energy than doing so in the physical realm.

However, he was not yet certain whether the mental world equated to the soul itself. For powerful entities like Sukuna, whose soul is extremely strong, this trick might not work.

Lost in casual thought, he habitually began planning. His thesis, “A Plan for the Complete Eradication of Cursed Spirits,” had already gone through over two hundred drafts. In the worst case, if Sukuna’s faction ultimately succeeded, he would have to consider resorting to nuclear options—a measure requiring considerable political influence and power.

The best case would be to strike down Sukuna before he could rise, leveraging the unique nature of the Tengen to wipe out all Cursed Spirits in one fell swoop.

Yet, Cursed Spirits’ “regeneration” remained highly probable.

*

Because Cursed Spirits are monsters born from humans’ negative emotions—the source being the faint cursed energy flowing within ordinary people.

To cut off Cursed Spirits completely, one must eliminate cursed energy from ordinary humans.

Taking this further:

Cursed energy is fundamentally linked to the brain.

Could the brain be modified to sever cursed energy?

With so many people across the globe, even if brain modification succeeded, it seemed unrealistic.

Onono Inuhide’s side possessed the “Book.” The cursed energy side here truly had no immediate solution.

Could it be that controlling the entire world and forcibly performing surgeries on humanity was the only way? Or developing machines capable of blocking cursed energy?

...

The cosplayer’s surroundings grew increasingly remote. As he rounded a corner, a petite figure dashed toward him from the opposite direction. Their lines of sight were blocked; neither could avoid the collision in time, and they crashed into each other. The girl was unharmed, but the frail cosplayer nearly fell.

“Sorry! I didn’t expect… you to be so weak.” The girl, dressed in a pink dress, grabbed the cosplayer’s collar to steady him, then released him and hastily bowed to apologize.

Her deep purple eyes flicked to the tuft of hair atop his head, lingering for two seconds. The cosplayer replied gently, “It’s alright.”

“I didn’t expect…” — did she know me? Or at least recognize me?

*

Yin Chuan Tong was unaware she was already under suspicion, though she had indeed come seeking the boy.

Having been forgiven, the girl straightened up, believing herself discreet as she fixed her gaze on the youth’s face, oblivious to the fervent zeal burning in her eyes.

At last, she had found him—the person she would follow from now on.