"Prison Realm, open."
With a murmur echoing through a secluded alleyway somewhere in Sendai, a brownish-red cube resting on the concrete floor suddenly buzzed and vibrated.
A man dressed in a loose monk's robe of black, yellow, and green leaned casually against the nearby wall, wearing a relaxed and comfortable expression.
Yet his extremely grave gaze remained fixed on the cube.
The fingertips hidden within his sleeves were tense as he felt the suddenly surging and intensely concentrated fluctuations of cursed energy all around him...
His perception was not entirely precise, but one thing was certain: the cursed energy emanating from the Prison Realm alone already exceeded his own by severalfold.
It was like a lake compared to the ocean—there was simply no comparison.
The man could not help but begin to worry for his own safety.
This person... Although there was a Binding Vow in place, given this person's temperament, if he were to ever find out about the things he had incited Sukuna to do...
He would probably be chopped into tens of thousands of pieces... And given this person's strength, that was putting it lightly—
He had no time to dwell on it further, and could only hope that the contract bound a millennium ago was still in effect.
As his thoughts raced, several azure-blue eyes suddenly opened across the faces of the cube on the ground.
The cube known as the "Prison Realm" itself looked like a piece of blood-stained, air-dried rotting flesh, radiating a bizarre and ominous aura.
Right now, it was transforming directly into a grotesque shape, instantly evoking disgust and fear.
The countless azure pupils on top turned aimlessly a few times before suddenly locking onto the man leaning against the wall.
The man's gaze chilled, every cell in his body screaming warnings and repulsion, prompting him to prepare his escape at a moment's notice.
Within his field of vision, a massive, overwhelmingly tyrannical surge of cursed energy erupted from the cube.
The Prison Realm—the special grade sealing cursed object said to seal anything provided the conditions were met, boasting the ultimate suppression of cursed energy flow—exploded into a cloud of fine dust under the cursed energy leaking from within, to the man's utter disbelief.
Fortunately... that torrent of cursed energy was not aimed at him.
He let out a long breath of stale air, yet he still dared not relax his tense nerves.
Wisps of blood-red mist drifted up from where the Prison Realm had been, obscuring the man's vision.
Yet he could clearly feel the terrifying and boundless oppressive aura of the person within the mist.
Like a mountain, it pressed down recklessly, radiating outward from this place as a center like a net covering the sky.
The man carefully sensed the range of the fluctuating cursed energy, and could only sigh inwardly: this person... truly remains the monster of all monsters, no matter the era.
No wonder he could become close friends with a monster like Ryomen Sukuna...
After all, like attracts like—
Thinking this, the man smiled aloud, gently greeting the vague humanoid figure in the mist with a tone as cheerful as if he had run into a long-lost friend:
"Long time no see... Gojo."
Hearing this, the figure in the mist seemed to space out for a moment before speaking flatly: "Kenjaku, you did not honor our contract."
His voice lacked the affected and rich emotions of the man called "Kenjaku."
On the contrary, though his voice was clear like water flowing through mountain streams, it carried no emotion whatsoever.
Listening to it felt like conversing with a pre-programmed machine, rather unsettling.
Kenjaku could not stop a shudder from running through his body, and spoke with a hint of helplessness: "You're still the same as ever, Go..."
Before he could finish, a samurai sword wreathed in grey-blue cursed energy flew out from the blood mist with lightning speed.
The gleaming tip of the blade instantly buried itself into the wall behind Kenjaku's ear, leaving only the lightly trembling hilt exposed.
Two seconds later, Kenjaku's pupils contracted in a delayed reflex.
So—so fast!
Even the cursed energy imbued in the blade had not yet exploded, and it had already given him a long-forgotten chill of death.
Thankfully... that strike hadn't been aimed at his head.
Even as Kenjaku rejoiced inwardly, he suddenly felt a coolness on the side of his face.
Stunned, he raised a hand to stroke his cheek, then brought it before his eyes.
A palm full of fresh, scarlet blood.
That flat, completely emotionless voice came again: "You only have this one chance."
Kenjaku rubbed his fingertips together and looked up as the blood mist gradually dispersed.
The person inside finally revealed his face.
It was a black-haired young man whose features were so strikingly handsome they blurred the lines between male and female.
His hair was neatly and finely cropped, revealing a smooth and full forehead, with thin, slender eyebrows and lashes, beneath which a pair of heterochromatic eyes glowed brilliantly.
His left eye was the "Six Eyes," a hereditary trait unseen in Jujutsu society for centuries, while his right eye was not of a normal color, but stained with a scarlet, bloody hue.
His skin was exceptionally fair, nearly bordering on an inorganic, chilling coldness, which, paired with that delicate face devoid of fluctuating emotion, made him look like a soulless doll.
A single glance was enough to instill an inexplicable sense of terror in anyone who beheld him.
Kenjaku smiled with narrowed eyes, a special positive energy flowing from his twitching fingertips to merge into the wound on his face.
This was the application of cursed energy known in Jujutsu society as the "Reverse Cursed Technique."
As a technique that consumed cursed energy to heal physical injuries and even regenerate severed limbs, very few people could use the Reverse Cursed Technique—because it was extremely difficult to operate and control.
Cursed energy, as a power condensed and extracted from negative emotions, possessed formidable aggressiveness and intrusion.
Trying to stimulate positive energy that completely opposed its inherent nature was exceedingly difficult.
Of course, this was no challenge for Kenjaku, who had lived for a thousand years.
Kenjaku quickly restored his cheek to its original state, though the flippant smile vanished from his face.
"Don't be so hot-headed... Ah, wait, you wouldn't feel that kind of emotion, my apologies! Head of the Gojo clan."
The hilt of the sword beside his ear suddenly hummed, and Kenjaku hurriedly tilted his head away from it.
The next instant, the samurai sword embedded in the wall was pulled out as if guided by an invisible force, flying back into the handsome youth's hand.
The youth caught the hilt between two fingers and executed a fierce, lightning-fast flourish that was too fast for the naked eye to track, his tone remaining flat: "Do not call me Head of the Gojo clan, I have a name—my name is Kamiyado."
Kenjaku raised both hands in repeated surrender. "Apologies, apologies. It's been too long since we last met, I simply forgot."
Kamiyado ignored him further, taking a single step out of the largely dissipated mist.
His figure was completely exposed to the daylight.
His tall yet not particularly slender frame was wrapped in a wide-sleeved, open-collared dark lacquer kimono, looking remarkably old-fashioned and archaic.
A pure white sash was tied around his waist, with a samurai sword bound to his hip.
The scabbard was exceptionally long and matched the color of his attire, adding an even greater sense of pre-death annihilation to his already icy presence.
The sound of wooden clogs striking the ground seemed to carry an echo that reverberated through the entire alley.
Though merely by his ear, it sounded as though each step fell heavily upon his heart...
Kenjaku leaned his back against the wall, holding his breath slightly as he prepared to make a swift retreat once the person left.
Right now, he dared not provoke this terrifying individual.
Putting aside the fact that he indeed had not strictly followed the agreement made a millennium year ago,
the sheer chasm in their current strength alone left him with no inclination to act up in front of this person.
At least... not yet.
Watching Kamiyado walk toward the mouth of the alley, Kenjaku let out a breath and thought about slipping away in the opposite direction, only to be suddenly called back by Kamiyado.
He halted abruptly, listening to the query that sounded both very far away and very close.
"Where is Sukuna now?"
It took Kenjaku a long time to realize who "Sukuna" referred to, and he could not help but twitch the corners of his mouth in silent ridicule:
No way—does the King of Curses, famed for slaughter and brutality a thousand years ago, even know you call him that...?
Then again, given the relationship between these two, it was almost normal.
It's just—wondering why, later on...
Kenjaku shrugged, cutting off his own line of inquiry.
Incomprehensible as it was, but—if it was him, nothing he did would be strange.
Kenjaku cast a stealthy glance at Kamiyado's back, indulging in what he believed to be an unseen angle—a gaze filled with a sort of obsessed and greedy smile.
Heavenly Restriction, multiple innate techniques, a pool of cursed energy so vast none could rival it, the special constitution of the Six Eyes...
Within the mere mortal frame of this person lurked far too many secrets.
How he wanted him, how he longed to possess him... Just a little longer, and his grand scheme would succeed...
All these thoughts flashed by in the blink of an eye. Kenjaku quickly reined in his greed and answered with a light chuckle: "As for Sukuna now... well, I suppose he hasn't awakened yet."
Kamiyado stopped in his tracks, turning only half his face to look back at him: "What do you mean?"
Kenjaku pressed his back against the wall, shuffling a few steps away before continuing: "Sukuna's soul was split into twenty parts, using his twenty fingers as vessels, scattered across the world."
"Right now, he is the notorious King of Curses in Jujutsu society, and all twenty of his fingers are special grade cursed objects similar to the Prison Realm."
"At present, he likely hasn't found a vessel capable of carrying his soul, which is why he hasn't woken up."
Kamiyado turned his body back entirely, his heterochromatic pupils locked onto Kenjaku, narrowing slightly in a faint squint.
"I recall... telling you to resurrect him in human form, didn't I? You turned him into a cursed object?"
Before his voice had even faded, a blur filled Kenjaku's vision as the youth—who a moment ago stood ten-odd meters away—flashed and instantly appeared right before him.
His speed outpaced the sound waves in the air, and by the time the youth came to a complete halt in front of him, the tail end of his sentence drifted over from his previous position.
Facing those icy heterochromatic pupils directly, Kenjaku felt his cursed energy swirl almost beyond his control to protect him.
"Reason?"
That chilling voice wrapped firmly around his ears, leaving Kenjaku with no choice but to offer an awkward smile in response to Kamiyado's question.
"Becoming a cursed object was Sukuna's own choice. Our contract explicitly stipulated that 'everything prioritizes Sukuna's own will,' so I haven't broken the agreement."
Kamiyado gave him a deep look, turning away after a brief moment.
Before leaving, he asked, "Where is the nearest finger?"
Kenjaku touched his chin in thought, answering with some uncertainty: "Probably... at the nearby Sugisawa Third High School in Miyagi Prefecture."
"After all, those fools in Jujutsu society always squander special grade cursed objects like Sukuna's fingers to ward off evil."
He shrugged and spread his hands helplessly: "Truly incomprehensible."
When he looked back up, Kamiyado had already vanished without a trace.
Kenjaku touched the stitches on his forehead, letting out a sigh.
"Sigh... I seem to have forgotten to prepare some everyday necessities for him, like—Japanese yen or something?"
"Whatever, not my problem anymore... I might as well go pick up the Prison Realm and see if it can be repaired—that was a fine special grade cursed object of mine!"
Kamiyado crossed his hands inside his wide sleeves, resting them against his abdomen as his wooden clogs tapped step by step along streets bustling beyond measure compared to a millennium ago.
Ordinary people no longer walked with the cautious restraint of a thousand years ago; they wore vastly simpler clothing, strolling along in pairs and groups with bright laughter.
Shops lined both sides in rows, their variety of goods dazzling the eye.
There were ubiquitous skyscrapers, and on some tall buildings hung massive square iron plates that glowed, projected moving images, and emitted sound.
This was... a modern metropolis.
Kamiyado accepted this reality with unrippled calm in his heart, continuously collecting information about this new era through the 360-degree dead-end-free observation granted by the "Six Eyes."
The entire street was a surging tide of people, and even more surging than the crowd was the tidal wave of information constantly rushing toward Kamiyado, only to be completely absorbed by him.
He closed his eyes briefly, extracting from the stream of information the detail he needed most right now.
The location of Sugisawa Third High School.
Kamiyado changed direction with a pivot of his feet, continuing on his way while his gaze swept over the surrounding shops from time to time.
Blessed with exceptional looks, eccentric attire, and a bearing carrying the archaic grace and elegance of ancient times, he naturally turned heads wherever he went, a show-stopping presence boasting a hundred percent double-take rate.
People passing by Kamiyado would occasionally laugh softly, pulling their companions close and whispering behind covered mouths: "Wow, look over there, someone's cosplaying! He's seriously so handsome!"
"True! But which anime character is this supposed to be? Even as a veteran 2D otaku girl, I can't tell! Those heterochromatic eyes are seriously drop-dead gorgeous ahhhhh! Screaming like a prairie dog!"
"Why don't you go ask him?"
"NO! I refuse. He looks like a walking block of ice. I'll just look from afar to cleanse my eyes, too scared to touch, too scared to touch."
Could Kamiyado hear these words? Naturally, he could.
Could he have any reaction to them? Naturally, he had none.
As a human bound by "Heavenly Restriction," he was born incapable of perceiving any emotions.
He could not, nor did he need to, cultivate cursed energy by himself, because cursed energy was refined from emotions, and he possessed no such thing.
Of course, when heaven closes a door for you, it occasionally takes mercy and opens a window.
In exchange for "emotions and the inability to independently cultivate cursed energy," he obtained an unlimited storage capacity for cursed energy and a process that automatically refined cursed energy at all times.
Though his rate could not match certain gifted, genius sorcerers, he had no bottlenecks and never needed rest.
Thus, no matter who it was, none could contend with Kamiyado once he fully matured.
Thinking back, when he was still in swaddling clothes, possessing both the "Six Eyes" and "Heavenly Restriction," he became a target of dread for the entire Jujutsu society.
Fearing that his growth would alter the existing landscape of Jujutsu society and upset the balance,
those who wanted him dead, those who didn't, those interested in him, those indifferent to him, those who thought it was simply fun, and those who considered themselves righteous...
Driven by all manner of motives, those stubborn, decaying conservative factions and noble parties fearing the loss of their status launched endless assassination attempts against an infant.
Unfortunately, no one ever got their wish.
That infant destined to reshape the Jujutsu landscape grew up well, surviving into his youth.
It wasn't until internal factions within the Gojo family also began attempting to assassinate him that he took the opportunity to leave the Gojo family.
Lacking emotions, he naturally didn't leave the family for reasons like heartbreak, bitterness, or annoyance.
Rather... he wanted to go find someone.
To find the person whose fleeting glimpse in a sea of humanity had finally allowed him to understand what "emotion" truly was.
He was like a mortal who, after long scorching in the desert, suddenly caught sight of an oasis.
Even if it were merely a mirage, he would charge forward regardless of the cost, desperate to grasp that person's hand.
He dreamed of experiencing those so-called feelings of "happiness," "joy," "sorrow," "anger"...
Therefore, he regarded that person as a deity.
His deity.
Later on, he learned that person's identity.
It was someone who, like him, was renowned throughout Jujutsu society.
Though at least his own reputation was somewhat positive.
That person's reputation... carried birth-bound curses, brutality, bloodshed, fierceness, and ruthlessness.
Yet... clearly, that person was just like him, subjected from birth to the baseless condemnation of countless people.
That shared ordeal caused him, in that single instant, to catch a stagnant, congested feeling erupting from the beating of his heart—a sensation so intense it was utterly impossible to ignore.
Having never held any thoughts in his mind before, upon capturing this unfamiliar emotion, he instantly branded the meaning of his own existence upon himself.
He would go to his deity's side and change his deity's plight.
An era did not require two people to bear the exact same persecution.
Whether it was infamy or anything else, let him be the one to bear it all for the person who made him feel the flow of emotion...
It was a pity, however—his plan from a millennium ago seemed to have failed utterly and completely.
Kamiyado gave a soft sigh, then comforted himself anew.
It didn't matter. He still had time now to track down the Sukuna of the past...
Kamiyado pressed his thin, cold lips together, a glimmer of warmth and tenderness flashing through his emotionless pupils for the very first time.
It drove the group of girls secretly watching him wild with squeals.
A moment later, Kamiyado found a shop that looked like it sold pastries and walked inside with steady strides.
His Sukuna liked sweet things; it was best to buy a little pastry before meeting him!
The group of girls trailing behind to look at the handsome guy followed them in, giggling.
Seeing the handsome guy earnestly picking out pastries at the counter, the gap moe nearly killed them!
The eyes of the group of girls turned into heart shapes.
Kamiyado's "Six Eyes" could naturally see their expressions, but he was utterly incapable of understanding these people's emotions.
Paying them no mind, he lowered his gaze to look at a butter cheese-baked mini cake, then checked its price tag.
Having rampaged unbridled for over twenty years a millennium ago without ever knowing the meaning of money, Lord Kamiyado finally experienced—
What it felt like to be broke.
He couldn't afford it...
Kamiyado pressed his lips tight, having no choice but to exit the pastry shop first and head over to Sugisawa Third High School to retrieve the person.
Only after bringing the person back would he consider how to make money to support Sukuna in the future.
Little did he know, as soon as he walked out, four girls swarmed into the spot he had just vacated, chattering excitedly about the small cake the handsome guy had looked at but not bought.
"Look, it's this one, this baked cheese cake! I don't know why the handsome guy didn't buy it, but he definitely wanted it!"
"I think so too! How about we pool our money, buy this cake, give it to him, and ask for his contact info while we're at it!"
"I'm all for it, let's go go go!"
Surrounding the cake in a flurry, the four girls purchased it, walked out the shop door, and looked out—
Amidst the surging crowd, there was no sign of the fleeting figure they had glimpsed just moments ago.
Wuuuu, our romantic encounter!
In the end, the girls ate the high-hopes pastry themselves with teary, wide-band-like tears streaming down their faces.