Someone asked me for a Stat sheet for our MC.
If I were to make one, it would probably be in R'Lyehian and Minecraft Table Enchantment
But well, I will see what I can do
Without any further to do, enjoy!
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(Thousands of Years Ago)
(?'s POV)
The sun over Cocoyasi Village was warm and kind, the way it always should have been.
The air, once heavy with fear and salt, now smelled of rich soil and the sweet, citrus perfume of ripening tangerines.
She sat on the porch of her home, her hands resting on the vast, swollen curve of her belly. A little kick fluttered against her palm, a tiny, insistent reminder of the future growing within her.
And in her grove, her husband tended to the trees.
Akira moved between the neat rows of tangerine trees with a quiet, focused grace.
There was no task too small for his attention. His hands, which could, and had, effortlessly snapped the iron-like bones of Fish-men, now gently tested the give of a ripe fruit before carefully twisting it from the branch.
He'd repaired the irrigation channels with impossible precision, and under his care, the entire grove had become impossibly lush, each tree heavy with perfect, sun-golden fruit.
He was a puzzle she still hadn't fully solved.
He'd arrived with the stillness of a deep ocean, just another stranger. Then, when Arlong's arrogance had finally boiled over one too many times, the stillness had broken.
There had been no grand battle, no epic struggle.
It was over in the space of a single, quiet afternoon.
One moment, Arlong was sneering, his crew laughing. The next, they were all simply… defeated. Broken, unconscious, and piled unceremoniously in the town square like discarded trash.
Akira had done it without raising his voice, without a single boast. He'd just looked at the terrified villagers and said, "The nuisance has been dealt with. You may resume your lives."
He'd stayed.
He'd helped rebuild
And somehow, in the quiet that followed the storm, he'd found a place at her side.
She smiled, a soft, private thing. She looked from her husband's placid, focused face to the winding path that led to the village.
"She'll be coming home soon, you know," she said, her voice carrying easily in the peaceful air.
Akira paused, placing a perfect tangerine into his basket. He looked up, his crimson eyes meeting hers. They held a depth she'd once found unsettling, but now only saw as a familiar, beloved calm.
"Nami will have quite the surprise waiting for her," She continued, her smile widening. "No more Arlong Park. No more maps. Just her home, finally free."
She patted her belly gently. "She's going to get the welcome of a lifetime. Her big sister is married… to the man who saved everyone." She chuckled. "And she's about to be an aunt to the most adorable nephew in all the East Blue."
Akira's expression didn't change dramatically. But she had learned to read the subtle shifts. The slight softening around his eyes was his version of a beaming smile.
"It will be quite the surprise," he said, his voice as calm and level as ever. But she heard the warmth in it. The promise.
He turned back to the trees, but his posture was lighter.
He continued his work, tending to the grove that had been a symbol of resistance and was now simply a symbol of home.
She leaned back, content, watching her mysterious, impossibly strong farmer husband prepare for the day their family would finally be whole.
The sea breeze rustled the leaves, and for the first time in so very long, it carried nothing but hope
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(Present)
(Hiratsuka Shizuka's POV)
The staff room felt a few degrees cooler. Mafuyu Kirisu sat across from Shizuka, her posture ramrod straight, a faint line of frustration between her brows. She wasn't yelling or sighing; her displeasure was a quiet, icy thing.
"It's a simple matter of logic" Kirisu said, her voice level and cool "They have a gift. A real, measurable one. And they're choosing to ignore it for a passing fancy. It's... utter nonsense"
Shizuka leaned on her hand. "Still on about Ogata and Furuhashi?"
"Ogata could be a brilliant researcher. Instead, she's in the library trying to find the 'reason for their emotions' for The Tale of Genji," Kirisu stated, her tone making it clear she found this as sensible as trying to nail jelly to a wall. "And Furuhashi has a real understanding of people, of language. But she's convinced her future is in a field where she can't seem to grasp the most basic principles. It's not that they're not trying. They're just... wasted in the wrong place"
Shizuka was about to offer a weak platitude about kids finding their way when the door opened.
Akira walked in. He moved to his desk with that quiet, unruffled calm that seemed to settle over the room like a blanket.
Shizuka saw an opportunity. "Hey," she said, nudging Kirisu's arm. "Maybe a new perspective will help. Yoshioka-san's got a way of getting through the minds of his students"
Kirisu looked over at Akira, her expression sceptical but considering. She gave a short, curt nod. "It couldn't hurt."
Shizuka didn't wait. "Yoshioka-san! Got a sec? We need some help over here"
Akira turned. His gaze swept over them, lingering on Kirisu's tense posture for a half-second before he walked over. "Something wrong?"
"Mafuyu-san's got a couple of students who are... marching to the beat of their own drum, so to say" Shizuka explained "Brilliant in one area, but dead-set on studying something else. She's thinking of throwing in the towel."
Kirisu's mouth tightened slightly at the phrasing, but she elaborated, her voice still clinical. "They're talented. Exceptionally so. But they're pursuing paths where they have no natural aptitude. I've tried to guide them towards their more... suitable subjects. They're not listening" She folded her arms. "I was wondering if you might have time to tutor them. Perhaps a different approach is needed"
Akira listened, his hands in his pockets. He was quiet for a moment, not looking at the papers on the table but at some point in the middle distance.
"It might not be about the subject," he said finally, his voice quieter than hers, but just as calm. "It might be about the door they're trying to use to get in."
Kirisu's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Ogata-san thinks in systems. In patterns. She's not trying to feel the book; she's trying to solve it. Maybe instead of giving her more poetry, we give her the tools to take it apart like a machine. Show her the bones of the story, the rules it follows. Every story, even if in disorder, has a structure that can be followed, like a sequence per se. She might never love it the way a writer does, but she could understand it on her own terms."
He shifted his weight slightly. "And Furuhashi... she doesn't see numbers. She sees stories. Maybe we stop trying to make her memorize formulas and start showing her the people who discovered them. The drama behind the science. The why instead of just the what. And then, after she understand the mind of the mathematicians, we can show her the how"
He looked at Kirisu, and for a moment, he didn't seem like an alien intelligence, just a very perceptive teacher. "Tutoring them to be better at what they're already good at is one thing. But tutoring them to find their own way into the things they love? That might actually work"
The cold frustration on Kirisu's face thawed into something more thoughtful. She hadn't considered that. She'd been trying to steer them back to the highway, and he was suggesting they just need a better map for the back roads they insisted on taking.
"You're saying... don't change their destination. Change how they travel" She said, the words slow as she turned the idea over in her mind.
Akira gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. "Sometimes the scenic route teaches you more than the interstate" Then decided to add a middle point "And if they don't become as good as they want, even with all the tools given to them, that would make them give up and follow the path they are more capable of following"
Kirisu was silent for a long moment. Then she nodded, once, a decision made. "Alright. I can work with that." She gathered her papers, her movements less stiff than before. She looked at Akira. "But I want you to first try and make them realise their own faults. Would you still be willing to meet with them? With that in mind?"
"I can try," he said simply "Tell them to meet me after club activities"
"Thank you, Yoshioka-san. And I will" Her thanks were short, professional, but genuine. She left the staff room, already mentally reorganizing her approach.
Shizuka let out a low whistle the moment the door closed, a wide grin spreading on her face. "The scenic route, huh? Look at you, being all wise and folksy."
Akira's expression didn't change. "It seemed like an efficient analogy" He turned and went back to his desk, leaving Shizuka chuckling to herself.
He was still a vault, but she was starting to think there was a real person inside, one who understood people better than he let on
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(Third Person's POV)
The school library was a haven of quiet concentration, smelling of old paper and wood polish. The mid-morning sun streamed through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Students were scattered at tables, their heads bent over books, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of pages.
Yoshioka Akira moved through the aisles with his usual silent efficiency, his destination a specific section on comparative mythology. His path, however, took him past a study alcove near the back.
And there, he saw to a curious scene
Perched on the edge of a large reading table, legs swinging gently over the side, was Mai Sakurajima. She was fully dressed in a sleek, black bunny girl outfit—the fishnet stockings, the cuffs, the ears.
She sat perfectly still, her expression one of profound, weary resignation as she stared out the window, seemingly oblivious to the students that surrounded her, or more like, the students that ignored her existence entirely
It was an image of such surreal dissonance that it would have given anyone pause.
Akira simply stopped and regarded her with the same calm, analytical focus he applied to everything.
He approached her, his footsteps silent on the carpet. He didn't gasp or scold. He simply stopped a few feet away and spoke, his voice low and even, meant only for her.
"Sakurajima-san"
Mai started slightly, pulled from her thoughts. She turned her head, her violet eyes widening a fraction in surprise at being addressed so directly, and by a teacher no less. A faint blush touched her cheeks, as the adult watched her form, but realised something else entirely
"You can see me?"
Akira's gaze swept over the outfit once, not with judgment, but with a simple, factual assessment. "I was unaware the library had instituted a new dress code," he remarked, his tone dry but not unkind. "Is there a particular reason you've chosen this specific... academic regalia for your studies today?"
Mai's shoulders stiffened slightly. She expected a lecture, a demand to go change, to be sent to the principal's office. His calm, almost curious inquiry was disarming.
"It's... complicated" She said, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked away, back out the window. "You wouldn't understand, Sensei"
His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
It was then that he saw it, not just the bizarre choice of clothing, but the faint, shimmering aura of energy clinging to her. It covered her like a shroud, giving her an invisible aura only visible to those that could sense it.
The dry humour vanished from his expression, replaced by pure, clinical recognition. "Try me," he said, his voice now dropping to a near-inaudible murmur. He didn't lean in or loom; he just stood there, a patient, immovable object in the face of her surreal situation. "I have a passing familiarity with this type of situations"
There was a long silence. Mai seemed to be wrestling with something internally.
The library's quiet felt oppressive now, focused on their little bubble
Finally, she spoke, the words coming out in a tired, defeated rush. "It's this... thing. People don't notice me: I'm invisible to anyone. It's like I don't exist. And this..." she gestured vaguely at the outfit, a gesture of utter self-consciousness, "...I wanted to make sure that people weren't able to see me. And I was proven right, at least until now"
She stared at the teacher, now noticing how red his eyes were. How his hair seemed to shine with the light that entered the room
Akira was silent for a moment, but not out of confusion. He was categorizing. "A perceptual ability" he stated, his voice utterly flat and certain "One that influences the way other perceive you, one you can't control. And as the ability is more used, it becomes more powerful, eliminating every bit of you from existence itself"
Mai stared, her breath catching in her throat. He had defined her reality with terrifying precision.
"Meet me at the classroom 2-B at the final bell," he instructed, his tone leaving no room for debate. It was not a suggestion. "Once the crowd has dispersed for club activities. Do not be late."
Her eyes widened. "W-why? What are you going to do?"
"I will help you," he said, as if stating he would fix a leaky faucet. "The mechanism is simple enough to disrupt. Only disrupt the energy generated by it. You will not need to resort to this again. In fact, I might help you control it even"
He didn't wait for her answer. He had diagnosed the problem and stated the solution. Any further discussion was redundant.
He turned to leave, but paused for a half-second, glancing back at her. "Endure it until then. And try to change to normal clothes please, you will have a partner to train your ability on the afternoon, and wouldn't want the first impression to be a bunny girl outfit"
And with that, he continued his path toward the mythology section, leaving Mai Sakurajima sitting on the table, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The resignation in her eyes was gone, replaced by a stunned, fragile hope. He had seen the invisible chains and simply stated he had the key.
For the first time in a long time, the weight of the bunny suit felt a little bit embarrassing
Meanwhile, outside the library, Akira was greeted by a couple of students.
"Oh, Yoshioka-sensei, good morning!" an animated voice called out.
"Morning!" a more playful one added.
Akira focused on the two students approaching the library doors. Yuiga Nariyuki, his face etched with the particular strain of someone who studied through sheer force of will, and Takemoto Uruka, who offered a gentle, slightly playful smile.
"Yuiga-san, Takemoto-san," he nodded towards both of them, his face never faltering from his calm and contained expression.
"We were just going to the library to study," Nariyuki explained, hefting his bag full of textbooks. "How are you doing, sensei?"
"Adequate," Akira replied. His crimson eyes flicked between them, noting the determined set of Nariyuki's jaw and the subtle, intelligent curiosity in Fumino's gaze. "I was retrieving a reference text on the intersection of mythological archetypes across Mediterranean cultures. The librarian's categorization system is… idiosyncratic."
It was a perfectly normal, teacherly thing to say. It also happened to be true. He had, in fact, seen the way the library books are organized.
Uruka's eyes lit up slightly at the mention of mythology. "Oh? That sounds fascinating. But also too complicated…"
"It depends on what mentality you used to star learning, if you doubt your abilities from the start, that mentality will only slow your progress of improving" Akira stated, his tone neutral. He saw her blink, processing the blunt analysis of something she found difficult. He turned his gaze to Nariyuki. "And you, Yuiga-san? I trust your own studies are progressing?"
Nariyuki straightened up, a look of fierce determination on his face. "Yes, sensei! I've got a practice test to review. I'll give it my all!"
"A commendable attitude. Consistent effort is the most reliable variable for success," Akira said. His words were a standard encouragement "The library should provide a sufficient environment for concentration. The noise levels are currently acceptable"
He gave them another slight nod, a clear but polite end to the conversation. "Do not let me keep you."
"Right! Thank you, sensei!" Nariyuki said with a quick bow.
"Have a good day, Yoshioka-sensei," Uruka added, her smile a little more cheerful now.
Akira watched them for a brief moment as they pushed through the library doors—the hardworking struggler and the genius fighting her own nature, heading directly toward the girl in the bunny suit trapped by hers. The threads of the school's strange tapestry were undeniably intertwining.
He continued down the hall, the brief interaction already filed away.
'I'm thankful for sensei' Uruka thought as she saw Nariyuki sitting beside her and pulling out a pair of books 'He was the one that told Nariyuki to tutor me'
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(Later in the Afternoon)
The final bell's drone had faded, replaced by the distant, bustling sounds of club activities beginning. Classroom 2-B was empty save for one occupant. Yoshioka Akira stood by the window, watching the students scatter across the grounds, each going to their own activities. His expression was, as ever, unreadable.
The door slid open with a soft rumble. Yotsuya Miko peered inside, her new glasses on her face. She looked nervous, clutching her bag strap like a lifeline.
"Yoshioka-sensei?" she said, her voice small in the empty room. "You... wanted to see me?"
"Come in, Yotsuya-san" Akira said without turning around. "Take a seat. We are waiting for one more. And remove your glasses."
Miko hesitated, then shuffled in, choosing a desk in the middle of the room. With a trembling hand, she took off the glasses, folding them carefully and putting them in her case. She braced herself for the horrifying clarity of the world.
But the room was… quiet. Just an empty, sunlit classroom. A profound sense of relief washed over her.
Even though she knew the school was empty of all…. apparitions, she still used the glasses as a new lifeline to maintain a stable and normal life
"Look at the desk in front of you" Akira instructed, his back still to her.
Confused, Miko looked down at the surface of the teacher's desk. And she gasped.
There, on the scratched wooden surface, were one of the small, gnarled, miniature old man spirit she knew all too well.
But they were different. They weren't screeching or menacing her. They were trapped.
Tamed
Trapped into an invisible prison with seemingly no way out
They shuffled around their tiny prison, pushing against the walls silently, their usually horrifying face now just confused and pathetic.
"They've been there all day," Akira stated calmly, finally turning from the window. "I've been… collecting them. I need you to see the baseline to understand the lesson"
Miko could only stare, her mind reeling. He could trap them? He was collecting pests like bugs. The world she lived in was a horror show, and he was its fastidious janitor.
The door slid open again. Mai Sakurajima stood there, now clad in her school uniform, her expression a complex mix of scepticism, hope, and deep wariness. Her eyes found Akira, then flicked to Miko.
And then Mai froze. Her eyes widened in pure, unadulterated shock. The girl was looking directly at her.
Not through her.
Not past her.
At her. At least she wasn't wearing a bunny suit.
"You're late, Sakurajima-san" Akira stated, his tone merely factual.
"Sorry sensei, I couldn't find the classroom" Mai replied automatically, but her voice was distant, her attention completely locked on Miko. "She… she can see me?" The question was whispered, filled with a confusion that bordered on awe
Miko, for her part, was just as confused. "O-of course I can see you? Why wouldn't I?" She glanced at the trapped spirits on the teacher's desk, then back at the beautiful, stunned upperclassman in the doorway. Was she also…?
"This is Yotsuya Miko from class 1-B," Akira said, answering the unspoken questions hanging thick in the air. "She shares a similar... affliction, albeit of a different nature. She sees what others cannot. And, Sakurajima-san, she can see you too. Your conditions, while distinct, are rooted in the same fundamental energy"
The two girls stared at each other, a silent, profound understanding passing between them. Akira watched them for a moment from the front of the room, a piece of chalk held loosely in his fingers
"Before we begin" He said, his voice cutting through the quiet. Both Mai and Miko jumped slightly, turning their attention to him. His crimson eyes behind his glasses locked onto Mai. "Sakurajima-san. Your perspective is limited to your own condition. To understand the lesson, you must first see its most basic components."
He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and withdrew a pair of glasses. He produced some new, with thin, black metal frames and lenses that seemed to absorb the light differently from the ones Miko carried
"These will calibrate your vision" he stated, offering them to her.
Mai, her wariness warring with a burning curiosity, slowly took the glasses and put them on. The world sharpened, but not in the way she expected. The classroom was the same, yet...
Her breath caught in her throat.
She saw them. The small, gnarled old men, trapped in their invisible prison on the desk. She saw the faint, shimmering aura of negative energy that clung to certain spots of her body.
She now saw the world beneath the world, the horrifying, undeniable truth of it.
Her hand flew to her mouth, her violet eyes wide with a fresh, staggering shock.
Akira observed her reaction, his expression unchanging. "Now you see the baseline, This was what Miko saw every day. This was the hidden current that had been pulling her under. The normal perspective of the world" He said, his voice flat. "This is environment you have been inhabiting. Let's begin."
He turned to the board and picked up the chalk, ready to define the terrifying new reality she could now never unsee. The lesson had truly begun.
Akira walked to the front of the classroom.
He turned to the pristine blackboard, beginning the lesson that would change everything. Mai took a seat beside Miko
"The world you perceive is a surface layer," he began, his voice taking on the calm, measured tone of a lecturer. "Beneath it exists a foundational energy, a residue of human emotion. Fear, regret, anxiety, hatred... it does not dissipate. It pools, it congeals, it takes shape."
He drew a large circle on the board. Inside it, he began writing a single word:
'呪力 (Juryoku - Cursed Energy)'
"This energy is the source of what you see, Yotsuya-san." He glanced at her, then at the trapped spirits on her desk. "And it is the engine of your phenomenon, Sakurajima-san. When this energy accumulates and develops a stable form, it creates what are known as Cursed Spirits or simply, Curses."
He tapped the circle. "They are not always ghosts of the dead. Some are new entities, born from negativity. Their power is not random. It is classified." He turned back to the board and began writing a list, his chalk moving with swift, precise strokes.
"Grade 4, nuisances. Weak, barely formed. The small entities you see everywhere, Yotsuya-san. Grade 3, a tangible threat to an average person. Usually requires a more hands attention. Grade 2, dangerous to small groups. Can possess defined abilities. Grade 1, capable of mass casualty events. Highly intelligent, with powerful techniques. And then, there is Special Grade. These are Existential threats. Capable of destroying cities and challenging nations. Their abilities defy conventional understanding"
He let the list sink in. Miko paled, thinking of the horrors she'd seen that must have been Grade 2 or higher. Mai listened, rapt, seeing her own condition framed in this terrifying new context.
"These for example, are Grade 4 Curses, known as "The old men" inoffensive really, but in large quantities, they could pose a threat to small animals and children. To combat these things" Akira continued, playing with the spirit on his hand "There exists a structure. Individuals who can manipulate this same energy." He wrote another word on the board with his free hand
'呪術師 (Jujutsushi - Jujutsu Sorcerers)'
He now turned fully to face them, holding up the trapped spirit. "Exorcism is the primary function. Most sorcerers must engage the curse, combat it, and overwhelm it with their own energy. A process of negation."
He closed his fingers around the tiny spirit
"There are the most common methods"
There was no sound. No flash of light. No burst of energy.
One moment the spirit was there, the tiny old man spirit struggling inside in his hand. The next, the space between his fingers was empty. It didn't pop, dissolve, or fade. It was simply erased, utterly and completely, as if it had never existed at all.
Miko gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Mai's eyes went wide, her breath catching in her throat. The casual, absolute finality of the act was more terrifying than any dramatic display of power could have been.
He looked at both of them, his crimson eyes holding theirs, the lesson now horrifically, undeniably real.
"Sorcerers are born with the innate ability to control Cursed Energy, which they use to perform Jujutsu (Cursed Techniques) these are specific, often unique abilities to exorcise Curses. Like Sakurajima-san's ability to disappear from everyone's perception"
He looked at both of them, his crimson eyes holding theirs.
"You two are not Sorcerers. You are what they would call "The Seeing", or more clinically "Non-sorcerer with sight" in the case of Miko. You can perceive the energy but cannot manipulate it. This makes you vulnerable. A magnet for low-level nuisances" Ge said, with a glance at Miko. "Or a catalyst for a self-directed phenomenon" He finished, looking at Mai
"You are wondering why you could be the source of a Cursed Technique yet remain blind to the energy that fuels it" He stated, not as a question, but as a fact. "The answer lies in the nature of innate techniques. They are not a choice; they are a fundamental part of a sorcerer's biology, like a organ they are born with. Most learn to control it. Yours... controlled you"
He used the chalk again and drew two overlapping circles on the board.
"Think of it as a specialized tool. A heart constantly beats without your conscious command. Your technique was similar, an autonomic function of your soul, operating independently from your will or perception. It was a pump, running non-stop, fueled by your own subconscious anxiety. It consumed the Cursed Energy you passively produced without ever requiring you to see the fuel itself"
He tapped one circle. "Awareness, the Sight, the ability to perceive Cursed Energy." He tapped the other. "Application, the innate technique, the ability to use it."
"The two are not intrinsically linked. One can possess a powerful technique without ever developing the sensory organs to see the world it manipulates. You were a craftsman expertly shaping a material you could not see, guided only by the feel of the tool in your hand and the fear of what would happen if you stopped."
He erased the board, the analogy complete.
"Your technique was a part of you, but it was not yours to command. It was a reflex. A parasite using your energy to sustain its own existence"
He turned halfway to the two of them, his expression as impassive as always, as if he was telling the time
"Your conditions are not curses in the traditional sense. They are passive reactions. But understanding the source is the first step toward developing a defence. Or, if the potential exists, control"
He put the chalk down and faced them fully.
"This is not a club. This is not elective. This is a necessary tutorial for your continued well-being. You will attend when I schedule it. You will not speak of it to others unless I tell you to. Am I understood?"
The question hung in the air, not as a request, but as a simple ultimatum from the most powerful force either of them had ever encountered.
Miko nodded quickly, her eyes wide. Mai held his gaze for a longer moment, the wariness still there, but now underpinned by a dawning, grim acceptance.
After a beat, she gave a single, sharp nod.
"Good," Akira said. "The lesson is concluded for today. The next one will be practical. Sakurajima-san, a moment."
Miko stood for a moment longer, the words Cursed Spirits and Jujutsu Sorcerers echoing in her mind as she walked out of the classroom into a world that had suddenly become infinitely larger and more terrifying.
Mai stayed behind.
Akira reached into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew a simple, finely braided steel bracelet. There was no clasp. Woven into its centre was a single, smooth, grey stone that seemed to absorb the classroom light rather than reflect it.
"The process is not about erasing your ability. It is about helping you regulate it. This will act as a filter" He explained. "It will continuously negate the specific wavelength of Cursed Energy that interacts with your unique technique. With this, you will no longer fade away, as you feared"
Mai stared at the simple band, her wariness warring with a desperate hope. It seemed too mundane for such an impossible promise.
"How... how do you know it will work?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"Because I designed it" He replied, as if that were the only answer that could ever be necessary. "Put it on"
He turned and began erasing the board, wiping away the entire secret world he had just outlined as if it were a simple math lesson.
Hesitantly, Mai took the bracelet. The leather was soft, the stone cool against her skin. As she slipped it over her hand, she felt a faint, almost imperceptible hum, like a tuning fork vibrating at a frequency too low to hear but which she could feel in her bones. There was no dramatic shift, no surge of power.
But something did change.
The constant, low-grade static of anxiety in the back of her mind, the ever-present fear of fading that had been her unwanted companion for so long, simply quieted.
It didn't vanish in a burst, but faded away, like a sound she had grown so used to that she only noticed it when it was gone.
The emotional weight that had fuelled the bunny suit, the desperation, was just... absent.
She stared at her wrist, then up at him, her violet eyes wide with a stunned, fragile disbelief. The relief was so profound it was almost dizzying
"It is always active, feeding on your own Cursed Energy, in small amounts of course, enough to be negligible" He stated, observing her reaction with clinical detachment. "The symptom will not return unless you remove it. You are free to go"
Mai stood there for a long moment, speechless, her fingers tracing the smooth, cool stone on the bracelet.
It wasn't a magical cure.
It was a tool.
A key.
And it worked.
For the first time in a long time, she felt solid, real, and utterly, blessedly normal.
She didn't thank him. Words seemed inadequate.
She just turned and walked out of the classroom, her steps lighter than they had been in a very, very long time.
Without a backward glance, her cheeks now tinged with pink, Sakurajima Mai walked out of the classroom, leaving the quiet, the chalk dust, and the most terrifying (And handsome) man she had ever met behind her.
She stepped into the hallway, the late afternoon sun warm on her skin, and merged with the sounds of a normal school finishing its day.
The door behind her clicked shut. The hallway was empty, save for the lingering spectre of a revealed truth.
--------------------------------
The designated classroom after school was silent, save for the tense, expectant breathing of its two occupants.
Ogata Rizu sat perfectly upright, her hands folded on the desk, her red eyes fixed on the door with the intensity of a scientist awaiting a crucial data stream.
Furuhashi Fumino fidgeted beside her, her expression a mix of anxiety and a desperate, fragile hope.
The door slid open.
Akira entered, carrying no books, no notes. His presence seemed to immediately cool the room's anxious energy, replacing it with a placid, almost sterile calm.
"Ogata-san. Furuhashi-san," he acknowledged, moving to the front of the room. He picked up a piece of chalk. "I'm Yoshioka-sensei, Kirisu-sensei informs me you are both pursuing subjects outside your primary aptitudes. We will begin by establishing a functional framework."
He turned to the board. For Rizu, he wrote a single word
'文学 (Bungaku - Literature)'
"Literature is not an art," he stated, his voice flat and certain. "It is a system of structured data. A narrative is a logical sequence of cause and effect. Character motivation is a set of input-output variables. Emotional payoffs are predictable chemical reactions in the reader's brain, triggered by specific narrative cues."
Rizu's eyes widened, her entire body leaning forward. No one had ever described it like this. They always talked about "feeling" the story.
"Your goal is not to 'feel,'" he continued, as if reading her mind. "Your goal is to reverse-engineer the system. You will deconstruct stories into their component parts: plot functions, character archetypes, symbolic algorithms. You will not ask 'What does this mean?' You will ask 'What is the function of this component within the whole?'"
He then turned to Fumino. On the board, he wrote
'科学 (Kagaku - Science)'
"Science is not a collection of cold facts," he said, his tone shifting slightly. "It is the greatest love story ever written. It is the story of a universe that yearns to be understood, whispering its secrets through mathematics and physics. Every formula is a love letter. Every discovery is a dramatic confession"
Fumino stared, utterly captivated. Her image of dry, impersonal textbooks shattered.
"Your goal is not to memorize the letters," he instructed. "Your goal is to understand the passion that wrote them. Who was Newton when he saw the apple fall? A man struck by a sudden, beautiful idea. What is the theory of relativity? A tragic, romantic poem about time and space, forever intertwined yet forever separate. You will learn the stories behind the laws. The human drama behind the data. And then you will understand what they are, and how to apply them"
He put the chalk down and faced them.
"You are not learning new subjects. You are applying your native language to a foreign text. Ogata-san, you will translate literature into the language of logic. Furuhashi-san, you will translate science into the language of human connection."
He looked between them, his crimson eyes holding no expectation, only certainty.
"These are your new homework. Your task is to begin the translation. Now."
For a long moment, there was silence.
Then, Rizu slowly opened her literature textbook, her gaze now one of analytical scrutiny, not confusion. Fumino tentatively picked up her physics notes, a new, curious light in her eyes as she looked at an equation, searching for the story within it.
Akira did not smile. He simply observed, a scientist noting the first successful activation of a new experiment. The lesson had just begun.
----------------------------
(Night)
(Geto Suguru's POV)
The air on the rooftop of the office building across from Soubu High was cold and still.
Under the cloak of night, the empty school grounds were a silent, geometric shape etched in shadow and pale moonlight.
Geto Suguru looked down at the deserted campus, a faint, disdainful smile touching his lips.
"A breeding ground for negativity" he murmured, a faint, disdainful smile touching his lips. "So much fear, anxiety, and petty jealousy. So many monkeys. The perfect fuel."
He raised a hand, a dark, swirling orb of Cursed Energy coalescing above his palm. Within it, a form took shape, a hulking, monstrous thing with too many limbs and a single, weeping eye that leaked a corrosive miasma.
A Grade 1 Cursed Spirit, born from concentrated despair. Its purpose was simple: to be planted deep within the school's foundation. To fester and grow, and tomorrow, to bloom into a beautiful, devastating tragedy that would finally draw out the mysterious "cleaner."
"Go," Geto commanded, his voice a soft whisper in the dark. "Dig your roots deep. Make this place your own"
The spirit let out a silent, psychic shriek of malice and dropped from the roof, becoming a blur of shadows as it shot across the deserted street towards the school's outer wall. Geto watched, his smile widening.
The spirit reached the school's perimeter.
And ceased to exist.
There was no sound. No flash of light.
It was just... gone. The connection in Geto's mind was not severed; it was erased. A perfect, absolute nullity.
Geto's smile vanished. His hand slowly lowered. 'What...?'
His cold, sharp curiosity overriding his caution, Geto descended from the rooftop. He had to see. He crossed the empty street and slipped through the main gate, his long robes making him a ghost in the moonlit courtyard.
The moment he stepped onto the school grounds, he stopped dead.
It was wrong. The air was... clean.
It was void of Cursed Energy altogether.
He should have been wading through a swamp of residual negativity. This being a school and all.
But there was nothing. It was as if the very concept of Cursed Energy had been surgically removed.
The silence in his mind was absolute. Deeply, profoundly unnerving.
He stood in the deserted courtyard, utterly bewildered by the sheer nothingness, trying to sense even a drop of the energy that was as fundamental to him as oxygen.
"Do you have any business here?"
The voice was calm, clear, and came from directly behind him.
It held no aggression, only a flat, polite inquiry.
But it shouldn't have been possible for anyone to get that close without him sensing them.
Geto turned, his expression carefully neutral, his mind already spinning a cover story about being a visiting historian, a lost architect, anything.
The words died in his throat.
The man standing before him was tall, with hair the colour of polished platinum that seemed to glow in the moonlight.
His features were sharp, impossibly perfect, and utterly composed. But it was his eyes that were most striking, a deep crimson that held no emotion, only a placid, bottomless stillness.
And he had... nothing.
No Cursed Energy.
Not a hint.
Not a spark. It wasn't that he was hiding it or controlling it. It was a complete and total absence, a void more absolute than any Geto had ever encountered. This man wasn't a sorcerer. He wasn't a non-sorcerer. He was... something else.
A memory, sharp and visceral, flashed behind Geto's eyes. A man in a dark jacket, moving with impossible speed. A man who also possessed no Cursed Energy at all. A man who had shattered his reality, his ideal, alongside Satoru all those years ago.
'Fushiguro Toji'
The shock must have shown on his face for a fraction of a second before his practiced composure slammed back into place.
But the echo of that memory, the ghost of that specific, terrifying brand of nullity, left a cold knot in his stomach.
He was not looking at a sorcerer.
He was looking at an anomaly