A cloudy morning in Shinjuku. The city's glass towers rose like steel trees, indifferent to the cursed energy lingering in their foundations. Down on the street, Yuta Okkotsu walked beside a quiet figure—uniform zipped, hands in pockets, and a mouth covered by a high-collared coat.
Toge Inumaki.
They hadn't said much since the assignment began. Gojo had simply handed them the mission file and winked.
"Cursed spirit activity in an abandoned office building. Try not to level the place, okay?" he said, and vanished.
Yuta glanced sideways. "Hey, um… Inumaki-senpai, right?"
Inumaki gave a small nod. "Salmon."
"…I've been wondering," Yuta continued, "you don't talk much. Is that part of your technique?"
Inumaki paused. His eyes studied Yuta carefully before he answered, calmly.
"Cursed speech," he said.
Yuta blinked. "Cursed speech?"
Inumaki held up a hand, fingers tracing the edge of his throat. "My words carry power. Commands, if I want. So I don't speak casually. Too risky."
Yuta looked stunned. "That's… amazing. But also scary."
"Tuna mayo," Inumaki said with a slight smile.
Yuta chuckled nervously. "Wait—was that a compliment?"
But before Inumaki could respond—
A ripple of cursed energy struck the ground.
The building ahead cracked with a screech, and out from the second-floor window burst a massive cursed spirit—seven feet tall, bloated, its mouth stretched into a jagged grin across a headless body.
Yuta jumped back. "It's huge!"
Inumaki stepped forward, unzipping his collar slightly. His voice dropped low—controlled, deliberate.
"Get crushed."
The cursed spirit halted—its body trembled—then slammed violently into the concrete. Bones snapped. Concrete fractured.
Yuta was stunned. "Incredible…"
But the curse didn't die.
With a roar, it surged back up, body reknitting, rage doubling.
Inumaki winced. He looked tired—voice strained.
"Don't move."
The spirit froze, snarling through locked limbs.
Yuta turned. "Inumaki-senpai?! Are you okay?"
Inumaki collapsed to one knee, clutching his throat. His breath was raspy now. He fumbled inside his jacket and pulled out a small silver capsule—popping it in his mouth.
"Throat medicine?" Yuta asked.
Inumaki nodded, eyes watering. "Kelp…"
But it wasn't over.
The curse split—its body unraveling into five identical forms, each dripping with fresh malice.
Yuta's eyes widened. "It multiplied?!"
He didn't wait.
He slipped on his ring.
"…Rika."
A shadow loomed behind him.
"Yuta… are you in pain?"
"Protect him," he said, pointing to Inumaki. "I'll handle this. You destroy them."
Rika roared—a corrupted symphony of rage and devotion.
Her form expanded, clawed and monstrous, and in a blink, she shattered through the cursed forms. They screamed, twisted, broke under her assault.
In less than a minute, the building was silent.
The curse was gone.
Yuta turned to help Inumaki up, who now stood, drinking from a thermos.
"You okay?"
Inumaki gave a thumbs-up. "Bonito flakes."
"…Glad to hear it," Yuta said, smiling.
But far above them, across a broken steel beam on the adjacent rooftop, a figure lurked in the shadows.
His eyes glinted with delight as he licked his lips and chuckled softly.
"Interesting," he murmured. "So that's the boy with the queen of curses…"
The wind whispered through the wreckage as the man's silhouette dissolved into the night.
Who was he?