Location: Kyoto Jujutsu Tech, Lower East Wing
The Kyoto mornings were always colder than Tokyo's — not just by climate, but by presence. Every stone, every hallway, every blade of grass around the compound felt like it remembered war. Ancient battles. Lost names.
Akira Rensetsu walked alone down the east corridor of the Kyoto compound, breath fogging in the cold. He wasn't headed toward the training yard this time — not the usual sparring rotation with Miwa or Renji.
Kido Sougen had summoned him for an "evaluation."
That meant something worse.
The eastern wing of Kyoto Jujutsu Tech was mostly abandoned. Off-limits to students, used for containment or high-level curse experiments. Akira followed the twisting hall past paper-covered doors and old wooden beams that whispered under his steps.
The hallway ended in a thick black-lacquered door covered in yellow talismans — binding scripts in old kanji. Some glowed faintly. Others seemed burned in place.
Akira hesitated, hand raised.
The cursed energy leaking from the door wasn't hostile — just… wrong. Like a rift had been sealed, but not fully healed.
He stepped in.
The room was dim. The walls were layered with protective seals. A single wooden chair sat in the center, under a paper lantern that flickered despite no breeze. At first, he thought it was empty.
Then he saw the boy.
Sitting in the chair.
Spiky pink hair. Plain uniform. Slumped posture like someone who didn't quite know why he was here. His hands were tied loosely in talisman rope — not activated, just present. Like a precaution.
He looked… confused.
Not scared. Not angry.
Just lost.
Akira frowned. He didn't recognize the kid. And yet — something about him felt familiar.
The boy looked up. Their eyes met for half a second. Something passed between them — not recognition, but... mirroring.
Akira took a step closer. "Are you—"
Before he could finish, the lantern above flickered again — violently this time.
Then the boy vanished.
Gone.
Not blinked away — no cursed energy spike. Just… ceased.
Akira blinked. The room was empty again.
Only the chair remained.
Behind him, a voice said, "You weren't supposed to see that."
Akira spun around, heart spiking. Kido Sougen stood by the door, his face carved from the same stillness as always. Scarred arms crossed, his cursed energy like soot in the lungs.
"Who was that?" Akira asked sharply.
"No one," Kido said. "Just a projection. A test. To measure your reaction."
"Don't lie to me."
Kido stepped forward slowly, the dim light catching the twisted scar down his throat — a burn that had sealed over like melted plastic. "You think truth is a luxury you've earned?"
"I think I saw someone real."
"You saw a flicker," Kido said. "A glitch in the veil. That room hasn't been used in ten years."
Akira frowned. "Then why were the seals fresh?"
Kido didn't answer.
Instead, he walked past Akira and touched the lantern. It stopped flickering instantly.
"We're not the only ones manipulating time," Kido muttered. "Some echoes don't originate from you."
Akira froze.
"Echoes?"
Kido turned. "You thought your technique was unique? Do you think time belongs to you?"
"I never said that."
"But you believe it," Kido said coldly. "Every time you rewind. Every time you pull a second apart. You think it makes you special."
"I think it makes me cursed."
The silence between them stretched.
Then Kido nodded, almost respectfully. "Good. You're not stupid."
Akira's eyes narrowed. "Who was that boy?"
"If he ever existed, you'll meet him again," Kido said. "And when you do, pray it's not after he eats the finger."
Akira's breath caught. "What?"
Kido waved his hand, and the door behind him opened on its own.
"Training yard. Now."
Akira didn't move. "You're hiding something."
"I'm hiding a thousand things. Go."
But as Akira stepped out into the corridor, the thought lingered.
A boy with pink hair. In a sealed room. Before he was supposed to exist.
The clock inside him ticked faster.
That night, back in his quarters, Akira lit the lamp by his window and pulled open a sealed scroll from the Kyoto archives.
Inside were old case files — ones marked with 'Classified — Non-Central Circulation.' The ones that didn't make it into Tokyo's system. He read until his eyes blurred.
Echoes. Non-linear hauntings. Time-stray anomalies. Sightings of people before their birth. Cursed spirits that aged backwards. Techniques that stitched futures to the present.
There were theories about cursed timelines. Fractured causality. But no names. No faces.
Except one.
A redacted profile titled: ITAD— the rest torn off — marked as: Potential Catastrophe, Tier 0+ Curse Host.
No records after that.
Akira closed the scroll and leaned back against the wall.
Outside the window, Kyoto's lamps flickered. Wind rustled the trees. In the distance, he saw something move.
At the bottom of the stairs leading from the lower temple, under the sakura that never bloomed, stood a boy again.
Same hair.
Same face.
Looking up at him.
Akira stood and pressed his hand to the window.
The boy lifted his hand and waved — slow, uncertain.
Then he was gone again.
Not vanished.
Just… unwritten.