"Vansh"—a Sanskrit word symbolizing lineage. At least, that's what my parents intended when they gave me the name.
Ironically, it seems I'll be leaving this world without ever creating one of my own.
I'm 18. A college student. Studying Computer Science at one of India's top institutions. The kind of guy who should be worried about deadlines, internships, maybe even dating—not dying.
But here we are.
My family? Let's just say they aren't exactly normal. Imagine a classic mafia setup—underground dealings, political puppets, whispers in backrooms. We're not just connected to the underworld. We practically built part of it.
And then… there's me. The oddball. The quiet one in a sea of chaos. I'm the kid who preferred code over contracts, books over bullets. The studious black sheep—one my family, surprisingly, admired. Maybe they thought I'd bring them legitimacy. Or maybe they just liked having someone normal around.
You're probably wondering why I'm thinking about all this right now.
Well… as the final ember of my consciousness fades, and death creeps closer like a fog at dawn, I figured—why not do a quick recap? For anyone reading the story of my life. Or maybe, just maybe, for those about to join in.
Earlier today, I made the mistake of watching the final episode of Jujutsu Kaisen while crossing a busy intersection. Smart? Absolutely not.
As I replayed Sukuna's fight in my head, my attention glued to the screen, I didn't notice the rumble of the ground... or the blinding lights coming straight at me.
I looked up.
The last thing I saw was a massive truck swallowing my entire vision.
And then—BAM.
Goodbye world.
Thanks for the send-off, Truck-kun.
"No problem," came a voice in the dark, smooth and amused.
I opened my eyes.
Warm sunlight filtered through tall glass windows. Marble floors. Polished wood furniture. This wasn't a hospital.
I was lying in a bed—soft, comfortable, luxurious. Definitely not anything I could afford, even with five internships.
Then I glanced up.
"An unfamiliar ceiling..." I whispered, grinning. "Heh, I always wanted to say that."
I never actually thought isekai was real. But here I was. Alive. Well, sort of. In someone else's body.
From the memories rushing into my mind, I realized this wasn't just anyone. The body belonged to a 16-year-old boy. Tragic backstory included. His parents had died recently in a car accident—his father a successful businessman, his mother a highly respected doctor.
The grief had hit hard. He went catatonic after the funeral. Fell into a coma. No one questioned it—everyone assumed he was mourning.
But there was more.
This kid… could see things. Distorted, grotesque creatures lurking in the corners of reality. Things no one else could see.
He ignored them, tried to pretend they didn't exist—for his own sanity, I suppose. As long as they didn't harm him or his family, he convinced himself they weren't real.
But I knew better.
They were curses.
Low-level ones, yes—but curses all the same.
And that could only mean one thing.
I hadn't just been reborn in another world. I'd been dropped straight into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen.
I got out of bed and walked over to a large mirror on the wall. The reflection staring back at me was… not bad at all.
"Raven-black hair, ruby-red eyes, lean but muscular build... six-pack abs?" I whistled. "Damn. Total eye candy. Lucky me."
I flexed, half-joking, half-serious. Then my expression turned thoughtful.
"Okay. Mirror check done. Time for the main event."
I could feel something inside me—dormant, powerful, familiar yet alien. A pressure curled deep within my soul, like a beast waiting to be unchained.
"My cursed technique," I muttered. "I can feel it… buried in my soul, just waiting to be awakened."
Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply and turned inward. The sensation pulsed closer now, like fingertips brushing just out of reach.
And then I grabbed it.
BOOM.
A mental dam shattered. A flood of raw knowledge, instincts, and structure surged into my brain. My cursed technique—its very essence—unlocked itself in one overwhelming moment. It burned through me, branding itself into every nerve, every bone.
I gasped, gripping the wall for support.
"…What the hell was that…"
But even through the haze, I understood.
I didn't just possess a cursed technique—I had one that let me create cursed spirits, each crafted with a specific domain of power.
Creation.
True, conscious creation.
"Damn…" I whispered, still catching my breath. "With this… if I work hard enough, I might actually reach the level of Gojo Satoru. Or even Ryomen Sukuna."
No, scratch that.
I wouldn't just reach them. I'd surpass them.
Right now, I had enough cursed energy in reserve to create two special-grade cursed spirits. Just two.
But that was already terrifying. If I released that energy without careful control… it wouldn't just level a few buildings.
It could wipe out Japan.
That's what didn't make sense.
This amount of power felt… off. Like it didn't quite belong in the Jujutsu Kaisen world. Even Gojo, with all his broken abilities, had limits. But me?
This felt limitless.
"Something's different about this world," I muttered. "Either I landed in an alternate version... or I'm the variable that'll break it."
Either way, I had to move carefully.
I couldn't afford attention—not from sorcerers, not from curses, and definitely not from any higher-ups in the Jujutsu world.
No time to waste.
"For now," I said, heading for the door, "I need to find an abandoned area. Somewhere isolated. A place to safely test the limits of my power."
Because the last thing I wanted…was to blow up half the city by accident.