That question lingered in the air—simple, yet heavy. I knew the theory. I understood the concept. But this body, despite its potential, had never truly done it before.
I sat down cross-legged and slowly drew in a breath.
The forest air filled my lungs, cold and clean. I calmed my heartbeat, forcing this small body to remain still. No rushing. Even a minor mistake could prove fatal.
"Cursed Energy comes from negative emotions—fear, anger, envy, hatred. Every human has it. The difference is that Jujutsu Sorcerers do not allow it to leak."
That sentence repeated in my mind, like a lesson note I had to grasp perfectly. Not erasing emotions, but controlling them. Storing them. Using them.
I recalled what I already knew. The fact that I could see Cursed Spirits meant the amount of Cursed Energy within me was far from small. The problem wasn't quantity—it was control.
That energy existed inside me, flowing without form, wild and disordered. All this time, it had been leaking out aimlessly. And now, I had to call it forth consciously.
"If that's the case, I don't need to create negative emotions… I just need to stop suppressing them."
That realization felt like unlocking a seal. Not forcing myself to hate or feel anger, but acknowledging that those feelings had always been there—buried, yet never gone.
I closed my eyes. I didn't imagine wounds or fabricated threats. Instead, I let my mind sink into the things I had been avoiding all this time. The fear of dying without meaning. Anger toward circumstances I never chose. Hatred that had never truly faded.
Those emotions surfaced one by one—heavy and cold—pressing against my chest from the inside. And behind that pressure, something moved—slowly, but undeniably. Energy that had once been wild began to gather, waiting to be directed.
Suddenly, my breathing felt heavy.
Each breath seemed unable to fully reach my lungs, stopping halfway and leaving behind an unpleasant, suspended sensation. My chest rose and fell faster than it should, yet this body felt sluggish, as if even breathing normally required effort.
Pressure began to build in my chest, as though something were settling deep inside my body. Not pain, but a dense, cold discomfort. Like thick mud slowly moving through my bloodstream.
The sensation was strange—foreign, yet unmistakable. Not pressure from the outside, but from within, pressing against flesh and bone with a silent presence. The cold didn't pierce; it simply spread, making every heartbeat feel heavier than usual.
I didn't force it to move. I merely acknowledged it.
I restrained myself from overreacting. I didn't pull it in, nor did I reject it. I simply observed, allowing my body and consciousness to accept that something truly existed there. Like standing in a dark room and letting my eyes gradually adjust.
…
…
…
Several hours passed before I could feel it clearly—not as a spark, but as a small, chaotic current in my abdomen and chest. Cursed Energy. Unstable. Disobedient. Yet real.
The current swirled without pattern, sometimes strengthening, sometimes thinning, like murky water trapped within a narrow container. It didn't follow my will, yet it wasn't completely wild either. Its presence was undeniable, impossible to ignore or deny any longer.
Without realizing it, I smiled—then let out a short laugh.
There was a sense of relief that was hard to put into words, mixed with a faint lightness that almost resembled a small victory. Not because of its power, but because of the certainty that none of this was a hallucination.
"Hahaha… so this is how it feels."
My laughter sounded soft among the trees, quickly swallowed by the silent forest. There was no excessive euphoria—just a simple acknowledgment of a new reality now clinging to this body.
I immediately took out my book and pen, writing everything down before the sensation faded.
My hand trembled slightly, whether from the cold or exhaustion, but I forced myself to write anyway. Every detail felt important—the sensations, the timing, the body's reactions. A single mistake in understanding this early stage could become fatal later on.
"Cursed Energy is not created. It already exists; it only needs to stop leaking. Cursed Energy feels heavy, cold, and uncomfortable—not a friendly kind of power."
I reread the note after writing it, making sure there were no wrong words. This was not an energy meant to be touched lightly. From the very beginning, it rejected the concept of comfort, as if its very existence was a form of pressure imposed upon the human body.
I drew a deep breath and began to concentrate. I tried to follow its flow rather than command it. Like herding a wild animal that panics easily—one wrong move, and everything would fall apart. My focus stayed on the sensations within, not on the result I wanted to achieve.
...
...
...
Time passed without me realizing it. The sunlight that had once filtered through the gaps between the trees now slanted westward, signaling that afternoon had arrived. Cold sweat dampened my temples, my breathing growing heavy and uneven, as if my lungs themselves were growing tired from something unseen.
The smaller muscles in my body began to tremble faintly. This exhaustion did not come from movement or physical exertion, but from a mental tension that had persisted since midday. It felt like standing too long on the edge of consciousness—the world around me seemed to drift away, leaving only myself and that faint, cold sensation inside this body.
The Cursed Energy was still there—not gathered, not flowing, merely held faintly in my abdomen and chest. Its presence was fragile, almost like a shadow. Every time my mind focused too hard on "maintaining" it, the sensation immediately scattered, leaked away, and vanished like dew touched by sunlight.
Every attempt to last longer ended the same way. The moment my awareness tightened and my intent became too clear, the Cursed Energy seemed to reject me, dispersing without a trace. I began to understand that even excessive desire could become a form of pressure.
So I finally stopped forcing it.
At that moment, I realized my mistake—I was still too eager to succeed, even though the foundation itself had yet to form. So I stepped back, lowered my expectations, and chose a far simpler approach.
I did not try to hold it with willpower.
I simply let it exist.
I did not move it, did not shape it, did not restrain it by force. I only kept my consciousness steady, just enough so that the cold sensation would not immediately evaporate. The decision felt right, even though it was immediately accompanied by a more honest discomfort.
It felt like holding my breath for too long, or allowing dark emotions to settle without releasing them. My chest felt full, cold, and pressed from within. It wasn't painful, but it was clearly unnatural. Yet for the first time, the Cursed Energy did not disappear right away.
The pressure slowly accumulated, following the rhythm of my heartbeat. Each beat felt heavier than usual. This body was clearly resisting, yet it had not collapsed. For a brief moment, that fragile balance was achieved—not stable, but enduring.
One second.
I bit my lip, keeping my thoughts calm so they wouldn't waver under the discomfort.
Two seconds.
My vision began to blur faintly, cold sweat flowing more heavily down my back, my muscles tensing without me realizing it.
Three seconds.
At the third second, the limit was reached. The cold sensation collapsed on its own, the Cursed Energy leaking away and vanishing, leaving behind a piercing exhaustion that sank into my bones. I gasped for breath, my body trembling slightly, as if I had just held onto something that this body was never meant to hold for too long.
The strength in my legs vanished for a moment, and the world tilted before finally steadying itself again. The cold sensation had completely dissipated, replaced by a heavy fatigue clinging to every joint.
Yet I let out a soft laugh before dropping onto the grass.
The laugh was short and weak, but genuine. There was no disappointment in it—only certainty.
"Three seconds..."
The words came out as a marker, not a complaint. Just three seconds, but it was real. Not an illusion, not self-suggestion, but a clear, undeniable limit.
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