(POV Mei Mei)
I saw it happen over and over again. I watched people who were considered strong—both sorcerers and ordinary humans—lower their heads not out of fear, but because of the value written on a sheet of paper, sealed by a contract.
From that moment on, I understood one thing with absolute clarity. Power without money is nothing more than brutality that burns out quickly. But money, when paired with power, becomes control. And control is everything.
That was why, from a very young age, I made one decision with complete certainty: I would work as a Jujutsu Sorcerer.
Not for honor. Not to protect others. I had no interest in heroic tales always told in noble tones with happy endings. Stories like that were too expensive—and far too inefficient.
I worked because it paid. As long as the compensation was appropriate, I had no objections to facing low-grade Cursed Spirits. Grade 3, for example.
Creatures born from leaking human emotions left to rot, dangerous enough to kill ordinary people, yet still well within a range that could be controlled.
For many novice sorcerers, Grade 3 curses were a real threat. They were nervous, careless, and often miscalculated. But to me, they were nothing more than routine work.
Calculable risk, predictable timeframes, and compensation that matched the effort expended. No more, no less.
One day, I received a mission to exterminate a Grade 3 Cursed Spirit that had appeared in a city in West Tokyo—Hachioji.
A densely populated suburban area, filled with aging buildings and narrow alleyways. A place where human emotions accumulated slowly and unnoticed, rotting beneath the surface of everyday life. A favorite breeding ground for low-grade curses that thrived without drawing much attention.
It should have been a simple mission. Even for a child like me. A clear route, a single target, and a neatly calculated time estimate. But my assumption was wrong.
The curse was more cunning than I had anticipated, and at the time, I hadn't been able to set up a Curtain. There was external interference, civilian movement that was too unpredictable, and a window of time far too narrow to fully isolate the area.
I still managed to injure the creature—deep enough that its Cursed Energy began to fluctuate violently, losing stability. But it escaped before I could finish it off completely.
Its Cursed Energy scattered, its trail thin yet distinct. Like blood diluted by rainwater. Difficult to track, but never truly capable of disappearing from trained eyes. I disliked unfinished work. It was bad for my reputation—and even worse for my calculations.
Every failed mission was a potential loss. Every escaped target was a possible reduction in future compensation. And I absolutely hated having my income diminished.
I immediately activated my Innate Technique—Black Bird Manipulation—sending my crows to scour the city. Cursed Energy flowed thin yet steady from my body, spreading like invisible threads that connected me to those black creatures. This wasn't my first time doing it, and every time, the sensation was the same: cold, calm, efficient.
One by one, the black birds took flight, their wings beating as they sliced through the murky afternoon air. Their eyes became extensions of my own senses, expanding my vision far beyond the limits of my small body.
From the dull rooftops of aging buildings, power poles tangled with chaotic cables, to narrow alleyways reeking of garbage, rust, and stagnant human emotions with nowhere to go.
I saw the city from a different perspective. People passed by, unaware that death could be lurking just a few meters away from them.
There were no signs of panic. No screams. Just everyday life continuing as usual, blind to the threat that should have already swallowed them whole.
Yet even after waiting nearly the entire night, there was not a single definitive result. No suspicious surges of Cursed Energy.
There were no fresh tracks thick enough to serve as a reliable reference. One by one, my crows kept returning, each carrying an empty report that made my calculations increasingly unpleasant.
Either that Cursed Spirit was genuinely skilled at hiding… or it had already left Hachioji entirely.
The second possibility made more sense. The traces of Cursed Energy I had found earlier were already scattered, their pattern indicating flight rather than concealment. And that meant the search area had expanded.
Annoying, of course, since it meant additional time, effort, and risk. But still within acceptable tolerance. As long as the target hadn't vanished completely, the calculations could still be adjusted.
Then, after an entire night with no news, in the late afternoon—while I was resting briefly, waiting for my crows to return—the report finally arrived.
I was sitting on slightly elevated ground, letting my legs dangle casually, as if I weren't in the middle of hunting something that could easily kill an ordinary human.
A single crow landed near me, its body trembling faintly. Its feathers stood on end in an unnatural way, and a thin stream of Cursed Energy flowed through our connection.
That vibration traveled straight into my head. The trail of the Cursed Spirit surfaced again—clear, sharp. Not in Hachioji, but in the neighboring city.
I moved immediately. No hesitation. No delay. Every second wasted was potential loss. Time was money, and the target couldn't be allowed to slip away again—especially after I had already injured it.
When I arrived at the location indicated by my crows, I found myself at the edge of a forest bordering a small city called Akiruno. The trees grew densely, the late-afternoon sunlight fragmented by thick leaves, casting long, uneven shadows that were uncomfortable to look at.
A forest that was far too quiet. There were no small animal sounds. No chirping from other birds. The air was damp, clinging to my skin, while the leaves only brushed against one another softly, stirred by a breeze so faint it was almost imperceptible.
The scent of wet soil mixed with residual Cursed Energy that hadn't fully dissipated, leaving a bitter sensation in my senses. And the first thing I saw wasn't the Cursed Spirit.
It was a little boy.
The boy was leaning against a large rock whose surface was covered in moss. His body looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped without strength, and his breathing hadn't fully stabilized yet.
His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if he had just run a long distance—or had barely escaped something he should never have been able to face on his own.
The boy looked to be around four or five years old. Far too young to be alone in a forest like this. Far too young to understand how dangerous this place was, even without the presence of a curse.
What made me frown, however, was the unmistakable trace of Cursed Energy around him. It clung to the air, the ground, and faintly even to the boy's clothes.
It wasn't vague. It wasn't coincidental. The curse had been here—very recently. Very close. Too close to be considered safe. Yet I couldn't sense it now. There was no pressure. No lingering killing intent in the air.
"…"
I fell silent for a moment, weighing the possibilities in my head. Was this child merely here by chance? Or was he the very reason the creature had fled?
After a few seconds, I decided to step out and approach him. Information was always cheaper when obtained directly.
I emerged from between the trees, deliberately making my footsteps audible. Dry leaves crunched beneath my shoes, shattering the forest's fragile silence.
"Hey, I want to ask you something," I said, addressing the boy.
The boy turned his head. His face showed a flicker of surprise—only for an instant. The reaction shifted to calm far too quickly for a child his age. His eyes met mine without trembling, as if… he recognized me?
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