(POV Mei Mei)
"Then I made a vow," Kenji continued, his voice dropping lower, almost like a whisper meant for himself rather than for me. "I don't know the proper term for it. I just thought… if there really was something like magic inside me, then let me use it right then and there to defeat that thing."
Kenji's eyes lifted to meet mine again. His gaze was straight, honest, without hesitation, yet within it lingered a faint exhaustion that had not fully faded—the exhaustion of someone who had already pushed far beyond his own limits. "In return, I swore that after using that power for a few dozen seconds, whatever energy existed inside me would be locked away, sealed, or simply stop flowing—for an entire week."
I held my breath without realizing it. A thin pause stretched between us. Kenji's words sounded… too precise. Too clean in their structure.
Too similar to the concept of a Binding Vow—something only those who truly understood the world of Jujutsu should know, not something that ought to surface instinctively from an ordinary child.
"And at that moment," Kenji went on, his voice still low, "something really did appear."
Kenji swallowed. "There was this heat and weight inside my body, like pressure suddenly exploding out from my chest and my arms. It didn't feel painful, but it wasn't comfortable either. It was like something was being forced out."
Kenji frowned slightly, his brows drawing together as if he were straining to find the closest words to describe what he had felt back then. "It felt exactly like the superpowers I always read about in manga—though I didn't really understand what it was myself. I just knew that my body was moving faster, stronger, than it ever had before."
Kenji let out a small laugh. It was short and dry, devoid of humor, more like a breath that slipped out unintentionally—a reflex born from confusion over what he had experienced.
"I only knew one thing. I couldn't hesitate." Kenji's hand lifted slightly, his fingers half-clenched, as though he were recalling his stance at the time, the angle of the strike, the instant when he committed to that single decision.
"So I punched that thing with everything I had." A faint smile returned to Kenji's face, more tired this time, more fragile. "And after that… the Cursed Spirit died. My body immediately felt empty, like something had been taken from me."
Kenji paused for a moment, then added in a flat voice, "Not long after that, you arrived, Mei Mei."
I looked at Kenji closely. His story made sense—too much sense for someone who claimed to know nothing about the world of jujutsu. And that, precisely, was where the problem lay, like a puzzle piece that fit perfectly into place yet should never have existed there.
I couldn't feel any Cursed Energy from Kenji. Not faint. Not hidden. It wasn't flowing at all—as if that flow had never existed in the first place, or had been completely sealed shut by something I myself didn't yet fully understand.
It was as though the flow of Cursed Energy within Kenji's body had been entirely halted. It didn't move, didn't leak, didn't respond—like a river dammed so tightly that not a single drop of water could pass through.
It didn't feel like a simple stoppage, but rather something forcibly suppressed, crushed into stillness by an unseen yet absolute force, as if invisible hands had sealed every pathway with terrifying precision.
This wasn't a normal condition. Even ordinary humans still emitted traces of Cursed Energy instinctively—minute leaks that were nearly impossible to erase completely.
Those tiny leaks usually existed like a thin layer of dew in the air—unseen, yet perceptible to those who were sensitive. But with Kenji… there was nothing at all. No pulse, no ripple, not even the faintest lingering echo.
Only emptiness. And that emptiness felt too clean. Too orderly. As if it were not a natural void, but an empty space deliberately swept spotless, leaving not even the tiniest stain behind. An emptiness that felt… intentional.
A cold sensation crept up the back of my neck as a possibility surfaced in my mind—dangerous, and difficult to ignore. It was not ordinary fear, but an instinct quietly screaming, warning me that what I was facing might be far beyond what it appeared to be on the surface.
If what Kenji said was true, then this child had used a Binding Vow spontaneously. Without understanding the concept. While on the verge of death. And had succeeded in using it to kill a Cursed Spirit.
Not through a learned technique, not through a ritual he understood, but through raw instinct born from pure desperation.
That alone was nearly impossible for someone who did not even know of the jujutsu world. Many adult sorcerers who are still beginners fail to form a stable Binding Vow despite understanding its theory, yet Kenji—a child—had done it at the edge of death, without guidance, without preparation, and without awareness of the price that had to be paid.
What was even more disturbing was the nature of the consequences of the Binding Vow Kenji had used. It did not feel like ordinary sealing, nor like temporary suppression that still allowed some leakage.
There was no faint vibration, no signs of internal pressure that usually appear when energy is forcibly restrained.
Kenji's flow of Cursed Energy seemed to have been forced to stop completely by the vow itself—not destroyed, not erased, but locked by the law of the Binding Vow for a fixed period of time.
Like an iron door that had been shut and sealed, not because it was broken, but because there was an agreement forbidding it from being opened.
If the effect truly lasted for a full week… then that vow was not merely reckless. It was a vow steeped in desperation for survival, one that Kenji had used. An extreme choice made not to win, but simply to keep breathing, even if only for one more day.
But if Kenji was lying… then Kenji was either an exceptional liar, or something far more troublesome than just a pitiful child who had survived the brink of death. In either case, my position remained uncomfortable.
Even though Kenji's story sounded reasonable, neatly arranged, and even aligned with the scars left on his body, my instincts refused to fully trust him.
There was something out of sync, like a discordant note in an almost perfect piece of music—nearly inaudible, yet enough to make the hairs on my skin stand on end.
Either Kenji was lying extraordinarily well—which was unlikely. I had only just met him, but from the way his eyes moved a little too quickly when answering, from how his breathing faltered and was then forcibly steadied as he spoke, I was fairly certain this boy was a poor liar. His body had not yet learned how to conceal the truth as well as his mouth tried to.
It was as if Kenji was trying to hide something, but was not yet skilled enough to erase the small cracks on the surface. Those cracks were thin, almost invisible, yet to me, they spoke the loudest.
That was why I arrived at a single conclusion. This was not a pure lie. Too many parts felt honest to be called a complete falsehood, yet there were also too many gaps to accept it without hesitation.
There were two possibilities, and each carried a very different weight. Both were dangerous, just in different ways.
The first possibility: Kenji was telling the truth, but deliberately obscuring certain parts. Choosing safer words, erasing dangerous details, and leaving only what he wanted to show.
If that was the case, then Kenji was at least trying to be honest—he was simply being cautious, struggling to survive in his own way.
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