The air in the Kamo Clan's main estate didn't just smell like old wood and incense; it smelled like stagnant water and dying traditions. It was the kind of atmosphere that clung to your lungs, demanding you bow your head until your spine snapped.
I didn't bow.
"Kamo Arata," a voice droned, heavy with a self-importance that usually required a permit.
I looked up. My father, the illustrious head of the Kamo Clan, sat on the raised tatami mat, his face a mask of practiced indifference. To his right sat his 'new' wife, Shizuka—a woman whose smile had more teeth than a shark and twice the coldness. To his left was Noratoshi, my dear half-brother. Noratoshi looked like he wanted to be anywhere else—likely practicing his Piercing Blood or reading a book on how to be the perfect, boring heir.
"By the decree of the elders and the consensus of the primary household," my father continued, his voice echoing in the hall, "you are hereby stripped of the Kamo name and removed from the registry. Your presence here no longer serves the advancement of the clan."
I felt a phantom itch in my palm. My Cursed Energy was there—a flickering, pathetic little spark, like a damp match in a hurricane. I had the fuel, but I didn't have the engine. No Cursed Technique. In the Kamo family, that was a death sentence to your social life.
"No 'I'm sorry, son'? No 'We'll miss your sparkling personality'?" I asked, tilting my head. My voice sounded too loud in the sacred silence. "Just 'get out and don't let the torii gate hit you on the way out'?"
Shizuka let out a sharp, delicate titter. "Arata-kun, let's not make this more dramatic than it needs to be. You've always been a... difficult child. Without a technique, you're just a liability. My daughter, however..." she paused, her eyes gleaming with a predatory light, "...she already shows signs of a most robust Blood Manipulation. The clan must focus its resources where they bear fruit."
Ah, there it was. The real reason. My half-sister, the golden child. Shizuka didn't want a "spare" lying around who might accidentally remind people that her husband had a previous life.
I looked at Noratoshi. He was the "legitimate" heir everyone actually cared about, but even he looked slightly nauseated by Shizuka's blatant power play. He didn't say a word, though. That was Noratoshi's specialty: being a very talented, very quiet tool.
"Right, fruit. I'm a lemon, she's a pomegranate. I get it," I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. I wasn't crying. Honestly? I was vibrates with a weird, buzzing energy. It wasn't Cursed Energy—it was relief. "So, what's the severance package? I assume I'm not just walking out in my socks."
My father gestured to a man standing in the shadows—a tall, lanky fellow with a face as expressive as a brick wall. This was Tanaka.
"You will be provided for until you reach the age of majority," my father said, as if he were reading a grocery list. "Tanaka will act as your legal guardian and servant. He will handle the paperwork you are too young to sign. You have a residence in Tokyo, and a fund has been established for your expenses."
Tanaka stepped forward and handed me a sleek, black debit card.
"Four hundred thousand U.S. dollars has been converted and deposited, Arata-sama," Tanaka said. His voice was a low, soothing baritone. "Approximately sixty million Yen. It should suffice for a comfortable upbringing, provided you don't develop a taste for underground cursed tool auctions."
I whistled, sliding the card between my fingers. "Sixty million? Damn. You guys really did want me gone. I feel like a high-end divorcee."
"Leave," my father said, his patience finally fraying. "And Arata? Do not use the Kamo name in Tokyo. You are a civilian now. Live like one."
"Don't worry, old man," I said, turning my back on the most powerful bloodline in Japan. "I'll try my best to forget you exist. It shouldn't be hard."
The Road to Freedom
The drive to Tokyo was long, silent, and surprisingly comfortable. Tanaka drove a black SUV that smelled of leather and expensive air freshener. I watched the mountains of Kyoto shrink in the rearview mirror, replaced by the neon-lit sprawl of the capital.
"So, Tanaka," I said, kicking my feet up on the dashboard. "Are you a spy? An assassin? Or did you just lose a bet with the elders?"
"I am a licensed sorcerer of the fourth grade, Arata-sama," Tanaka replied, not taking his eyes off the road. "But my primary function is your protection and administration. I was told you were... energetic."
"I'm a delight," I corrected him. "I'm a 12-year-old with sixty million yen and no parents. I'm basically Batman, but without the trauma and the leather suit. Okay, maybe a little trauma. But definitely more cash."
"We arrive at the Minato Ward property in ten minutes," he said, ignoring my banter. "It is a modern penthouse. I have already stocked the fridge. Is there anything specific you require?"
"A sense of purpose? A giant robot? Maybe some ramen," I muttered, leaning my head against the glass.
The city was alive. Even from the car, I could see the 'smog' of the supernatural—the faint, oily residue of curses clinging to the edges of buildings and the shadows of alleyways. Being a sorcerer-adjacent kid was like seeing the world in a gross, hidden ultraviolet. You saw the rot beneath the glitter.
The house was... ridiculous. It was a top-floor apartment overlooking the Tokyo Tower. It was cold, sleek, and smelled like 'new money.'
"Your room is at the end of the hall," Tanaka said, setting my single suitcase down. "I will be staying in the guest quarters near the entrance. If you need anything, I am a text away. Otherwise, I suggest you sleep. Tomorrow, we begin the process of your 'civilian' enrollment."
"Sure, sure. High school. Geometry. The horrors never end," I waved him off and bolted for my room.
I flopped onto the bed. It was a king-sized cloud. For the first time in twelve years, I didn't hear the sound of training whistles, the chanting of elders, or the whispers of servants wondering why the 'master's son' was such a failure.
"Free," I whispered to the ceiling. "Finally."
I closed my eyes, letting the hum of the city lull me toward sleep. My mind drifted, thinking about the future. I had the money. I had a house. I could just... disappear.
Then, a sound echoed in my skull. It wasn't a sound, actually—it was a ping.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING...]
I sat bolt upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. "What the hell was that?"
[HOST DETECTED: KAMO ARATA]
[CONDITION MET: SEVERANCE FROM FATE]
[SYSTEM ACTIVATED: THE ARCHITECT]
A translucent blue screen shimmered in the air before me. It looked like a video game HUD, hovering over my expensive duvet.
"I'm finally having a psychotic break," I told the empty room. "The Kamo genes finally snapped. Great. Just great."
[NOTICE: CURSED TECHNIQUE 'DEFILED MIND' ACTIVATED.]
Suddenly, the frantic beating of my heart slowed. The panic didn't just fade—it was pruned. My thoughts, which had been a jumbled mess of anxiety and excitement, aligned into sharp, cold rows. It was like someone had taken a messy desk and swept everything into perfectly labeled drawers.
I looked at the screen again. My reflection in the window showed a 12-year-old boy, but my eyes... they looked different. Flatter. Sharper.
"Defiled Mind," I read aloud. "Mental capacity: Unlimited. Emotional dampening: Active. You're making me a sociopath, aren't you?"
[ANSWER: 'DEFILED MIND' REMOVES THE LOGISTICAL LIMITS OF THE HUMAN BRAIN REGARDING JUJUTSU. IT ALLOWS FOR THE STORAGE OF INFINITE TECHNIQUES WITHOUT BRAIN STRAIN. AS A SIDE EFFECT, IT REMOVES SOME EMOTIONAL INTERFERENCE TO ENSURE PEAK EFFICIENCY.]
"Efficient," I whispered. I felt... calm. Strangely, I didn't mind the lack of fear. It was like a heavy coat had been taken off my shoulders. "And the other one?"
[CURSED TECHNIQUE: 'CURSED TECHNIQUE CREATION' (CTC) AVAILABLE.]
[DESCRIPTION: THE POWER TO CONSTRUCT NEW TECHNIQUES FROM RAW CURSED ENERGY. LIMITATIONS: MUST ADHERE TO THE FUNDAMENTAL LAWS OF THE WORLD. CANNOT CREATE DIRECT MULTIPLES OF EXISTING HIGH-TIER TECHNIQUES (E.G., NO SECOND 'LIMITLESS'), BUT WEAKER OR ALTERED VARIANTS ARE POSSIBLE.]
[CURRENT SLOTS: 2/2]
[NOTE: COMPLETING QUESTS WILL INCREASE SLOT CAPACITY.]
I stared at the '2/2'. I could make my own techniques? The Kamo clan spent centuries obsessing over Blood Manipulation, breeding like show-dogs just to keep one single ability alive. And here I was, with a blank canvas.
"Show me the level system," I commanded. My voice was steady now. Cold.
[USER STATUS]
Name: Arata (Kamo)
Level: 1 (0/100 EXP)
Cursed Energy: Low (Grade 4 Equivalent)
Techniques: Cursed Technique Creation, Defiled Mind.
Inventory: 60,000,000 JPY, 1x Luxury Penthouse.
[QUESTS AVAILABLE]
Tutorial: The First Spark. * Task: Create your first Cursed Technique using CTC.
Reward: +50 EXP, Small Cursed Energy Boost.
I leaned back against the headboard, a slow, sharp smirk spreading across my face.
"The world's principles and laws, huh?" I mused. My mind was already racing, calculating. If I had low Cursed Energy, I couldn't afford a technique that was a gas-guzzler. I needed something efficient. Something that used the environment, or maybe something that manipulated the way energy itself moved.
I looked at my hands. For the first time, that tiny spark of Cursed Energy inside me felt like something more than a disappointment. It felt like a seed.
"Noratoshi, Shizuka, Father..." I whispered, the names tasting like ash. "You wanted me to be a civilian? You wanted me to be nothing?"
I closed my eyes, and for the first time in my life, I began to build.
"I think I'm going to be a very big problem."
Stats & Conversion Note for readers:
400,000 USD is approximately 60,100,000