60, 59, 58, 57...
The morning breeze, drunk on mountain air, felt soft and mellow against the skin. It carried the scent of the golden wheat fields that stretched for miles below the school. On the stone steps carpeted with ginkgo leaves, Mechamaru and the others stood in a daze, watching Kira Nanami as he stood with eyes half-lidded.
The croaking of frogs rose and fell in the distance; white clouds drifted lazily across the horizon. The students remained frozen, staring at each other in an increasingly awkward silence.
"Um, Kira-senpai..." Miwa Kasumi ventured, her voice a timid squeak. "Is the minute up yet?"
"Twenty-nine seconds remaining."
Kira replied without lifting his gaze from his watch.
"I see... Does this... have a specific purpose?"
"I adhere strictly to my schedule to complete each day. Even if lunch is delayed for some reason, the timing must be respected." Kira looked up, meeting Miwa's beautiful azure eyes with startling intensity. "Just to arrive here on time, I nearly committed a murder."
Miwa's eyes darted away, a flustered giggle escaping her. "Kira-kun, you're so humorous."
So stable, so reliable, so committed to his word... he has the maturity of a grown man but the wit of a youth. Truly, the perfect idol! Her admiration for him spiked yet again.
...Three, two, one.
Kira lowered his arm, adjusted his lapels one last time, and nodded to the group. "Let us proceed."
They rounded a massive torii gate, slid back heavy wooden doors, and crossed a sun-drenched courtyard. They passed through a side gate and finally reached the genkan. Following tradition, Kira swapped his shoes for wooden clogs with impeccable, faultless grace.
Inside the shrine, a long corridor stretched out toward the heart of the building. At the very end, in a small room where the sunlight was at its peak, sat Yoshinobu Gakuganji—the Principal of Kyoto Jujutsu High and leader of the Conservative faction.
As they reached the final door, Miwa reached out eagerly to open it.
"Allow me." Kira caught her wrist gently. Ignoring her bewildered look, he offered a polite smile and slid the door open, gesturing for her to enter first.
So gentlemanly... so kind... Miwa felt like she was melting.
In the split second before he let go, a faint red glow dissipated from Kira's fingertips. His smile grew even calmer.
Killer Queen had already touched this door.
It wasn't that he was being overly cautious or expected Gakuganji to signal an ambush of eight hundred hidden swordsmen. It was simply a layer of insurance. In another man's territory, only a bomb provided true security.
He closed the door and stepped into the room.
The space was small and unobstructed—no places to hide, only one exit. Anyone entering or leaving would have to pull that specific handle. By controlling that door, Kira held the life and death of everyone in the room in his hand. He loved the feeling of absolute control; it brought him peace and a profound sense of happiness.
"Kira-kun. Good day."
The old man nodded. His beard and eyebrows were long and white, his eyes sharp and full of vitality.
"Lord Gakuganji. It is an honor."
Kira performed a greeting that was etiquette-perfect, his demeanor humble and soft. With the elder's permission, he knelt on the tatami. His refined behavior was designed to inspire trust—the image of a solid, dependable adult who respected his elders.
"Do you know of Sukuna?"
"The King of Curses. A monster among monsters. Indestructible in death, eternal in spirit, his soul divided among his severed fingers."
The old man nodded in approval. He pulled an ancient box from a drawer. As the sealing charms were peeled away and the layers of protection unraveled, a tidal wave of sheer malice flooded the room. Inside lay five fingers—lurid purple, mottled with cadaverous spots, looking like hideous, bloated worms.
Gakuganji quickly snapped the lid shut, and the oppressive aura vanished. He looked into Kira's eyes. "What are your thoughts?"
"The fingers are long, the knuckles prominent, the palm lines intricate. In a word: exquisite."
"However, they are flawed. They have been dead too long. The color is dull, and the nails lack luster—a significant deduction in quality. If compared to a human female, it would be akin to a beautiful corpse."
"Personally, I loathe decay. I prefer to replace my... collection... regularly. But the most revolting aspect is the fact that these fingers belong to a man." As a self-appointed connoisseur of hands, Kira spoke with an unsettling, fluent passion.
"Kira-kun," Gakuganji interrupted, his voice heavy. "I was asking about the danger they pose."
"I can only say they live up to their reputation as Special Grade Cursed Objects." Kira's fingers tapped rhythmically against the table.
The Principal nodded, carefully returning the box to its compartment. "In Kyoto, we have recently detected the resonance of a sixth finger. There are shadows of Curse Users behind it."
The tapping stopped. Kira looked up, his gaze locking onto the old man.
"That is why we've requested your transfer. We are short-staffed, and we elders must remain at the school. We need a professional. And we believe in your... capabilities."
The sun dipped low, its crimson crown resting on the undulating mountains. Fire-streaked clouds piled into a second mountain range in the sky—a tomb for the dying light.
At twilight, the hour of demons begins.
Amidst the farewells of the students, Kira declined Todo's invitation to stay and watch animal videos. He checked the sky and set a firm goal: back to his apartment by 8:00 PM.
It was currently 7:00 PM.
The walk from the mountainside to the base took five minutes. Kira bypassed the school's private car and waited for a public bus, which took another ten. The ride from the suburbs to the city center, followed by a taxi transfer, took a total of thirty minutes.
Finally, he arrived at the base of his apartment building. Twilight had fully surrendered to the dark. Dim streetlights cast long shadows down the alleyway. The people he passed were faceless silhouettes—listening to music, staring at phones, drifting past him in silence.
Kira stopped at a vending machine to buy a can of coffee. The machine was old and rusted; it groaned and rattled but refused to dispense.
Kira gave it a sharp thud. A low, mechanical grinding echoed from within, like an old ox chewing cud. It churned for a long time before a dark can finally tumbled into the bin.
He popped the tab and took a sip. It tasted terrible.
It was summer, and even this relic had its cooling system running to chill the drinks. But Kira happened to despise cold beverages.
Just as he prepared to toss the can into the bin, he noticed a sliver of a shadow protruding from the machine's dispensing slot. He manifested his Shikigami to touch it; the sensation that returned was sticky and damp.
His brow furrowed. He knew exactly what had happened. To avoid drawing attention, he pulled every banknote from his wallet and fed them into the machine.
The "ox" began to groan again. Bottle after bottle tumbled out.
Once the drinks were exhausted, the machine gave a low, wet whimper and began to vomit chunks of solid matter. Thick, viscous fluid dripped onto the pavement, drop by agonizing drop.
Severed human remains.
The cause of the jam was found.
Kira continued to press the buttons. Five for "Vegetable Juice"—a severed toe dropped. One for "Lemonade"—half of a rotting heart fell. Three for "Cola"—two round eyeballs rolled into the tray.
Someone had been murdered, butchered, and hidden inside the vending machine. The machine was practically abandoned; its lock was easily bypassed. The killer had meticulously stuffed the pieces into the beverage slots, layering the victim behind the actual drinks. Only when a customer bought all the drinks in a row would the flesh be revealed.
Because the machine was refrigerated, the stench of decay had been delayed, giving the killer a significant head start.
There was no trace of Cursed Energy. It was a mundane murder.
Tch.
Kira reached into the pile of flesh, searching. He didn't find a complete arm. His disappointment manifested as a frustrated scowl.
He checked his watch. 7:55 PM. According to his plan, he should be inside his home.
Since it was now "after hours," Kira placed his hand on the pile of meat and activated his technique. A mist of blood sprayed into the air and vanished instantly. The remains were vaporized, leaving not a single cell behind.
He wasn't "kind" enough to hunt for the killer; the matter didn't involve him.
But leaving it would make him a suspect, and reporting it would lead to hours of questioning—interrupting his 8:00 PM return. Therefore, destroying the evidence was the most efficient choice.
Kira Nanami never did anything unnecessary. He never invited trouble or enemies that would disturb his sleep. That was the secret to his happy life.
He pulled a handkerchief from his coat, wiped his hands, folded it into a perfect square, and dropped it into the trash. He finished the coffee in one gulp.
Walking out of the narrow alley, he glanced at the city lights—a sea of glittering neon and bustling traffic—and turned back toward his apartment.