Chapter one: Sukima-Onna.

[October 6th, Year 2016]

A hush fell over the crowded train station as the clock neared midnight. Among the throng of tired faces and weary bodies waiting for the last train, a lone figure stood out, not for his appearance, but for his intent focus. He extended his hand, palm up, and something unseen began to coalesce above it.

The air grew thick with the day's frustrations, fears, and anger, all funneling into a point of light that hovered over his skin. It was like watching a storm cloud form on a clear day, out of place and yet mesmerizing. The light pulsed, stronger with each beat, as if it were alive.

Onlookers passed by, oblivious to the spectacle, their thoughts preoccupied with the desire to get home and end the day. The figure's eyes narrowed, and the pulsing light began to morph, edges sprouting and twisting, elongating into limbs, a body, a head.

In mere moments, the light dimmed, and there, floating above his hand, was a creature with an unsettlingly thin frame draped in tattered clothes. Its long, disheveled hair partially obscured its face, yet two intense eyes pierced through, locking onto anything that moved.

Its fingers, too long for its body, hung limply by its sides until they twitched with a sudden jerkiness, as if eager to startle or grasp. The spirit's face was hauntingly featureless, a blank slate that made the eyes even more pronounced — eyes that seemed to wait for someone to notice, to engage, to lock gazes with it.

The figure whistled low, an impressed sound that cut through the stale air of the train station. "Well, aren't you a spooky one?" he said, almost affectionately, to the spirit. His voice carried a casual, easy tone, the kind that friends might use to tease each other.

He stepped back to admire his handiwork. The chaos of negative emotion now had a form, one that seemed to draw the eye and unsettle the heart. As the last echoes of his whistle died down, he ran a hand through his unkempt blond hair, pushing it back from where it fell into his eyes.

Those eyes, a vibrant and striking orange, scanned his surroundings with a mischievous glint. They rested briefly on the departing backs of the crowd, a smirk playing on his lips. His stance was relaxed, almost careless, with the confident air of someone who knew their own strength and reveled in it.

His clothes were casual, a dark hoodie hanging loosely from his shoulders, sleeves pushed up to reveal lean arms. The posture he held was one of nonchalant observation, a stark contrast to the tense, hurried postures of the commuters around him.

Jun cocked his head to the side, eyeing the spirit with a semblance of pride. "Look at you, all sinister and shrouded," he mused aloud, a playful edge to his voice. "I suppose I'm to blame for your eerie charm. Name's Jun, by the way — Furukawa Jun. Remember that; it's always good to know who gave you a shot at existence."

He leaned against a nearby pillar, his gaze following the spirit as it weaved through the crowd. "You're quite the masterpiece, you know? One of my finer creations, to be sure. Then again, with the train accident last month, this place is thick with leftover fear and regret. It's no wonder you turned out so powerful."

The spirit drifted, its gaze falling upon the less traversed nooks of the station. It paused, its mouth agape as if tasting the air, and a hoarse, tentative voice emerged. "W-What... a-am I?" it rasped, the words fragmented and curious.

Jun tilted his head, watching the spirit's attempt at speech with a mix of fascination and caution. "You're my latest work," he replied, keeping his tone light. "A cursed spirit born from the deepest fears and darkest regrets of this place."

"H-H-How?" the cursed spirit asked, its voice gaining a touch more strength.

Jun leaned further back against the pillar, his elbow flexing as his hand supported his chin. "Cursed Spirit Creation." he began, his eyes twinkling with a hint of pride. "In essence, I gather the negative emotions swirling around—a bit of fear here, a dash of regret there—and give them form, like I did with you."

The cursed spirit seemed to take a second to digest this new information, but after a moment, it formed another sentence, the words more structured but still halting. ''R-Reason... W-Why... Why was I c-created?'' 

The blonde's expression shifted to one of mock contemplation. "Why indeed?" he mused, more to himself than to the spirit. His gaze drifted off to the bustling crowd, lost in thought. "Was it boredom? A whim? Perhaps a test of my own limits?" He shrugged nonchalantly, a playful smirk crossing his lips.

He fell silent for a moment, watching the spirit as it continued to explore, its movements unsure yet curious. "The 'why' doesn't always need an answer," Jun finally added, his voice softer, almost reflective. "Sometimes, it's just about seeing what's possible, pushing the boundaries."

With that thought, Jun pushed off from the pillar, his movements fluid and relaxed. His orange eyes briefly met the spirit's, a glimmer of something undefinable passing between creator and creation. "Let's go for a stroll, shall we?"

As he walked out of the underground station, Jun glanced over at his newest creation, floating quietly beside him. "You know, you're based on an old legend," he said casually, as if discussing the weather. "The Girl From The Gap. Ever heard of her? She hides in small spaces, waiting to catch the eye of the unsuspecting.''

Jun's stride was leisurely as he navigated through the thinning crowd, his creation floating beside him. "You see, creating cursed spirits like you is a bit of a balancing act," he explained, a note of intrigue in his voice. "While I can let you develop naturally, drawing from the raw emotions around, I also have the ability to... nudge things along. Shape you into something specific, like the legend you're modeled after."

He glanced sideways at the spirit, watching it absorb his words. "But it's tricky, you know? There's a finesse to it, and it often leaves me quite tired."

The spirit tilted its head, its form shimmering slightly, as if reflecting on its own existence. "... Legends?" it echoed, its voice a haunting melody of curiosity and confusion.

"Yeah, legends," Jun chuckled, his orange orbs lighting up with enthusiasm. "Folklore, myths, urban legends... I consider them perfect templates for creating cursed spirits. This time, I went for 'The Girl From The Gap.' A little mystery, a ton of negative emotions, and voilà, you came into being."

He resumed walking, his gaze forward but his mind seemingly adrift in thought. "As for what you'll be doing," Jun started, his tone shifting to something more serious, "there are two kinds of cursed spirits in this world. The ones I create, like you, and the ones that come into existence on their own."

He paused, letting the spirit soak in his words. "The ones I make, they tend to be... well, let's call it 'civil'. They don't usually go around causing trouble for humans. It's a sort of unspoken rule I have.''

The spirit hovered, its orbs flickering as it processed this new directive. "And the others?" it asked, its voice clearer now, a sign of its rapidly developing consciousness, as if each second that passed made it more sentient.

"The others," Jun continued, "are wilder, untamed. They're born from negative emotions too, but without a guiding hand. They're unpredictable, often dangerous. And that's where you come in."

He stopped and faced the spirit, his expression serious yet tinged with excitement. "Your job, my spooky friend, is to hunt those wild cursed spirits down. It's a bit of a cleanup operation, keeping the weeds from overruning the garden, so to speak. There is one more task I'll give to you, but I'll explain that one later.''

The spirit seemed to consider this, its form shifting slightly, as if adjusting to the weight of its new purpose. "Hunt... clean up... I understand," it murmured, its voice steadier now, imbued with a newfound purpose.

Jun grinned, satisfied with the spirit's acceptance. "That's the spirit—pun intended," he quipped. He resumed walking, his steps light, almost springy. "Now, how about we go find some trouble to take care of? There's never a shortage of wild cursed spirits causing a ruckus around here."

[ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ]

[November 6th, Year 2016]

The room was bare except for the lanterns casting a dim light through the paper screens, creating a warm glow that just about managed to illuminate the room. The atmosphere was, but the man standing in the middle wore a casual air that bordered on defiance.

 No chairs, no tables, just empty space waiting to be filled with the higher-up's presence. The man in the center of it all wore a dark blue zip-up jacket with a high collar, slim-fit matching black pants and black dress boots. And, as odd as it sounded, white bandages wrapped around his head, covering his eyes.

There wasn't a hint of formality in his stance as he stood with hands in pockets, surveying the room with a half-amused, half-bored expression, as if he were waiting for a show to start where he knew all the punchlines.

''So,'' he drawled, the word hanging in the air, laced with an easy confidence. "What's the over/under on you guys actually having something new to say this time?" His voice echoed slightly in the stillness of the room. The man, Gojo Satoru, notorious for his irreverence, seemed entirely at ease in the sparseness of the setting.

"Or will this be another thrilling lecture on responsibility and restraint?" Gojo's tone was playful, yet it carried an edge sharp enough to cut through any pretense of patience he might have feigned. He didn't bother to hide the smirk that played on his lips, fully aware that his provocations were as much a part of these meetings as the agenda itself.

The shadows of the higher-ups stretched tall behind the paper screens, their outlines flickering as they bristled at Gojo Satoru's provocation. The silence that followed his remark was pregnant with disapproval, thick enough to slice.

Finally, a voice, as dry as old parchment and just as inflexible, spoke from behind one of the screens. "Gojo, your flippancy is unbecoming of someone in your position," the voice chided, its owner remaining unseen yet undeniably present.

Another shadow shifted, this one broader, its movement suggesting a shrug. "Perhaps if you took these sessions more seriously, we could conclude them with more speed," added another, the tone laced with a weary frustration that seemed to have long settled into the speaker's bones.

A soft, disdainful snort from Gojo was his only immediate reply. He tilted his head, as if considering their words, but the bandages hiding his eyes made it impossible to read his true reaction. "Speed has never been an issue for me," he finally said, his voice light. "It's the lack of substance that makes these meetings drag, wouldn't you say?"

One of the silhouettes stiffened, a clear sign of irritation at Gojo's last comment. There was a sharp scoff, and then the rustling of papers could be heard as one of the higher-ups prepared to deliver their report.

"In Osaka..." the voice began, measured and deliberate, "we've seen a significant decrease in cursed spirit activity. Sightings have dropped from over one hundred incidents per month to nearly zero."

Gojo leaned back slightly, whistling. "Zero, huh?" he interjected. "Sounds like someone's been working overtime."

The shadow behind the screen didn't rise to the bait, continuing in the same flat tone. "This is an unprecedented change," the higher-up continued, "and while it may seem like a positive development, it's left us with more questions than answers."

Gojo's silhouette stretched as he yawned theatrically, though no one could see. "Unprecedented is just another word for a new kind of headache, isn't it?" he quipped, almost too casually. "So, what's the big theory? Spirits on strike? A mass migration?"

Another shadow leaned forward, the outline of its hair tight and controlled, much like the voice that came forth, clipped and precise. "We suspect intervention—a sorcerer acting outside of the Jujutsu regulations."

"An independent sorcerer?" Gojo mused, feigning a ponderous tone. "Intriguing. Do we send a thank-you card or a cease-and-desist notice?" The remark was met with a stern silence, as usual, Gojo Satoru refused to take things seriously. 

Finally, the first speaker cleared their throat, a subtle signal to bring the meeting back to order. "We need to investigate the cause and ensure that there are no unforeseen repercussions. A drop in sightings could mean a lot of things, an independent sorcerer is one theory, but we could also be dealing with buildup of cursed energy elsewhere or the potential for a larger threat, possibly a cursed spirit."

Gojo's chuckle echoed softly. "Ah, always looking on the bright side, I see. Should I pack my bags for Osaka, or are we just going to speculate some more?"

The higher-ups exchanged a look, their shadows merging and parting as if in silent conference. "Your levity aside, Gojo, this is a matter we cannot ignore. We may need you to look into it personally," the first voice stated, a touch of begrudging respect seeping through the formality.

"Personally? I'm honored," Gojo said, the smirk evident in his voice. "But before I start playing detective, are we sure we're not just scaring them off? I mean, I have been told I have a frightening presence."

''I guess I'll take a look.'' The room was filled with the collective exhale of relief from the council. ''My students could use a souvenir or two." Gojo stood straighter, though his relaxed demeanor never wavered. "I'll bring them some keychains." The room settled into a tense quiet as the higher-ups digested Gojo's nonchalant acceptance of the task. Just as one of them began to speak, Gojo raised a hand, cutting them off with a languid wave.

"Oh, and just to be clear," he said with a mischievous grin, "I'm not bringing back anything for you lot. My generosity has limits, you know." He stuck his tongue out slightly, a childish gesture that seemed entirely out of place in the somber room, yet perfectly fitting for the enigmatic sorcerer. "Besides," Gojo added, turning on his heel to stride out, "It's high time you learned to appreciate the simple joy of my company."

With a final, dismissive flick of his fingers, Gojo Satoru exited the room, leaving behind a trail of stifled irritation and the unspoken acknowledgment that he would, as always, do exactly as he pleased.

[ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ]

[November 7th, Year 2016]

Gojo Satoru failed to blend in with the crowd, a man of his striking features and choice of fashion would never be able to. With his snow white hair, his height and build, he stood out like a sore thumb, his head scanning the area, his demeanor casual but observant. The streets were alive with the buzz of people and the glow of neon signs as he strolled past shop windows, each displaying an array of local goods.

At a small souvenir shop, Gojo paused and browsed through the items. As he picked up a figurine, his mind wasn't on the craftsmanship. 'Cursed energy residuals are all over the place,' he thought. 'And they're fresh.' He placed the figurine back, his actions unhurried. Stepping out of the shop, Gojo's gaze swept over the street. To anyone else, he was just another tourist enjoying the city's charm. But his senses were tuned to something else — the faint, almost imperceptible traces of cursed energy that wove through the area.

'No reports of incidents, yet there's a clear trail,' he mused, buying a snack from a street vendor. 'Whoever's behind this isn't trying to hide. But why?' He took a bite, his eyes scanning the surroundings. What puzzled him was the blatant nature of these residuals. They were everywhere, yet there was no effort to conceal them, as if the one who left them didn't care or didn't know to cover their tracks. 

'An amateur?' he wondered, picking up a colorful keychain absentmindedly. 'Or just arrogant?'

'All these residuals, but no clear direction,' he thought, accepting his change. 'It's like whoever's doing this is just taking a leisurely walk through the city. No human targets, no attacks. Pretty laid-back for a curse, huh?'

Gojo's hand found its way to the back of his head, a playful gesture as he pondered the situation. 'This is all just weird,' he thought with an almost childlike exasperation. 'A cursed spirit wandering around Osaka like it's on vacation? Doesn't add up.'

He tucked the purchased souvenirs into a bag, his demeanor still easygoing despite the situation. 'Sure, I could exorcize it on the spot once I find it. Easy enough,' he mused, stepping out of the shop. 'But the higher-ups would have a field day if I didn't dig deeper. They'd love to lecture me about "proper procedures" and "necessary intel".'

Gojo let out a soft chuckle at the thought. 'Guess I'm playing detective a bit longer.' He strolled on, his eyes subtly scanning the area. Despite his lighthearted thoughts, there was a sharpness to his behavior, an alertness that missed nothing, even with his orbs hidden behind the bandages.

[ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ]

Jun paused outside a small café, the aroma of coffee drifting out to the street. The blonde teenager glanced at the cursed spirits following his every step, their forms swirling with the negative emotions he had harnessed. "You guys did well," he murmured, a hint of pride in his voice. "But there's more work to do."

He pushed open the café door, the spirits slipping in behind him, unnoticed by the other patrons. Choosing a secluded corner table, Jun settled down with a view of the entire café. He placed his bag gently on the floor, pulling out a well-worn sketchbook and a set of pens.

As he opened the sketchbook, his fingers moved with practiced ease, each stroke of the pen bringing his ethereal companions to life on the page. The lines flowed seamlessly, capturing the odd shapes of the cursed spirits that posed in front of him.

A café worker approached, her appearance striking yet approachable. She had a friendly smile, her hair tied back in a neat ponytail that accentuated her sharp features. Her apron, adorned with the café's logo, was worn with a sense of pride.

''Welcome,'' she greeted, her voice soft. ''Is there anything I can get for you today?'' Jun's fingers continued to glide across the paper, his orbs focused on the sketch. He lifted his head, glancing at the café worker, his gaze lingering for a moment as he spotted a small, harmless cursed spirit that didn't belong to him perched on the woman's left wrist.

The spirit was no larger than a tennis ball, with a small round shape and four short, thin limbs that dangled from its sides. It was a dull grey in color, with two small eyes and a mouth that was perpetually open, as if frozen in a silent scream. The café worker seemed unaware of the spirit, her focus solely on her customer. "Oh," Jun said, a smile spreading across his lips. "I'll have an iced coffee, please."

As she made an attempt to lift her left arm to note down his order, however, it became clear that the influence of the cursed spirit was already making her movements sluggish and clumsy. The woman tried to move her left hand, but the cursed spirit's weight was slowing her down and she switched to her right hand to write.

"Coming right up," the woman said, smiling as she finished writing his order.

[ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ]

Gojo entered a hospital with an air of nonchalance. The bustle of medical staff and patients around him failing to distract him from his purpose as he moved through the corridors, his steps silent but purposeful, his senses sharply tuned to the undercurrents of cursed energy.

As he walked, Gojo's attention was fixed on the faint traces of energy that seemed to cling to the walls. 'Getting stronger,' he noted internally, his hand lightly touching the surfaces as he passed. The cursed energy was like breadcrumbs, leading him onward.

Nothing could escape his Six Eyes. Nothing. 'This curse is pretty bold, leaving such a loud trail,' Gojo thought with a smirk. 'A little too cocky, or just inexperienced?' His Six Eyes hidden behind his blindfold, but still glowing vividly. 

As he progressed, Gojo suddenly paused. His head tilted slightly, noticing another trail intersecting with the first — weaker, but undeniably there. 'Interesting, a second player in the game,' he mused. This fainter trail was less obvious, faint enough that it would require a lesser being to take a closer look to discern its nuances.

[ . . . . . . . . . . . . . ]

Gojo stepped onto the hospital roof, immediately confronted by the aftermath of a violent encounter. Sunlight illuminated the area, revealing a cursed spirit's body lying in disarray. Its limbs were strewn across the concrete, a clear sign of a brutal fight.

Nearby stood another spirit, its appearance markedly different from the chaotic scene around it. It was tall and thin, wearing tattered clothes that hung loosely from its frame. Long hair fell over its face, hiding its features except for two piercing eyes that glowed in the dark.

Its fingers were unusually long, hanging still at its sides, but twitching occasionally in a way that was unsettling. The spirit seemed calm, almost detached, as it surveyed the remains of the other spirit.

'An Imaginary Vengeful Cursed Spirit,' Gojo thought. 'A Grade 1, at that.' He took a step forward, his posture relaxed, far too relaxed, as if he didn't consider the cursed spirit in front of him to be a threat. "So, what's your story?" he asked aloud. ''Why is a cursed spirit targeting only other curses and actively avoiding humans?''

The cursed spirit turned, its eyes meeting Gojo's for a brief moment. Then, in a swift, fluid motion that belied its ghastly form, it leaped from the roof, vanishing from sight. Gojo, about to speak again, found himself staring at empty space, his mouth half-open in surprise.

He blinked, a moment of rare shock crossing his face. Then, his surprise morphed into a grin. "Definitely not your run-of-the-mill curse," he chuckled to himself. Without a second thought, he stepped off the edge of the roof, following the spirit's path.

As he descended, the wind rushing past him, Gojo couldn't help but feel exhilarated. "Faster than I expected," he shouted into the sun, amusement filling his voice. "This might just be worth the trip!" He landed softly on the ground, the impact barely noticeable. No, in fact, it was not noticeable at all, as if the impact hadn't existed.

[ . . . . . . . . . . . . . ]

Minutes passed, and the café worker returned with Jun's iced coffee, setting it down with a soft clink. She couldn't help but lean in, her eyes drawn to the sketches sprawled across Jun's sketchbook. "Wow, these are amazing!" she said, genuine awe coloring her tone. "Are you a professional artist?"

Jun looked up, a smile tugging at his lips. Jun looked up, his expression playful. "A professional? Nah," he replied, casually setting his pen aside. "Just messing around, really." He took a sip of his coffee, holding her gaze with an easy smile. "But hey, thanks for the kind words. You wanna see a few more?"

The woman glanced back towards the counter, noting the quietness of the café at the moment. "I'd love to," she said, stepping closer. She looked over Jun's shoulder, her eyes scanning the intricate sketches. "Did you come up with these yourself?" she asked, her fingers lightly tracing one of the lines.

"Sort of my own thing, yeah," Jun responded, flipping through the pages nonchalantly. His eyes briefly flicked to her wrist, noticing the small cursed spirit as it forced her to switch to her other arm. "This might be a silly question, but is there something wrong with your arm?" he asked, gesturing to her left hand. ''You're switching between them a lot.''

The woman blinked, startled. She looked down at her wrist, then laughed, her tone reassuring. "Oh, it's nothing serious," she said, giving her wrist a little shake. "Just a sprain, I think. I've been having a bit of trouble using my left arm lately. Probably just overworked, you know?" The woman said as she rubbed her wrist.

Jun extended his hand slightly towards her. "Do you mind if I have a quick look?" he asked, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "My dad was a bit of a chiropractic wizard, and I might have picked up a trick or two from him."

The woman raised her eyebrows, a mix of skepticism and amusement on her face. "Sure, go ahead," she said, offering her wrist. "But I'm not expecting any miracles, you know."

Jun grasped her wrist gently, his fingers lightly touching her skin. He feigned concentration, a serious look crossing his face. After a moment, he gave her wrist a quick, calculated twist. There was a soft crack, and then it happened.

"Whoa..." she muttered, her expression a mix of surprise and confusion. She flexed her wrist, feeling an unexpected lightness. The sudden relief was almost shocking, her fingers instinctively reaching for her wrist, as if searching for something that was no longer there. ''How—'' Before she could finish her question, Jun gave her an innocent smile and took a sip of his iced coffee. ''I didn't think you were serious!"

Jun leaned back, his smirk returning. "Well, you know, a little bit of this, a little bit of that," he said nonchalantly. "Glad I could help. Chiropractic magic runs in the family, I guess." The woman shook her head, still in disbelief, but there was a grateful smile on her face. "Thank you, seriously. I don't know what you did, but it worked.

From Jun's perspective, however, the scene was quite different and not unlike something straight out of a wild, animated cartoon. His own cursed spirits had jumped the smaller one clinging to the woman's wrist, and they were now giving it the beatdown of its spectral life on the ground, a full-on spirit jumping, if you will. Arms and legs flailing in the air.

The woman, oblivious to the spectral smackdown happening right under her nose, just continued to marvel at the sudden relief in her arm. Meanwhile, Jun sipped his coffee, enjoying the show. 'It's like watching a mini wrestling match,' he thought, amused. 'Guess I should probably call them off soon... but just a little more fun won't hurt.'

As he watched, the smaller cursed spirit, thoroughly outmatched, finally gave in, dissolving into nothing under the relentless 'care' of Jun's spirits. Satisfied with their victory, they floated back to Jun, looking almost proud of themselves.

Jun set his coffee down, still smiling. "Well, that was entertaining," he murmured to himself, glancing back at the woman, who was now going about her work, none the wiser. 'Good job, team,' he thought, giving a mental nod of approval to his creations. His attention shifted back to his sketchbook, his hand moving automatically as he resumed drawing. 

'Now, where was I-'

Bursting through the café's doors came one of his cursed spirits, perhaps the strongest one among them. The Girl From the Gap, or Sukima-Onna, as the legend he modeled the curse is often referred as in the folklore, a ghost that hides in the narrow spaces and peers out from the gaps in one's room, ready to strike and drag a victim into the gap between this world and the next, or so the stories went.

Yells erupted from the customers as, from their perspective, the door suddenly slammed open. But for Jun, he saw it all in slow motion. The curse burst through, followed closely by a curious guest. A man with white hair and a blindfold covering his eyes, and the most striking 'aura' he had ever felt.

Sukima-Onna rushed towards her creator, her mouth opening as it spoke with the hoarse, hollow voice that was its signature. "A powerful presence," the spirit whispered. "I brought special human.'' It stated, in a somewhat broken english. ''As I was told, hunt down all the curses, clean up mess... and bring special humans to you.''

''...'' / ''...'' Five, six, perhaps as seven seconds had passed, but neither Gojo, nor Jun spoke, or moved for that matter. They merely stared at each other, one through the bandages and the other through his orange, cat-like orbs. Then, without warning, Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer of all time, broke the silence.

''So...'' he began, a casual smirk forming on his lips. ''Mind if I take a seat?''

End of chapter one.