"Gotcha! Zen'in Ryoichi! You've committed murder! This is big news!" A cool, youthful voice suddenly called from behind Ryoichi.
Zen'in Ryoichi, unfazed, slightly smirked without even looking back. "Why are you here?"
"Ugh, you're as dull as ever, Zen'in Ryoichi." The boy behind him scoffed in mock disappointment, swiftly appearing in front of Ryoichi with an easy, confident grin.
This boy had silver hair cascading like frost on an autumn night. Dressed in casual black clothing, a pair of tinted sunglasses perched on his sharp nose, he looked remarkably at ease—unfazed by the brutal scene he'd just witnessed.
Squatting across from Ryoichi, he casually pulled out a camera and started snapping pictures with fervor.
"Don't waste your energy. You won't capture me," Ryoichi said, looking mildly exasperated as he watched the boy persist with his photos.
Unbothered, the boy glanced down at his camera after a few shots—each one revealing nothing but pitch-black frames, with not a hint of Ryoichi's shadow.
"Your cursed technique is seriously weird, you know that?" The boy shrugged, giving a light flick of his wrist, and the camera vanished into thin air.
Ryoichi adjusted himself, slowly rising from his wisteria-wood rocking chair. "Aren't you supposed to be busy, Gojo Satoru, future head of the Gojo clan?"
"Hey! What's with that tone? I came all this way to see you, and this is the thanks I get?" Satoru's tone was mock-offended, though his smirk gave him away. "After all, we're friends, right?"
Ryoichi stood up, snapping his fingers. Under Satoru's curious gaze, the wisteria rocking chair behind him faded into nothingness.
"It's been a while, Satoru," Ryoichi said, finally turning to meet Satoru's gaze.
"Don't be so sentimental, Ryoichi." Satoru smiled.
Gojo Satoru, destined to become one of the strongest in the jujutsu world, was only a teenager but already carried himself with an unmistakable aura. The feared "Six Eyes" user—the Gojo clan had long chosen him as the next head of the family.
Years ago, before Ryoichi was banished from the Zen'in clan, an inter-clan gathering of the Big Three Families was held. The brilliant prodigy, Gojo Satoru, was already the center of attention. But for some reason, amidst the sycophants and rivals, Satoru's attention landed on a young boy, quiet and unnoticed in the corner: Zen'in Ryoichi.
Back then, Satoru was like a god, gliding above the petty politicking around him, bored and looking for anything else to entertain him. And then, he saw Ryoichi. It was like spotting someone struggling in the mud but with a spirit still defiant, refusing to sink.
One, a star among the elite; the other, cast into shadows. Yet somehow, they'd become friends.
But since Ryoichi's exile from the Zen'in clan, all ties had been severed—until today, when Satoru had tracked down his long-lost friend.
"It's been a long time, but this isn't the moment for catching up." Satoru gave a relaxed smile as he gazed up at the sky.
Dark purple cursed energy coiled above, gathering like a sinister spiderweb, interwoven with layers of malice.
"When a Grade 2 sorcerer dies with unresolved hatred in a cursed area, it spawns a new curse," Satoru murmured, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes glittering with fascination behind his glasses.
Ryoichi stood straight as a spear, looking up at the ominous energy. "So what if it does? Whatever it becomes, a killer will be killed—even if it comes back as a curse."
He added, his voice cold and unfeeling, "If needed… I'll just kill it again."
Satoru blinked at Ryoichi's icy resolve and then smiled. "You really are... something."
An ear-splitting roar tore through the night as the new curse materialized—a grotesque monstrosity made of countless writhing arms, each hand reaching, clawing for something it could never grasp. No head, no torso—just a writhing mass of grasping limbs, born from the dead sorcerer's hatred and greed.
It was a Semi-Grade 1 Curse, a deadly threat in its own right.
"Mine! All mine!" The curse moaned, its countless limbs writhing and twisting, before launching itself downward like a cannonball, hurtling toward Ryoichi and Satoru with an intense gust of wind that tore at their clothes.
Satoru adjusted his sunglasses with a small smirk, standing calmly as the curse bore down on them. He gave Ryoichi a sidelong glance. "Now this... this is what I call interesting."
With a single, quick movement, Satoru's hands formed a complex gesture.
The monstrous curse, mid-dive, froze in place, trapped in midair by Satoru's formidable technique.
"Ugh...ugh..." the curse groaned as it struggled in its invisible bonds.
Satoru nudged Ryoichi with his shoulder, his voice dripping with casual sarcasm. "See? That's what friends are for. I'll handle your mess this time."