Osaka.
The Ryuo nightclub, once a bustling source of profit, had gone completely silent. The Yakuza behind it had tried to deflect attention with a scapegoat, but the situation had clearly escalated beyond their control.
Not just the underlings, but even the higher-ups—politicians, corporate figures, and corrupt officials connected to this operation—were all being targeted and purged.
But for Kamihara Hajime, things weren't moving fast enough.
Instead of waiting for the system to slowly trim the weeds, Hajime planned to rip out the roots himself. Activating his Technique, he casually walked through the nightclub's front entrance. The place was completely empty—no surprise, given the recent fallout.
Hajime didn't need to ask where the boss was. The two burly guards standing by a side door gave it away.
With minimal effort, he incapacitated both men, pushed open the door, and stepped inside—right into a frozen scene of intimacy.
A bare back, pale and smooth, was draped in dark, glossy hair. The twisted pose of the two lovers had a dynamic tension, like a painting caught mid-motion.
Canceling his Technique, Hajime cleared his throat loudly.
Startled, the man jolted upright. Mutou Sanji shoved the woman aside and reached into his desk drawer, quickly pulling out a loaded pistol. Ducking behind the sofa, he aimed directly at the intruder.
What he saw, however, didn't match the situation in his mind—a young man in a black Jujutsu High uniform, standing calmly, arms relaxed at his sides.
"Who the hell are you? How did you get in?" Sanji barked, trying to hide his fear behind aggression.
Hajime ignored the gun. He walked past Sanji like he didn't exist, took a seat on the opposite sofa, and gestured silently for the woman to step aside.
The woman, hastily pulling on a robe, shrank into the corner without a sound. Sanji sneered and wrapped a towel around his waist before taking the other seat.
Hajime spoke first.
"Mutou Sanji, forty-two years old, father of two, unofficial head of the Yanagawa-gumi," he began with a calm smile. "At least, that's the public story. In reality, you're connected to several factions, including local bureaucrats and corporate networks."
Sanji paled. Whoever this guy was, he clearly had deep intel—information that should've been impossible to gather.
"Who are you?" Sanji demanded, knuckles white on the pistol grip.
Instead of answering, Hajime placed a small, clear plastic bag on the table and pushed it forward.
Sanji picked it up and immediately recognized what it was—gokurakugan.
He remembered authorizing its distribution after watching users become stronger, more euphoric. He hadn't touched it himself—he preferred his pleasures tangible, not chemical. But the money it brought in had made it irresistible.
That was, until the police swooped in. His clubs were shut down. His contacts vanished. His assets were frozen. Attempts to flee had been blocked. And now this boy—no, this Sorcerer—was here for that very substance.
"What is this supposed to be—" Sanji began, trying to stall.
"Gokurakugan," Hajime interrupted. "That's the name you gave it. You've pushed it in your clubs. Don't play dumb."
Sanji scowled and waved his gun. "You better watch it, kid. I don't know what you think this is—"
"Shoot," Hajime said flatly.
Sanji froze. "What did you say?"
"Shoot," Hajime repeated, leaning back casually. "Squeeze the trigger."
Sanji hesitated, torn between fear and pride. "What's your angle? You trying to bait me? Want me to kill you so you can slap charges on me?"
Hajime didn't answer. In one seamless moment, he entered a Time Null State, appeared beside Sanji, and disarmed him.
The pistol was gone before Sanji even realized it.
He blinked, confused—then panicked.
Hajime examined the weapon, unimpressed. He could easily replicate its power with Cursed Energy. Still, for ordinary people, a gun was more intimidating than invisible power.
He casually pointed the muzzle at Sanji and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Sanji flinched violently, expecting pain. When it didn't come, he opened his eyes and looked down at himself. Still alive.
His eyes darted to the table—and there it was. A single deactivated bullet casing, standing upright.
The door burst open. Several men in black stormed in, weapons drawn.
"Boss!"
Sanji, trembling, lifted a hand. "Get out."
They hesitated.
"I said get out," he repeated.
Once the room was clear, Hajime spoke again. "Who supplied you with the gokurakugan? I want every detail. I'm not here for you—you're just bait on a hook. Don't try anything stupid."
Sanji, pale but composed, nodded. "Oki!"
A large man entered. "Bring everything labeled under 'Number One,'" Sanji ordered.
The man returned minutes later with paper documents and a laptop.
"It's all here. The system is offline, and the files are on this USB," Sanji explained.
Hajime skimmed the paper copies, then plugged in the USB. The combined data painted a clearer picture: delivery records, transaction logs, surveillance captures. Sanji wasn't a mastermind—just another pawn.
More importantly, Hajime found what he needed.
Sanji had tried to track down the source of the drug after it proved successful. But everyone he found was a dead end—regular people with no clue what they'd been part of. And then came the warning.
One morning, without anyone entering his office, the severed head of his subordinate was sitting on his desk.
Since then, Sanji hadn't dared to dig further.
Hajime collected the USB and papers. "I'll be taking these. Thanks for your cooperation."
With a flick of his fingers, the laptop and files vanished into thin air.
He turned toward the stunned woman. "What are you still doing here? Leave."
She bolted.
Outside, Hajime walked past the guards with ease. They didn't dare stop him.
Back inside, Sanji stared at the bullet casing, deep in thought. Eventually, he picked up his phone.
"…Hello, honey? I think I want to take that family vacation after all."
---
Later, Hajime handed over all the intel to Ijichi. The documents were enough to expose several key figures. Still, the real puppet masters behind this operation remained hidden.
The way ordinary people were being drawn into these incidents reminded Hajime of the last case—a civilian caught up in something far beyond their understanding.
"Unknown Techniques affecting non-Sorcerers," he muttered.
[New operation launched.]
The Police and Jujutsu Sorcerers acted swiftly, targeting storage points, flushing out suppliers, and confiscating unused doses of gokurakugan.
Mutou Sanji and others involved were rounded up. Authorities escalated their crackdown on similar substances, earning public approval.
Eventually, it was confirmed: Curse users were directly involved.
Through the trail left by the ecstasy pill, investigators discovered other variants—substances carrying faint traces of Cursed Energy. Some raids were met with resistance from Cursed Spirits. Hajime neutralized a few, but was quickly summoned back for an urgent meeting.
Returning to Jujutsu High, Hajime found not just Gojo Satoru, but also Principal Yaga and nearly every faculty member present. The last time he saw such a gathering was during the Hyakki Yagyō.
"Since Kamihara Hajime is here, let's begin," Yaga said. "Today's topic: the Cursed Energy leak incident."
Gojo's face turned serious. "The United States has contacted Japan. They've confirmed knowledge of 'Jujutsu.'"
Hajime frowned.
Yaga continued, "Most overseas Spellcasters—Espers, as they're called—aren't affiliated with any government. Curses are rare abroad, so foreign states never formed counter-systems like ours. But now…"
He looked around the room.
"…now, someone's pulled the veil back. And we're not just dealing with Curses anymore. We're dealing with nations."
---