Soul and Spark – Chapter 141
"Monstrous, my ass…" Ren muttered under his breath, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. It wasn't sarcasm. It wasn't pride either. It was bitterness. Fatigue disguised as humor.
He sat back against the edge of the bed, notebooks scattered at his feet—some ripped, some burnt at the corners, most of them filled with scratched-out plans and theories that went nowhere.
'Ugh… It does not work. Nothing works. Goddamn it.'
Two weeks. Two whole weeks in this mansion. Ren had read, theorized, practiced, and revised. He had mapped out ritual after ritual, technique after technique. But every path led to a wall or, worse, an explosion waiting to happen.
'The cursed death womb paintings… Soul… That's the real wall.'
Ren leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.
'No matter how many answers I come up with, it all loops back to the same missing piece… The soul. I know that it exists. I know it matters. But that's it. That's all I know. And every experiment involving those paintings would mean a soul being overwritten—or worse, mine being erased…'
He looked at the corner of the room.
There, standing on display like dormant weapons, were the four death womb paintings. They hadn't moved. Not even an inch. Not even a twitch. He had already tested cursed energy reactions with them, and they barely stirred. Dormant, yet dangerous.
'Kenjaku made these things. And yeah, maybe he was disappointed in them. But I'm not. They're geniuses. Half-human, half-curse. The ultimate vessel. I just… don't know how they work. Not yet.'
Ren sighed.
The frustration was cold, not angry anymore—just tired.
He reached for the pile of torn notebook pages at his feet. Slowly, he picked them up, crumpled them tighter, and tossed them into the trash bin one by one. No hesitation. Just quiet, methodical defeat.
And then—fwump.
Something soft hit his chest. Ren looked down.
Kai2.
The fish-like curse had jumped onto him again, flopping around excitedly like a puppy trying to cheer up its sulking owner.
Ren groaned and tried to brush him off. "Ugh—get off me, you freak—"
But Kai2 nuzzled into his arm instead, curling up awkwardly like a cat made of jello. It made a wet slosh sound and blinked its big, dumb eyes at him.
Ren narrowed his eyes, then reluctantly gave in and petted the little creature.
"...You're so stupid," Ren muttered. But his voice had softened.
He stared at Kai2 for a few seconds longer.
And then—something clicked.
'Wait… He's like a dog… huh. Wait… dog? What about… animals?'
He sat up straighter, eyes sharpening.
'Do animals have cursed energy? Do they have souls? They're weaker than humans—probably less cursed energy too. And if that's true, then… their souls must be weaker. Easier to overpower. That could mean—'
His brain shifted gears.
'Mahito said Sukuna's soul was different. On another level. That was implied to be one of the reasons Sukuna was so powerful. Plus, Mahito's cursed technique was soul-based—so if he said it, it means the strength of a soul does correlate to power. At least partially.'
Ren's eyes widened as the idea took shape.
'Animals. That's it. That's what I was missing. I can't test on humans. Not yet. Not because I care too much—but because I don't know enough yet. Everything I've learned about cursed energy is all based on surface knowledge. Nobody in Jujutsu Kaisen ever explained how souls actually work… But I can figure it out. I'll make the answer myself.'
He lifted Kai2 into the air and tossed the fish gently upward, catching him with a grin.
"Freak," Ren said, smirking, "you just gave me the answer."
Kai2 let out a weird bubbly noise, clearly proud of himself, even if he didn't understand why.
Ren sat up on the bed, motivation surging through him again. Not just theory now—a real plan. A path forward.
That moment didn't last long, though.
Knock, knock.
There was a soft knock at the bedroom door.
Ren blinked, quickly slipped Kai2 into his shadow with a flick of his cursed energy, and stood up. He straightened his shirt, walked to the door calmly, and opened it.
His voice was cool.
"What do you want?"
Meanwhile…
At the airport in Congo, two figures moved quietly through a long, shaded hallway.
The first was a young woman in a flowing white dress. Her features were soft and elegant—but her eyes were far older than her body let on. She moved gracefully, almost like a noblewoman on holiday.
Next to her walked a short, hunched old man in a thick coat and flat cap. He looked like a retiree, out of place, like someone who'd wandered into a world that had passed him by.
He was anything but that.
"You didn't have to drag me this far," the old man grunted.
"I didn't drag you. I just made an offer," the woman said lightly.
The man turned to her with narrowed eyes.
"Why now?"
"You're curious too, aren't you?" she replied. "You've heard of him. You've seen the reports. They're calling him the next Gojo Satoru."
The old man frowned.
"You're wasting your time. No one replaces Gojo."
The woman smiled, tapping something on her phone.
"No one replaces him… but someone can succeed him. You're not here to play bodyguard. You're here because you want to see it. If there is someone who can touch the ceiling Gojo set..."
The man stayed quiet.
Then turned back toward the terminal.
But he didn't walk away.
Not yet...