The island was quiet now.
The last echoes of the Curse's final scream had died out, leaving behind only the sound of crackling fire and the low groan of broken stone shifting under its own weight. Smoke rolled into the night sky, blotting out the stars. Buildings that once stood tall now lay in heaps of rubble, glowing orange from the flames that licked at their edges.
Arata stood in the middle of it all, his spear still in his hand. Its surface shimmered faintly, traces of cursed heat still running through it. He didn't move for a long moment. He simply stared at the burning ruins and listened to the hollow silence that followed destruction.
His body was steady, his breath calm, but his mind wandered.
How far have I come in just these months? he thought. From being an ordinary man in another world… to being thrown into this one. From learning what cursed energy even was, to standing here, ending such a strong special grade curse alone. And yet… this doesn't feel like the end. If anything, it feels like I've only touched the surface of what's possible.
The flames reflected in his eyes, golden and unshaken. He tightened his grip on the spear, then released it, letting it fall to the side. The weapon melted back into glowing liquid and disappeared into the dirt as heat. His cursed technique answered him now without hesitation, as if his will alone shaped its form.
Arata turned and began to walk.
He didn't rush. Each step was steady, his boots crunching over broken tiles, cracked stone, and scattered debris. The air around him shimmered with the heat left behind from his attacks, yet his expression stayed calm.
As he moved deeper through the ruined streets, something caught his attention.
One stretch of the island wasn't burning. Instead, it was covered in frost. A faint mist hung in the air, and the ground sparkled with a pale blue sheen. Arata frowned and stepped closer. The fire should've consumed everything here, yet this one section was locked in ice.
And inside that ice… were bodies.
He saw broken arms, twisted legs, and heads frozen mid-expression. Some of them looked like they had been caught mid-scream, their mouths wide open, eyes frozen in horror. Others were slumped, cold and lifeless. Arata's eyes narrowed as he studied them.
Then he froze.
Near the centre of the ice was the head of a man he recognized—one of the grade 1 sorcerers he had seen earlier, among the kidnappers. His face was twisted in shock, eyes filled with both anger and disbelief. It was as if his death had come too suddenly, before he even realized it.
Arata didn't move for a while. He just stared at the frozen corpse, expression unreadable.
Not only kidnappers… he thought, his gaze sweeping to the other bodies. These ones didn't match the kidnappers' group. Their uniforms and gear were different. These must be the sorcerers the higher-ups sent before. The team that went missing… they didn't even make it past this.
He crouched down, studying the scene in silence. His reflection stared back at him faintly from the ice.
He pulled out his phone. Without a word, he took several pictures—wide shots of the frozen area, close-ups of the corpses, and the details of their wounds. Evidence. Proof.
For a moment, he lingered there. The ice seemed almost alive, whispering of the deaths it had captured. He didn't flinch. He didn't sigh or curse. He simply let the silence stretch on, his thoughts locked away behind calm eyes.
Finally, Arata slipped his phone back into his pocket and stood. Without another look, he turned away and continued walking.
The fire grew brighter the closer he came to the shore.
And then he saw them—the foreigners. Ten in total, huddled together at the edge of the boat. Their faces were lit by the flames of the burning island behind him, and for a moment, they all stared in stunned silence.
Arata walked through the inferno toward them, his figure outlined in gold and orange. His black clothes were torn, his arms marked with soot and blood, but he walked as if nothing had touched him.
The mother was the first to step forward. She held her son's hand tight, but her back was straight and her eyes firm despite the clear exhaustion. The boy clung to her side, eyes wide, staring at Arata like he was seeing something unreal.
She bowed her head slightly. "Thank you. For saving us. For protecting us." Her voice shook, but the determination behind it was clear. "We will never forget this."
Arata's gaze softened just slightly. He gave a small nod.
The boy's voice broke the silence. "You're… you're really strong! Just like my dad!" His small hands clenched into fists, trying to copy a fighter's pose even as his legs trembled.
For the first time since the fight ended, a faint smile tugged at Arata's lips. He leaned slightly closer to the boy and said with a smug tone, "Of course I am."
The boy's eyes lit up, but his mother gave him a sharp look as if to remind him not to encourage recklessness.
Inside, Arata chuckled to himself. Living with Gojo is rubbing off on me… I'm starting to sound like him.
One by one, the other foreigners stepped forward. Some had tears in their eyes. Some just shook his hand with trembling fingers. Others bowed deeply, thanking him but the meaning was clear all the same. Gratitude. Relief. Awe.
He reassured them in his calm voice, "You'll all be safe now. I'll see you home."
The boat rocked gently as the waves carried it slightly away from shore. The island's fire reflected in the water, painting it red and gold. Behind them, Hashima looked like it was being devoured whole by the flames.
Arata turned back to it one last time. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
Instead, he pulled out his phone and dialled. The line clicked, and Gojo's cheerful voice answered almost instantly. "Yo~! Don't tell me you're calling me because you miss me already?"
Arata rolled his eyes slightly, though Gojo couldn't see it. "Mission accomplished. Foreigners are safe. I'll be bringing them back."
For a second, Gojo's usual playfulness faded, replaced by a calm, approving tone. "Good work, Arata. Really."
Arata didn't respond. He hung up after a brief acknowledgment and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
He leaned against the boat's railing, letting the night wind cool the heat still lingering around his body. His gaze stayed fixed on the burning island until it grew smaller in the distance.
But deep inside, he couldn't shake the sense that this was only the beginning.