Besides conducting research to create my own version of Captain Jack Sparrow's compass, I also needed to produce various kinds of Cursed Tools to sell. After all, with the ability I possessed, it would be nothing short of foolish not to exploit it to its fullest.
Every bit of potential I wasted was the same as digging my own grave, little by little. This world does not reward the hesitant; it rewards only those who dare to take risks and squeeze their abilities to the very last drop.
I could create many Cursed Tools and sell them later. With that money, I would be able to fund my various lines of research—such as purchasing other Cursed Tools already circulating on the market.
Money in this world was not merely a medium of exchange; it was a shortcut, a shield, and at times even a weapon. With money, I could buy time, information, and sometimes even lives.
Moreover, if I wanted to become a supplier, I first had to understand the state of the market. There was no point in being a genius if I remained blind to the economic realities of this world.
I needed to know who would be buying, who would be selling, and which goods actually moved in the market. The jujutsu world was not only about curses and techniques—it was also about greed, vested interests, and the prices paid behind the scenes.
Besides, having a lot of money was not a bad thing. I would also need to buy a house with the money I earned later, after I succeeded in creating various Cursed Tools. A place that was truly mine, not merely a temporary roof over my head.
A place where I could close the door without unease, store the results of my research without fear of them being taken, and sleep without having to hear the crying or footsteps of others around me.
I could not continue living in the orphanage. More than that, I did not want to endanger the children there by being too closely entangled with them.
Every day I spent in that place felt like accumulating a debt I had never asked for. They were too innocent, too fragile, and far too undeserving of being dragged into the chaos that followed me wherever I went.
The longer I stayed, the greater the chance that disaster would come knocking on their door, and that was something I was unwilling to bear.
If anything were to happen to them because of my presence, I was not sure I would still be able to look at myself in the mirror.
Another objective was to find a way to increase the amount of Cursed Energy I possessed. It would be far too dangerous if, in the middle of a fight, I were to run out of Cursed Energy.
Running out of Cursed Energy during battle was not merely a fatal mistake—it was a death sentence. No mercy, no time for regret.
I needed to conduct research—whether to increase my total amount of Cursed Energy or to create something that would allow me to maintain a reserve of it.
Even a roundabout path would be acceptable, as long as it gave me a chance to survive from one battle to the next.
Although increasing one's Cursed Energy was almost impossible, since such things were determined at birth, "almost impossible" did not mean "impossible."
The word "impossible" was nothing more than a boundary drawn by those who had already given up.
This world was filled with anomalies, and I only needed to be stubborn enough to challenge them through exhausting and risky research.
If others chose to stop out of fear of failure, then I would keep moving forward—even if every step felt like walking on the edge of a blade.
After all, if I truly could not increase the amount of Cursed Energy I possessed, then I would simply have to become extremely strong and extremely fast: strong enough to finish my enemies in an instant, and fast enough to escape when escape became necessary.
Efficiency is everything. A short battle means less risk, and speed is the only privilege for those who do not possess an infinite reserve of power.
Yes, running away sounds cowardly. But is it better to die foolishly, or to survive and take revenge?
That question does not even need much time to be answered.
The answer is obvious. It is better to survive and take revenge, even if it means swallowing my pride for a moment.
Pride can be reclaimed later. A life cannot.
But if there truly is no option to escape, then I will fight with everything I have—at the very least, so I will not die meaninglessly.
If death must come, then let it come after I have exhausted everything I possess, not as punishment for my own stupidity and hesitation.
...
...
...
Today is the day I have been waiting for. After all, today is the day I can finally use my Innate Technique.
Ever since I first became aware of its existence, all I could do was imagine what it would feel like to wield that power and control it with my own will. Until now, everything had only spun inside my head: theories, guesses, and vague images of something I had never truly understood.
My heart begins to beat faster just thinking about one thing: this is no longer mere theory or empty hope.
Today, I will not only think about it. I will try my Innate Technique with my own hands, feel directly how that power answers my commands, how the world around me reacts to my will.
Right now, I am already inside the forest where I usually train. The morning air is still cold, biting into my skin with a clean, refreshing chill.
Leaves are damp with dew, the ground feels moist beneath my feet, and sunlight slips through the gaps between the trees like golden threads falling from the sky. Every breath I draw feels fresh, as if my lungs are being filled with the scent of earth, wood, and young leaves.
Because it is still early, the atmosphere is quiet, accompanied only by the faint sounds of insects and the whisper of wind brushing against the branches above my head. That silence does not make me afraid.
On the contrary, it makes me feel even more eager, as if this entire forest has become a witness to my experiment, a place where I am allowed to fail without any other eyes watching.
In addition, the wound on my right hand has healed quite a bit, and at last I feel confident enough to try. A faint sting still lingers if I move my fingers too forcefully, but it is no longer enough to stop me.
I have also said goodbye to Yukina. Damn it—ever since I was injured, Yukina has become a little protective, as if the world outside the orphanage were a place filled with danger, ready to swallow me at any moment.
Every time I want to go out, Yukina's gaze is always full of worry, as though she is weighing whether to allow me to leave or to force me to stay for the sake of my safety. Still, Yukina is truly a kind woman.
Her tone may be firm, but I know it is born from concern. Fortunately, today she allowed me to go out and play beyond the orphanage. If not, I might have had to sneak out like a naughty child, even though just imagining it already makes me feel a little guilty.
Now, I am sitting cross-legged on the cold ground. Tiny grains of soil cling to the gaps between my toes, while my palms touch the surface that is still damp with the morning dew.
That cold sensation creeps into my skin, reminding me that I am truly here, no longer lost in imagination. After that, I draw in a deep breath, calming my still-racing heartbeat, emptying my mind of unnecessary thoughts, allowing only one purpose to remain in my head: to learn my Innate Technique.
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