The news spread silently across the underground jujutsu network.
Four sorcerers.
Dead.
No cursed energy detected at the scene.
Only clean, precise kills.
One name began to echo in fear—
Toji Fushiguro.
Two weeks after Megumi's death, a secret meeting was held inside Tokyo Jujutsu High.
Senior sorcerers whispered in panic.
"He's targeting us."
"He moves without cursed energy. We can't sense him."
At the center of the room stood Gojo Satoru, blindfold slightly lifted, Six Eyes glowing faintly.
"He's changed," Gojo said quietly. "This isn't about money anymore."
That same night.
A Grade 1 sorcerer squad was dispatched to eliminate Toji.
Five elite fighters.
Barrier specialist.
Close-combat expert.
Long-range curse user.
All prepared.
They tracked him to an abandoned subway station.
Dark.
Silent.
One sorcerer whispered, "Spread out."
Wrong decision.
The lights shattered.
Screams echoed.
One body dropped from the ceiling.
Another was pulled into darkness.
Panic rose as techniques fired blindly into empty air.
But you can't hit what you can't sense.
Toji moved like a ghost between them, blade flashing once—
Twice—
Three times.
The final sorcerer activated a domain amplification in desperation.
For a split second, Toji stopped.
The sorcerer smiled. "Got you—"
A gunshot echoed.
The sorcerer fell before finishing his sentence.
Toji lowered the smoking weapon.
"No cursed energy doesn't mean no options."
Silence returned to the subway.
Five more dead.
Elsewhere, deep within cursed shadows, Suguru Geto watched through one of his spirits.
"So the monkey chooses genocide…" he murmured.
A slow smile spread across his face.
"This could be interesting."
Back in the empty subway, Toji wiped blood from his blade.
His face showed nothing.
No anger.
No grief.
Just purpose.
"They all die," he muttered.
Above ground, the wind howled through Tokyo's streets.
The war had officially begun.
And the Sorcerer Killer had drawn first blood.