Kira Nanami sat in the dim light of his living room, his face a mask of stony calm as he meticulously bandaged his wounded palm. Layer upon layer of white gauze vanished under his steady hands, the underlying trauma already stabilized by a clinical application of Reverse Cursed Technique.
He cast a cold glance toward the corner of the room. There, the peculiar little flower rested against the soil, its two oversized leaves pulled over its head like a blanket. Feline, vertical pupils squinted back at him, accompanied by a low, rhythmic purring that vibrated through the floorboards.
The courtyard outside was a landscape of wreckage, the silent testament to the struggle that had just transpired. The Stray Cat was a difficult opponent; its invisible air bullets were nearly impossible to track. However, Kira had discovered its fatal flaw: the creature lost all vitality in the dark. Using that single variable, he had subdued it with the efficiency of a man filing a report.
He found himself genuinely intrigued by a curse capable of actually damaging Killer Queen. Rather than exorcising it, he had relocated the plant to his attic. He was certain it would serve a purpose eventually.
He checked his watch. It was late. After a perfunctory tidying of the yard, he ascended the stairs to his room. He noted with a flare of irritation that his fingernails had accelerated their growth once again. It was unavoidable; his relationship with Kaede Hasegawa had reached its expiration date.
It was time for a breakup.
The next morning.
Megumi Fushiguro, sporting dark circles under his eyes, hammered on Kira's front door.
"Open up," he called.
After an agonizing silence, the door swung inward. Kira looked at him with an unnerving, placid expression.
"What is it, Fushiguro?"
Fushiguro's face was dark, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "It's time for work..."
"A moment, please," Kira replied flatly. "I am currently in the middle of a domestic dispute. My girlfriend's feelings for me have... soured."
"Kira-senpai!" Fushiguro's composure finally cracked, his high-collared stoicism giving way to a visible twitch of his jaw. He spoke through gritted teeth. "What girlfriend? You don't have a girlfriend!"
"That's quite rude," Kira countered, his tone devoid of humor. "I am actually very popular with women."
"Put the girlfriend aside for a second," Fushiguro growled. "You're on the clock."
Kira looked into Fushiguro's eyes, then slowly raised his wrist to check his watch. It was 7:50 AM. He was, indeed, approaching the start of his shift. He muttered a soft curse about sorcery being "shit" before turning back to the interior.
"Wait. I need to feed my cat."
Before Fushiguro could protest, the door slammed shut in his face.
Inside, Kira finished the last of his coffee and spoke to the empty space across the table. "Think about what you've done. Reflect on your mistakes."
He donned his light blue blazer, adjusted his tie with surgical precision, and pulled a bag of cat food from a drawer. He hesitated for a heartbeat. Was the Stray Cat truly a cat, or was it a plant? If it was a cat, the pellets were appropriate; if it was a plant, it required fertilizer.
He reached into another drawer and pulled out a packet of golden-hued fertilizer labeled Golden Bloom. He mixed the cat food and the fertilizer into a jar, added boiling water, and stirred until the concoction dissolved into a thick, yellow slurry.
He nodded at his handiwork. He was surprisingly talented at these domestic tasks. He took the jar into the pitch-black attic, where the only skylight had been sealed shut. He found the Stray Cat huddled in the corner, sleeping like a well-behaved pet.
Kira slowly poured the yellow sludge over the plant's head, drenching it from tip to soil. Satisfied by the creature's silent acceptance, he offered a peaceful smile and departed.
The summer heat was oppressive.
At Sugisawa High, the sun baked the pavement, and the relentless drone of cicadas filled the air. The synthetic track on the athletic field had begun to soften under the temperature, sending up waves of shimmering heat that distorted the horizon. Through the haze, high school students laughed and played, the girls in their sailor uniforms radiating the vibrant, careless energy of youth.
Youth is a wonderful thing... Kira thought as his eyes tracked the smooth, elegant fingers of the passing students. He silently lamented the "faded" quality of the hands he kept at home.
"You're sure Sukuna's finger is here?" he asked Fushiguro.
"Yes," Fushiguro replied. "My Divine Dogs and I have searched every inch of the perimeter. We haven't found a trace of the cursed energy signature."
Searching for fingers... I loathe searching for a man's fingers.
To Kira, hunting for a woman's hand was akin to romance—a poetic search for a lifelong partner, or at least one for a few weeks. But hunting for a man's fingers felt like... a different kind of pursuit. He felt a physical revulsion at the prospect.
Fushiguro, oblivious to Kira's internal romantic philosophies, saw only a senior sorcerer wearing a look of deep, sorrowful contemplation mixed with a flicker of disgust. He took it for a profound hatred of evil.
He's finally taking this seriously, Fushiguro thought, recalling Kira's reputation in Kyoto. The man they call the 'Curse Itself'... let's see what he can do.
Fushiguro opened his mouth to speak, but a red-haired boy suddenly sprinted past them.
A violent shudder raced through Kira's soul, a primal surge of disgust that seemed to originate in his very marrow.
That's...
Fushiguro turned, attempting to call out to the boy, but the youth was already gone. He was moving with incredible speed, leaving only a trail of dust and a localized shockwave in his wake.
Fushiguro looked back at Kira, who offered a sharp, knowing nod.
"Yes," Kira said softly. "That's the scent of that ugly bastard."