A chill ran through Kira.
Did this mean he'd just been... dumped?
He banished the absurd thought.
What was certain: someone had broken into his home and stolen his girlfriend.
Cheated on?
More importantly—had anything else been taken?
His mind jumped instantly to the Arrow sealed in the attic.
That was his biggest secret. If the Arrow had been stolen—or even discovered—his quiet life could come crashing down.
His reflex was to check on it immediately, but the instant before his foot touched the first step, he stopped.
The intruder had bypassed the barrier and left no trace of entry.
That meant they possessed extraordinary concealment abilities. How could he be certain the thief had already left?
What if they were still here, hiding in some corner, watching him?
Kira had studied psychology. He knew that after a house fire, people instinctively rush to check on whatever they value most. Was that exactly what the intruder was counting on?
In Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's stories, Sherlock Holmes had used precisely this method to steal "that woman's" photograph.
Steal the hand, then hide and watch what I check first. Could that be the real target?
Kira found himself in a deadlock.
His nails started growing again.
He hated it when things deviated from his expectations.
Think. Think carefully. Leaving no trace at all—that was impossible for any living creature. Anything biological that passed through would leave evidence.
What if it wasn't biological?
What if it was a ghost?
Kira quickly devised a way to test this. He let panic show on his face, hurried up to the second floor, opened the hidden panel, entered the concealed room, and rushed to Stray Cat with a look of alarm—only relaxing when he confirmed it was unharmed.
He gave his own performance a perfect ten.
If the enemy truly wanted to steal what mattered most, then let them be misdirected toward Stray Cat. The moon was bright tonight, and this was central Tokyo—lights blazing around the clock.
The moment Stray Cat was exposed to light, it would wake up. If someone tried to steal it, it would deal with the thief on its own.
After this, Kira rechecked the barrier at the entrance. No signs of damage. In his mind, he'd already reached a conclusion.
The intruder probably wasn't a living creature. More likely a disembodied soul.
A disembodied soul—he only knew one person fitting that description: Hasegawa Kaede.
That connected to the hand. Kira had completely destroyed her physical body. The hand was the only remnant.
If a soul wanted to persist for any length of time, it needed a physical body to anchor itself to.
So the lingering soul had reclaimed the hand as its new vessel?
Could you even call that a Curse User anymore?
That was practically the definition of a Curse itself.
The thought led him back to Stray Cat.
Stray Cat had been born from the same principle—a cat's resentful spirit possessing a plant, forming a peculiar Cursed Spirit.
A newborn Cursed Spirit?
Regardless, tomorrow would tell. If Stray Cat wasn't stolen by morning, it would prove the thief's goal wasn't misdirection—the hand itself was the objective.
What a troublesome stretch this was turning out to be.
Kira sighed.
No matter what—even if he'd been cheated on today—he still had to do his twenty minutes of stretching, drink a glass of warm milk before bed, lights out at eleven, eight full hours, sleep through till dawn.
He stopped thinking about the Arrow. Worrying would change nothing. Whether it was there or not, what happened had already happened. Now it was time to sleep.
He hated overtime.
The next morning.
Another sunny day. The sky had barely lightened when Kira woke. First, he disarmed the bomb rigged to the door handle. He dressed efficiently and recalled Sheer Heart Attack from its post by the window.
Last night he'd set the air conditioning to 25°C—well below human body temperature. If any other living creature had entered the room, Sheer Heart Attack would have eliminated it instantly.
Not that it mattered much. He'd already all but confirmed it: whatever stole the hand last night wasn't human.
He got out of bed, straightened his slightly rumpled collar, pulled on a jacket, and turned the handle.
Upstairs first—check on Stray Cat. It was still curled up in the dark, big eyes squeezed into slits, purring contentedly in its sleep.
No residual Cursed Energy. The thief's target last night really had been just the hand.
That pretty much confirmed the suspect.
Kira pulled the box from under his bed, released the sealing technique on its surface, and took out the Arrow.
Tch. A woman who just won't stay dead.
He turned the Arrow over in his hands. Morning light filtered through the window lattice, its pale glow spinning along the arrowhead. The ancient engravings seemed to ripple under the light.
He wrapped it carefully in layers of talismans, retrieved a white briefcase from the drawer, and placed the Arrow inside.
Beside him, a blue Stray Cat stretched lazily, unfurling two small leaves, its big eyes squinting in comfortable contentment. The sunlight made it drowsy and warm.
Kira gazed at the faint morning sun through the window.
Another day at the office.
Ding-dong~
The doorbell.
A delicate wind chime swayed in the crisp morning air.
"Morning~~ Nanami-san~~ I brought your favorite bread!"
You didn't bring my favorite Xizhilang jelly, though.
Kira eyed the door with distaste and slid the briefcase back under the bed where a small barrier was set.
"Open~~ up~~ It's me, Satoru Gojo!"
Kira called through the door, his face twisted in revulsion: "Who's Satoru Gojo?"
"Huh? Satoru Gojo is a super handsome guy!"
"...The blindfold guy? Walking around in broad daylight looking like a Van cosplayer?"
"...If you don't open this door, I'll recommend you for the Special Grade sorcerer examination."
"Please, come in."
Kira opened the door with the utmost politeness.
He despised all forms of socializing. He turned down every invitation from colleagues, working hard to maintain a peripheral presence in jujutsu circles. Eventually, nobody bothered inviting him anymore.
But Gojo was shameless, and one of the precious few people Kira couldn't handle. The others, incidentally, were all Special Grade sorcerers too.
Gojo slid inside with total familiarity. His eyes darted left and right, that handsome face wearing a conspiratorial grin. He leaned in close to Kira's ear and dropped his voice to a whisper:
"A little bird told me you recently got yourself a girlfriend. Is that true?"
Dammit, Fushiguro.
"Just broke up. She ran off with someone else."
"Huh?"
The smile froze on Gojo's face.
Kira settled into the sofa and poured himself tea. Chinese Longjing. Leaves drifted up and down in the cup, and a faint, clean fragrance mixed into the air.
"Getting to the point—what's so important it brings you to my doorstep? Did the hearing on Itadori reach a verdict?"
Gojo's expression turned serious. Kira rarely saw him like this. The man was perpetually carefree, always wearing that thoughtless grin.
But now he was utterly solemn. Even behind the blindfold, Kira couldn't see his eyes—but he caught the blindfold fabric shift slightly with a furrow of the brow, the press of his lips, as though weighing something carefully.
Gojo was silent for a long time. His Adam's apple bobbed. When he finally spoke, his voice was low:
"The thing is..."
Did something serious actually happen?
Had the Arrow theft been discovered?
Impossible. The Arrow had no Cursed Energy. His seal was top-tier...
But what if it was Gojo? That monster who defied all common sense?
Kira's pulse quickened. He took a sip of tea, straightened up, and said:
"What happened?"
He was already prepared to kill Gojo if it came to it.
Gojo finally steeled himself. He sat down beside Kira, and under Kira's wary gaze, patted him on the back. His voice was heavy with gravity:
"Brother... take care of yourself."
Kira: ?
"As the saying goes, there are plenty of fish in the sea..."