"Not one second less. Not one second more. Otherwise, I will exorcise you."
"Nanami Kira—you really are an interesting man."
Yuji Itadori lowered his head. The two black lines on his cheeks began to spread, to widen. Two eyes slowly opened. An ominous aura spiked violently. Black Cursed Energy crawled visibly across his skin.
BOOM.
In an instant, Sukuna vanished from where he stood. The naked eye couldn't track him—only the trail of craters stamped into the floor, stretching down the corridor, all the way to Nanami Kira.
BOOM—
A flash of light. Sukuna's form froze. That fist, drenched in malevolent energy, stopped just short of Kira's face. A skull-adorned hand gripped Sukuna's wrist, locking him in place.
"Huh?"
Click.
The explosion rippled from Sukuna's shoulder and devoured his entire arm in an instant. Blood and shattered limbs sprayed through the air. Sukuna stared at Kira through what remained of his half-blown head, a delighted smile curling across his lips.
The scattered flesh began to reconstitute. The shattered arm regrew from the joint and drove a vicious punch into Killer Queen's abdomen, launching it backward.
"Die."
Sukuna pressed the advantage. His right hand rose high, dark nails shimmering with Cursed Energy, and slashed at Kira's throat.
"Your hands are hideous."
The hand was blown apart by a bomb that came from nowhere. Killer Queen—mid-air, it had turned a pebble in its palm into a bomb and hurled it at Sukuna's arm.
Blood sprayed. Killer Queen landed, stomped the ground to kick up loose stones, and flung the entire barrage at Sukuna.
This shikigami could make one bomb at a time. Somewhere in that hail of stones, only one was the real bomb. Taking another hit in his current state wouldn't be pleasant.
Sukuna made the calculation. He pivoted, left afterimages on the floor, weaved through the stone rain, and circled behind Kira.
Four seconds.
"Wrong guess."
The stones hammered into the spot where he'd been standing, punching craters into the floor.
Not a single one exploded.
"None of those were bombs."
The real one was in Kira's hand—slipped to him by Killer Queen under cover of the barrage.
Facing Sukuna's momentarily surprised expression, Kira flicked the pebble off his thumb. It struck Sukuna square in the face.
His entire head erupted into a cloud of red mist.
And Killer Queen was already on him, closing the distance, unleashing a barrage of fists point-blank.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM.
Six seconds.
Explosions cascaded outward. The entire building shook. Sukuna was launched skyward by the shockwaves, his body blown apart mid-air, regenerating mid-air, cycling through destruction and rebirth as he crashed through the ceiling. The rooftop split open above him.
"Is it over?" Fushiguro murmured.
"How entertaining. Jujutsu sorcerers are a pain in every era."
Sukuna rose from the rubble. Dust obscured his face, but those four terrible eyes shone with perfect clarity, narrowed in amusement, fixed on Kira.
"I'm getting serious now."
All four pupils snapped wide. Through those black irises, one could glimpse something like a bottomless abyss.
"Seven seconds. Eight seconds. Nine seconds."
Kira watched Sukuna. His voice was flat.
"Ten seconds."
Sukuna's body seized. The eyes on his cheeks struggled to open but couldn't. He lost control and collapsed.
"He's a vessel. One that can contain Sukuna."
Kira delivered his conclusion to Fushiguro.
"Are you still going to exorcise him?"
Even Fushiguro hadn't noticed he'd switched to formal speech.
"No."
Kira shook his head.
"I've always followed the principle: do less, make fewer mistakes; do nothing, make none. Since he's a vessel, he might have value."
"My job was to recover Sukuna's finger. Turning this kid in doesn't violate that. As for whether he lives or dies—let Satoru Gojo deal with that headache."
Kira's stance was clear. If it wasn't his problem, he wasn't touching it. That was the professional code of an ordinary salaryman.
Besides, it was time to clock out.
"This kid's your problem now. I'm heading home. I've got a girlfriend to break up with tonight."
He dropped that line and headed downstairs.
By the time he left the school, night had settled in deep. Kira checked his watch.
7:54 PM. No matter what he did, he wouldn't make it home by eight.
His mood soured.
His nails started growing. They always did when he was agitated. An unavoidable quirk of his nature.
Looks like it's time for another "blind date."
Kira mused to himself as he stepped out of the taxi and gently shut the door.
Or he could ask Todo if there were any handshake event tickets left. Bored of the flowers at home, it might be nice to visit somewhere more exciting and sample something wild.
He made his plan: take next week off, hit the brothels—by which he meant the handshake events—and touch every idol's hand there was to touch.
Honestly, shaking hands with a woman in a public venue had to count as exhibitionism, right? Entertaining these idle thoughts, he slid the key into the lock, turned it, and opened the door.
First, he checked the strand of hair wedged in the door crack. Still in place. Safe.
The barrier at the entrance confirmed no intrusions.
He pulled up the indoor surveillance feed. All clear.
Satisfied, he stepped inside and into the entryway.
He hung his suit jacket on the living room rack, removed his shoes, and placed them neatly in the shoe cabinet. In his room, he poured himself a cup of coffee.
He watched the steam rise and slowly dissipate. His mood settled with it.
He took out a record and placed it on the turntable. The disc turned with its dull gold sheen, and from the old machine, dusty music began to flow—like black-and-white photographs from the last century. Old-fashioned, but unchanging. Classic.
Nanami Kira loved the unchanging. He loved the classics.
He sat on the living room sofa, drew the glass vial from his inner jacket, labeled it with the date, and poured out the nail clippings, measuring each one's length.
Then he placed them back in the cabinet's compartment. The shelf slid open to reveal row after row of glass vials, each bearing its own dated label.
Time to feed the cat... well, fertilize it.
No pretense with cat food this time. Straight to the fertilizer.
He made his cheerful decision.
But first—time to say goodbye to that woman.
Kira sighed inwardly and opened the refrigerator.
His expression froze.
Inside the fridge: nothing but rows of frozen spare ribs.
The hand was gone.
Vanished—despite the apartment showing no signs of intrusion.
And there, scratched into the surface covering half the fridge, in tiny repeated characters:
Nanami Kira Nanami Kira Nanami Kira Nanami Kira Nanami Kira
Love you love you love you love you love you love you love you love you love you love you
Kill you kill you kill you kill you kill you kill you kill you kill you kill you kill you
Had his girlfriend gained sentience and run off?