I'm Mars, 31, and currently based in Sweden. I started writing a little while ago, and I'm currently working on a multi-chap jjk fic Subject: [REDACTED]. My goal is to update weekly, but sometimes life (and writer's block) has other plans.
When I'm not writing, you'll find me reading, running, or enjoying the outdoors.
Feel free to come and say hi if you wanna chat!
Subject: [REDACTED]
Summary: The report Kento Nanami filed at 3:17 AM under harsh fluorescent light and the lingering static of your cursed energy was the kind that got printed twice: once for the official archives, and once to be passed under the table, shared in whispers between men in clean suits and ancient bloodlines.
You were never supposed to be there, sitting in the wreckage of a hydroelectric plant at the foot of the Shizuoka hills, surrounded by scorched wiring and shattered concrete, a blade across your lap and blood cooling on your hands.
There were no records that placed you on any map. No cursed lineage. No school. No training. Yet when they found you, the cursed womb was destroyed.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
Please do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works on any platform.
Summary: The report Kento Nanami filed at 3:17 AM under harsh fluorescent light and the lingering static of your cursed energy was the kind that got printed twice: once for the official archives, and once to be passed under the table, shared in whispers between men in clean suits and ancient bloodlines.
You were never supposed to be there, sitting in the wreckage of a hydroelectric plant at the foot of the Shizuoka hills, surrounded by scorched wiring and shattered concrete, a blade across your lap and blood cooling on your hands.
There were no records that placed you on any map. No cursed lineage. No school. No training. Yet when they found you, the cursed womb was destroyed.
Last chapter.
Chapter 3: The Warning
Nanami stepped into the center of the room and cleared his throat.
“The evaluation was completed at 09:12. Two Grade 1s and one semi-sentient, Special Grade cursed spirit were exorcised using a dual-state technique, Flow Authority. No collateral damage was caused, and no civilian contact has occurred. Headquarters has issued a Semi-Special Grade classification under Article 4 of the Jujutsu Memorandum. Monitoring and training responsibilities have been delegated to Principal Yaga and I.’ He stepped back and beside you, his eyes sweeping the room to make sure everyone was paying attention. You stayed still, aware of every gaze landing on you.
“That’s faster clearance than half the second-years ever got,” Shoko muttered into her coffee mug.
Across the room, Mei Mei elegantly crossed one leg over the other, eyes sharp under her long braid. “A dual-state technique combining suppression and field control is rare, especially for someone with no formal training,” she said whistfully.
Yaga exhaled sharply through his nose. “Let’s not confuse instinct with control. If she loses her grip...”
“But she hasn’t, has she?” Shoko’s eyes were still on her mug.
“And maybe she won’t, if we stop treating her like a liability.” Gojo pushed off the window ledge with lazy grace.
Yaga’s brow tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“That kind of power festers when you isolate it,” Gojo went on. “She came to us. Let that mean something. Keep an eye on her, sure, but give her the dignity of being seen as more than a threat.”
Everyone kept silent. Then, Ijichi, still standing stiffly beside the door, cleared his throat.
“If I may,” he began, adjusting his clipboard, “there’s also the matter of optics. If she snaps around the students¨, his eyes didn’t quite meet yours, ¨we’ll be asked why we let her near the heirs of the clans.”
Gojo’s voice cut in again. “The issue isn’t her power; it’s how she got it. She’s unaligned, that’s what scares them. She doesn’t fit their idea of what jujutsu should look like.”
“And we’d make it easier for them if we turn our backs now.” Nanami’s gaze flicked toward him in agreement.
Yaga gave a single nod but said nothing. He flipped through the classification file until he found the page he wanted, skimmed it, then - still without so much as a glance in your direction - turned to Nanami.
“Can you vouch for her control?”
Nanami didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Make a note,¨ Yaga turned to Ijichi, who was already scribbling so fast that sweat had started to bead at his temple, ¨she will train with the other students. No solo missions, and under no circumstances is she to leave the campus unsupervised. She will be transferred to the south wing, effective immediately. Any technique-related incidents will be documented.”
“We’ll make a lot of enemies if this goes sideways,” Mei Mei murmured, but the curve of her smile betrayed her amusement.
“We’ve already got enough of those,” Shoko replied, finally setting her mug down with a sharp clack and reaching for her cigarettes.
“That settles it, then!” Gojo clapped his hands once, the sound sharp enough to make poor Ijichi flinch and nearly drop his clipboard. “I’d say that calls for a little celebration.” Without warning, he tossed you a neatly folded bundle. Reflex took over, and you caught it in midair - a brand-new, matte-black uniform, a shade darker than regulation. It felt firm and tangible in your grip, the first physical reward of what you’ve been working towards for so many years.
Yaga’s eyes narrowed, his frown pinning Gojo in place. “You ordered a uniform before the decision was even made?”
“Call it a hunch,” Gojo replied smoothly.
“This isn’t a game, Gojo…” Yaga’s voice was grave, but you barely heard the rest. Your chest tightened around the heavy cloth in your hands. Your breath turned shallow. You’d clawed your way here, proven yourself, shown your power, so why did it feel like none of it was enough? You wanted this, right? You’d earned this. Then why did the uniform feel like a cage?
Your throat burned as you forced the words out, raw and rasping - the first you’d spoken all morning. “I’m not wearing this.”
Gojo, unbothered, rifled casually through his coat pocket and fished out a slim brown case. “Knew you’d say that.” He held it out like an offering. Inside: a pair of matching round sunglasses.
You raised a brow. “You’re kidding.”
“Curses don’t like being stared down,” he said, flashing a grin.. “And trust me - you’ve got that kind of stare.”
You turned the sunglasses over in your hand. “I’ll look like an asshole.”
Gojo’s grin widened, eyes glinting behind his own ridiculous pair. “Exactly. Wear them when you wanna piss someone off.”
Nanami cleared his throat, already stepping toward the door. “Come, I’ll show you to your quarters.”
The hallway stretched long and quiet, and the muffled voices from Yaga’s office finally faded behind you.
“The south wing,” he explained calmly, his tone even and weirdly reassuring. “Usually reserved for upperclassmen, or anyone who needs space to focus.”
For once, there were no talismans crowding the walls, just smooth plaster, sturdy doors, and the clean scent of sun-warmed wood. At the end of the corridor, Nanami stopped and pulled a key from his pocket.
“This one locks from both sides,” he said simply, placing it in your palm. Then, as if noticing for the first time, he added, “Use the time well. Most people don’t get this kind of chance.”
The room was modest but purposeful. There was a narrow bed, and a blanket folded with care; next to it, on the bedside table, sat a small peace lily. A desk was tucked beneath the window, where sunlight spilled in a wide beam across the floor. You let your backpack fall to the floor and stepped into the sunlit patch, letting the warmth seep into your bones. For the first time all morning, you managed a breath that didn’t feel like drowning. Then, unhurried, you crouched by your bag, unwrapping the dark cloth bundle Gojo had tossed you earlier.
It had been a while since you'd worn anything other than hastily borrowed tactical gear. The fabric felt heavier than it looked - dense but breathable, intentionally tailored to hold cursed energy like a second skin. It was cut in Jujutsu High’s standard, but it fit like armor: tapered at the waist, sleeves adjusted for a full range of motion, and reinforced along the spine and joints. Somehow, it felt like it had been made for you.
Still apprehensive, you laced up your boots and stepped out into the hall. Nanami, who’d been waiting at the far end, gave you a once-over and nodded with approval. “Come,” he said, “Time to meet your classmates.”
“Am I getting thrown in with the first-years?” you asked, falling in beside him, nails pressing half-moons into your palms.
“Technically, you should’ve been placed with the third or fourth years,” Nanami adjusted his tie, “but most of them are either dead or suspended, so congratulations, you’re the only one in your class.” You raised a brow. “You’ll train with the second years for now, but the bulk of your instruction will come directly from staff.”
You clicked your tongue. “Thrilling.”
He gave you a look. “Try not to make enemies.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at your lips. “No promises.”
Your boots landed in quiet sync with the soft scrape of his leather soles. Outside, midday light stretched long and gold across the courtyard, cutting clean through the shadows. Nanami’s gaze drifted toward the meditation ring, where an early fall breeze stirred the dry edges of maple leaves behind the torii gate. Then he turned south, toward the training yard, which was walled in, scarred with craters and cracks left behind from battles long past.
Three figures were already gathered when you arrived. Panda waved as Nanami approached, then cocked his head with curiosity when he spotted you. “You don’t look like a ghost,” he called out across the field, clearly intrigued.
Strangely, his interest eased the tight knot of tension in your chest. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” You shouted back.
Toge Inumaki stayed silent, only giving a respectful nod and a careful glance. Off to the side, Maki Zen’in stood with a naginata slung over her shoulders, chewing gum and sizing you up with a bored look.
“Let me guess,” she said flatly as you got closer. “New girl with no transfer records and some weird cursed technique no one’s seen before. I’d bet the elders already have their pants in a twist over what to do with you.”
You shrugged, “Sounds like you’ve done this before, then?”
She let out a soft laugh through her nose, “More times than I care to count.” Then, she rolled her shoulders once, and, dropping into stance, snapped her naginata down with precision. “Ready when you are.”
Panda whistled low and stepped back toward the sidelines with Toge and Nanami. You smirked and settled into your stance, cursed energy humming beneath your feet. The pounding in your ears was beginning to dull. Sparring was something you could do. First, you feinted high, aiming your blade toward her shoulder, but Maki didn’t flinch. She batted your strike aside with the haft of her naginata, pivoted, and swung the butt toward your ribs. You twisted away with ease.
For a heartbeat, the two of you stilled - her naginata lowered, your katana raised between you. Her gaze flicked over you, sharp, searching, like she was measuring something more than just your technique. You caught the faint raise of an eyebrow. Then she surged forward again. Her naginata caught your katana mid-air with a shower of sparks. “Don’t insult me with that feint,” she gritted through her teeth.
You grinned and let your cursed energy shift. The heat of Ignition Mode flickered and died back, replaced by the smooth, flowing current of Liquid Mode. Your energy thinned and vanished from sight, becoming fluid and almost weightless. Better, you thought, as the fight started to feel like a rhythm more than anything else.
Maki’s eyes narrowed, sensing the change. When she struck, you didn’t dodge the way she expected. Instead, you redirected the force of her momentum, guiding it just enough to throw off her stance. Her naginata sliced through the air as you slipped past and countered from the opposite side. She spun sharply, blade raised to meet the strike that seemed to come from nowhere. The clash rang out loud.
“You’ve got tricks,” she muttered, grudging respect in her voice. Her grip tightened on her weapon, and for the smallest moment, frustration shadowed her expression. “Cursed energy or not, stamina’s what wins fights.”
You said nothing. Ducking low, you surged upward now, your elbow catching her side. She grunted and twisted, slamming her shoulder into yours and sending you stumbling back. You caught yourself on one knee, chest heaving. Her sleeve smoked where your cursed energy grazed it. Maki glanced at it and let out a surprised laugh, dropping her stance. “Not bad.”
You exhaled, catching your breath, “Not bad yourself. We should do this again sometime!”
Behind you, Panda started clapping, a broad grin splitting his face.
“That’s the most fun I’ve seen her have all month.”
“Salmon roe,” Toge chimed in, nodding in agreement.
Nanami said nothing, but when your eyes met, he gave a small, approving nod.
Behind you, the clink of weapons and bursts of laughter lingered in the air as the day slipped into evening. The sun was already low, casting long, golden shadows across the field. Muscles aching and adrenaline ebbing, you drifted into the flow of your new friend group, pulled along toward the cafeteria, alive with chatter and the clang of dishes. The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead, and the comforting scents of miso soup and grilled fish wrapped around you like a familiar blanket.
Gojo found you halfway through a bowl of broth and rice. “Come,” he said brightly, slinging an arm over your shoulders. “There’s a few more people I want you to meet.”
Nanami followed a few steps behind as Gojo led you to a corner table where three students were doubled over laughing.
“Everyone, meet the new girl,” Gojo announced, “She’s a bit like you, Yuji - normal until she made a weird deal. You two should get along just fine.”
Yuji gave you a lopsided grin. “Hey. Welcome to the club.”
Nobara glanced from him to the dark-haired kid across from her, and when no one said anything, she leaned forward, chopsticks in hand like they were weapons ready to strike. “So,” her voice was light, but her eyes remained sharp, “you gonna tell us what really happened at that hydro plant?”
Yuji laughed nervously. “Come on, Nobara…”
But you held her gaze steady. You expected the question. Most wouldn’t ask, but you respected her for having the guts.
“There was something there that resonated with my cursed energy,” you said, sliding into the seat between Yuji and Nanami. “I went to test myself, see if I could control it.”
From the corner of your eye, you caught Nanami’s fingers tighten around his bowl. “By the time I got there, someone had already been sent in, and I was too late.”
The cafeteria fell quiet. Nobara’s mouth pressed into a line. “Okay… damn.”
Yuji looked down at his tray, then, after a pause, quietly asked, “When you said you felt resonance… what did you mean?”
You blinked once. “I come from a politically powerful family, but none of them can sense cursed energy. I’d only ever heard of jujutsu sorcerers in whispers… until I saw one die at my graduation. The river curse that killed him was wounded too. It lingered, trying to heal itself, suffering for hours. That’s when I knew.”
“Knew what?” Megumi Fushiguro asked, mid-bite, eyes locked on you.
“That I didn’t want to be powerless anymore,” you said simply. “It was weak and desperate, almost at the edge of death. But if it consumed me, it would heal completely. I struck a deal: if I died, it could feast and regain its strength. If I survived… its power would be mine. I survived.”
“That’s… hardcore,” Yuji muttered.
You shrugged lightly. “I couldn’t stay home after that. Cursed energy was leaking out of me, and normal people could feel it. So I ran to a place where no one would ask questions, and learned to control it until it listened.”
Gojo, who’d been watching the whole time, finally spoke. “And now you’re here,” he said, a rare warmth softening his voice. “Perfect timing, too. Things were starting to get boring.”
You picked your bowl, warming your hands, and turned to Yuji. “Alright, your turn. What’s your story?”
Yuji blinked mid-bite, caught off guard. “Huh?”
“You’ve got something going on too, right?”
He scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah… I ate a cursed object.”
“Like what?”
“A finger,” he said simply.
You raised a brow. “A finger?”
“Yeah. It belonged to this ancient curse from a thousand years ago. He was so powerful they couldn’t destroy him, so they chopped him up and sealed the parts.”
You stared. “And that’s what you ate?”
Yuji nodded. “And didn’t die. Which meant I could digest his cursed energy. Now he lives inside me, sealed, for the most part.”
You paused, then spoke carefully. “Swallowing a curse like that… you knew it might kill you.” It wasn’t a question. You recognized his calm resolve, and he nodded, as if to confirm that he’d already made peace with it. “It was either eat it or die trying to protect someone. I chose the finger.”
Instead of pushing further, you smirked slightly and asked, “And… what’d it taste like?”
Yuji hesitated. “Uh… Calpas?”
From the other side of the cafeteria, a booming voice thundered: “YOU TAKE THAT BACK!”
Panda’s head popped out, eyes blazing. “Calpas are a delicacy! Don’t go comparing them to crusty old man fingers!”
Laughter exploded around the table - Yuji scrambling to defend himself, Nobara wheezing into her sleeve, Megumi muttering he wasn’t entirely wrong. You laughed too, surprised by how easily it came.
From across the room, you caught Gojo drifting toward Yaga and the others, expression light but eyes sharp. Beside you, Nanami shifted slightly; his usual stone-faced calm had cracked just enough for a faint, approving smile.
***
That night, for the first time in a very long while, you slept deeply, and when morning came, with the sunlight spilling softly through the window and casting faint patterns across the wooden floor, you stretched slowly, letting yourself savor the quiet.
You had just sat down for a cup of tea when a knock came at your door, soft and insistent. Ijich stood there with the particular stiffness of someone who’d rather be anywhere else than here. He bowed and extended a cream-colored envelope sealed with red lacquer stamped with a crest. “Delivered by hand this morning,” he said almost apologetically.
The envelope was heavy in your hand, and clearly expensive. The wax cracked with a faint snap, and inside was a neatly folded card, written in elegant black ink:
Your Presence Is Requested at the Zen’in Estate
for a
Tea Ceremony of Recognition and Regard
Signed: Naobito Zen’in
Clan Head, Zen’in Family
“They expect a response by sundown,” Ijichi added, eyes sliding away from yours. “I was instructed to let them know.”
You turned the card over, half-expecting some hidden message, but the back was empty. “And if I don’t respond?” Your voice was light, testing.
Ijichi’s mouth tightened. He didn’t quite meet your gaze. “Then they’ll take that as your answer.”
You gave him a kind smile. “Then they’ll have it by sundown.” He seemed relieved at your measured tone, bowing once more and retreating down the hall.
As the door clicked shut, your fingers tightened around the paper. They thought you could be ordered like a pawn on their board. But you knew these games too well—polite commands in official chambers, veiled threats dressed as dinner toasts. This tea ceremony would never happen.
Minutes later, you stormed onto the training yard. Crisp autumn air bit at your cheeks as cursed energy coiled through your palms - raw, volatile, and slipping through your control. Your blade sliced through the air with force, each strike sharper than necessary, fiercer than precise, almost reckless.
Nanami’s eyes didn’t leave you.
He moved with quiet precision, intercepting your swings just enough to prevent injury. When your footwork faltered, he steadied you with a gentle adjustment, but you pulled back, frustration mounting, refusing to subside.
Finally, he signaled a pause. “Enough,” he said, handing you a water bottle and gesturing toward the torii gate, away from the other students.
On the sun-warmed wooden platform, you sat shoulder to shoulder, the letter folded neatly in your lap. You started picking at your nails, “I can’t control it when I’m angry,” you admitted, finally.
“I can see that,” Nanami said softly, tilting his head. “Control isn’t about shutting off your emotions. It’s about knowing how far you can push before they push back. And knowing why you push in the first place.”
You swallowed, your eyes narrowing. “They think they can tell me what to do. That a polite invitation makes it okay to dictate my choices.”
He nodded slowly, letting your words hang in the air. “I get it. Sometimes the people with the most power don’t care about skill or potential - they care about alignment, obedience, and optics. Even the strongest can be trapped by that.”
You frowned. “Trapped?”
He let his gaze drift toward the distant forest surrounding the grounds, where leaves stirred in quiet spirals. “Haibara knew that, once. Brilliant, talented, and stubborn… and yet, even he had to play along sometimes, for the greater good.” Then, as if he snapped out of it, he added, “And yet, they can’t touch your power. They can’t touch your decisions either, unless you let them. That’s the lesson most never learn.”
“I don’t want to play their game,” you said, voice low but firm. “Their tea ceremony, their hierarchy - it’s all just a show. I won’t step in and pretend to comply.”
“Pretend?” Nanami shook his head. “No. You won’t. But you should know the board before you make your moves. You can refuse, but know what that means.” He paused, letting the words settle. “Defiance isn’t without consequence. The clan doesn’t forget. They watch. And they’ll expect a response - one way or another.”
You folded your arms, letting your gaze drift to the courtyard below. Nanami exhaled softly, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve seen many sorcerers falter under the weight of expectation,” he said. “You won’t. Not because you’re stronger - though you are - but because you understand the choice is yours. You decide when to bend and when to stand.”
You met his eyes for a long moment, the first real acknowledgment of trust passing between you. In that quiet space, sunlight pooling around your legs, you realized that defiance wasn’t just anger - it was also control.
“And,” Nanami added quietly, “if you need guidance, you don’t have to face it alone.”
You exhaled, letting the tension drain from your shoulders, just a bit. “Even if it tears everything apart?”
He offered a half-smile. “Especially then. Just… don’t lose yourself in it. You’re powerful enough to make a statement without destroying yourself in the process.”
The sun had already dipped low, staining the training yard in burnt orange, when you finally staggered back into the training yard. The air carried the first bite of autumn - cooler currents slipping between warm pockets, a restless wind tugging at your sleeves. Sweat clung stubbornly to your skin, plastering hair against your temples. Bruises flushed red-purple along your arms and ribs, tender with every breath.
Each strike, each parry, had been like dragging metal across glass. But as dusk deepened and the wind cooled your skin, your body began to catch the rhythm. Your cursed energy moved crisp and clean - arcs like water carving stone, edges sharp enough to cut the air. For the first time, your rage didn’t overwhelm you. It fueled you.
Nanami stood off to the side, arms folded, quietly observant. He offered no words, only a brief, measured nod when you finally let your stance: progress.
Later, perched at the platform’s edge with your lungs still burning, you pulled the folded letter from your pocket. Sweat had smudged the ink, but not the intent: someone else’s hand, trying to write out your future. You tore it once, and then again.
By the time Ijichi found you, the sky had bled to indigo and the wind had cooled further, threading sharply through your damp clothes. You rose, scraps crumpled in your fist, and pressed them into his hand.
“Tell them my answer is no,” you said, calm and steady.
His eyes widened, but he said nothing, only bowed stiffly before retreating, the fragments of paper carried off with him into the gathering night.
Summary: The report Kento Nanami filed at 3:17 AM under harsh fluorescent light and the lingering static of your cursed energy was the kind that got printed twice: once for the official archives, and once to be passed under the table, shared in whispers between men in clean suits and ancient bloodlines.
You were never supposed to be there, sitting in the wreckage of a hydroelectric plant at the foot of the Shizuoka hills, surrounded by scorched wiring and shattered concrete, a blade across your lap and blood cooling on your hands.
There were no records that placed you on any map. No cursed lineage. No school. No training. Yet when they found you, the cursed womb was destroyed.
Last chapter.
Chapter 2: Trial of Recognition
Nanami was walking ahead silently. He didn’t slow when the corridors bent, or when the air turned dense with sandalwood and damp earth. He moved with the precision of someone who had done this too many times before, with too many people who hadn’t lasted long enough to be remembered.
The last hallway was narrow and dim. Barrier tags hung low from the ceiling, rustling in still air, faintly humming with cursed energy.
He stopped at the door and pointed:
“This is you. You will be housed alone for a while.”
You looked at the talisman nailed above the threshold, buzzing louder than the others. “Why is that?”
“Security,” he said. Then, after a pause, “Politics. Doesn’t matter. You’ll stay here until someone higher up makes a decision.”
The room was small, with no windows. A futon, a desk, and a bookshelf in the corner. A handful of paper lamps gave a soft, even light. The seal on the door could only be activated from the outside.
Nanami didn’t step in.
“See you tomorrow,” he said. Then he gave a small nod and left.
***
At dawn, he came back. You were already dressed, waiting at the door. That earned you another nod.
This time, he took you through a different corridor, with cracking floorboards and walls lined with old flyers and scribbles left by previous students. Light was just beginning to come in through paper screens, catching small particles of dust hanging motionless in the air.
At the end of the hall, there was a wide, plain door. Nanami knocked once and pushed it open without waiting.
Principal Masamichi Yaga was sitting behind a large desk, slouching over a thin stack of papers. He didn’t look up when you entered. Didn’t ask your name.
Instead, His voice came low:
“Unregistered. Untrained. And yet… You survived. Why?”
Not how.
Not what happened.
Just why.
The questions that followed were equally sharp and stripped down to essentials:
Where did you learn to control cursed energy?
Why did you act without clearance?
Who trained you?
Why come here?
You answered honestly, and he didn’t interrupt. Didn’t nod. He wrote in quick strokes, pausing only when the story became repetitive.
When you finished, he closed the file and sat back in his chair.
“That’s enough for now.’ he said. You’ll stay here until further notice.”
You asked:
“For how long?”
He didn’t blink.
“As long as it takes. You won’t interact with the other students. Nanami will handle your training. You’ll report to him, and only him.”
His hand rested on the folder, fingers drumming once.
“And if we need more information about your cursed energy, your background, or intent, you will answer.”
He tapped the folder again, firmly.
“Fully.”
***
The first few days passed in a haze. It was the kind of exhaustion that settled bone-deep when trying to make a new place yours.
The school was old and angular. Half-temple in its silence and half-military in its intent. Beyond its outermost wards, the forest pressed in, full of cursed spirits silently watching, waiting to cross paths.
It wasn’t home.
But it was a place. And for right now, that was enough.
Nanami was the only one you spoke to that first week. Even if his words came sparingly and to the point, he always showed up, dawn after dawn, without fail, and always with the same warning:
“Control over power. Every time.”
You weren’t sure if he was repeating it for your sake or his.
On the eighth day, after a round of drills, you moved too fast, cursed energy flaring high, flash-heating the ground beneath your boots. Your blade cut clean through the air, but the strike was overkill. The target, already destabilized, exploded on contact. The recoil burned your arm.
Nanami didn’t raise his voice. Just waited for the smoke to settle.
“You’re fast,” he said, “but you waste movement when your temper flares.”
You nodded, biting back irritation.
“Don’t look annoyed,” he added. “If you weren’t worth the effort, I wouldn’t bother saying it.”
Then, after a pause:
“Your instincts are sharp, and you adjust quicker than most. But you fight like someone used to being underestimated. That only works until it doesn’t.”
You looked down at the scorch mark beneath your boots.
“Still,” Nanami said, “There’s a difference between surviving and standing your ground..”
You squared your shoulders, ready for the next target, when the air shifted and sent chills down your back.
“Ahhh… so this is her.”
Gojo Satoru strolled into your field of view, hands in pockets. Nanami barely turned.
“You’re not cleared for this.”
Gojo raised both hands in mock surrender.
“Relax. I’m just here to say hello.”
Nanami exhaled sharply.
“She’s still under internal review.”
Gojo ignored him and leaned closer, blindfolded head tilting like a curious fox.
“So you’re the Hydro Ghost, huh? Turned a cursed womb and half a hydro plant into vapour. All that without formal training?” He whistled. “Love that!”
You didn’t answer.
“Wanna see if you last three minutes?” Gojo cracked his knuckles.
Nanami shifted, about to intervene, but you’d already stepped forward before he could speak.
The first strike cracked the air like lightning.
You blocked out of instinct, but the shock rattled down your arm, nearly shattering bone and sinew.
Gojo’s gaze flicked to you for a moment before he struck again. There was no real tension in his movement, no real effort, just smooth, relentless momentum. His skill was impossible to match. But what you could do was read the rhythm beneath it. You watched the flow of his weight, counted the beats behind his steps. Red, volatile cursed energy spilled down your legs like molten fire, sharpening your reflexes, and you slipped close enough to singe his sleeve.
He winked: “You’re fun!”
You said nothing.
Then, like mist dissolving, your cursed energy thinned, cooled down, and became fluid. You slipped past his timing like a shadow. Your strike came from his blind side, angled perfectly.
He dodged. Effortlessly. As if the hit barely registered.
Pulling out his phone mid-motion, he grinned and aimed the camera at you. “Want me to tag you on Instagram?”
You pressed on. That refusal to break rhythm, that relentless focus - that was what he liked.
At 2 minutes and 41 seconds, your blade nicked his arm. A thin, clean line and a single bead of blood welled up.
That stopped him.
Gojo’s gaze dropped to the wound, then snapped back to you. His grin softened, something clicking into place. “Ah. Dangerous and clever.”
He snapped his fingers, ending the match.
Turning away, still thumbing his phone, he called over his shoulder, “Stay unpredictable. It’s the only reason they’ll hesitate to kill you.”
Nanami had stood silent the entire time, arms crossed, jaw tight. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, less clipped than usual.
“He wasn’t supposed to do that.”
You nodded, still catching your breath. The heat of your katana radiated softly, cursed energy rising in thin, steady ribbons like smoke off boiling water.
“But you didn’t die,” Nanami added, handing you a towel. “That’s something.”
You accepted the towel, and for a moment, the weight of the fight settled between you.
Nanami’s gaze didn’t waver. “This world isn’t kind to people who don’t belong. If you’re going to survive, you’ll need more than sheer power.”
You met his eyes. “I’m here to learn.”
A brief pause, then Nanami’s jaw relaxed. “Good. Then let’s try again.”
***
The official invitation arrived a few days after your spar with Gojo. The crisp white envelope was stamped with the Jujutsu High seal, and inside was a neat handwritten note, signed by Principal Yaga:
Expedited Evaluation
Location: Uninhabited island, offshore from Okinawa, Sector 6-B
Target: Grade 1 curse nest (Cluster Classification)
Time Limit: 12 minutes.
Instructions: Appear at 0900 hours.
Your classification depends on your performance.
At 08:45, the transport dropped you at the southern edge of what had once been a military training site, now repurposed and quietly renamed a remote, sorcerer testing zone. Wind off the sea stirred the marram grass. The island smelled of iodine and seaweed, and the weight of humid air clung to your skin.
Mei Mei was already there, perched on a weathered outcrop, sipping from a silver thermos with a bored, detached expression. Your evaluator, Kusakabe Atsuya, stood a few meters off, fiddling with the drone that would livestream the mission back to the headquarters, so that Yaga, maybe even the Inspector General, could observe from afar. They wanted to see what you’d do, yes, but more so, how you would do it.
At exactly 09:00, Atsuya lowered the veil, and you stepped into the dense, tangled thicket at the center of the island. Your mind drifted to Nanami’s voice, steady and measured: “Control over power. Every time.” Maybe they expected a brawler, a blunt force weapon forged in uncontrolled energy, but that’s not what they were getting. One breath in, a longer one out.
Liquid mode: Silent Flow.
The cursed nest pulsed like an infected wound, rhythmically under your feet.
Your cursed energy dissolved, slipping into the cracked ground like vapor. Every blade of grass, every tree root, every grain of sand reported back in silent pulses. The surroundings became a field of echoes.
The first curse broke cover two minutes in. Long-limbed and pale, its core sputtered with instability. It screeched at you, but it was already too late. It was a clean cut. The cursed form collapsed mid-scream, severed at the mid-point, torso carving apart in air, energy unspooling like thread pulled from a jumper.
The second was smarter. Hungrier. You could hear its teeth snapping from behind you, shifting its signature erratically, weaving it through the island's own cursed landscape, threatening to tear you limb from limb.
You closed your eyes and sheathed your blade. You stopped moving. Slowed your breath again. Let the fire in your core die down to embers. Then came the surge, lunging from below.
Ignition mode: Blazing Flow.
A burst of molten, cursed energy lit your limbs, and the moment its mass intersected yours, you turned into fire. Your knee met its face. Your elbow broke its spine. The aftershock rippled through the island. The curse vaporized into ash and static, forming a perfect ring around you.
Then… nothing. The forest had stopped breathing. The timer still ticked, but the air on the island stood still.
You knew then, when you felt the pressure in your chest, that the third wasn’t a curse.
It was the land beneath your feet. Ancient and embedded, forgotten beneath the topsoil of war, pollution, and human blood.
Your sword pulsed at your side. Your cursed energy surged to your lungs. You could have ignited it, it would have been so easy, but instead… You took another deep breath and knelt, pressing your palm to the dirt, and whispered a single word through breath-controlled flame:
"Submit."
The island listened. A stillness settled. The ground exhaled. The timer rang.
***
When the tape ended, no one at the headquarters moved. The elders shifted in their seats, their faces unreadable. Some narrowed their eyes, others murmured in measured tones under their breath.
"She’s not one of ours", one stated bluntly.
Others nodded in agreement, "Then how did she do that?"
No one had an answer.
The compromise was cautious and deliberate - a new classification, drafted in the shadows of uncertainty and necessity.
Your personal file, sealed and restricted, laid bare their findings:
PERSONAL PROFILE
Subject: [REDACTED]
Classification: Semi–Special Grade
Evaluator’s Notes - Kusakabe Atsuya:
Technique is a paradox. Energy behaves like a sentient element. Responds to the user's emotional breath states. Dual-mode application makes tracking and prediction extremely difficult. She demonstrates restraint, discipline, and terrifying potential.
She could have destroyed the island, but she chose not to.
Observer’s Notes – Mei Mei:
Classification is well-deserved. Buy stock.
Summary:
Unregistered female sorcerer surfaced without known cursed lineage or jujutsu training. Displays an advanced, dual-state cursed technique: Flow Authority.
Liquid Mode: Vapourised cursed energy conceals presence. Enables redirection of incoming cursed flows, tactical evasion, or silent strikes.
Ignition Mode: Accelerated cursed combustion. Fire-based close-range techniques cause prolonged damage and break the opponent’s stance.
Breathing state governs switching; emotional regulation is critical.
Signature resembles self-directed, autonomous cursed energy, unlike any current classification.
Source of cursed energy is unclear. Does not align with innate techniques. Believed to be externally acquired - possibly with force.
Assessment Risk:
In violation of standard classification criteria. Per Jujutsu Regulations, unregistered technique development and unsanctioned threat neutralization fall under disciplinary review. Execution or confinement remains viable but politically contentious.
If corrupted, potential for Class-A curse user designation.
If loyal, could become a strategic asset in asymmetrical engagements.
If unmonitored, is a political liability.
As such, the subject has been granted Provisional Clearance under Article 7 of the Jujutsu Memorandum (Handling of Threats) and remains under constant surveillance by Principal Masamichi Yaga and Grade 1 Sorcerer Kento Nanami.
***
Back at the training grounds, the official message arrived the next day.
“Semi-Special Grade,” Nanami read aloud, voice flat but eyes cutting straight through. He folded the paper with deliberate care and tucked it back into the envelope.
You tilted your head, mouth tugging into a humorless smile. “Semi-Special, huh? I’ve heard that bureaucratic jargon before.”
A flicker passed across his features. “Not because you lack strength,” he pointed out. “But because they don’t know what they’re looking at. That kind of uncertainty scares them more than raw power ever could.”
Even his frustration came softly worded.
Later that evening, after drills, he handed you a bottle of antiseptic without a word. You hadn’t realized your knuckles were still bleeding from the spar. He didn’t offer to clean them, he just sat down beside you on the stone steps outside the secluded training hall, sheltered from prying eyes, sleeves rolled, tie loosened just enough to show he’d been pushing himself too.
“You fought well today,” he said. It was the first time he complimented your technique.
“You noticed?” you teased, half-mocking.
“I notice everything,” he said, low and serious, and you believed him.
The two of you sat in silence for the rest of the evening. There was no need for words. Something about sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, dusk stretching long across the training grounds, made you feel steady.
***
But far from the training fields, the silence held only briefly.
Whispers slid swiftly through one sliding door to the next, carried in sharp footsteps and ink-stained notes. In ancestral clan estates, hidden committee halls, and silent shrines, old bloodlines stirred, taking notice, seeding plans that could shake the balance of power.
A question hung heavy in the air, unspoken but felt by all:
What did this unknown force mean for their carefully guarded world?
Summary: The report Kento Nanami filed at 3:17 AM under harsh fluorescent light and the lingering static of your cursed energy was the kind that got printed twice: once for the official archives, and once to be passed under the table, shared in whispers between men in clean suits and ancient bloodlines.
You were never supposed to be there, sitting in the wreckage of a hydroelectric plant at the foot of the Shizuoka hills, surrounded by scorched wiring and shattered concrete, a blade across your lap and blood cooling on your hands.
There were no records that placed you on any map. No cursed lineage. No school. No training. Yet when they found you, the cursed womb was destroyed.
Chapter 1: The Special Incident Report
Yu Haibara was the first dispatched. As a Grade 1 sorcerer, he was more than capable of handling what looked like a standard cursed womb nesting inside a defunct power station in Shizuoka.
It sounded simple enough.
Eleven hours in, all communication stopped.
Three days later, they found what was left of him - cut clean through the torso, cursed energy burned and folded back into itself.
The surveillance footage was corrupted, and what little remained was just static, smoke, and the aftermath.
Field Testimony – Kento Nanami
Time: 03:17 AM
Device: Chest-mounted recorder. Static interference noted.
Nanami’s voice is steady, clipped, and tired.
Haibara is confirmed KIA. The cursed signature is residual. Someone else finished the job. The place reeks of copper and ozone. Half the control room is gone.
He turns the corner and pauses. Gravel shifts under his boots.
You’re not hiding very well.
You don't flinch. You're seated on what remains of the floor, cross-legged. Your sword rests in your lap, the blade still blood-stained dark along the edge. You look up at him calmly.
Didn’t need to.
He steps closer. Rain taps on the twisted metal beams overhead.
You killed it?
Yes.
And Haibara?
Already dead when I got here. Or just wasn't fast enough.
He studies you for a long time, and you let him.
That cursed energy— he says finally. It doesn’t belong to you.
No, but it listens now.
You notice the shift. He's calculating whether he should reach for his weapon.
If you're trying to impress anyone—
I’m not. I want in.
He raises an eyebrow.
In where?
Where the power is. You guys make it look so exclusive.
Because it is.
Rain steams off your shoulders. The sword at your side pulses faintly.
Then consider this my application.
Another long silence.
Wind pushes through the gaps in the ceiling. Nanami lowers his hand from his hilt.
Tch. You’re serious.
Deadly.
Fine, he sighs. Make it to sunrise without killing anyone else, and I’ll put your name down myself.
You stand up slowly. A flicker of something unreadable crosses your face.
...You’ll get my name if I make it to sunrise.
Your file is updated the next morning.
Age: 23.
Grade: Unknown, possibly Special.
Technique: Undetermined. Cursed energy displays advanced control and atypical traits - viscous, volatile, almost responsive.
Affiliations: None. No known lineage, registry, or prior training.
The authorities couldn’t authorize elimination. The scene had been too clean, too precise. Special grade remnants still lingered in the soil days later.
So, in the end, you were granted a provisional clearance, but your every step was watched.
Handwritten Note in the margin of the report – Kento Nanami
She wasn’t born with cursed energy, yet somehow, she carved herself into the world of jujutsu.
She should be closely monitored until we have more information.
Confidential Note – Satoru Gojo
Hand-delivered to Principal Yaga, together with the report.
Heard about your Hydro Ghost. Watched the tape twice. I'm sure you noticed that her cursed energy doesn’t move like ours. Fascinating, right?
She erased the womb and brought down the entire facility without training or any known lineage, and then calmly asked where to file her paperwork.
You want my opinion? I say let her in.
If she wanted Nanami dead, he wouldn’t be filing this report.
And if the higher-ups start asking questions... well, maybe they’re the ones we should be monitoring.
