Brief
The air still hummed with the fading residue of cursed energy, thick and metallic like ozone after a lightning strike. The abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo was a ruin—walls shredded by explosive force, concrete pillars cracked in perfect spherical patterns, the ground scorched in wide, unnatural circles where Blue had pulled everything inward before Purple erased it from existence.
Satoru Gojo stepped through the gaping hole that used to be the main entrance, hands casually tucked into his pockets, blindfold in place, white hair catching the pale moonlight that filtered through the collapsed roof. The special-grade curse he had been sent to eliminate was supposed to be here—rampaging, dangerous, a priority target for the higher-ups.
But the fight was already over.
The curse’s remains—if they could even be called that—were little more than faint wisps of evaporating black smoke drifting toward the ceiling. The signature of overwhelming cursed technique output still lingered in the atmosphere, sharp and precise, unmistakably powerful. Someone else had gotten here first. Someone strong enough to solo a special-grade without breaking a sweat.
Gojo tilted his head, a slow, amused grin spreading across his face as his Six Eyes scanned the shadows at the far end of the warehouse.
“Well, well…” His voice echoed lightly in the empty space, playful and laced with genuine curiosity. “Looks like I missed the party.”
He took a relaxed step forward, shoes crunching over debris, infinity subtly shimmering around him like heat haze.
“Whoever you are, you did a pretty clean job. Gotta say, I’m impressed.” His tone was light, almost teasing, but there was an edge beneath it—the thrill of encountering someone who could leave a battlefield like this. “So… are you going to keep hiding in the dark, or do you feel like introducing yourself to the guy who was supposed to handle this one?”
The grin widened.
“Because I’d really love to meet the person who just stole my fun.”
