The exchange in the sewers had revealed a fundamental truth that even Mahito, in his manic confidence, could not ignore.
Idle Transfiguration was, by any measure, an exceptional Cursed Technique. It granted him near-immortal regenerative capabilities and the ability to inflict fatal soul damage with a single touch. In his mind, this made him virtually unbeatable—others couldn't kill him, and he could kill them with one strike.
But today's opponents had exposed a critical flaw.
Red Spider's webs were an inescapable labyrinth, constantly restricting his movements, limiting his options. Akamaru's blade was a precision instrument, carving through his transformed body with mechanical efficiency. Together, they had created a nightmare scenario Mahito had never considered:
What if my soul remains intact, but my Cursed Energy runs out?
Every Idle Transfiguration cost him. Every regeneration. Every transformed limb. And against these two emotionless puppets, his expenditure was immense while his results were zero.
In a brief lull during his increasingly frantic attacks, Akamaru struck.
One moment Mahito was whole. The next, he was bisected at the waist. Before he could process, the blade moved again—halving his upper body. Then again. And again.
Akamaru wasn't shredding randomly. He was hunting. Each cut followed his perception, tracking where Mahito's soul resided, severing the corresponding flesh. Left, right, top, bottom—Mahito's body dissolved into smaller and smaller pieces until his soul could only occupy a single isolated point.
His left eye.
Before he could regenerate, Red Spider's webs enclosed it. Layer upon layer, sealing him in an airtight cocoon. Then—splash. Into the underground river, carried away by sewage.
By the time Mahito tore free, they were gone.
But he wasn't angry.
"Heh... heh heh..." A slow grin spread across his remaining features. "That was fun. I feel closer—closer to my soul's true form."
He floated in the darkness, already scheming.
'Maybe I should find more Sukuna fingers. That way, I can fight opponents like that again.'
Far from the sewers, a different scene unfolded.
Boundless azure sea stretched to the horizon. Waves rose and fell in rhythmic cadence, their gentle crashing a constant, soothing whisper. Golden sand, fine as silk, shimmered under the warm sun. Colorful lounge chairs dotted the beach like exotic flowers against the perfect backdrop.
On one chair lounged a girl—Kanon, sunglasses perched on her nose, several strange patterns adorning her face. She looked peaceful, relaxed, utterly at ease.
On neighboring chairs sat an unlikely collection:
A one-eyed Cursed Spirit with a volcano crowning his head. An octopus-like figure, tentacles draped casually over armrests. A humanoid with two branches growing from its eye sockets. A woman in monk-like robes, her hair cut in a neat bob, expression serene.
A door materialized in mid-air. Mahito stepped through.
Kanon lowered her sunglasses. When she spoke, her voice held none of the sweet, playful tones of before. It carried something older. Colder. Familiar.
"How was it? Did you have fun?"
Behind her eyes, Kenjaku smiled.
Some time ago, after successfully taking possession of Kanon's body, he had sought out these Special Grade Cursed Spirits. He had explained Kamo Itsuki's plan—the vision of a world without curses, without chaos.
Their first reaction had been disbelief. Then horror. Then, finally, agreement.
They needed to test this threat. And what better test than Kamo Itsuki's own collection project? If the fingers were so important to him, interfering with their collection would reveal his hand.
Mahito, youngest of them, still growing into his power, had volunteered eagerly. A chance to fight. To improve. To play.
Now he returned, not defeated, but enlightened.
"You were right," Mahito said, settling onto an empty chair. "Those two weren't human. Not Cursed Spirits either. Something new."
"Puppets," Kenjaku supplied. "Kamo Itsuki's creations. He has many."
Mahito's grin widened. "I want to fight them again. And again. Until I understand everything."
Jogo, the volcano-headed Cursed Spirit, grunted. "This is no game. If Kamo Itsuki truly plans to eradicate us—"
"He does," Kenjaku interrupted smoothly. "I've seen his prototype. A Barrier that covers an entire region, gathering and containing Cursed Spirits for systematic extermination. He's testing it now. When it's perfected, he'll expand. First prefectures. Then regions. Then..."
He let the implication hang.
The beach fell silent save for the gentle crash of waves.
Finally, Dagon—the octopus Cursed Spirit—spoke. "What do you propose?"
Kenjaku's borrowed lips curved into a smile.
"We gather the remaining Sukuna fingers before he does. We build our own strength. And when the time is right..."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"We show him that chaos cannot be so easily contained."
Mahito laughed, bright and delighted. "This is going to be so much fun!"
Mahito's unique abilities made him difficult to kill by conventional means, which was precisely why he had volunteered for the mission. Now, lounging on the sun-drenched beach, he recounted his battle with casual enthusiasm.
"The spider one kept wrapping me up. The sword one kept cutting me apart." He grinned, relishing the memory. "It was perfect. I've never had to work so hard just to stay alive."
Kenjaku nodded, his expression thoughtful within Kanon's borrowed features. "Those weren't Sorcerers. They were puppets—Kamo Itsuki's creations. He has many."
Jogo, the volcano-headed Cursed Spirit, leaned forward with interest. "If his puppets are that strong... how strong is the man himself?"
"Jogo." Kenjaku's voice carried a warning edge. "Abandon that thought immediately. If all of us attacked him together, we would all die. There is no scenario where that changes."
"Tch." Jogo's disdain was palpable. "If he's that powerful, why hasn't he simply eliminated us?"
"Not because he can't." Kenjaku's eyes narrowed. "Because his ambitions are larger than you can imagine. He doesn't have time for you yet."
Mahito had already agreed to cooperate. Though not the strongest among them, his potential was unmatched—a fact Jogo himself acknowledged when he nominated Mahito as their leader. With Mahito's acceptance, the alliance was sealed.
"Then let me share my plan." Kenjaku's borrowed lips curved into a smile that held no warmth.
Meanwhile, in Kamo Itsuki's laboratory, Red Spider and Akamaru stood at attention before their creator.
They had returned with more than just the Sukuna finger. Carefully preserved, floating in a sealed vial, was a sample of Mahito's blood.
This had been one of Kamo's standing orders: collect biological samples from any Sorcerer or Cursed Spirit deemed sufficiently valuable. Red Spider and Akamaru's analysis had flagged Mahito's abilities as exceptional, so they had acted accordingly.
"They encountered Mahito," Kamo murmured, examining the vial with keen interest. "And they won."
He turned the vial slowly, watching the dark fluid catch the light.
"Mahito at this stage would have only recently been born. His powers are still developing. If they had faced him later..." He didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to.
Idle Transfiguration.
The ability to manipulate souls. To reshape bodies by touching the essence within. On the surface, it seemed like a physical alteration technique. But Kamo understood deeper: it was an attack on the soul itself.
Combined with his Blood Manipulation, with his growing understanding of the human body's deepest secrets...
"Interesting." A rare, genuine smile crossed his features. "Very interesting."
He set the Sukuna finger aside. Important, yes. But this—this was something else entirely.
"I wonder what I can discover." His eyes gleamed with intellectual hunger. "The possibilities are... extraordinary."
Compared to collecting the King of Curses' fragments, this new acquisition promised something far more valuable: understanding. And with understanding came power of an entirely different order.