Outside, fire trucks sped by one after another, sirens wailing as they raced toward the site of the recent explosion.
In a temporary tent nearby, members of the Sorcerers Association, Japanese government officials, and military personnel were gathered to discuss the aftermath. Outside the police perimeter, several reporters clutching microphones were already broadcasting:
"We have received reports that due to aging underground gas pipes, a severe explosion occurred near the highway earlier tonight."
"The fire is currently under control..."
Watching the reporter skillfully recite a pre-prepared script, Kenmyo Isayama could already imagine the reaction of families sitting around their dinner tables: "Again? Where exactly is the government spending our tax money? Every day it's news like this."
Normally, a "Curtain"—a barrier technique used to hide a specific area from non-sorcerers—would have been used. However, the pillar of fire that shot into the sky had torn right through it, exposing the cataclysmic scene to the world.
Kenmyo, the "culprit" who caused the spirit to explode, was currently rolling up his sleeve. He watched with a hint of awe as a jagged wound on his arm healed at a visible pace.
"It's already better. Amazing."
The wound had been a stroke of bad luck; when the shockwave flipped him over, a piece of jagged metal from a car door had sliced his arm, soaking his white shirt in blood.
"So this is Reversed Cursed Technique?"
Since Cursed Energy is born from negative emotions, it is inherently negative energy. To heal with it, one must first flip the nature of that energy—negative times negative equals positive. Using "positive" energy can repair a body; otherwise, the destructive nature of negative Cursed Energy would only make a wound worse.
It sounded complicated, and in practice, it was even harder. Aside from the person in front of him, Kenmyo hadn't met anyone else in the Association who could use it.
"Alright, you should be fine now."
Kenmyo snapped out of his thoughts and smiled at the young "doctor" in front of him. "Thank you so much, Doctor."
The "doctor" who possessed this rare talent was, surprisingly, a girl who looked like a student. She had short brown hair, a beauty mark under her eye, and was currently sitting beside Kenmyo sucking on a lollipop. (She usually preferred cigarettes). She wore the black uniform of the Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School.
"I didn't know what I'd do if I had to walk around with a wound that bad," Kenmyo added. He had school tomorrow. If he tried to ask for more leave, his request form might come back as an expulsion notice.
"Don't worry about it. It wasn't much trouble," she replied.
Receiving Kenmyo's sincere thanks made the girl look slightly bashful. "Just be careful with that arm for a few days. Don't do any heavy lifting or intense exercise. The new tissue is still a bit fragile. Also, if you feel any discomfort, you can call me at this number."
"Oh, thank you."
As Kenmyo took the slip of paper, the girl gave a small smile. "Shoko. My name is Shoko Ieiri."
"Did you see that, Suguru?"
On the hospital beds not far away, two boys looked like they had seen a ghost. The white-haired one, eyes practically bulging out of his head, rolled over to whisper to the black-haired boy with the man-bun.
The black-haired boy, who usually had squinted eyes, now had them wide open. "I saw it, Satoru."
"You've got to be kidding me. Since when is Shoko that gentle?"
"Tch. You two are pathetic."
Sitting beside them was a girl in a red-and-white miko (shrine maiden) outfit. She had her arms crossed and was looking down at them like they were pests.
"It's obviously because he's handsome, you idiots. Look at yourselves. You look no different from beggars on the street right now."
"Huh? Utahime, you're talking about yourself too!"
"Exactly. If you didn't look just as ragged and hobo-ish as we do, you'd have been the first one over there trying to hit on that pretty boy."
"What!" Utahime flinched, her face flushing. Fortunately, a layer of soot on her cheeks hid the blush, otherwise, these two would have teased her mercilessly.
"Gojo, this is all your fault, you moron!" she snapped. "Teleporting us right next to a bomb... were you trying to blow us up on purpose?"
These three were the "unlucky souls" from earlier. They had used an unknown technique to travel at high speed to the distress coordinates. They were all students from Tokyo Jujutsu High: Utahime Iori, a graduate and Grade 2 sorcerer; Satoru Gojo (white hair) and Suguru Geto (black man-bun), both second-year students and Kenmyo's age.
They had arrived as emergency reinforcements, only to find the Cursed Spirit had turned into a ticking time bomb of unstable energy. They had landed just as it detonated.
Surviving such a point-blank explosion with only minor injuries was a testament to their strength—they were just a bit disheveled. All three were covered in soot, looking like they'd just crawled out of a coal mine.
Fuming, Utahime rolled up her sleeves to smack the "bastard" she called Gojo.
"Your classmates are quite... lively," Kenmyo remarked, watching the trio bicker.
"Haha... they're always like that," Shoko Ieiri replied with a strained smile. "Those two pieces of trash are upsetting Utahime-senpai again." Shoko's fist tightened behind her back; she was clearly nearing her limit as well.
"Shut up, all of you! This is a medical tent!"
A furious roar erupted as the tent flap was pulled back.
Kenmyo was surprised to see that at the very first syllable of "Shut," the three bickering students froze. As if nothing had happened, the two boys lay back down instantly, and the girl sat perfectly upright in her chair, looking as if "I am a good student" was tattooed on her forehead.
The transition was so fast and practiced that it clearly wasn't their first time.
Two men entered. One was Kenmyo's acquaintance, Mr. Akutagawa. The other was a man who looked familiar but whose name Kenmyo couldn't recall—a muscular, stern-faced middle-aged man with a black buzz cut, appearing slightly younger than Akutagawa.
"Sorry, Akutagawa. Sorry you had to see that," the buzz-cut man apologized.
"It's fine, Yaga," Akutagawa replied. He shifted his gaze to the students, specifically the white-haired Satoru Gojo. When he saw those sky-blue eyes that sparkled like a brilliant galaxy, he paused for a moment.
"So, those are the Six Eyes?"
Akutagawa quickly regained his composure and allowed himself a rare joke. "Yaga, your students... they certainly have personality."
One was wearing sunglasses with only one lens left, one was pretending to sleep while squinting, and one was scrubbing her face so hard she looked like a calico cat.