The next day.
Warm sunlight bathed the streets of Kyoto, painting the ancient capital in a gentle glow. Climb the maple-leaf-covered stone steps and you reached what appeared to be a school—though it looked more like a temple. That had always been Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High's public facade: an ordinary religious high school.
Soft morning light gilded the Golden Pavilion at the center, its reflection rippling in the surrounding pond. Stones and greenery were scattered seemingly at random, yet the arrangement carried an effortless elegance.
A classic Japanese courtyard.
"Kira-senpai isn't here yet?"
Kasumi Miwa brushed a strand of her aqua-blue bob cut aside and gazed into the distance, clearly hopeful.
"Miwa, sit down."
Utahime Iori scolded her. Utahime was the picture of traditional Japanese beauty—impeccably dressed in a dark kimono adorned with ukiyo-e patterns that managed to be tasteful rather than gaudy, giving her an air of quiet refinement. Her features had the gentle grace of a Yamato Nadeshiko, but the deep scar on her face lent her a roguish edge, and her words shattered whatever serenity her appearance suggested:
"Keep making noise and I'll throw you in there to feed Mechamaru."
"Iori-sensei, what I control may be a Cursed Corpse, but it doesn't eat people." The mechanical puppet beside them quickly interjected.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Mechamaru, please don't eat me! I haven't even bathed yet!"
Miwa pressed her palms together and bowed with utmost sincerity.
"I said I don't eat people..." Mechamaru was about ready to give up.
"Leaving aside whether Mechamaru eats people—" Maki Zenin crossed her long legs, a teasing smile on her lips. "What's this? You're looking forward to Kira's arrival that much?"
Miwa's face turned scarlet—even the rims of her ears were burning. She tilted her chin up and declared: "Kira is my idol! Don't you all think he's so cool?"
She added in a mumble: "Ugh, why did they send Todo-senpai to welcome Kira-senpai? I wanted to go so badly..."
"Cool..." Mai Zenin's mind conjured an image—golden hair hanging neatly, always perfectly groomed. Thin lips. Pale blue eyes. Always wearing immaculate black trousers without a single wrinkle, paired with a perfectly pressed blue jacket, every button fastened to the last.
"His face isn't bad, I'll give him that... but don't you think he's too stiff? Always so serious, so boring?"
"That's exactly what makes him cool!" At the mention of her idol, Miwa's eyes sparkled and she sat up straight. "Don't you think there's something admirable about a man who works diligently, lives honestly, and earns his own living?"
Not at all... Mai rubbed the bridge of her nose tiredly, then remembered that Miwa's dream was to graduate, get a job, and support her two younger brothers. No wonder Nanami Kira had become her role model...
A girl with no ambitions... Might as well toss her to Mechamaru... She rubbed her nose again.
"Really? You don't think that's cool? Working quietly, comfortable with solitude... Kira must be soft-hearted. He must be a kind, determined man. Don't you think a reliable older guy is attractive?"
"What bad intentions could Nanami Kira possibly have?"
"Miwa, actually, Kira isn't quite the person you think he—" Noritoshi Kamo flipped through the file he'd just received, paused, furrowed his brow, and looked up to meet Miwa's eyes.
"What about Kira?" Miwa cupped her face in both hands, eyes wide with anticipation. "What bad intentions could a normal office worker possibly have?"
"...Right." Kamo set the file down and looked away. "Perfectly normal."
Given that Miwa's current state resembled that of an obsessive online stan, Kamo wisely abandoned any attempt to argue. He stared down at the file in his hands:
"Last night at 8:30 PM, a blond male engaged a Grade 2 curse user and a Grade 1 curse user in combat at the World Trade Building... Said blond male reduced the curse user to ash despite the latter kneeling, weeping, and begging for surrender... The curse user's identity cannot be confirmed. The blond male has been positively identified as Nanami Kira, Grade 1 Jujutsu Sorcerer from Tokyo."
"Perfectly normal," he murmured.
"Speaking of which, Kira-senpai can't actually use cursed techniques, right? And his hand-to-hand combat is average. So why was he rated Grade 1?"
Momo Nishimiya—petite and doll-like—picked up the thread.
"His shikigami is... special. You'll see soon enough."
"Ooh, he just keeps getting more and more interesting, this man. When's he getting here?" Mai licked her lips.
"Maybe Kira is out helping the weak right now!" Miwa the superfan bristled, blinking insistently. "He's a kind, dependable adult!"
Nanami Kira looked at the blazing sun outside the window and frowned once more.
The driver up front was chattering away, his annoying hand gesturing in front of Kira's face. "First time in Kyoto, buddy?"
Tch. Kira checked his watch. 7:10—fifteen minutes until the appointment. He was going to be late.
Whether he was late or not, other people's feelings about waiting were irrelevant to him—the same way any body part besides hands was irrelevant. Chest, thighs, whatever—none of it mattered to Nanami Kira.
But he hated anything that fell outside his plans. Ever since childhood, Kira had cared about what others thought of him—not how they felt.
He maintained his own timetable. Being early was just as unacceptable as being late. He divided everything into precise blocks and followed the schedule with the exactitude of a clock hand. That's why he hated overtime—it added an unwanted extra block to his schedule.
And he hated being late. His fixation on punctuality bordered on pathological.
"Relax, buddy. Traffic's always bad this time of day. Rushing to work? Take it easy... wanna listen to the radio?"
...Failing to account for traffic congestion in the route plan—that was his mistake. Kira was a man who reflected and learned. Today's lesson: always maintain a calm and meticulous mindset.
What that curse user had said last night had rattled him. The man had recognized him on sight. Being too famous was never a good thing.
Back in school, he'd worked hard enough to be excellent—consistently placing third, never first or second. Outstanding enough to be noteworthy but not enough to leave a lasting impression, because people generally only remembered the top two.
But that strategy hadn't worked as well in the jujutsu world. Especially when first, second, and all four Special Grade sorcerers were unreliable loose cannons—plain, ordinary Nanami Kira had become the go-to guy. Every assignment got dumped on him.
The lesson from all this: for years, he'd worked to pass as a normal person, but among a crowd of lunatics, the normal one was the biggest anomaly.
This was also why Nanami Kira deeply resented Satoru Gojo: if that man were even slightly more dependable, Kira's workload would shrink considerably.
Work is garbage.
Watching the maple leaves flicker past the window, the blue mountain ridges undulating against the horizon, Kira thought to himself.
7:20.
"Morning~ morning~ Kyoto Video!"
"Good morning, this is your friendly neighbor... and today's first song starts right now."
The radio only agitated him further. Kira bit at his fingernails irritably—a bad habit. He always did this when he was on edge.
"Another jam—damn. So buddy, what do you do for a living?" The driver kept running his mouth.
"Hurry it up, please. I'm going to be late for work."
"Don't rush me. Can't you see the traffic?"
"There was a closer ramp back there. You didn't take it. You took the long way around."
"What are you implying?" The driver's eyes went wide, neck stiffening. "Hey now, don't go slandering me."
"I had no intention of making an issue out of something this minor—I hate making enemies. But because of your choice, we've ended up on a gridlocked highway. And I might be late because of it."
"What are you, crazy? Traffic's got you losing your mind?"
Kira ignored him. He raised his hand to inspect his chewed, uneven nails, then pulled a nail clipper from his inner pocket.
Click.
Click.
Cli—
The crisp sound of trimming his nails calmed him down. He went through each finger, one by one. The clippings fell onto the handkerchief spread neatly across his knee. When every nail was trimmed to perfection, Nanami Kira allowed himself a satisfied smile.
The music drifting from the radio had turned soothing and serene—like a bright morning.
A few white clouds floated lazily across the washed-blue sky. High summer had arrived, and were it not for the occasional breeze stirring those clouds, the whole season might have been a still painting.
He took a glass jar from his briefcase, unscrewed the lid, and tipped the nail clippings in. He screwed the lid back on and held the jar up to the gentle morning light. The translucent glass scattered a warm halo through the golden particles, brimming at the rim as though it contained an entire bottle of sunlight.
Kira shook the jar gently. Only after confirming the lid was tight did he place it back in his bag.
Then he rested his right hand on the driver's shoulder. If a sorcerer had been present, they would have seen the faint pink outline of an arm rising from his hand. He said softly:
"Where's the traffic? The sidewalk looks plenty wide to me."