"Where's the traffic? The sidewalk looks plenty wide to me."
ゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴ
Inside the cramped taxi, the air seemed to solidify—a heavy, tangible mass pressing against the driver's neck, making it hard to breathe.
Cold sweat trickled down the man's face. He didn't dare look at the hand resting on his shoulder. To him, it didn't feel like a human arm at all—more like some heavy, malevolent spirit crouching there.
The malice was so thick it threatened to take physical form. The driver swallowed and managed: "Sir, you must be joking. You can't drive on the sidewalk..."
Nanami Kira tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. "But I'll be late."
"I'm an ordinary office worker. Office workers can't be late for work. So driving on the sidewalk is perfectly reasonable, don't you think?"
What bad intentions could Kira possibly have? He just doesn't want to be late—driving on the sidewalk is simply unavoidable.
The driver's face went completely rigid. He wanted nothing more than to curse this man out in his head, but he didn't dare show it. Normally, he would've started yelling ages ago. But right now, every pore on his body had clenched shut, every goosebump screaming a single warning: Don't mess with this man.
"Sir, look, just a few more minutes. Let's listen to some music—"
"Seems like you don't understand anything at all... I'll just drive myself." Kira spoke softly, his hand applying gradual pressure. The outline of the pink cat grew sharper. The driver couldn't see anything, but the weight on his shoulder kept building—heavier and heavier, as though it would crush him entirely.
"Your service has been wonderful, by the way. Let me give you a thumbs-up."
Kira's thumb rose—the other four fingers curled into a fist. The universal gesture for "like." He held it for one second, then the thumb began to press slowly downward—
"Kira? Is that you?"
A gruff voice called from outside the window.
The thumb froze in midair. Kira turned to the window, where a large man's silhouette was outlined against the blue-tinted privacy glass.
After a moment's hesitation, Kira dismissed his shikigami, rolled down the window, and nodded. "Todo."
"Ha, I knew that looked like my brother." Aoi Todo sat astride a roaring motorcycle, grinning broadly. "Looks like fate keeps bringing us together!"
Truthfully, Kira had never understood Todo's logic for declaring brotherhood. The same kink made you brothers?
Todo had essentially said: Brother Kira, today we meet as kindred spirits—both connoisseurs of the ample posterior. On this fine day, why not become sworn brothers? We need not share a birthday, only a shared love of butts, breasts, and chasing women. Henceforth, should either of us encounter Takada or her like, we shall look out for each other. What say you, Brother Kira?
And Kira had said: So be it!
That was last night's exchange, translated into classical terms.
This is absurd... Kira thought, his face still perfectly calm. "Good morning."
But they could never truly be brothers—because what he liked was hands... Kira reflected silently.
"What's wrong, stuck in traffic?" Despite his bulk, Todo was a perceptive man. He patted the back seat of his bike. "Want a ride?"
Kira glanced at the driver—drenched in cold sweat, barely daring to breathe—then checked his watch. Already 7:25. Even if he forced the driver onto the sidewalk, he'd still be late. He eyed Todo's sleek Kawasaki Z1000 and nodded.
He patted the driver's shoulder lightly with his right hand. Each pat made the man flinch. The hand lingered on the shoulder for a moment, then withdrew. Kira opened the door.
The engine roared, the motor screamed. Kawasaki was a legendary brand, celebrated worldwide for speed and stability, and the Z1000—the "Great Serpent"—pushed those qualities to the extreme. Todo rode with expert skill. The bike flowed like water through the endless stream of traffic, accelerating again and again, trailing a thick dark afterimage, riding the thunder of its own exhaust, streaking like a shell fired from a cannon until it vanished at the end of the road.
Only after the engine's roar had faded completely did the driver collapse against his seat, slowly exhaling.
He was soaked through.
His steps might as well have been measured with a ruler—every stride identical in length. Nanami Kira loved this kind of regularity. He loved the routine, each footfall landing precisely where it should, every step free of surprise. That alone brought him peace.
Lately, his emotions had been unstable. Nearly killing the driver just now and reducing those two curse users to ash last night had both made that clear.
He walked with a straight back, ascending the shrine steps one at a time. Lavender swayed gently along the path, and his thoughts drifted with the fragrance.
There were too many things in life that disturbed his equilibrium: a forced business trip—he hated unfamiliar environments, and only home made him feel safe; mandatory overtime—work was garbage; and that inexplicable fame... all of it grating on his nerves.
And whenever he got agitated, his fingernails would grow like mad. Kira knew it was time to let off some steam.
Just as women changed their sanitary pads every month—perfectly natural—he never considered his own "release" to be anything wrong.
Everyone had their hobbies. It was human nature, plain and simple. To pursue his hobby, Nanami Kira had enrolled at Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High and become a jujutsu sorcerer. The best place to hide, after all, was in plain sight.
He was a normal, healthy, ordinary person. That was how Nanami Kira saw himself, and he firmly believed he would live a happy, fulfilling life.
A calm smile crossed his face—but it stiffened almost immediately.
Directly ahead, in the exact spot where his next step should have landed, a wooden clog had appeared. White tabi socks. Morning dew had seeped through the fabric, clinging to the round toes beneath, pale skin peeking through.
The distance for the next step is wrong. Irritating. So irritating!
Kira fought the urge to stomp down and looked up, meeting a pair of clear, bright eyes. They blinked. A woman's warm, mature voice reached him: "Well, well. You finally made it, Kira."
Utahime Iori.
"S-senpai, hello! M-m-my name is Kasumi Miwa." Another girl poked out timidly from behind Utahime. Her light blue hair hung softly, stirring in the breeze. Her deep blue eyes held the calm of a lake—except that lake was anything but calm right now. It was churning.
"I-it's so wonderful to meet you!" She panted lightly, words spilling out in a breathless torrent. "I'm your biggest fan!"
"Hello."
Kira nodded and extended his right hand. Miwa grabbed it eagerly, shaking it up and down, words pouring out like a machine gun: "Hello, hello..."
She held on for quite a while before reluctantly letting go. Looking at her own right hand, she screamed internally: Aaahh, Kira-senpai's smile was so comforting—I'm melting! He shook my right hand! Tonight, I'm using this one!
Nanami Kira also looked at Miwa's right hand—slender fingers, fair skin, delicate veins faintly visible—and thought: Tonight, I'm using that one.
Cut it off!
He was still thinking this when another voice reached his ear—raspy and low. It was Mechamaru. "Kira-senpai, Principal Gakuganji has been waiting for you. He wants to discuss the matter of the Special Grade cursed tool—Sukuna's finger."
Kira checked his watch and nodded.
"Let's go then. I'll show you the way."
"Hold on. One more minute."
"Why?"
Miwa looked confused.
"It's 7:29. One more minute until I'm on the clock."