Monday, 11:30 AM.
A cinema in Shinjuku. All patrons and staff inside—forty-four people in total—dead.
That same day, at the same hour, Semi-Special Grade jujutsu sorcerer Nanami Kira was confirmed present at the cinema. Residual Cursed Energy detected at the scene matched his shikigami, Killer Queen.
Nanami Kira was under heavy suspicion. He had been placed under campus confinement pending investigation.
The incident was classified as a malicious assault.
First-year students Yuji Itadori and Megumi Fushiguro, along with Mei Mei and Hoshino Ei, had been dispatched to investigate. Kiyotaka Ijichi was assigned to assist.
Two days later. Noon.
Click. Click. Click...
The crisp snap of nails being clipped filled the room—one sliver at a time. Kira trimmed his left hand with practiced calm, finished, took a deep breath, and reminded himself not to let his guard down. The right hand mattered just as much.
He worked through each finger with meticulous care—thumb first, then index...
Soon the right hand was done. Only then did he allow himself to relax, carefully depositing every last clipping into a small glass bottle.
He gave it a gentle shake and set it on the table.
"Kira... this is only temporary."
"Until the real culprit is identified, we have to take precautions."
Principal Masamichi Yaga stood on the other side of the glass partition, watching Kira with a hint of reluctance. Layer upon layer of seal-tags papered the door.
On Kira's side of the glass, the room was fully furnished—more like a hotel suite than a holding cell.
Soft light spilled across every corner. Kira lay half-reclined on the sofa, eyes on the bottle of nail clippings.
"I'm well aware. As far as frame jobs go, this one's embarrassingly crude."
Kira wasn't worried about being framed. He knew he'd been set up.
Yes, Killer Queen's residual Cursed Energy was at the scene—but there was far more residue from other Cursed Spirits.
And the idea that Nanami Kira was conspiring with Cursed Spirits, that he was a mole planted by their side? Nobody would buy that. No spy would act with their own hands. If the goal had simply been an attack, it would have been far more logical to let the other Cursed Spirit at the scene handle it.
And if Kira truly were a double agent, he certainly wouldn't have strolled back to school afterward as though nothing had happened.
That would be walking straight into a trap of his own making.
The jujutsu higher-ups could be obtuse, but they weren't stupid enough to fall for something this transparent.
In fact, the higher-ups had already reached a consensus internally: acquit Nanami Kira.
But the acquittal had to wait until the incident was resolved. An added layer of insurance.
Which, of course, played right into the enemy's hands.
"Principal Yaga."
Kira counted the clippings in the bottle, an amused lilt in his voice.
"Where's Satoru Gojo?"
"...He's not in Tokyo right now."
Yaga opened the door, walked in, and sat across from Kira.
"I'm under your 'supervision' now too. Are you sure those kids can handle this?"
It was like a ranked match where the other team had yanked the star top-laner Gojo's ethernet cable before the fight even started, then turned around and banned their ace roamer Kira for good measure—leaving a roster of rookies to fend for themselves.
"Mei Mei went with them. She's a Grade 1 sorcerer. They'll be fine."
Yaga rubbed his head wearily and sighed. "At the end of the day, it's because we have so few sorcerers."
"Well, nobody wants to be a piece of shit."
Kira shook the bottle. The translucent nail clippings clinked against the glass walls, ringing out with a clear, almost musical note.
"And right now you're stuck here babysitting me. That's two fighters wasted."
"If a genuine emergency arises, you'll be called up."
Yaga met his eyes, voice low and firm.
"No, no. I refuse."
Kira set the bottle down on the table, lay back on the sofa, and stared at the ceiling. His pale blue irises were utterly still.
"The thing I enjoy most in this life is telling people no—especially those who try to shackle me with morality, duty, or any other lofty virtue they think gives them leverage."
His tone was flat, his gaze placid.
"You chose to put me on leave. Don't expect me to come save you."
A faint smile.
"I'll sit right here on this sofa, eating bread, and watch every single one of you die. One by one."
"What a wonderful vacation."
Yaga looked away. He could tell Kira wasn't joking. He pressed his lips together, considered his words, then spoke in a low voice:
"Kira, now is not the time to throw a tantrum."
"Principal Yaga."
Kira closed his eyes, settling deeper into the sofa with obvious satisfaction.
"You can see yourself out. I'm going to take a nap."
"Don't worry, I won't wander off. This is only temporary house arrest—losing my job over it would be a terrible deal."
His eyes snapped open, calm and clear.
"Besides—do you really think this can hold me?"
The midday sun was warm. Orange light filtered through the glass, splitting into layered halos—blazing yellow at the top, pale pastels in the middle, and at the bottom an almost colorless white. That light washed across the room, gentle and drowsy.
It washed across his body and made him sleepy.
Kira had made up his mind to take a proper nap.
Sorcerer? Work? All shit. He'd decided he didn't care about any of it.
He hadn't eaten lunch yet. The school had been quite considerate—after all, they weren't actually treating him as a suspect. There was even a small kitchen.
He opened the fridge. Inside: premium lobster, the white flesh gleaming fresh beneath reddish-pink shells. Eel frozen in a block of ice. Cuts of steak, all prime portions. In the cupboard, a bottle of '92 Louis red and a few condiment sauces.
If he didn't feel like cooking, he could phone the school and a dedicated chef would deliver a meal.
Just like paid leave. The school clearly didn't dare antagonize a Semi-Special Grade sorcerer—which was also why Kira hadn't killed anyone.
He pulled out the lobster and grabbed a steak while he was at it. He wouldn't be calling for the chef. His mood wasn't entirely stable right now. The chef's life wasn't particularly important, but the hassle would cut into his nap.
As mentioned before, Nanami Kira was an ordinary salaryman who loved the simple pleasures of life. He'd always believed that food he prepared with his own hands gave him a sense of security, because every step, every stage of the process was his own doing. There was a ritual to it.
He didn't mind that ritual.
His homemade cat food had an excellent reputation. Stray Cat never stopped singing its praises, and even Gojo had called it "expert-level." Clearly, Kira had his own philosophy when it came to cooking.
He shelled the lobster, rinsed the meat, removed the vein, and set it to steam. The steak needed minimal preparation—heat the pan, pour in olive oil, wait for it to spit and pop, press the steak down, hold for a dozen seconds, flip.
Kira liked his steak rare. That slight trace of blood, the faintly cool texture of the meat—it reminded him of a woman's hand. He'd hold it in his mouth and chew slowly, savoring the flavor.
The side dish was baby squid plump and tender, drizzled with caviar. Excellent with wine.
He finished preparing everything in the kitchen and arranged it on the living room table.
He returned to the kitchen, opened the Louis red, and let it breathe for about ten minutes. Once the rich color had settled, he poured himself a glass.
He was walking back to the living room, swirling the glass, when his footsteps froze.
The midday sunlight, transparent and warm, fell softly across the dining table. The white porcelain plates gleamed faintly. A breeze drifted through, stirring the oak leaves outside the window into a gentle rustle.
A girl sat quietly at the small table, like a painting.
Her snow-white hair hung down, catching the noon light with a soft glow. Eyes as brilliant as rubies held something unnamed and stirring within them.
When she saw Kira approaching, she raised her head and smiled.
"Good afternoon."
"My. Dear. Kira-sensei."
When did she get in here... why is she here...
Wasn't she supposed to be investigating the cinema attack with Itadori and the others?
Where are they?
"Wine."
Her smile carried a sickly edge. "Could you pour me a glass too?"