**Chapter 11: Missing**
The interrogation room was a tomb of concrete and silence.
Rough gray walls, chipped and stained with years of neglect, pressed in from all sides. The low ceiling seemed to squat over everything, making the air feel heavier, thicker. No windows. No warmth. Just the single bare bulb dangling from a frayed cord, swinging ever so slightly and casting a harsh white circle of light onto the center of the room. Everything beyond that circle drowned in shadow.
In the middle of that lonely spotlight sat a wooden chair, old and creaking. Bound to it with heavy, rust-flecked metal chains was a young man—barely more than a boy. His white T-shirt and simple black pants were soaked through with his own blood, the fabric clinging darkly to his skin. Fresh cuts crisscrossed his face like cruel signatures. One eye was swollen completely shut, the other a bruised, glassy blue. His head hung low, strands of damp hair sticking to his forehead, a thin line of blood dripping steadily from his split lip onto the cold floor with soft, rhythmic *plips*.
A voice slithered out from the darkness of the hallway, smooth and delighted.
"Ahhh~ You're still awake? Quite impressive." The words stretched out like a cat playing with its food. "Most of my victims pass out after the first hour… or die after the second. But you? You've held out for so~~ long! Amazing!"
From the shadows emerged a tall, slender figure. His immaculate black suit seemed to drink in what little light existed, making him look like a living cutout of night. Long, jet-black hair cascaded past his shoulders in messy yet elegant layers, the front strands falling like a deliberate curtain over the right side of his face. Only one sharp eye gleamed behind thin silver-rimmed glasses, reflecting the bulb's glow with a cold, predatory glint.
He stepped fully into the circle of light and looked down at the chained sorcerer with a mocking grin.
"Well, I expect nothing less from a sorcerer."
"Argh… you bastard…" The young man's voice came out weak, ragged between shallow breaths. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth.
"Do you really think you'll get away with everything you've done?" He forced his head up, one swollen eye glaring straight ahead. "All the lives you've taken… all the people you've killed… Do you actually believe you'll be safe?!"
The man in the black suit's grin faltered for a split second. A faint frown creased his brow. He slowly adjusted his glasses with two fingers, the silver frames catching the light.
"Tough words for someone about to die," he said, voice dripping with false sympathy. "And here I was thinking of keeping you alive for a few more days… just for fun."
He began walking forward, each step deliberate and unhurried, the faint click of his polished shoes echoing off the concrete.
"Who's going to catch me? No one even knows I exist." He tilted his head, smile widening. "You only made it this far because I *let* you. But now that you've reached the end of the line… I suppose I should reward your persistence."
He bent down until their faces were inches apart. His single visible eye sparkled with cruel amusement, voice dropping into a teasing whisper.
"A quick… painless death."
He straightened up smoothly and took a casual step back. Then, with an almost theatrical flair, he extended one arm toward the battered sorcerer.
Several sleek black tendrils erupted from his palm like living shadows—*SHRRK!*—and stabbed straight into the young man's chest, shoulders, and abdomen.
"AAARGH—!"
The sorcerer's scream tore through the room as his body convulsed violently. Flesh rippled and twisted unnaturally, bones cracking and reforming, cursed energy flaring wildly before being forcibly compressed. In just a few agonizing seconds, the screaming stopped.
Where the young man had been sat nothing but a plain, ordinary-looking lighter resting on the wooden chair. A small, stylized skull tattoo was etched into its side.
The man in the black suit leaned down, picked up the lighter, and flicked it open with his thumb.
Click.
A small, normal flame danced to life.
WHOOSH—!
He cranked it higher. A roaring pillar of cursed fire erupted upward, hot enough to make the air shimmer. He watched it for a moment, eyes half-lidded in satisfaction.
"Hehe… Good. This one will be *very* useful."
He snapped the lighter shut, slipped it into his suit pocket, and walked out of the room without a backward glance. The bare bulb continued to swing gently above the empty chair, the only witness left behind.
---
**Name:** Tokogami Mizuki
**Cursed Technique:** Cursed Tool Conversion
A psychopathic murderer who recently awakened the ability to convert anything possessing cursed energy—humans or curses—into cursed tools. He strongly prefers humans. By day, he works as an investment broker. By night, he indulges in his sick obsession: torturing and transforming those with even a spark of cursed energy into beautiful, deadly tools.
The boy he just killed was a third-year student from Tokyo Jujutsu High, sent to investigate the recent string of mysterious disappearances involving both curse users and ordinary people.
---
Location: Tokyo Jujutsu High – Training Grounds
The afternoon sun filtered through scattered clouds, warming the wide grassy field where training usually took place. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees, carrying the faint scent of fresh-cut grass and distant rain. Megumi Fushiguro, Panda, and Sanjiro sat casually on the ground in a loose triangle, the relaxed atmosphere a stark contrast to the violence happening elsewhere in the city.
"So, how is it living with Gojo-sensei?" Sanjiro asked lazily, leaning back on his hands and glancing at Megumi, who sat with perfect, almost regal posture.
"It's… stressful," Megumi replied evenly, brushing a stray blade of grass from his uniform. "But he's barely ever home. Most of the time it's just me and my sister."
In the background, Panda crunched loudly on a bag of chips, completely unbothered. "Yeah, but a few months ago Megumi came here specifically to train his cursed technique," the panda added between bites. "Wanted to get a better grasp on it before officially joining."
Sanjiro nodded, pretending this was all new information. Even though I already know every damn detail from my old life… Can't exactly say 'Yeah, Ten Shadows, I've seen the anime,' can I? He kept his face neutral.
"I see. So what exactly is your cursed technique?"
Megumi met his gaze calmly. "It's a shikigami summoning type called the Ten Shadows Technique. It lets me summon ten different shikigami and use them in battle. But I have to subdue each one individually by defeating them first. So far, I've only managed to tame the Divine Dogs."
He paused, then turned the question back. "What about you? What's your cursed technique?"
Sanjiro blinked, then pointed at himself with a lazy finger. "Me?"
Megumi and Panda stared at him blankly.
"Who else?" they said in perfect unison.
Sanjiro let out a short, sarcastic chuckle and shrugged. "Mine's Bone Sovereignty. Basically lets me summon and control bones, mess with spatial stuff like short-range teleportation, telekinesis—that kind of thing. It's pretty versatile, but it's not fully developed yet. Got room to grow."
He flashed them a small, easy smile.
"So, I heard there are two other first-years around here. You guys know them?"
Megumi glanced at Panda, who swallowed a mouthful of chips and answered cheerfully. "Megumi's still pretty new, so he doesn't know everyone yet, but I do. There's this dude named Kirara Hoshi. Pink eyes, real flashy guy."
The moment the words "dude" and "guy" left Panda's mouth, Sanjiro felt a sharp, dramatic pang shoot through his chest. *No… no way. In my old life I was rooting so hard for Kirara to be a girl…* His face twisted in exaggerated heartbreak as he clutched his shirt right over his heart, slumping sideways like he'd been shot.
Panda and Megumi stared at him with identical deadpan expressions.
"Yo, you okay?" Panda asked, one paw still holding the chip bag.
Sanjiro waved him off weakly, sitting back up with theatrical effort. "I'm fine… Continue. Who's the other one?"
"Uh, the other guy's name is Haruto Kenta," Panda said, tilting his head. "He joined just a few days ago and is probably still settling into his dorm. You could go introduce yourself if you want."
"Thanks for the info," Sanjiro said, pushing himself to his feet and dusting off his pants. "It was nice chatting with you two. I gotta go meet up with Satoru."
He gave them a casual wave and started walking away across the grass. Behind him, Panda muttered, "What a weird guy…"
Megumi simply nodded in silent agreement as they watched Sanjiro's retreating back disappear toward the main buildings.
---
Sanjiro had barely made it halfway when he spotted Gojo and Hakari standing near the walkway. Gojo was mid-conversation, hands in his pockets as usual, while Hakari stood with his arms crossed, looking thoroughly bored. The moment Gojo sensed Sanjiro approaching, he turned and waved enthusiastically.
"Hey! Where've you been?"
"Exploring the place," Sanjiro answered simply, hands in his pockets. "Met that talking panda and the kid you took in."
Gojo's grin widened behind the blindfold. "Oh? You met Megumi-kun? That's good. Anyway, both of you are officially admitted now, so you can head to the dorms. Hakari here already knows the way—I showed him earlier."
Hakari gave a lazy grunt, brushing something invisible off his shoulder. A small brush was tucked into his back pocket, though he made no effort to explain it.
"Okay," Sanjiro said, eyeing Gojo. "And what about you? You look like you're in a hurry."
Gojo's usual playful tone dipped slightly. "Yeah… I need to do some investigating. One of our third-years has been missing for three days now. He was sent out to look into those mysterious disappearances involving curse-sensitive employees. We lost contact. So I'm heading out to find him."
He gave a casual two-finger salute. "See ya."
As Gojo vanished in his usual dramatic fashion, Sanjiro turned to Hakari, who had already started walking toward the dorms without waiting.
"What happened?" Sanjiro asked, nodding toward the bruise on his arm.
"None of your business," Hakari replied flatly, not even glancing back.
Sanjiro shrugged and fell into step behind him.
The two walked in silence for a minute, the afternoon light casting long shadows across the path. Then Sanjiro's phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw the caller ID: Uncle Suzaki—Gojo Hozuki's personal assistant.
He answered with a light, happy tone. "Hello, Uncle Suzaki. What do you need?"
The voice on the other end was urgent, clipped, and grim.
"Lord Hozuki was attacked by three Special Grade curses. All the guards and companions who went with him… they're either dead or heavily injured. Lord Gojo is missing."
Sanjiro froze mid-step, phone pressed tightly to his ear as the color drained from his face.
The wind picked up around them, carrying the faint, distant sound of training shouts from the fields—completely unaware of the storm that had just begun.