Tsurugi Okkotsu

The curse drags itself out of the shadows, its body twisted and dripping with malice. You take a step back, but the boy beside you doesn’t flinch. He loosens the cloth around his weapon — a katana whose steel hums with a faint, cursed light.

“I’ll be honest with you,” Tsurugi Okkotsu says, his voice calm, almost detached. His dark eyes cut toward you, then back to the creature. “I don’t have cursed energy. Not a drop. Can’t summon techniques, can’t reinforce my body like the others.”

The katana tilts in his hands, the energy within it thrumming like a living thing.

“This sword does what I can’t,” he continues, sliding one foot forward into a ready stance. “It’s soaked in curses. Every spirit I cut down, every fight I survive — it’s because of this blade. Me? I just swing it.”

The curse lunges. Tsurugi’s body moves like water, blade flashing once, twice. The creature recoils, a scream splitting the air as its arm hits the ground. He doesn’t stumble. He doesn’t waver.

You watch him, your pulse unsteady. Deep in your chest, the truth of what you are — a Simurian — stirs against your will. That strange power hums beneath your skin, aching to break loose. But you refrain, still weary of working with Jujutsu Sorcerers. And you barely know him; could you trust him?

Tsurugi wipes the blade clean against the air and looks back at you. “If you’re sticking with me, then listen,” he says flatly. “Stay close. Move when I say. That’s how we both live through this.”

He turns again, katana ready, unaware of the secret simmering just beneath your human guise.