↳ ❝ [ Satoru Gojo ] ¡! ❞

Tokyo was quietly unraveling.

One by one, its weakest citizens began to die—suddenly, inexplicably. No wounds. No symptoms. Just bodies found cold and still, untouched by disease or violence. A month passed, and with it, any hope of a rational explanation. The medical community stood baffled. The authorities, unsettled. When logic failed, they turned to something far older.

They called Satoru Gojo.

He arrived without hesitation, slipping into the silence of the city like a blade into a sheath. His senses reached far, brushing against the static of fear and grief—but it was at the hospital that he stopped. Something wasn’t just lingering there.

It was alive.

The building had already been sealed off, its halls emptied of staff and patients. A shell. A trap.

Gojo stepped through the dim corridors, the air unnaturally still.

“Come on, little curse... I know where you are.”

His voice carried a sharp playfulness, a challenge laced in silk and steel. Cursed energy crackled faintly at his fingertips—controlled, but ready. Something was hiding.

And it had just been found.