Eighteen months. That's how long it had been since you'd opened your eyes to find yourself lying among the moss and twisted roots of that ancient forest beyond Jujutsu High's barriers. Eighteen months since your divine consciousness had manifested in this mortal plane, disoriented and stripped of the omniscience you'd once possessed.

One year, two weeks, and four days, you corrected yourself with bitter precision, since Gojo Satoru found me.

The infamous Six Eyes wielder had taken you in—though "taken" was a generous term for what amounted to gilded captivity. The gardens of the auxiliary building had become your entire universe, a prison of manicured hedges and cherry blossoms that bloomed regardless of season. You'd memorized every stone in the pathway, counted every petal that fell.

The outside world exists beyond these walls, you reminded yourself, fingers trailing along the wooden bench where you'd spent countless hours. I should know it. I should understand it. But Gojo has made certain I don't.

The afternoon sun filtered through the wisteria overhead, casting purple shadows across your lap. At least you had company—limited, carefully curated company. Yuji with his infectious optimism. Nobara with her fierce independence. And Megumi...

The garden gate's hinges creaked, a sound you'd come to recognize without looking.

"Ah, Fushiguro." You lifted your gaze, a practiced smile already forming on your lips. "What can I do for you?"

Megumi stood framed by the gate, his dark uniform pristine despite the summer heat. For a moment, he simply stared—that peculiar intensity in his eyes that you'd never quite understood. His jaw worked silently, and you watched with quiet fascination as pink bloomed across his cheeks, creeping toward the tips of his ears.

He's nervous, you noted. He's always nervous around me.

"I—" He cleared his throat, one hand rising to scratch the back of his neck. An evasive gesture. "We have a situation."

"A situation," you repeated, tilting your head. Somewhere in the depths of your divine memory, you recalled that humans often understated danger. "How ominous."

"There's a curse." The words tumbled out faster now, as though he'd been rehearsing them. "At a detention center in Eishu. Juvenile facility. Reports of multiple disappearances—three staff members and several inmates. Grade Two assignment, but..." His green eyes met yours, and you saw something flicker there. Concern? Possessiveness? "We need your help."

Need. The word hung between you like a curse of its own.

You raised an eyebrow, your divine senses already reaching outward, touching the edges of the world beyond your garden prison. "I haven't been on an exorcism yet."

Gojo won't allow it, went unspoken.

"I know." Megumi's voice dropped lower, conspiratorial. "That's why we're asking now. While he's away in Kyoto."

Understanding bloomed. This was rebellion—small, calculated, but rebellion nonetheless. Your smile widened, genuine this time, and you watched Megumi's breath catch.

"Curses are nothing to me, Fushiguro." You stood, your movements fluid and unhurried, divine grace inhabiting mortal limbs. The afternoon light seemed to cling to you, reluctant to let go. "They never have been."

Because I existed before cursed energy had a name. Before humans learned to fear.

"I know," he said again, softer. Then why ask? his expression seemed to say. But you understood. This wasn't about needing your power—it was about including you, giving you a taste of freedom.

"Lead the way."

You followed Megumi through the auxiliary building, down corridors you'd walked a thousand times. His pace was measured, controlled, but you noticed how he kept glancing back, ensuring you were still there. As though you might vanish. As though you might change your mind.

Or as though he can't quite believe I'm really following him.

The car waited in the loading area, an unassuming black vehicle with Ijichi already in the driver's seat. The moment you emerged from the building, the back door flew open.

"Y/N!" Yuji's face appeared, splitting into that thousand-watt grin that had first made you understand why humans valued joy. "You're coming with us? That's awesome! This mission's gonna be so much easier—wait, does Gojo-sensei know? He's gonna kill us if he finds out—"

"Itadori, shut up." Nobara's hand appeared, shoving Yuji back into his seat. Then her face filled the doorway, eyes alight with mischief and something sharper. "Ignore him. We're committing light treason today, and it's going to be great."

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped. "Light treason. I like that."

Ijichi twisted in the driver's seat, his face already pale with stress. The poor man looked like he'd aged a decade in the past minute. "This is highly irregular. If Gojo-san discovers—"

"He won't," Megumi cut in, his hand ghosting near your lower back without quite touching as he guided you toward the car. "Not until it's over."

You slid into the back seat, immediately flanked by Yuji on one side and Nobara on the other. Megumi took the front passenger seat, but you noticed how he angled himself to keep you in his peripheral vision.

They're all watching me, you realized. Not with suspicion. With something else entirely.

Yuji's knee bounced with nervous energy, occasionally brushing against yours. Each time, he'd freeze, then apologize, then do it again three minutes later. Nobara kept finding excuses to lean closer—pointing out the window at buildings you'd never seen, adjusting her seatbelt, reaching across to flick Yuji's ear when he got too loud.

"So," you said, watching Tokyo's skyline unfold through the window, each building a revelation, "tell me about this curse."

As they launched into explanations—talking over each other, competing for your attention—you felt something unfamiliar bloom in your chest.

Is this what friendship feels like? you wondered. Or is it something more complicated?

Whatever it was, it tasted like freedom.

The Eishu Juvenile Detention Center rose before you like a tombstone, all concrete and barred windows that reflected nothing of the dying afternoon light. A monument to human punishment. Human justice.

How quaint, you thought, tilting your head. They cage the sinners and call it rehabilitation.

You swept your gaze across your companions. Yuji's jaw was tight, his usual brightness dimmed. Nobara's fingers twitched near her hammer and nails. Even Megumi—stoic, unreadable Megumi—had gone a shade paler, his shoulders tense beneath his uniform.

"You're squeamish," you observed, voice flat with curiosity rather than judgment.

But why? What do they sense that I don't?

You drew in a breath through your nose, analyzing the currents of cursed energy that rippled from the building. Strong, certainly. Malevolent. But nothing that warranted the dread you saw painted across their faces. To you, curses were simply... facts. Like gravity. Like death.

"The cursed energy here is dense," Megumi muttered, though his eyes cut to you as if checking for your reaction. "Can't you feel it?"

"I feel many things, Fushiguro." Your lips curved. "Fear isn't one of them."

Ijichi cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses with shaking fingers. "Right, well, the agenda is straightforward. We'll establish a veil to prevent civilian casualties, and then you four will—"

"TAKADA-SAN!"

The wail cut through the air like a blade. A woman stumbled toward you, middle-aged and unraveling at the seams, her face blotchy with tears and her hands outstretched like she was drowning.

"Please, please tell me if my son is alright! Takada Yasuhiro—he's in there, they won't let me see him, they said there's some kind of emergency—"

You stared at her. Blinked once. Your expression remained perfectly blank, a mirror reflecting nothing back.

Maternal love, you catalogued distantly. She would die for a child who may already be dead. How... inefficient.

"Oh dear, that must be a guardian." Ijichi's professional mask slipped into place as he hurried forward, hands raised in placating gestures. "Ma'am, I'm terribly sorry, but you can't enter the facility at this time. There's been a gas leak—we're handling the situation, but for your safety—"

Lies.

The word formed cold and certain in your mind. You inhaled again, divine senses parsing every molecule. No methane. No carbon monoxide. Just the cloying sweetness of cursed energy and something darker beneath.

The woman's sobs faded as Ijichi guided her away, his voice a soothing murmur of bureaucratic nonsense.

Yuji's face had gone hard, all boyish softness burned away. He turned to the group, and you saw the same determination that made him swallow Sukuna's finger without hesitation. "We're going to save that Takada kid," he declared, each word a vow. "I don't care what it takes."

"Hmm." The sound rumbled in your throat, detached. Your silver hair slipped over your shoulder as you tilted your head, studying the building with the clinical interest of a scientist observing bacteria. "Are the lives of humans who have begun sins really that important?"

Three pairs of eyes snapped to you.

"Forgiveness is a virtue, yes," you continued, voice carrying the weight of eons, "but we will see if the sinner is viable."

Your gaze never wavered from the detention center, from that strange oppressive sensation that pulsed from within like a diseased heartbeat.

"Y/N..." Yuji's voice had gone quiet, uncertain. He looked at you like he was seeing something he didn't quite understand—something that reminded him you weren't entirely human, no matter how perfectly you wore the disguise.

Megumi sighed, the sound heavy with resignation and something that might have been acceptance. "She's right." His hand flexed at his side. "Let's just go in and do our job. We'll see if we can save Takada."

There it is, you noted. He always sides with me, even when I speak of death with divine indifference.

"Let's move," Nobara cut in, already striding forward. "Standing around won't save anyone."

You followed, the four of you moving as a unit while Ijichi remained behind, hands already forming the signs for a veil. The barrier rippled into existence behind you, sealing you within.

The moment you crossed the threshold, the stench hit.

You covered your nose with one hand, features twisting in distaste. "Ugh." The smell was wrong—not just death, but corruption. Decay given malicious intent.

Megumi's hands had already moved through a series of practiced signs, shadows pooling at his feet like living ink. "Demon Dog: Totality."

The divine dog materialized from the darkness—white fur pristine, red markings bold as fresh blood. It was massive, easily reaching mid-thigh, with eyes that held an unsettling intelligence.

Pretty, you thought, and before you could stop yourself, you were crouching.

"Here, boy." You extended one hand, palm up, letting the shikigami approach on its own terms.

The divine dog's nose twitched. It padded forward cautiously, sniffed your fingers—and you felt the moment recognition flickered through its cursed energy. It knew what you were. Something other. Something ancient.

Then it nudged your hand, that massive head pressing into your palm with surprising gentleness.

Joy—pure and unexpected—bloomed in your chest. You smiled, genuine and unguarded, and scratched behind the dog's ears. Its fur was surprisingly soft, and it leaned into your touch with a contented rumble.

"That's one of my demon dogs," Megumi said, though his voice sounded strained. You glanced up to find him staring at you with an expression you couldn't quite parse. "One of my shikigami."

"Cute power, Megumi." You smiled up at him, still petting the divine dog. "I approve."

Was it your imagination, or did his ears turn red?

You stood, brushing off your knees, and let your senses expand outward. The detention center was a labyrinth of corridors and locked doors, but you could feel the wrongness like a compass pointing north.

"This way." You started walking, and heard them fall into step behind you. Like ducklings, you thought with amusement. Or perhaps worshippers following their deity.

That's closer to the truth than they know.

The divine dog ranged ahead, nose to the ground, leading you through the maze. Left. Right. Down a corridor that reeked of industrial cleaner failing to mask older, darker smells.

"Are we sure this is it?" Nobara's voice echoed strangely in the empty hallway.

You nodded without breaking stride. "Yeah. I can feel the hatred seeping through here." You drew in a breath and immediately regretted it, coughing as the taste of corruption coated your tongue. "And death as well. I assure you—nothing is alive in here."

Not anymore.

The divine dog stopped at a doorway, hackles raised, and pawed at the ground. You reached for the handle, noting absently how cold the metal was, and pushed.

The door swung open with a horror-movie creak.

You stopped short.

Three bodies lay strewn across the floor like discarded puppets. One against the far wall, neck twisted at an impossible angle. Another crumpled in the corner, surrounded by a pool of something dark and congealed. And the third—

The third had been torn in half. His upper body sat propped against a desk, completely separated from his lower half, which lay several feet away near the window. The clean bisection was almost surgical in its precision.

Fascinating, you thought clinically. Such force required. Such hatred.

Behind you, Nobara gagged, one hand flying to her mouth. She turned away, pressing her forehead against the corridor wall.

Yuji stood frozen, horror etched into every line of his face. Then, slowly, mechanically, he moved forward. His hand trembled as he reached down, fingers brushing the name tag pinned to the nearest boy's uniform.

TAKADA YASUHIRO.

You cocked your head, studying Yuji's expression. The grief there was palpable, heavy as a physical weight.

He feels for strangers, you observed. How exhausting that must be.

"We're taking this body with us." Yuji's voice was rough, brooking no argument.

Megumi spun to face him. "What? Are you serious? We don't have time to—"

"I said we're saving him!" Yuji shouted, and the desperation in his voice made something twist in your chest. An unfamiliar sensation. Sympathy? Concern?

Before the argument could escalate, before Megumi could voice the obvious objection that the boy was already beyond saving, you raised one hand.

A beam of electricity crackled between them, silver-white and singing with divine energy. It struck the floor, leaving a blackened scorch mark that smoked gently.

Both boys jumped back, startled into silence.

Takada's body began to smolder where the electricity had grazed it.

"Stop it, you two." Your voice carried the weight of command, and you watched them automatically straighten. "Fighting amongst yourselves is—"

The floor disappeared.

One moment you were standing on solid ground, the next there was nothing beneath your feet but absence. A trapdoor? No—the cursed energy had opened, like a mouth swallowing you whole.

"Y/N!"

Megumi's shout was the last thing you heard before darkness closed around you like a fist.

You fell.

And fell.

And fell.

Interesting, you thought, oddly calm as the world spun into shadow. This curse has strategy.

Above you, growing more distant by the second, you heard the others calling your name. Megumi's voice, edged with panic. Yuji's, desperate and raw. Even Nobara's, sharp with fear.

They care, you realized. They care too much.

Then the darkness consumed you entirely, and their voices cut off as though someone had slammed a door.

Silence.

Complete, absolute silence.

You landed in a crouch, divine reflexes absorbing the impact effortlessly. When you straightened and opened your eyes, you found yourself in a space that defied conventional geometry—walls that curved at wrong angles, a ceiling that might have been a floor, shadows that moved independent of any light source.

And everywhere, everywhere, that oppressive sensation of concentrated malevolence.

A low sound rumbled through the darkness. Laughter? Or perhaps hunger given voice.

You smiled, slow and sharp, and let silver-white energy crackle along your fingertips.

"Well then," you murmured into the void. "Shall we dance?"