Assistant Supervisor Ijichi was already on standby above; he would take them to the safest barrier within Jujutsu High for protection.
In the vast, dark sewer, Yoru was left alone.
The air was thick with the stench of rot and blood.
Although Mahito had fled, the ss he left behind remained.
The poor souls whose spirits had been twisted by Idle Transfiguration were now writhing in the shadows like the walking dead.
So had sprouted extra limbs, others had displaced features, and so were no longer even recognizable as human—just masses of flesh groaning in agony.
"Kill... ..."
"It... hurts..."
Faint wails rose and fell, like a scroll depicting the depths of hell.
Yoru stood silently in the filthy water, hand on his blade.
His gaze swept over each transfigured human; there was no disgust in his eyes, only a profound sense of pity.
These had once been ordinary people.
So were office workers heading ho, so were students skipping class, and others were housewives out buying groceries.
Yet, because of that Special Grade Cursed Spirit's malice, they had been turned into these things—unable to live, yet unable to die.
Mahito's technique was irreversible.
Once the shape of the soul is altered, the body collapses with it; not even the Reverse Cursed Technique could heal them.
Death was their only salvation now.
"I'm sorry,"
Yoru whispered.
He slowly raised his katana and took a deep breath.
The violent aura of thunder vanished instantly, replaced by a gentle ripple like water.
The air grew moist.
It was as if an invisible drizzle had quietly descended upon this world of filth beneath the earth.
Water Breathing, Fifth Form: Blessed Rain After the Drought.
This was the only killing technique in Water Breathing that was also the gentlest strike.
It was only used when the opponent accepted their death willingly.
Those slain by this move feel no pain, only a sense of peace and liberation, as if being washed clean by a gentle rain.
Yoru moved.
There was no world-shaking roar, nor the sharp whistle of rending air.
He was like a drop of ink rging into a stream, weaving gracefully through the transfigured humans.
Blades flashed.
They were strikes as smooth as silk.
With every swing, illusions of flowing water swirled around him.
The transfigured humans, who had been hideously contorted and screaming in pain, saw their expressions turn miraculously peaceful the mont the blade touched their necks.
The agony vanished, the fear disappeared, leaving only the relief of finally being at rest.
"Thank... you..."
Soone—it was impossible to tell who—murmured one last word before fading away.
Yoru did not stop.
Like an undertaker in the endless dark, he offered a final elegy for every lost soul.
One strike, then another.
With every swing, Yoru's heart trembled.
His reverence for life and his understanding of death reached unprecedented heights in this mont.
The blade in his hand no longer seed a weapon of slaughter, but a ferry carrying souls across.
[SYSTEM: DING! THE HOST HAS DEMONSTRATED AN EXTRELY HIGH SPIRITUAL SYNCHRONIZATION WITH THE CHARACTER!]
[SYSTEM: YORIICHI TSUGIKUNI'S COMPASSION AND GENTLENESS HAVE PERFECTLY OVERLAPPED WITH THE HOST!]
[SYSTEM: SYNCHRONIZATION RATE HAS INCREASED SIGNIFICANTLY!]
[SYSTEM: CURRENT SYNCHRONIZATION RATE: 18.9%!]
[SYSTEM: ONLY ONE STEP AWAY FROM 19%!]
[SYSTEM: SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: HIGH-LEVEL SUN BREATHING FORMS ARE ON THE VERGE OF UNLOCKING. PLEASE KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK!]
The system notifications chid one after another, but Yoru's heart remained as still as water.
He sheathed his sword, watching the last traces of cursed energy dissipate. The entire sewer finally returned to a deathly silence.
Only the sound of dripping water echoed through the empty corridors in the distance.
"Rest in peace."
Yoru bowed slightly to the void before turning toward the exit.
When he pushed open the manhole cover and returned to the surface, the blinding sunlight spilled over him.
He instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes.
The tragedy that had unfolded in that dark corner felt like nothing more than a nightmare.
But he knew this was only the beginning.
As long as Cursed Spirits existed, as long as malice endured, tragedies would never cease.
All he could do was grip his sword tighter.
...
...
The mories receded like a tide, and the bustle of reality rushed back into his ears.
Tokyo, the site of the Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event.
In the forest, birds took flight in alarm.
Yoru stood atop scorched earth blasted by lightning and slowly opened his eyes.
Opposite him stood the entire Kyoto School team, led by Noritoshi Kamo.
Kasumi Miwa, Mai Zenin, Momo Nishimiya, chamaru...
Every one of them stared at this sudden intruder as if facing a mortal enemy.
Just a few minutes ago, the match had just begun.
Following their original plan, they had split into two groups, with the main force heading out to hunt down Yuji Itadori.
However...
Before they could get very far, a bolt of golden-red lightning fell from the sky like a teorite, violently cutting off their path.
The man simply appeared before them out of thin air.
One man, one blade.
He stood alone, blocking the way for the entire Kyoto School.
"Until the match is over, there is no passage here."
Yoru's hand rested on his hilt, his eyes—which seed to see through everything—calmly scanning everyone present.
That gaze was exactly the sa as the one he held while putting souls to rest in the sewers.
There was no killing intent, nor was there any disdain.
Only a despair-inducing serenity.
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