To make it as natural as breathing…
The truly accomplished sorcerer weaves cursed energy into instinct, moving it with a mere thought.
On the train ride home, Asou Akiya's face was patched with gauze; the ice packs had brought the swelling down considerably. He could not wait a moment longer. He slipped into meditation, staring at his own index finger. A tiny flame of cursed energy gathered at the tip, flickering like candlelight in a draft. His heart flickered with it (joy and tension intertwined, endless, feeding the fire that fueled the energy itself).
Cursed spirits cannot be killed by modern firearms.
In the jujutsu world, the act of a sorcerer destroying a cursed spirit is called "exorcism."
Sorcerers are graded in five tiers, ascending from fourth-grade through third, second, first, and finally special-grade. A sorcerer of a given grade is almost always stronger than a spirit of the same grade. Take a fourth-grade sorcerer: they can single-handedly exorcise both fourth- and third-grade spirits.
Asou Akiya, freshly awakened, did not even qualify as the lowest fourth-grade sorcerer. At best he was a "toddler" from one of the great clans, and a defective one at that, incapable of manifesting an innate technique.
Gojo Satoru once said that talent accounts for eighty percent of a sorcerer's strength. It sounded brutal, yet compared to the ability system in Bungo Stray Dogs, the cursed-energy system of Jujutsu Kaisen at least left ordinary people a sliver of hope.
And he had seized that sliver by deliberately ramping up the pressure, deliberately visiting Shinjuku in the curse-saturated height of summer.
Heaven never betrays the determined.
Asou Akiya had stabilized the cursed energy that had vanished the moment the original owner died.
Seeing once was not enough; he had to keep seeing.
Many people in this world experienced near-death (car accidents, terminal illness). In their extremis they might glimpse something filthy, only to regress to ordinary blindness once the danger passed.
The brain is a fascinating organ, a gateway to the unknown. Push it hard enough and no one can predict where the limit lies.
At fourteen, Asou Akiya discovered that the moment he released cursed energy, every low-grade spirit on the train began to stir. Their chaotic hissing braided together into a single hungry chord. Monster after monster, born of human negativity, fixed its attention on him. It proved one thing beyond doubt: once you step into the jujutsu world, the sea is bottomless, and curses will dog you for life. At the end of every sorcerer's path lies a mountain of comrades' corpses. There is no such thing as a death without regret.
Unless you forget cursed energy forever.
Unless you pretend, for the rest of your days, that you cannot see the spirits.
Asou Akiya refused to believe that.
He believed the path of a sorcerer should end in a mountain of enemies' corpses.
Cursed spirits do not deserve deaths without regret.
From the moment humanity claimed dominion over the world, human life has towered above all else. Even setting aside human chauvinism, the final boss of Jujutsu Kaisen, Kenjaku himself, looks down on cursed spirits and treats the Four Great Catastrophes like pawns on a board.
Cursed spirits?
Mere vermin.
In numbers, humanity multiplies like maggots.
In strength, the jujutsu world has Gojo Satoru.
Asou Akiya swiftly reeled his cursed energy back in. Strategically, he despised the spirits; tactically, he played dead and let them drift past.
"@#￥%..."
On his seat, the black-haired boy's eyes went glassy. From his throat spilled the nonsense lullaby of a hypnotized child.
The pack of low-intelligence spirits scattered before they could close in.
Outside the window, blurred scenery rushed by.
He thought:
I will come back.
As a first-year student of Tokyo Jujutsu High.
Yokohama, a port city that Tokyoites dismiss as "the countryside," has far fewer cursed spirits than the capital. Not long after returning from his "medical visit," summer vacation arrived. In the sweltering heat, whenever boredom struck, Asou Akiya slipped out for a walk: hands in pockets, red hoodie pulled up, black joggers loose around his legs. The look stripped away the last lingering resemblance to that half-dead Aone Shiji.
An adult's languid ease and a teenager's explosive vitality poured from him in equal measure. The bandages had come off bit by bit; the skin beneath glowed with the reckless energy of youth. No one would ever guess black mud might spill from his mouth the next second.
He ignored every cursed spirit he passed. Becoming able to see them had not suddenly turned him into some justice-obsessed exorcist.
He had learned, finally, to relax. He picked up books again, chased new anime episodes, and rediscovered long-lost peace.
Only when he calmed down did he realize how deep he had drilled into the horn of obsession.
The plan itself wasn't wrong; it had simply been too extreme. For example: before volunteering to be beaten senseless, he should have learned how to protect his vitals. Getting thrashed was one thing, but what if he'd ended up disfigured or with ruptured organs?
He played with his brain, with prophetic calculation.
Asou Akiya blinked. He couldn't compete with the script team next door in Bungo Stray Dogs, but in a Jujutsu Kaisen world without scriptwriters, he figured he was at least a little better than those Japanese who never took politics class.
His feet turned of their own accord toward his usual cat café. The moment he pushed open the door, his eyes softened.
A large cat immediately leapt into his arms. Pressure melted away. His five fingers spread wide, sinking into silver-gradient fur as he stroked with meticulous care. Happiness flooded him so completely that not a single drop of negativity remained to be squeezed out.
And that tattered second-hand copy of The Complete ■■ Manual?
Even dogs wouldn't read it anymore.
The manager was out; the waitress brought him a glass of water and smiled. "Asou-kun, you're really something. The moment you walk in, every cat in the shop orbits you. Ever thought about adopting one?"
Asou Akiya answered with playful gravity: "Don't be fooled by how much I like cats. I'm extremely picky about raising one."
Even so, he never pushed any cat away.
The waitress, now familiar with him, pointed at the silver-gradient hogging his lap. "How about this one? Long-haired silver gradient, super clingy, doesn't get jealous. She's eight already. The boss is thinking of letting Mii-chan retire to a family she likes."
Asou Akiya's brows rose in surprise. "I never would have guessed Mii-chan was eight."
"Light-colored coats," the waitress explained. "Cats and dogs with pale fur always look younger."
Raising a cat cost money, and adoption required a guardian's permission. Asou Akiya guessed the girl assumed he came from a decent family (not an orphan), which was why she made the suggestion. Otherwise the manager would never hand over a pampered eight-year veteran to a kid from the children's home.
A low laugh escaped him; tenderness shimmered beneath his long lashes.
"She's not right for me."
"I prefer white cats. Pure snow-white, raised from kittenhood, the kind that can stay with me my whole life."
He spoke of his preferences without ever mentioning his actual financial embarrassment. Instead he declared with utmost seriousness:
"I'm the type who doesn't fall in love easily. But once I do, I'm hopelessly obsessed. So I have to inspect everything: coat color, eye color, health, pedigree, habits… I need to be certain the value matches the burden I'm willing to bear."
The waitress listened patiently, then sighed with genuine regret. "You'd make a wonderful owner."
Asou Akiya smiled. "Not yet. I'll think about it when I'm an adult. Life is long."
He would be transferring to the jujutsu school in Tokyo soon; trouble would multiply. Raising a cat was simply not something the current him could afford.
Besides… cats shed year-round.
The thought led inevitably to human hair loss, and his brow furrowed in mild horror.
In the dorm of the children's welfare institution, strands of his hair, flakes of skin, and even the faint bloodstains left from those near-death experiments still lurked in corners the broom never reached. He had once thought a single match could solve everything (burn the whole room and be done). Now the realization hit him like cold water. Terrible oversight.
Before any jujutsu sorcerer ever laid eyes on him, he had to erase every last trace of himself.
A civilian sorcerer who valued his life put privacy first.
How?
Collect someone else's hair clippings from a barbershop and scatter them as decoys?
For blood, find the same blood type and overwrite the old stains?
Or simply burn everything after all, then plant misleading belongings elsewhere in the institution?
Compensation for arson-damaged property… where would the money come from?
Was there anything in the second half of 2004 that could make him a quick fortune?
His mind raced while he lingered the entire afternoon in the cat café, utterly unruffled.
A news alert flashed on his flip phone.
His eyes lit up.
The 28th Summer Olympics, Athens, August 13–29 this year!
Then his face fell into a deadpan line.
Would the athletes and scores be identical to his old world?
Even if they were, he had been a little kid back then, glued to cartoons, not international sports. He remembered nothing.
Sports betting: dead end.
He made a small sound of discovery and dredged up a famous murder-arson case instead.
Date: September 9, 2004, 4 a.m.
Location: Aichi Prefecture, next prefecture over, barely a month away.
The Katō family of five. The husband had embezzled company funds to keep a mistress; the marriage was on its last legs. On the night of the crime he conveniently worked late. At 4 a.m. the house went up in flames. Four bodies (wife and three children) burned beyond recognition. The husband obstructed autopsy; the real killer was never found. The case haunted headlines at home and abroad for over a decade.
He had watched documentaries, seen crime-scene photos, and there had even been an almost identical copycat case in China. The details were burned into his memory.
If the Katō massacre happened in this world too, the sheer volume of terror, despair, and societal outrage would easily birth a first-grade cursed spirit.
Cursed-spirit detective series?
The thought made his stomach turn.
Whether Katō Hironobu hired the killer or not, judgment belonged to humans, not curses.
The arson plan for the dorm suddenly felt reckless. It wasn't an empty house he owned; a fire out of control would ruin the rest of his life.
Until he could afford to rebuild the entire welfare institution, caution came first.
High-interest loans flickered across his mind.
No good.
An orphan couldn't borrow much without selling his body. Not worth it.
While he worried, he envied those born with silver spoons. Then he reconsidered: silver-spoon heirs rarely saw curses. Sorcerers who could see curses often had no life left to spend money.
No one's life was flawless.
These past few days he had also heard the locals tell the story of Yokohama's Mary (a life so tragic that even a profit-first transmigrator felt his chest tighten). Hell came in many flavors; the jujutsu world was merely the one sorcerers themselves feared most.
Seventeen-year-old Geto Suguru would one day declare ordinary humans the root of all sorcerer suffering and decide to exterminate them. Pure arrogance. He empathized with sorcerers, despised non-sorcerers, yet never noticed that most ordinary people were already fighting tooth and nail just to survive. They could not carry the jujutsu world's mess on their backs as well.
Far more humans died at human hands than at the claws of cursed spirits.
Sorcerers were handed supernatural power at birth (a golden ticket out of the underclass, a chance to rewrite destiny).
If you couldn't figure out how to cash that ticket, tough luck.
Survival of the fittest.
Heaven had shoved the rice bowl right up to your mouth. Figure out how to eat.
Late August.
Asou Akiya sheared off his forehead bangs, cropped the rest shorter, letting his features stand out sharp and clear. He threw himself into the institution's cleaning duties, quietly destroying every personal belonging that carried his trace. He worked until he dripped with sweat. Whenever a flyhead buzzed too close, he snatched it out of the air without ceremony and hurled it outside.
Some passed straight through walls.
Some smashed into them and dropped like stones.
Cursed energy is electricity.
Techniques are the appliances.
Without any appliances to rely on, he must learn to wield raw electricity itself to wound cursed spirits.
He had considered sweeping the welfare institution clean of its swarming low-grade curses.
Answer: impossible. In a place where spirits drifted like dust motes, any sudden vacuum would scream "someone interfered" to anyone paying attention.
[Life Goal, Step Two: Receive an invitation from Tokyo Jujutsu High without incident.]
The last thing he needed, with enrollment so close he could taste it, was to be snatched away by a curse user or the higher-ups.
September 9, 4:00 a.m.
Three hundred kilometers from Yokohama, in Toyoake City, Aichi Prefecture, Kutsukake-chō.
Fire engines and ambulances tore through the night. A woman's scream from the second floor of the Katō house jolted the neighbors awake. This time they arrived fast enough. The kerosene-fueled flames were smothered almost as soon as they were born. The fleeing murderer, still clutching the keys to his getaway car, was tackled at the gate.
Two dead, two critically injured.
The arson-murder made every newspaper.
Far away in Yokohama, Asou Akiya had rewritten the ending with a single anonymous, voice-changed phone call.
He had studied 2004 satellite maps, pinpointed the exact house, calculated response times for fire and ambulance, and dialed just early enough for the cavalry to block the front door. Evidence, witnesses, perpetrator—everything lined up neatly. A case that in his old world had festered unsolved for decades was closed in a single dawn.
He never set foot in Aichi Prefecture.
One careless step and he would have been tangled in the Katō family's grudge.
Asou Akiya watched from perfect distance.
"That's it," he murmured. "The ones you should thank are the firefighters and doctors."
He set the newspaper aside and stopped following the story.
The black-haired boy rubbed bloodshot eyes that had stayed open all night, yawned, and squinted at the blinding morning sun. Sleep tugged at him, yet the flame in his chest—the one that refused to bow to fate—had been fanned brighter by the events in Aichi. His cursed energy pulsed, subtly stronger.
Fate,
it turned out, was not as immovable as people thought.
—
Author's Note:
This is a pure Jujutsu Kaisen story, no crossover. The protagonist's only advantages are his brain and foreknowledge of the plot.
I'm writing this one on pure passion—no outline, just joy. The main thread is simply Asou Akiya's growth from age fourteen to thirty and beyond.
Those who understand Akiya's character already know: an ordinary person's wisdom, the madness required for self-transcendence, and the dream of one day having a wife.
For these things—rare, precious, almost impossible—he will burn with endless drive.
There are many differences between Jujutsu-Akiya and BSD-Akiya:
1. Age at transmigration. Jujutsu-Akiya's pre-transmigration self had already hit rock bottom and bounced; in some ways he is colder, more ruthless. BSD-Akiya is younger, thinks like a young man, and tends toward gentler methods.
2. Attitude toward marriage. Jujutsu-Akiya has no plans to marry for now—he looks thirsty but is actually walking a slow-burn pure-love route. BSD-Akiya fantasizes constantly about a wife; he seems innocent, but once the relationship starts, he goes to third base at the speed of light.
Offering the Divine Child a Curse Named "Love" is planned as a million-plus-word growth epic covering ages 14 to 30+. In theory it won't surpass the word count of I Started by Putting an Eco-Friendly Hat on Verlaine (the eco-hat fic suffered a catastrophic outline earthquake mid-serialization). Jujutsu Kaisen anime isn't finished either, but I doubt we'll get a twist like "Gojo Satoru's real name is actually Geto Suguru and the best friends swapped identities."
P.S. I keep imagining how hilarious it would be if the day BSD characters watch Jujutsu-Akiya's life on a big screen, or the Jujutsu cast watching BSD-Akiya. It will be pure chaos.
— Yu Wei