The weight of the future pressed down, a silent, colossal shadow behind Kamo Itsuki's calm facade. Sometimes, in the quietest moments, a corrosive doubt would whisper: What if curses are the world's immune response? What if humanity is the fever? To stand against curses would then be to fight the planet itself. He always violently shut down that line of thought. To follow it to its end was to stare into an abyss where the only logical conclusion was monstrous. One step at a time, he would tell himself, sealing the existential dread away. My shoulders aren't broad enough for the fate of the species yet.
He refocused, locking his attention back on Tsukumo Yuki. "Curse Users are a metastasizing problem," he stated, his voice regaining its strategic edge. "They don't just refuse to help; they actively collaborate with curses against us. Removing them as an obstacle would clear a significant path." A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. "Frankly, Senior Tsukumo, you have the aura of a sovereign. If you were to step forward and… consolidate the Curse User community under your own banner, to restrain their worst impulses and direct their chaos, it would grant us immense breathing room."
It was a half-joke delivered with complete seriousness. And as he said it, the fit became obvious. Who else could command the respect and fear of that lawless underworld but the wandering, formidable, and utterly uncompromising Tsukumo Yuki?
Yuki considered it for a moment, then a slow, predatory grin spread across her face. "Keeping a leash on a pack of rabid dogs? That does sound more my style than preaching or paperwork. Consider it handled. I'll make sure they're too busy with their own new chain of command to bother your construction project."
Kamo nodded, a silent transfer of trust. Then, his demeanor shifted again, the atmosphere growing heavy with a new kind of gravity. "Speaking of enduring threats," he began, his tone lowering, "there are two specific entities we must discuss. One is a Curse User who has lived for a millennium: Kenjaku. The other is the King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna."
The names landed with distinct impacts. Kenjaku was unknown, a shadow without a shape. Sukuna was a myth, a horror story from a bygone age.
"A thousand years? Like Tengen-sama?" Geto Suguru's brow furrowed in mingled disbelief and intense curiosity.
"I thought Sukuna was dead," Ieiri Shoko stated the obvious confusion.
"Kenjaku achieves a form of immortality not through a technique like Tengen's, but by migrating his consciousness between vessels," Kamo explained, weaving Tengen's authority into his own foreknowledge to cement the claim. "Tengen believes he was the hidden architect behind the Star Plasma Vessel incident. As for Sukuna… he is dead. But he left behind twenty indestructible fingers, each a Special Grade Cursed Object. Tengen suspects a pact with Kenjaku, a plan for a future revival."
He let the horrifying implications settle—a timeless schemer and a sleeping king of disaster. "Going forward, in all your endeavors, be vigilant for any trace of these two. They are the oldest and greatest variables in our equation."
Finally, his gaze softened as it turned to Haibara and Nanami. His voice was gentle but firm, carrying the weight of a commander who must protect his rawest troops. "Haibara. Nanami. Your determination is noted and valued. But the tasks we've outlined tonight exist in a realm where your current strength would be a liability. To send you into them would not be trust; it would be a death sentence."
He saw the flash of disappointment in their eyes, the youthful urge to prove themselves. "Your mission, for now, is singular: survive. Grow stronger. Reach the rank of First Grade Sorcerer. That is the bare minimum ticket to this war. Until then, live well, train relentlessly, and learn everything you can. You are not being sidelined. You are being prepared to inherit the world we are trying to build."
The message was clear. The inner circle—the architect, the prophet, the healer, and the underworld regent—had their apocalyptic tasks. The next generation had the crucial, patient duty of becoming strong enough to one day take their place. Under the watchful moon, the division was set, and the long, shadowed game against curses, corrupt systems, and ancient evils truly began.
The truth of Kamo's words was undeniable, but it did not diminish the fire in their eyes. "We will work hard," Haibara Yu declared, his usual cheerfulness tempered into solid resolve. "And we hope to be of real help to you then." Beside him, Nanami Kento gave a firm, silent nod. Haibara's innate sense of duty had been fully engaged by the scale of the plan, while Nanami felt the heavy, clarifying weight of a true purpose settle upon him. His aversion to trouble, he realized, had been a shield against a world that felt meaningless. Now, with a tangible goal—a system worth building—that reluctance melted away, replaced by a steely determination. First Grade Sorcerer, he vowed inwardly. That's the bare minimum. I will reach it before graduation.
Kamo observed the shift in Nanami's posture, the new focus in his gaze, and a satisfied smile touched his lips. From his pocket, he produced two intricately folded talismans, their paper shimmering faintly with condensed cursed energy. "I have high expectations for you both," he said, handing one to each. "First Grade is a milestone, not a destination. Catch up quickly." His tone then softened with genuine apology. "And I am sorry for summoning you today, on the eve of a long mission. Consider these a small token of my regret."
Haibara accepted his with a bright, grateful smile. "With this, I'll feel much safer. Thank you, Senior! I'll train even harder!"
Nanami took his with a more measured gratitude, tucking it carefully away. He believed fundamentally in his own cultivated strength over external aids, but he understood the gesture's value—it was a symbol of inclusion, a down payment on the future they were all betting on.
With roles accepted and a daunting path laid out, the group began to disperse into the night, each mind already racing with the first steps of their monumental tasks. Kamo had provided the blueprint; the execution, the innovation, the relentless daily work—that would be theirs.
The courtyard emptied, returning to the hushed dominion of moonlight and ancient stone. The silence felt different now, charged with potential rather than mere calm. This ordinary night would not be forgotten. It was the moment the most formidable generation of sorcerers found not just their strength, but a shared cause worth the weight of their power. They were no longer just students or weapons. They had become architects. And the first, silent stones of their new world had just been laid.