Chapter 5: The Weight of Judgment
The silence that had descended upon the Higuruma estate was not merely an absence of sound; it was a physical weight, a localized atmospheric shift that felt as if the very air had been vacuum-sealed, leaving the gathered elite of Japan's high society gasping for a breath that refused to come. In that suffocating stillness, the only thing that seemed to move was the flickering, dark radiance of the entity that had manifested behind the four-year-old boy.
At the center of this dead zone stood Hiromi. He was a child in stature, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and preternaturally steady—held the weary clarity of a man who had seen too many sunsets over a courthouse and too many lives ruined by a misplaced comma. Behind him, the towering, blindfolded form of Judgeman loomed like a silent god of execution. Its black robes didn't rustle; they seemed to pull the light into their folds, and the golden scales it held didn't sway in the humidity of the afternoon. They remained perfectly, terrifyingly level.
Katsuo, the young cousin who had attempted the prank, was still sprawled on the grass. His face was a mask of ashen terror. He was frantically trying to spark the kinetic energy he usually felt in his fingertips—the minor Quirk that made him the star of his preschool and the pride of his branch of the family—but there was nothing. No spark, no heat, no resistance. Inside the "Domain" of the boy-judge, Katsuo was not a "hero-in-training"; he was merely a powerless defendant.
[GUILTY]
The word hovered in the air like a neon brand of fire, searing itself into the retinas of everyone watching.
The Breaking of the Trance
The first person to recover was the elder Yaoyorozu. He was a man who had spent decades navigating the highest tiers of financial and superhuman power. He stood at the edge of the manifestation's radius, his hand trembling as he reached out toward the edge of the shadows, only to pull it back sharply as if he had touched an electrified fence.
"A sentient Quirk..." the old man whispered, his voice cracking the silence like a gunshot. "But more than that. I have seen many manifestations in my time, Daichi, but this... this felt like my very soul was being placed on a scale. I felt an urge to confess to things I haven't thought of in forty years. This isn't just power; it's an indictment."
With his words, the vacuum broke. The sudden influx of noise was jarring—a cacophony of hushed whispers, frantic social climbing, and the clicking of phone cameras.
"Incredible! A judicial manifestation at four years old!"
"Did you see the pressure? Even the Pro Hero bodyguards were forced to take a knee."
"To manifest a sentient entity of that scale... he's a natural-born prodigy. A once-in-a-generation asset!"
The high-society guests—the same people who spent their lives navigating the legal grey areas of corporate tax law and hero-agency liability—crowded around Hiromi. Their faces were masks of performative joy, their eyes gleaming with the greedy light of people who had just witnessed the birth of a new, high-value "commodity." To them, Hiromi wasn't a child; he was a future legal weapon.
The Smell of Corruption
A high-ranking official from the Hero Public Safety Commission (HPSC) pushed through the throng. He was a man named Tanaka, whose suit smelled of expensive tobacco, ozone, and a deep, underlying desperation to maintain the status quo. He reached down to pat Hiromi's shoulder, his smile showing too many perfectly white teeth.
"Marvelous, Hiromi-kun! Absolutely marvelous!" Tanaka exclaimed, his eyes already darting toward Daichi with a look of predatory interest. "With a power like that, you won't just follow the law; you will be the law. Do you know how many top-tier heroes struggle with messy liability cases? You could be the ultimate arbiter, the one who clears the path for Japan's symbols of peace!"
Hiromi looked up at Tanaka's hand on his shoulder. In his mind's eye, the boy didn't see a "hero official." He saw a Case File. A spectral ledger flickered into existence: Embezzlement of HPSC discretionary funds. Bribery of a local precinct to suppress an investigation into a sidekick's misconduct. Repeated perjury.
The crimes were minor compared to the syndicate leaders Hiromi had fought in his previous life, but the sheer quantity of small, oily sins made his skin crawl. He felt a cold, viscous sensation rising in his gut. It was a familiar feeling—the same disgust he had felt in Roppongi before his death. But here, the disgust didn't just sit in his stomach. It began to flow. It began to hum with a low, dark frequency.
"I remember this," Hiromi thought, his small fists clenching at his sides until his knuckles turned white. "This isn't just the Quirk. This is... Cursed Energy."
The Discovery of the Blueprint
In his previous life, Hiromi had spent his rare hours of leisure reading about a fictional world where negative emotions became power—the world of Jujutsu Kaisen. He had read about a man who shared his face, his profession, and his breaking point. Now, as he stood surrounded by the hypocritical cheers of the elite, he realized that the story wasn't just a fantasy. For him, it was a blueprint.
The darkness he felt—the sheer, unadulterated loathing for the masks these people wore—was becoming a fuel. It wasn't the "Plus Ultra" spirit of a hero, born from hope and heroism. It was the "Cursed" spirit of an honest man forced to endure a dishonest world. The HPSC official's touch felt like a physical stain.
"Hiromi! My son!"
Daichi Higuruma broke through the circle, his face a complex map of genuine shock and ruthless calculation. He knelt before Hiromi, his eyes darting toward the fading silhouette of Judgeman with something akin to religious awe. "That was... extraordinary. The pressure you exerted... it was absolute. Do you understand what you've done? You've proven the Higuruma bloodline is superior to any quirk-marriage or support-item boost."
"I'm tired, Father," Hiromi said. His voice was flat, devoid of the excitement expected of a four-year-old. He didn't want their congratulations. He didn't want to be their "asset."
"Of course, of course! Manifesting such a Domain must be exhausting for a child of your age," Daichi said, standing up and turning to the crowd with a triumphant, proprietary grin. "A toast! To my son, Hiromi! The future of Japan's legal and hero society! The man who will bring order to the chaos!"
The Beginning of the Training
Glasses clinked. Laughter returned. The party resumed its artificial, high-society rhythm. Emi, his mother, rushed forward and swept him into her arms, ignoring the "power" he had just shown. She didn't care about the Quirk; she felt his small body trembling.
"It's okay, Hiromi. Mommy's here. It's over now," she whispered into his hair.
But as Hiromi buried his face in his mother's shoulder, he knew it wasn't over. It had just begun. As he was carried back into the mansion, away from the prying eyes of the HPSC and the Yaoyorozus, he felt a new reserve of power swirling within him—a dark, thick energy that responded to his will with terrifying fluidity.
"The law failed me once because I didn't have the strength to enforce it," he thought, his eyes narrowing as he watched the elder Yaoyorozu shake hands with his father, likely discussing a future merger of their children's potentials. "In that world, I had the Gavel, but they had the Bullets. In this world... I will have both."
He closed his eyes and focused on that internal reservoir of Cursed Energy. He didn't try to push it out into another Domain manifestation; instead, he tried to pull it in. He imagined the energy coating his bones, reinforcing his tiny muscles, and sharpening his senses. It was jagged and hot, like drinking molten lead, but it was his.
He didn't need to be a "Symbol of Peace" who inspired the masses. He needed to be the Judge of the Heroes who kept the icons in check.
"Next year," he whispered to himself, a cold, determined light flickering in his eyes as he looked at the law books on his father's desk. "The training begins. Not as a hero... but as a lawman with the power of a god."
..........
Author's Note: I've expanded this chapter to emphasize the social pressure and the distinct "Cursed Energy" mechanics that Hiromi is beginning to master. He isn't just a kid with a Quirk; he's a man with a grudge and a map to power. Thank you for your support as we move into the training arc!