#curse!

While changing, I tried to count the days since everything started, ticking them off on my fingers. But there’s been so much happening lately, it’s hard to make sense of it all.

Perhaps he noticed me struggling to keep track, because the next time Higuruma returned, he brought a large calendar and pinned it to the wall. He tossed me a permanent marker, which I caught mid-air, and as I was about to mark the dates of our missions with big circles, I reconsidered and instead drew a small star.

If this is day one, then we only slept. On day two, we talked over beers. As I mumbled to myself, trying to recall, Higuruma silently came to stand beside me. In his usual low, rough voice, he muttered the events as he pointed to each date:

“Bedsmoke. Sorcerer and curse user. Then yesterday—car ride and… killing the curse user.”

He said the last part clearly, though still under his breath, and then turned his back to me, cigarette between his lips as he laid back down on the bed. When I called out, “You’re smoking in bed again,” he lazily waved a hand in the air, showing no intention of stopping.

By the fourth day of cohabitation, I felt like I was starting to breathe easier. People are instinctively cautious of the unknown. Maybe I’m simply beginning to understand him.

I capped the pen.

Then I walked over to the bed, pulled a chair closer, and sat down with my chin resting on the wooden backrest.

As if in response, Higuruma raised his body slightly and leaned against the headboard. He was wearing a black shirt today, and there was a faint scent of soap lingering from his recent shower. His usually slicked-back hair was down, giving him a somewhat younger appearance.

I decided to talk to that version of him.

“What shall we talk about today?”

“…What does Kiyomi want to know?”

“I have plenty of questions, but… I feel like I’m always the one asking.”

“If I start talking carelessly, it never ends well.”

So then, what should I bring up first? Maybe small talk to ease into it—or should I go straight to his abilities?

“If you plan to file a report later, it’s smarter to ask about my Cursed Technique.”

“Higuruma, can you read minds?”

“My job used to be observing people. It’s a bit of an occupational hazard.”

He said it without much interest, cigarette still dangling from his mouth, then stood up and walked to the fridge. He pulled out two bottles of mineral water from the small interior. One of them arced gently through the air toward me.

I caught it, cracked it open, and took a drink while forming the question in my head. Once he sat back on the bed, I asked:

“Then—tell me about the Judgeman. What it can do, what it originally was.”

“I’ll skip what it can do—your people already have most of that down. As for what it is… I’ve been thinking about that for a long time. And I still don’t know.”

“You don’t…?”

“No. From the stitched eyes, I assume it’s modeled after the goddess of law, Themis. She must’ve been lurking in my subconscious all along.”

He spoke slowly, pausing between each thought. His face gave nothing away—no expression, no emotion in his voice.

“Themis is the goddess of law and order. Carries a sword and scales, eyes covered to symbolize impartiality. …Though there’s no true fairness anywhere in this world. The law, the system—they’re all twisted.”

—Is that why you're trying to be fair?

The words rose to my throat but didn’t leave it. I swallowed them with the cold water and changed the subject.

“Then may I ask about your own abilities next? I’ve heard about body enhancement through cursed energy manipulation, a blunt weapon that manifests at will, and the instant-kill sword. But doesn’t that also include barrier techniques? This apartment, even the parking lot, is concealed, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I picked up a few extra techniques later on.”

“Picked up? Simple veils might be learned relatively easily, but barrier techniques are another matter entirely.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Higuruma suddenly let out a low chuckle, then gulped down half the water in his bottle. Capping it again, he toyed with it in his hand, then began to explain. His voice was like rusted iron, rough and low, the soft crumpling of plastic punctuating his words.

“Every now and then, someone shows up that I shouldn’t be judging. Sure, as a sorcerer or curse user, they’d probably go on to commit something awful—but if, at the time, they haven’t done anything serious, I’ll let them go. In exchange, I ask about their Cursed Technique.”

“…Sorry, you what? You ask, and they just… tell you? No one can master a technique just from hearing about it. Innate Cursed Techniques are etched into the soul. They can’t be acquired after the fact.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that speech plenty of times. But I can use basic barrier and concealment techniques. I can detect residuals in a wider radius than most of your people. Combine that with my enhancements and weapon manifestation, and I’d say I have an affinity for cursed energy manipulation techniques.”

“…Are you a genius or something?”

It was absurd. But then again, he had grown up with a natural brain circuit for it, never having awakened a technique until well into his thirties. Maybe that made him more receptive to post-awakening development. If so, he could be a valuable case study for the jujutsu world.

I recalled what the other sorcerers I’d met in Shinjuku had said about Higuruma: “Incredibly sharp. Adaptable as hell.”

Makes sense now.

As I nodded thoughtfully, he took another sip from his bottle—just enough to moisten his lips this time—then asked:

“Now I’ll ask you. I heard your technique is barrier-based. What exactly does it do?”

His expression was half a smirk, half exhaustion. I could tell he didn’t really care about my technique—but he asked anyway. Maybe just to keep the conversation going. Over the past few days, I’d come to understand that he disliked unnecessary words. His manner of speaking was always brief, focused, efficient.

Which is why the fact that he’d asked—inserted me into his space—shifted something in me.

“As you pointed out yesterday, it’s a defensive barrier technique. But not just physical—it can also shield the mind. Like… preventing nightmares, for instance.”

“…I see.”

“Higuruma, you’re not sleeping well, are you? If I lower the precision, I can sustain the technique longer. So tonight—”

“Unnecessary.”

He reportedly honed his abilities in Shinjuku. Though he had contact with jujutsu sorcerers during the Culling Game, he never fully joined their side and disappeared after surviving the chaos. He resurfaced in the shadows as a curse user around the time Kusakabe was appointed as the new principal.

A tense, dangerous air radiated from him as he walked ahead. Despite having been told to accompany him for a week, I couldn’t bring myself to get any closer.

He led me swiftly through alleyways tucked between buildings. Suddenly, he grabbed my arm, and my body stiffened in surprise. Before I could ask what he was doing, the scenery distorted and then snapped back—revealing a completely different view: a tidy, modern apartment complex. Guessing it was some sort of barrier technique, I followed him as he passed through the entrance without hesitation. We took the elevator to the second floor. After passing through another barrier in the hallway, he unlocked a door with a physical key and all but pushed me inside.

The apartment was sparsely furnished, containing only the bare necessities. In one corner sat a small fridge and an open rack used in place of a closet. A wide bed dominated the center of the room, accompanied by a small desk and a crowded ashtray sitting on top of it. As I grimaced at the sight of piled-up cigarette butts, Higuruma, either noticing or not, dumped the contents into the trash.

Beyond the thick curtains, the sky was gradually beginning to lighten. Not knowing what I was supposed to do in this almost-empty room, I stood there aimlessly. Lighting a cigarette, Higuruma spoke in a low mutter:

“What’s your name?”

“…Do you need it?”

“For convenience. Besides, it’s a bit unfair if only you know mine.”

“…Kiyomi. That’s my name.”

“That’s enough. No need for the full name. Kiyomi—let’s get through this week.”

His reply was nearly expressionless. As the room began to brighten, I could see the dark circles under his eyes. It made me wonder—was he truly in a sound state of mind?

I’d heard he used to be a serious, upright man. But now, he was hunting both sorcerers and curse users alike, indiscriminately. I didn’t know what drove him to continue, but doing so alone? That’s not something a sane person does.

Yes—Higuruma swings the gavel fairly, sparing no one who possesses jujutsu, regardless of whether they are sorcerers or curse users. And sometimes, on a whim, he lets exceptions like me go.

“I’m going to sleep now. What about you? If we’re to stay together for a week, it’s best if we sleep on the same schedule.”

“Sleep…? But there’s only one bed.”

“Then we’ll share it. Don’t worry. I won’t try anything while you’re asleep.”

“You expect me to trust you?”

Without answering, he removed his black vest, loosened his tie, unfastened his belt, and hung them on the rack. He unbuttoned the collar of his deep crimson shirt and collapsed onto the bed, turning away from me.

“Believe me or don’t—it’s your choice. But I don’t break promises.”

His voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear it. Soon, I could hear the sound of his steady breathing.

Still unable to bring myself to lie beside him, I sat down on the floor and leaned against the bed.

When I closed my eyes, the faces of the two sorcerers I had been speaking to just hours earlier came to mind. Higuruma had killed them both in an instant after trapping them in his domain—and now here he was, lying peacefully beside me, completely defenseless.

Click, click—the sound of leather shoes echoed against the concrete. The owner of the footsteps stood in front of me, where I remained unable to lift my gaze from the floor. He bent down and, in a low, slightly rasping voice, asked:

"You haven’t killed anyone yet, have you?" “…No.” "From the uniform, I’d guess you’re a support sorcerer. …Hey, how about a deal? Spend a week with me. Be someone I can talk to. Do that, and I’ll let you go." “…And what guarantees that you’ll keep that promise?”

The man let out a dry, amused laugh from deep in his throat. A black leather-gloved hand rose into my field of view. My eyes were drawn upward as if pulled by gravity, and when I looked, I saw his face. He met my gaze with sharp, narrow eyes, and as he bit the edge of his glove to peel it off, the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk.

"A binding vow."

Now, about the character “Kiyomi” who appeared in this story. Some of you may have noticed, but I intentionally did not assign a fixed gender. That’s because I wanted to eliminate any romantic elements I felt were unnecessary for the story. Of course, my favorite pairing is HiguNana, so I did consider a cursed-user version of that too—but since this was a “W.O. Higuruma” (i.e., Higuruma without a partner) story, I wanted to focus on him alone. That’s when Kiyomi came into being. I wonder what became of them—him or her—after the story ended.

…Back to the topic. My interpretation of Cursed!Higuruma is that, deep down, he’s still serious and earnest. Someone who wants to lose himself to madness but can’t quite do it. So I imagine he’d wear red or black shirts that wouldn’t show stains easily, roll up his sleeves when getting to work, always have dark circles under his eyes from shallow sleep and recurring nightmares. He’d have no interest in food, only eating for sustenance (perhaps even during his time as a lawyer), and his eyes would always glint with a sort of weary sharpness. Please, just allow yourself a little happiness, won’t you…?

From the moment he appeared in the main series, I saw him as something of a dark hero, and I think I ended up distilling that aspect further here. The core theme I wanted to explore in the structure of this story was “the grave sin of murder”—and a dark hero who cannot forgive it, yet continues to commit the same sin himself. Reading the completed story again, I realize I’ve forced him down a truly painful and thorny path. But perhaps, that role could only be played by him. Not Gojo, not Nanami, not even Kusakabe—no one else could stand where he stands.

His line from the original series—“Even if I freeze my heart over…”—left a strong impression on me. This cursed version of Higuruma lives as an executor with a frozen heart, but then, a temporary housemate he took on a whim starts to awaken the more human parts of him… I’ve written a truly cruel story, haven’t I…? Sorry, Cursed!Higuruma…

One more point, though it may be a bit of a tangent— In the story, he understands that “one day, he himself will be judged.” That’s why he hasn’t cut ties with Kusakabe. After all, if it ever came down to a confrontation, Kusakabe would be the worst possible match for him, in terms of technique compatibility.

Lastly, speaking realistically, I don’t think there will ever be an official portrayal of Higuruma as a curse user, even in any spin-off. So, to everyone who read this book all the way through despite that—and to the friends who helped check for typos and awkward expressions—I want to extend my deepest thanks.

Once again, thank you so much.

The submitted report was detailed—so much so that it offered leads on unraveling several of the mysteries surrounding Higuruma. It should have been good news for the jujutsu world. Yet to Kusakabe, who had long worked in this field, something felt off.

"Hey, Kiyomi. …Aren’t you hiding something?"

"…"

"You really couldn’t find out where Higuruma’s hideout was? No weak points?"

"…I apologize. I was bound by a pact. I cannot disclose that."

After a brief hesitation, Kiyomi responded. A heavy sigh was Kusakabe’s only reply. The hard candy stick in his mouth clinked against his teeth, and the deep crease between his brows furrowed even more.

"Got it. Thanks for the report. I’ve already asked Ijichi to give you a few days off. Rest up."

"Thank you. …Principal?"

"What is it?"

"…Are we doing the right thing?"

Kiyomi’s face remained lowered, making it impossible to read their expression. Kusakabe recalled others who had once asked the same question—and remembered that he, too, had wondered, back when he was younger.

"Sorry, kid. I've been doing this job a long time, and I still don’t have an answer."

"I see…"

"In the end, all we can do is believe in what we think is right. …Take care."

The conversation was clearly over. Kiyomi rose with effort, bowed slightly, and left the room. Kusakabe watched their retreating figure, then leaned back against the sofa and gazed into empty space.

♰♰♰

Late at night, Kusakabe was walking home when his phone buzzed in his pocket with a dull, unremarkable ringtone. The caller ID was blocked. He frowned but answered anyway, swiping the screen and lifting it to his ear.

After a few seconds of silence, a familiar, rusted voice spoke.

“…It’s been a while.”

"…Yeah. Long time no talk. Heard you gave our support sorcerer quite the welcome."

"It was an enjoyable week."

"Hey, Higuruma. How long do you plan on keeping this up?"

There was no answer. Under the faint glow of a distant streetlamp, Kusakabe stopped walking, standing still as he waited for a reply. A dozen or so seconds passed—long enough to be noticeable—before he spoke again, growing impatient.

"I'm a conservative guy. But we’re shorthanded over here. So—"

"I refuse. I’ll do things my way."

"…Tch. What the hell are you even—"

A faint chuckle escaped the other end, and then the line went dead. “…Damn it,” Kusakabe muttered, his voice barely audible, fading into the night that swallowed all sound.

♰♰♰

Several days later, Kiyomi resigned. No one—no former colleagues, no higher-ups—was ever able to trace where they went. It was as if they had vanished from the world, without a trace.