Chapter 13 – Eyes in the Smoke
The city looked sick.
Buildings leaned too far forward, as if they'd been watching something crawl through the streets and were recoiling just a second too late. Vents coughed smog into the air with no rhythm, no life. Windows were dark, not because lights were off—but because something inside had forgotten how to shine. This wasn't just a cursed zone.
It was infected.
"...It's quiet."
The girl at the front muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Kumi Tanaka, first-year student, stood at the edge of the district with a half-cracked flashlight and a jagged cursed tool strapped to her back. The blade didn't shine. Nothing did here.
"It's supposed to be," replied the second-year behind her.
Taichi Okabe had a scar over one brow and lazy eyes that never seemed awake, but his voice was always sharp. He stood like he didn't trust the ground—like it might vanish if he exhaled too hard.
"Keep your guard up," he said. "Whatever cursed spirit was reported here isn't alone."
Kumi turned. "You mean there are more?"
"No. I mean something else is here."
Taichi's hand rested on his blade, but he didn't draw. "And it doesn't want to be seen."
The mission had come with little warning. A cluster of disappearances. No bodies. No signs of cursed residue at first. Then, a week ago, something bloomed—not like a curse, but a field of distorted silence that swallowed signals and blurred jujutsu readings.
Yaga had assigned them with minimal information. The higher-ups had strongly recommended Taichi accompany the first-years, but hadn't said why. Kumi hadn't noticed the tension at first. Now she did.
Every shadow here moved like it remembered you.
They found the cursed spirit on the fourth block in.
It was thin—too thin—like a mannequin melted into long strands of glass and nerves, draped across a bus stop sign with its face buried in the steel.
It didn't move.
Kumi reached for her weapon.
"Wait," Taichi said, raising his hand.
A second student, Daisuke, moved too fast. His cursed blade hummed with irritation as he lunged—and was immediately repelled.
Not hit. Not blocked.
Thrown back ten meters by a force that made the air blink like heat over concrete. He hit the ground hard, skidding across cracked pavement.
"Don't touch it," Taichi snapped. "It's not reacting to us. That means it's reacting to something else."
Kumi stared at the spirit.
It was twitching now, limbs creaking, not from attack—but anticipation.
Its mouth opened in slow, creaking pops, revealing not teeth, but a flower. Wilted. Wrong-colored. Grayish-pink, with edges that curled like pages soaked in oil.
"It's praying," she whispered.
Taichi went still.
It didn't attack. It just wept.
Its glass limbs snapped as it dragged itself away from them—not fleeing, but recoiling—toward the center of the district.
Toward something it feared more than them.
"What the hell is going on here…" Kumi muttered.
Taichi didn't answer. His gaze had fixed on the far alley ahead—where no cursed energy registered.
They reached the still zone ten minutes later.
It wasn't obvious—there were no markings, no glowing sigils, no cursed feedback screaming in their heads. It was quieter than quiet.
A blank patch of the city.
The kind of place where your breath fogs but the air isn't cold, and your footsteps feel one frame out of sync with your body.
Taichi gripped his blade.
"Daisuke, you and Emi pull perimeter. No one walks in without a full exo-scan. You," he said, turning to Kumi, "stay behind me. This place..."
He stepped forward.
"...is cursed. But not by cursed energy."
Inside the still zone, the world changed.
There were flowers growing from bullet holes in a nearby wall. A streetlamp had rusted in reverse, its metal smooth and polished near the base. A plastic bag hung in the air, frozen, like time had forgotten it was supposed to fall.
The silence wasn't oppressive. It was...gentle. But wrong.
Kumi blinked.
"Taichi... I think this place is—"
He held up a hand.
The center of the still zone had something new.
Not a structure.
A figure.
A faint silhouette at the end of the street. Not moving. Distant. Drenched in shadow and smoke. Barely visible—but real.
Kumi felt her stomach twist.
"Is that the spirit's host?"
Taichi squinted.
"No... That's not a curse."
Then he frowned deeper.
"That's... not even watching us."
The figure wasn't facing them. It was looking at something else, beyond the still zone. Then, like mist, it simply vanished—folding inward, like a paper burned from the center.
They returned without conflict.
The cursed spirit had vanished—either fled, or simply ceased. The higher-ups marked the mission as incomplete but stable. No injuries. No confirmed anomaly.
Taichi filed a secondary report by hand, unsigned, and delivered it quietly to Yaga's office.
That night, Kumi dreamed of a field of broken mirrors with flowers growing between the shards.
When she woke up, her cursed energy wouldn't stabilize. Every time she tried to focus, she felt calm. Not peace. Not serenity.
Guilt.
And from the edges of her consciousness, something whispered:
"You don't know what you're fighting."