The Faceless One has stalked Japan’s forgotten places for far longer than jujutsu society realizes. Its history stretches back generations  a shadow moving through the cracks, killing with surgical precision and vanishing without a trace. For most of that time, it was a ghost story even among sorcerers, its kills buried among countless unexplained disappearances.

But in recent decades, its activity has begun to surface more often, the patterns harder to ignore. Since the birth of Gojo Satoru, its name has reappeared in hushed discussions and private reports  not because it grew reckless, but because the world around it has changed enough to notice its work.

Kenjaku has tracked the predator for decades, slowly piecing together its movements from cases too clean to be coincidence. His pursuit finally leads him to a feeding ground, where the truth is clear: the Faceless One is no mindless killer, but a patient and deliberate hunter that has thrived in secrecy for longer than anyone dares to guess.

Now that it has been noticed, the hunt is no longer one-sided, But when The Faceless One turns its gaze toward the hunter jujutsu society may learn that it has been prey all along.

The pressure hadn't lessened. If anything, it was worse now. The silence felt thicker than the night around them. The Faceless One hadn't moved in over a minute, but the air still felt like it was closing in.


The surface of the curse's head shifted.


Kenjaku noticed it right away — a ripple, like light bending across water. For a brief moment, it looked like the curse was sprouting a mouth. Then a nose. A shape around the eyes.


But then it happened again — this time clearer.


A man from a 100 years ago. Someone he had once inhabited.


The skin tone, the structure, the scar on the chin — all perfect.


Kenjaku's eyes narrowed. "So you do remember."


The face twisted and melted, returning to a blank state.


A woman's this time. Pale skin, tired eyes. Another old vessel. Another identity buried decades ago.


Kenjaku didn't react. He wouldn't give it that satisfaction.


The curse wasn't just guessing. These weren't illusions.


A third face came and went. Then a fourth. A fifth.


Then, finally, the surface shifted again — slowly this time. As if the curse was being more deliberate.


The curse had recreated it with perfect detail.


But his fingers curled slightly at his sides.


The curse tilted its head again, now wearing his face.


Then, in a layered, broken voice that came from deep within its chest, it spoke:


It sounded like a dozen people trying to speak in unison — none of them in rhythm. But the question was clear.


The curse tilted its head to the other side. Slowly.


"You wear faces. I remember all of them."


He looked the curse in the face — his own face — and said plainly:


"You've been hiding for too long. I didn't come all this way just to talk about me."


The Faceless One didn't respond. The false face held for a few seconds longer.


Then it melted back into a smooth, featureless surface.


Kenjaku could tell — it still wanted more.


Chapter 3 - Chapter 3