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.

Kenjaku lowered his arm, blood curling back into his sleeve.


The Faceless One stood still again, just a few meters away. It no longer wore the face of Noritoshi Kamo. But the memory of it lingered.


It had dodged everything he'd thrown at it — not because it was faster, but because it understood. It had learned. And now it waited.


Kenjaku stayed quiet. He wasn't out of breath, but he was no longer calm. This thing wasn't acting like a curse anymore. It was acting like a person.


Then the Faceless One tilted its head again. And it spoke.


Not with its own voice — but with one that twisted and stretched, pulled from memory. A voice that didn't belong to it.


Kenjaku's tone was flat. "Because this is the face they listen to."


Kenjaku narrowed his eyes. "Neither was the last. Or the one before that."


The air thickened again. He could feel the tension shift — not like anger or bloodlust. Something colder. Sharper.


The Faceless One leaned slightly forward.


The curse had never spoken this much. Never asked questions. Never acted like it understood this much.


Kenjaku stepped back, just a little. "I came to find out what you are. Not to be lectured."


The word echoed too loudly in the stillness.


Kenjaku's fingers tensed. His cursed energy rippled faintly beneath his skin.


The Faceless One's arms hung loose again, relaxed. But not careless.


The voice changed again — this time, to something deeper. Slower. It was familiar. Too familiar.


Kenjaku took a breath through his nose.


Then said quietly, "You remember far more than you should."


Chapter 5 - Chapter 5