Who were they waiting for?
A mighty power that could change the world in the blink of an eye.
A power that commanded hundreds of demons to wait.
A blood-colored presence that clearly did not lean toward anything benevolent.
God.
Evil gods…
In a trance, Mitsue Takeda realized something.
She was laughing.
And crying.
Tears streamed uncontrollably down her face.
Were these tears of joy?
Or the vindication of decades of grief and injustice?
She could no longer run. She collapsed to the ground and cried loudly.
It was true.
It was all true!!
She wasn't wrong!
She wasn't wrong!!
After crying until her strength was gone, she wiped her tears.
Near her ear—
That strange, overlapping sound rang out again.
Like a baby.
Like a youth.
Like a man.
Like a woman.
This was the magnificent sound recorded in theological scriptures, a sound often heard only by great theologians.
It further deepened Mitsue Takeda's perception of the gods.
[The Cursed King]
[Fallen Angel]
[Lord of the Hundred Demons]
The curse initiated by the human-like chant made her whole body shudder.
She fell silent for a long time, then suddenly knelt down and kowtowed toward the distant demon-suppressing shrine.
Beneath the shrine, a mysterious shadow loomed.
No need to look closer.
An overwhelming pressure followed her gaze and pressed directly into her heart.
Excitement.
Awe.
Reverence.
Countless myths and legends from the scriptures surged through her mind.
She was certain—
She had trespassed into the realm of the gods.
And yet, her rude intrusion had not been punished.
Then—
"Bang… bang…"
Her heartbeat drove her blood like wildfire, filling her with uncontrollable exhilaration.
"King of Curses!
Fallen Angel!
Lord of the Hundred Demons!
I, Mitsue Takeda, have no intention of offending the realm of God!
I beg forgiveness!
I beg for an audience!"
The whistling wind stopped.
The chanting ceased.
Mitsue Takeda remained kneeling, not daring to raise her head, refusing to leave.
Even if she died today—
She would die within the realm of God.
After a long time, a vague voice echoed from the direction of the shrine.
"Allowed—"
In an instant—
The divine domain shattered.
Noise flooded back in.
Voices.
Footsteps.
The familiar smoke and bustle of the city.
Mitsue Takeda looked up in confusion.
On the street, people stared at her kneeling form as if watching performance art.
She raised her trembling hand.
On the back of her right hand—
A shrine-shaped mark burned vividly into her skin.
Her teeth clenched.
She had won the bet.
She truly had.
She stood up as if nothing had happened and brushed off her legs.
Her movements were agile, nothing like those of an elderly woman at the end of her life.
Everything was different.
In her eyes—
The people on the street lived alongside other things.
Snake-like spirits coiled around streetlights.
Old-man-shaped ghosts crouched in alley corners.
Reptilian shadows crawled slowly toward sewer grates.
It was truly different.
She hurried away from the mocking stares.
On her face, the mixture of laughter and tears proved that her emotions were still boiling.
She was full of vitality.
Her back was straight.
Her legs were strong.
At last, a crazed smile curled at the corner of her mouth.
She was not a liar.
Not anymore.
Ah… the former Shitamachi Goddess.
Today—
She was finally reborn.
...
...
Ha.
Mizunotsuki Seiren dispersed the domain.
Sukuna's signature technique.
He glanced at the system panel again.
System Points: 872
Another two hundred points, and a low-level copy could be unlocked.
But even if unlocked, such templates were useless to him now—at best, supplemental tools.
He needed to save points.
For Gojo Satoru's template.
System points could also be exchanged for a one-time short burst—useful in emergencies.
Truly a universal resource.
Watching Mitsue Takeda leave in fervent excitement, Seiren laughed softly.
"You may gain much," he murmured,
"but I will never lose."
An ancient evil god revived in modern times?
Not a bad identity.
After all, if he was an evil god—
Why bother pretending to have morals?
Fine wine.
Delicacies.
Beautiful women.
Bring them all.
In every world, the powerful were corrupt.
Good ones existed—
But were very few.
Very few indeed.
He touched his kidney absently.
"…I hope I can handle it."
...
...
Yukinoshita Yukino was thinking.
She had been thinking about a classmate who hadn't slept properly for days.
Yes.
Yotsuya Miko was already close to desperation.
She had sought help from the Service Club.
Everyone knew—
The Service Club's high-ranking flower was always willing to help the weak.
But Yukinoshita Yukino had met her Waterloo this time.
She couldn't untangle Miko's vague questions.
Miko spoke in roundabout ways, clearly afraid of exposing something.
Instead, she asked about gods, Buddhas, and religion.
A cult?
Yukino frowned.
Japan had its own peculiar circumstances.
Cults appeared endlessly, and the government often chose to look away.
Who knew how many were backed by powerful interests?
Even the Yukinoshita family had such "white gloves."
But their influence ended in Chiba.
In Tokyo—
They were merely provincial rich.
If Miko truly became entangled with something dangerous, Yukino's promise would be powerless.
Would she drag her family into a conflict with a truly powerful enemy?
She knew the answer.
Yukinoshita Haruno glanced at her sister with mixed amusement and concern.
Still childish.
Still naïve.
Until Yukino grew up—
Someone had to protect this innocent little white rabbit.
Especially in Tokyo.
"Yukino~ don't be so tense," Haruno said lightly.
"Sis has something to handle tonight. Remember—don't go out. Especially at night. Lock the doors."
....
....
.....
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