The sky above Nevada cracked without sound.
No thunder followed. No shockwave rippled across the desert. It was as if reality itself had inhaled—and forgotten how to exhale.
At precisely 09:17 local time, satellites across three nations registered an object that did not obey mass, heat, or inertia. A structure the size of a city block phased into low orbit, its surface folding inward like overlapping scales. Military radars screamed and went blind. Astronomers froze mid-sentence. Somewhere, a child dropped a glass of milk and began to cry, though they would never remember why.
The mothership did not descend.
It waited.
And then, in flawless Japanese, a transmission echoed across every secured frequency on Earth.
"We request asylum."
Kyoto, Japan — same moment.
Yutsumi Okkotsu felt the cursed energy before the alarms sounded.
He was sitting cross-legged on the tatami floor, a battered notebook open on his lap, charcoal pencil hovering uselessly above the page. The kanji he'd been practicing—adaptation, reflection, self—blurred as a pressure settled behind his eyes. Not pain. Not fear.
Recognition.
His cursed energy, usually calm and tightly folded, rippled outward like disturbed water.
"Yutsumi?"
The voice snapped him back.
Yuka stood in the doorway, already dressed in her sorcerer uniform, hair tied back with practiced precision. At sixteen, she carried herself like someone older—too old. Her hand hovered near the cursed ring chained at her belt, fingers brushing it unconsciously.
She was watching him too closely.
"I felt something," Yutsumi said. He looked up, amber eyes faintly glowing. "Did you?"
Yuka crossed the room in three steps and knelt in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders before he could react.
"Are you dizzy?" she asked. "Nauseous? Chest tightness? Did your vision blur?"
"I'm fine," he said quickly. "Yuka, I'm really—"
She pulled him into a hug, sharp and desperate, like she was afraid he might vanish if she let go.
Yutsumi stiffened, then relaxed. This wasn't new.
Yuka's grip only tightened.
From the hallway, a voice clicked in annoyance.
"You're smothering him again."
Tsurugi Okkotsu leaned against the wall, arms crossed, sword case slung over his shoulder. At seventeen, he was tall, sharp-edged, already carrying the quiet violence of a frontline sorcerer. His cursed energy was honed, blade-focused—nothing like Yutsumi's fluid presence.
"He's fifteen, not five," Tsurugi added.
Yuka didn't look up. "He's not going."
"Going where?" Yutsumi asked.
Tsurugi's eyes flicked to him. "Emergency briefing. High-priority. International."
Yutsumi felt it then—the shift in the air, the sudden tightening of the world. Whatever he'd sensed earlier wasn't random.
Something had arrived.
Jujutsu Headquarters erupted into controlled chaos.
Screens lined the briefing hall, each replaying the same impossible footage: a massive object suspended above Nevada, partially cloaked yet undeniably present. Energy readings scrolled endlessly—none of them made sense.
Usami stood at the center, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable.
"This is not a cursed spirit," he said. "And it is not a shikigami."
The murmurs grew louder.
Yuka stood slightly in front of Yutsumi, body angled protectively without realizing it. Tsurugi watched the screens with narrowed eyes, already calculating threat vectors.
A new feed appeared.
Two figures materialized within a controlled barrier inside the Kyoto Future Science Museum—tall, humanoid, skin marked with faint geometric lines that pulsed with unfamiliar energy. One smiled calmly. The other did not.
"They call themselves Simurians," Usami continued. "And they recognize jujutsu sorcerers as beings similar to themselves."
Yutsumi leaned forward.
The moment he saw them, something clicked.
Not instinct. Not curiosity.
Compatibility.
His cursed technique—still unnamed, still unacknowledged officially—stirred. Invisible threads stretched outward, brushing against the screen, mapping patterns of energy that were not cursed… yet behaved like it.
Copyable.
Yuka noticed immediately.
Her hand clamped down on his wrist.
"Don't," she whispered.
Yutsumi blinked. "I didn't—"
"You don't need to," she said, eyes never leaving the Simurians. "Whatever you're thinking. Don't."
Tsurugi glanced at them sharply. "What?"
"Nothing," Yuka said too quickly.
Usami's gaze swept the room and paused—just briefly—on Yutsumi.
Then he continued.
"One of them will be working directly with a sorcerer team. His name is Maru. He is an inspector."
A holographic profile appeared. Calm expression. Three eyes—one sealed shut.
Yutsumi felt his cursed energy respond again, sharper this time. The sealed eye wasn't dormant.
It was restrained.
The kidnapping case in Kyoto should have been routine.
Missing children. Residual cursed energy. A barrier technique that reset memory at its edges.
But nothing felt routine anymore.
Maru stood beside them in the narrow alleyway, hands folded, posture respectful. He spoke Japanese without accent, without hesitation.
Yutsumi watched him carefully.
Every movement. Every shift of energy.
Maru noticed.
"You are observing me," the Simurian said gently.
Yutsumi nodded. "You're… different."
Yuka stepped between them instantly. "He's not part of this mission."
Maru tilted his head. "Yet he is here."
Tsurugi smirked. "Welcome to the Okkotsu family."
They moved in.
The barrier snapped shut behind them, space folding like paper. Children's laughter echoed from nowhere and everywhere.
Yutsumi felt it all at once—the structure, the cursed logic, the false reality.
And without meaning to—
He understood it.
Not copied. Not stolen.
Adapted.
The barrier shifted under his perception, revealing weak points like cracks in glass. His breath caught.
Yuka felt it.
Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs.
"Yutsumi," she said, voice trembling despite herself. "Stay behind me."
He looked at her.
Really looked.
And for the first time, he understood something terrifying.
Yuka wasn't protecting him because he was weak.
She was protecting him because she knew—deep down—that the world would never let him stay untouched once it realized what he was becoming.
Outside the barrier, far above the Earth, fifty thousand beings waited.
And the youngest Okkotsu stood at the edge of a future that would not ask his permission.