Gifu Prefecture was quiet in the wrong way.
No insects.
No birds.
No distant hum of traffic.
The mountains stood like a closed mouth, swallowing sound and refusing to give it back.
Yutsumi Okkotsu felt it the moment they crossed the prefectural boundary—the cursed energy here wasn't violent. It was displaced. Twisted sideways, as if something had been pushed out of its proper shape.
"This isn't a curse," he murmured.
Yuka stiffened instantly.
"Stay close," she said, already moving half a step ahead of him.
Tsurugi shot her an irritated look. "He's not made of glass."
She ignored him.
Maru walked a few paces ahead, bare feet touching dirt and stone with equal ease. His expression was neutral, but his sealed third eye pulsed faintly beneath his skin, reacting to the terrain.
"The reports describe a 'man-eater,'" Maru said calmly. "But the pattern does not match predatory curses."
"That's because it's not hunting," Yutsumi said without thinking.
All three of them looked at him.
He froze.
"I—I mean," he hesitated, then swallowed, "it feels… cornered."
Yuka's hand landed on his shoulder, grounding but firm. "Don't analyze it," she said quietly. "You observe. That's all."
Tsurugi exhaled sharply. "You're sheltering him too much."
"And you're underestimating the world," she snapped back.
Maru watched the exchange with faint curiosity.
"Your family structure is… intense," he noted.
Tsurugi snorted. "You have no idea."
They reached the edge of a destroyed village by dusk.
Houses lay crushed, claw marks gouged into concrete and earth alike. The smell of blood lingered—not fresh, but not old enough to forget. Yellow caution tape fluttered uselessly in the wind.
Yutsumi knelt near a shattered wall.
The cursed residue here was wrong.
Not born from hatred.
Not condensed grief.
It was borrowed.
"This energy doesn't originate from the attacker," Yutsumi said slowly. "It's reacting to something else. Like… pressure."
Yuka's fingers tightened again.
"Yutsumi," she warned.
But Tsurugi crouched beside him now, eyes sharp. "Explain."
Yutsumi hesitated—then spoke carefully.
"It's like when cursed spirits gather near strong sorcerers," he said. "They change behavior. This thing… it's being forced to move. Like it's running out of space."
Maru straightened.
"That aligns with Simurian environmental displacement models," he said. "Habitat collapse causes escalation behavior."
Yuka looked between them, jaw clenched.
"So it's an animal," she said flatly.
Tsurugi grimaced. "An animal that's killed people."
Before anyone could respond, the ground shook.
A roar split the air—raw, furious, terrified.
Trees snapped like matchsticks as something massive burst from the forest.
It was not a curse.
It was a tiger.
Or rather—it had been.
Its body was warped by cursed energy saturation, muscles swollen, eyes glowing with a feral light that spoke of pain rather than malice. Metal debris and broken concrete jutted from its fur where urban sprawl had replaced forest.
Toranosuke.
Yutsumi's breath caught.
The moment he locked eyes with the beast, his cursed energy reacted violently—not in fear, but in alignment.
He felt the tiger's movement patterns.
Its balance.
Its desperation.
And instinctively—terrifyingly—his body began to adjust.
Not copying claws.
Not mimicking strength.
But recalibrating how cursed energy flowed through muscle and bone to move like something that needed space.
Yuka noticed instantly.
Her face drained of color.
"Yutsumi—step back. Now."
Toranosuke charged.
Tsurugi drew his sword in a flash, cursed energy flaring as he moved to intercept—
And Maru raised a hand.
"I will restrain it," he said.
His palm glowed faintly as spatial pressure twisted around Toranosuke, forcing its charge sideways, slamming it into a cliff face instead of the group. The impact echoed like thunder.
Toranosuke howled.
Not in rage.
In agony.
Yutsumi flinched.
"It hurts," he whispered. "It doesn't understand why."
Yuka snapped. "Stop listening to it!"
But it was too late.
Yutsumi's cursed technique—unconscious, unfiltered—completed its adaptation.
For the first time, he didn't just understand a technique.
He understood a state of being.
His cursed energy stabilized, mirroring Toranosuke's distorted flow—but refining it, removing the chaos.
The tiger froze.
Its glowing eyes widened.
It could feel him.
Yuka's heart nearly stopped.
"Yutsumi," she said softly, dangerously calm. "Move. Away. From it."
He didn't.
Instead, he took one step forward.
"Yuka," he said quietly. "If we kill it… this keeps happening. Again and again."
Tsurugi stared at him. "People are dead."
"So is its world," Yutsumi replied.
Toranosuke lunged again—but slower this time.
Tsurugi moved to strike.
Yuka screamed.
"STOP!"
Her cursed energy flared explosively, forcing Tsurugi back half a step.
Everyone froze.
Yuka's eyes were locked on Toranosuke—but her body was angled toward Yutsumi.
Always between.
"If you kill it," she said, voice shaking, "you kill him too."
Tsurugi's jaw clenched. "You're projecting."
"No," she snapped. "I'm recognizing."
Maru watched silently.
Then he spoke.
"There is another option."
They turned to him.
"There is a retired sorcerer nearby," Maru said. "One who understands coexistence with non-human entities. Osada."
The battle slowed—not because Toranosuke weakened, but because something inside it recognized mercy.
Yutsumi felt it collapse—not in defeat, but exhaustion.
When Osada arrived, he took one look at the tiger and sighed.
"Another victim," he muttered.
Hours later, Toranosuke lay sedated, bound with non-lethal cursed restraints.
The decision was made.
Toranosuke would live.
As they prepared to leave, Cross's presence flickered briefly at the edge of Yutsumi's perception—watching from afar.
Evaluating.
That night, Yuka didn't sleep.
She sat beside Yutsumi's futon, knees drawn to her chest, watching him breathe.
"I won't let them turn you into that," she whispered to the dark.
Outside, Toranosuke dreamed of forests that no longer existed.
And far above Earth, something ancient and patient smiled.