On the twenty-fourth of December, two thousand and seventeenth. Tokyo. Shinjuku.
On the streets of the hitherto calm city, a horde of Cursed Ones had appeared. By modest estimates, there were about a thousand of them, and if you also considered the situation in Kyoto, Suguru Geto had exceeded his promise.
Looking around, most of the Sorcerers gathered here were unknown to me. Although I wasn't exactly a "social butterfly," the old man might have introduced me to some Sorcerers, but there were no more than a dozen.
"First time?" a deep male voice sounded beside me.
"Hello to you too, Nanami," I sincerely smiled, turning to look over my shoulder. "What exactly?"
A tall, well-built man with neatly arranged light hair approached me. His eyes were hidden behind rimless sunglasses, and he was dressed in a business suit consisting of a beige jacket and trousers, a light shirt, and shoes. A blunt knife was strapped to his back, a tie with a strange pattern, and a perpetually serious face. Nanami Kento was one of the few Sorcerers I had met after my grandfather's death.
"Half of all the Sorcerers in Japan have gathered in Tokyo. It's not often you witness such a spectacle," Nanami replied, adjusting his glasses.
"Is it sentimentality, or are you irritated?" I stared at the man in confusion.
"Who do you think I am to be amused by such things?"
"Agreed. I'm also tired of looking at these serious and arrogant faces," I glanced in the direction where the Sorcerers of the Zenin clan had gone.
"How about you?" a faint smile appeared on Nanami's face.
"Having fun at school, getting irritated with Gojo... It feels like I'm turning from a Sorcerer into a child."
"Being too serious and important isn't good for the tone of your skin," Nanami replied, shrugging.
"You seem to be doing fine with that," I quickly scanned Nanami's face, noting a couple of wrinkles.
"Lying to elders is not the best habit," the blond man replied impassively.
"Don't be too serious; it's bad for the tone of your skin," I repeated his words.
"I boast as much as my experience allows," Nanami simply shook his head.
"Nanami, Sukahiro," an ordinary-looking Japanese man approached us. "Everything is ready.
"Thank you for letting us know, Kiyotaka," Nanami nodded appreciatively.
Kiyotaka Ichiji, the unassuming brain of the Tokyo School of Magic. Short stature, short black hair, thin black eyebrows, sunken cheeks, and narrow eyes, generally a typical Japanese, dressed like an office clerk. However, one should not underestimate this guy. He may not be strong by force, but when a true talent in the field of "Paper Jujutsu" appears among the Sorcerers, his value will be higher than most. Even Satoru Gojo values him, not to mention the Sorcerer's Council.
"In that case, I suggest that after, in the evening, we go relax at a ramen shop nearby," I addressed the two men, turning away and starting to move away from the gathering of Sorcerers.
"Um, Sukahiro, Satoru said that you would also act according to the strategy," Kiyotaka addressed me, slightly confused.
"You can tell him to go to hell," I waved them off without turning around.
"And how dare I?" a tired sigh was heard from behind. "Maybe you'll say something, Nanami?"
"I'm not against ramen."
"Indeed, after a hard day, it will be just right to eat hot udon," for a moment, the "clerk" lost focus. "Okay, stop. Don't change the subject!"
I smiled as I walked away. In moments like these, I forget that it's a "Magical Battle."
***
It all began in the early evening when the streets of Tokyo were particularly crowded. Some were returning from work, others were going to relax. However, today all of this didn't matter because in the streets of Shinjuku, a battle unfolded, rightfully considered one of the most extensive, if not the most, battles between Sorcerers and Cursed Ones in the last hundred years.
On one of the surprisingly clean streets, the sound of a ringing phone echoed.
"Hmm, Satoru?" I stared at the phone screen, holding something in the other hand that, although it didn't look like it, was the head of a Cursed Spirit. "Did they tell you to go to hell?"
"It used to be the ass," a muffled chuckle came from the other side.
"I changed my mind."
"Hormones acting up?" Satoru asked.
"Probably, you didn't used to annoy me this much."
"It will pass."
"...Why did you call?"
"Asakusa. Two Special Grade Cursed Spirits. Can you handle it?"
"Am I supposed to be a torpedo or something?"
"Of course."
"Then I'll handle it."
I ended the call. Brief and to the point, as always.
So, Asakusa? Looking around, I couldn't help but smile. Why the Sorcerers allowed two Special Grade Cursed Spirits to escape from the combat zone would have to be figured out later, but for now, I could loosen up a bit. And I had just started to get bored.
In the next moment, I burst from the spot. Directing Cursed Energy to my legs, I moved at speeds several times faster, leaving behind black footprints.
Asakusa is one of the districts of Tokyo, in the special Taito area, bordering Bunko, which in turn borders Shinjuku. How did two Cursed Spirits manage to end up there at once? A good question with no answer. However, understanding that it might not be a mere coincidence, Satoru decided to send me personally to avoid unforeseen circumstances in case it's a trap or a plan of the Sorcerer Council or Suguru, essentially the same thing.
By the way, Asakusa is known for the Senso-ji Temple dedicated to the bodhisattva Kannon, and also for housing some Cursed Objects, one of which was the Ashtamangala. It was a bit unlucky that due to the excessive increase in the volume of Cursed Energy, it was currently inefficient for me to use the Ashtamangala too much of it was consumed on acceleration, which I could achieve with my "two."
The distance from Shinjuku to Asakusa is ten kilometers, so an ordinary person would walk there in two and a half hours. I, on the other hand, found myself near the Senso-ji Temple seven seconds after starting my sprint.
So, who's lurking here? A gigantic toad, six meters tall, with three pairs of eyes and limbs, covered in warts, from which some liquid was constantly oozing. And a Cursed Spirit with a maximally disproportionate body: a massive head the size of a car and a small body, as if it belonged to a child.
"... Oh, right! 'Fort Boyard'!"