Chapter Text
There is an old truth about hunger that most people misunderstand.
They believe hunger belongs only to the body, from the stomach that growls in the quiet hours of the night, to the mouth that waters at the scent of warm bread or sweet fruit. However, the most insatiable hunger has never lived in the flesh. No, it resides instead in the deeper chambers of the human heart, where longing coils itself patiently around the ribs and waits for the smallest invitation to awaken.
A person may walk through the world believing themselves sensible and disciplined, convinced that their desires are modest things easily governed by reason and intellect, not instinct and carnal appetite. Then, often without warning, something gentle appears before them. A smile that lingers half a second longer than expected. A soothing voice warm enough to soften the sharp edges of a weary day. Or a kindness offered with such natural ease that one begins to crave its presence the way a thirsty man craves water.
And so the hunger grows.
It begins harmlessly enough, like the first taste of the sweetest honey on the tongue. Sweet, comforting, and innocent in its raw simplicity. But the mind is a curious organ, and once it remembers the pleasure of sweetness it begins to seek it again and again, with increasing urgency, until what was once a pleasant indulgence becomes a necessity that governs every waking thought.
Few people notice the moment when comfort transforms into obsession.
Fewer still notice the quiet figure who stands beside the table, patiently serving the feast.
Location: Tokyo Jujutsu High
Time Stamp: 9 Months Before the Present
The rain had begun in the late afternoon and had continued on into the evening, draping the quiet grounds of Tokyo Jujutsu High in a gray veil that seemed almost ceremonial, as though the sky itself had come to observe the grave deliberations that were unfolding inside the old administrative building.
Deep within the conference chamber, a rectangular table dominated the center of the room, with its dark polished surface reflecting the yellow glow of overhead lamps. Beyond the tall windows the rain traced long rivulets down the glass, distorting the view of the courtyard where ancient trees bent gently beneath the weight of the weather.
The teachers of Tokyo Jujutsu High sat around the table in various states of tense contemplation.
At the head of the table sat Masamichi Yaga, his old but massive frame slightly hunched forward, thick fingers interlaced as he regarded the documents spread before him. Even his sunglasses couldn’t hide his troubled expression.
Beside him was Shoko Ieiri, who had been quietly turning the pages of a forensic report for several minutes with one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. She flicked her fingers in the ashtray beside her which was overflowing with burnt cigarette butts piled on top of one another. The air in the room turning a slight gray from all the smoke she's been belching, it was a wonder nobody pointed it out.
Near the windows leaned Satoru Gojo, who, despite the gravity of the situation, appeared almost casual. He had one shoulder resting against the wall, his tall figure silhouetted faintly against the dull light filtering through the rain-streaked glass.
Their most trusted confidant, Ichiji, was kneeling in the corner of the room, listening intently to the discussion at hand.
And sitting at the other end of the table, posture perfectly straight, hands resting calmly on the table's surface, was Kento Nanami.
The meeting had already lasted nearly two hours, with most of that time having been spent reviewing the photographs and information sheets.
Nanami had seen many unpleasant things in his career as a sorcerer, but even he felt a tightening in his chest when he looked upon the images spread across the table.
They depicted crime scenes from across the country– abandoned factories, schools, bars, and even alleyways.
In each image the same pattern revealed itself with grotesque clarity: blood everywhere, walls painted in violent arcs, furniture overturned, and in the center of every scene lay the body of a human victim whose expression carried a strange and haunting similarity to the others.
The faces were not twisted in terror as one might expect in murder cases. They were hollow, almost like they were drained somehow, as though whatever had killed them had taken something deeper than blood and their guts.
Yaga broke the silence first. “The most recent incident occurred three nights ago in Osaka,” he said, his deep voice resonating through the room with slow authority. “A businessman in his late thirties. No known enemies. No history of criminal activity. According to local reports, neighbors heard a disturbance shortly after midnight.”
He paused, sliding a photograph across the table toward Nanami.
“When the police arrived the apartment looked like this.”
Nanami leaned forward slightly and studied the image carefully. The victim lay sprawled beside a dining table overturned in the struggle. There were shards of wine glasses shattered across the floor and crimson stains spread across the wooden boards like red flowers blooming in the dark.
The man’s torso was twisted in a 180-degree angle, the top of his spine jutting out from his neck, and his abdomen sliced open. His eyes were wide open but they looked strangely empty, the pupils blown so wide he could no longer see the victim’s irises.
Nanami adjusted his glasses slightly.
“I assume,” he said in a calm, measured tone, “that no cursed spirit was detected at the scene.”
Shoko leaned back slightly in her chair.
“None,” she replied. “Only a faint trace of cursed energy, and even that dissipated less than an hour. By the time our contacts arrived, the trail had already gone cold.”
Nanami allowed himself a quiet breath.
The same pattern again.
Five years with thirty-seven victims and every investigation ends in precisely the same manner: a jarring murder scene and an absence of answers.
Yaga slid another document toward him.
“The police have begun connecting the incidents,” he said. “And the media has picked up the story as well. They are calling it the Hollow Heart killings.”
Gojo gave a quiet hum from his place by the window, “Catchy name! Kinda funny how they try to name these things like Jack the Ripper or The Zodiac Killer. Though I suppose that is what happens when people try to explain things they cannot see.”
Nanami did not look at him. His attention remained fixed on the photographs. He could not quite articulate the sensation that lingered in his mind when he studied the victims’ faces, but it reminded him of something he had once witnessed during an encounter with a particularly malicious cursed spirit.
Nanami exhales, “You believe the perpetrator is not a human, but a cursed user.”
Yaga nodded. “There is no doubt about it.”
He opened another folder. Inside were records from every known investigation over the past five years.
“For the past five years, each scene contained no traces of cursed energy consistent with human manipulation,” Yaga continued. “There were also no signs of a naturally manifested curse. No lingering spiritual residue that would indicate a typical spirit attack. It was only in the recent killings this year that Shoko and her team saw minuscule fragments of cursed energy.”
Nanami nodded slowly. “A cursed user with an advanced concealment technique,” he said matter-of-factly.
Gojo straightened slightly. “That would be the polite way of putting it,” he said with a faint smile. “Whoever this person is, they are very good at staying hidden.”
Nanami turned slightly.
“I assume Gojo-san's involvement has been considered.”
Gojo chuckled. “Of course it has. But those old geez--”
“We discussed deploying Gojo to hunt the suspect directly,” Yaga interrupted before Gojo could utter another word. “However, we have reason to believe that such an approach would be counterproductive.”
Nanami already understood. Gojo’s cursed energy was overwhelming to anyone. It radiated from him like a blazing beacon that even an inexperienced sorcerer could sense it from great distances.
A cautious killer would never approach a city where Gojo was present.
Nanami spoke quietly.
“The target would simply disappear.”
“Exactly,” the principal sighed.
Yaga folded his hands again and looked directly at Nanami.
“Nanami… You have been assigned to track down and identify the perpetrator responsible for these killings. All you have to do is locate their hideout using the maps Ichiji prepared, find out who they are, and report back to us. Do not make physical contact with it. We suspect it’s a special grade, which means we will deploy Satoru so he can apprehend them.”
Easier said than done, Nanami thought, but he understood the undeniable weight behind Yaga’s words. This was not merely another mission, this was becoming a national crisis.
News of the murders had begun spreading beyond local authorities. If the pattern continued unchecked, public panic would soon follow.
Nanami inclined his head slightly. “I understand.”
Shoko studied him quietly.
“You will be operating independently,” she said as she puffed out another cloud of smoke. “We will not interfere with your investigation unless you specifically request assistance, Nanami.”
Nanami raised an eyebrow slightly. “That is an unusual arrangement.”
Yaga nodded. “Unfortunately, it is necessary.”
He gestured toward the photographs again. “Every time our forces have moved aggressively in previous investigations, the trail has vanished immediately. We've also considered sending other sorcerers, but as you may already know, none are exactly equipped to handle highly-sensitive and confidential missions involving a special grade.”
In other words, nobody wanted to be the sacrificial lamb. This is exactly why jujutsu sorcery sucks. Nanami thought to himself.
Based on the findings, it seems that the killer was cautious, perhaps even keenly observant. If too many sorcerers began searching openly, the murderer would simply retreat and wait for another opportunity. The lower grade sorcerers were clumsy and inefficient, often giving themselves away because of their over-eagerness.
This case required subtlety, patience, methodical observation, and an absence of a loud white-haired sorcerer. Fortunately, those were qualities Nanami possessed in abundance.
Gojo crossed his arms.
“You know,” he smirked, “if things get too complicated you could always call on your beloved senpai.”
Nanami did not even look at him, “I will keep that in mind.”
Though in truth, he suspected that if the killer had managed to evade detection for five years, brute force alone would not solve the problem. One needed to think like a predator.
Nanami returned his attention to Yaga. “Have we established any consistent behavioral pattern among the victims?”
Shoko leaned forward slightly.
“That is where things become… unusual.” She slid another report across the table. “These individuals had no connection with one another prior to their deaths.”
Nanami read the summary carefully. The victims ranged from businessmen and students to other ordinary citizens.
“What about emotional context?” he asked.
“Interesting that you would ask that.” She tapped the report with her index finger. “Several witnesses described unusual behavior from the victims shortly before their deaths.”
“Define unusual.”
Shoko glanced briefly at Yaga before continuing. “In some of the autopsies I've conducted, there were signs that the victims had developed intense sexual arousal before their deaths. Others displayed signs of sudden emotional distress. In one interview I've conducted, a coworker described the victim as appearing strangely euphoric only hours before his death.”
Nanami felt a quiet ripple of recognition move through his thoughts: emotion.
He thought something was peculiar right from the start. The victims’ expressions in the photographs all had a hollow look in their eyes, as though something had been extracted from them deep down.
He leaned back slightly.
“Has anyone considered the possibility that the killer’s technique involves emotional manipulation?”
The room grew noticeably quieter before Gojo tilted his head slightly. “That is an interesting theory.”
Nanami folded his arms. “If the perpetrator possesses the ability to influence emotional states, it would explain several aspects of the case.”
Yaga watched him carefully, “Continue.”
“A cursed technique that amplifies the one's emotions would allow the killer to approach victims without suspicion,” the blonde sorcerer explained. “The target could be made to feel trust, affection, or even attraction. Once the emotional state reaches a peak and a bond is formed between them, the perpetrator eliminates the victim.”
He glanced down at the photographs again as he continued, “The resulting surge of cursed energy during the moment of death could produce the violent scenes we are observing. Perhaps the suspect forced these emotions out of them and the outburst was too much for the human body to contain and resulted in its catastrophic end.”
Gojo gave a quiet whistle. “That is disturbingly clever.”
Nanami nodded slightly.
“But it doesn’t answer the question as to how the suspect has remained untraceable for years. Power that destructive should naturally leave large amounts of cursed energy residue in the walls or even inside the victim’s body. It was only recently that we discovered smudges of energy in the crime scene.”
Yaga leaned back slowly in his seat. “It's a lure. For years,” he sighs, “this individual has been moving from city to city without leaving a trace and we believe the next incident will occur soon. It wants to be found.”
“I will begin by reviewing the geographic distribution of the murders,” Nanami said calmly. “Patterns of movement often reveal a base of operations.”
Shoko nodded approvingly. “Ichiji will give you the remaining files for your perusal. For now, here’s what he's come up with so far.”
She nodded at Ichiji and the young man proceeded to slide a large map across the table filled with colored markers dotting the surface, showing cities across Japan connected by faint lines of investigation.
Nanami studied it carefully.
At first glance the locations appeared random but randomness, Nanami learned in this business, was often an illusion. He traced the sequence of dates silently one by one. Then, he notices a slow rhythm emerging. So it was not random after all. As he observed the pattern, a thought occurred to him that he could not yet fully articulate.
Nanami looked up again, “When was the first recorded incident?”
Yaga answered immediately. “Five years ago. Yokohama.”
“This individual is patient,” he said quietly.
Gojo smiled faintly.
“Well,” he replied, “they haven't met you yet.”
Nanami did not respond. Instead he looked down at the map once more.