The streets of Shibuya stretched before Satoru like an intricate tapestry, a perfect blend of old-world charm and the imposing grandeur of the Imperium. Towering spires of stone and plasteel rose above him, their sharp edges softened by the delicate curvature of roofs modeled after traditional Japanese architecture. Every building felt alive, as if whispering secrets of a history stretching millennia, yet fortified with modern precision. Wooden beams, etched with ancient kanji, seamlessly merged with metallic frames that shimmered faintly under the pale artificial sun hanging in the sky.

Satoru tugged the edge of his hood down, the shadow concealing his unmistakable silver hair and gleaming eyes. He didn't stop walking, his steps light as he moved through the bustling streets. Around him, Sorcerers filled the thoroughfares, their presences like pinpricks of energy against his senses, each one unique, some faint, others strong enough to make him glance their way.

A group of children dashed past, laughter trailing in their wake. One of them, no older than seven, flicked a hand, and a ripple of cursed energy coiled outward, forming a small, ethereal Shinigami that floated behind her like a shadowy guardian. Another child, a boy with messy hair, called out, clapping his hands together. Sparks flew, dancing like fireflies before coalescing into a miniature dragon that puffed harmless smoke at its creator. Their companions whooped and cheered, their excitement contagious as they ran deeper into the maze of streets.

Satoru paused, turning slightly to watch them disappear. His lips curled upward, a small, genuine smile forming. The sight of them – so young, so carefree – struck something deep within him. For a moment, he stood still, the sounds of the city washing over him. He breathed in the air, tinged with the faint tang of metal but laced with the earthy scent of incense burning at a nearby shrine.

Children learning their techniques out in the open. No fear of being ostracized, no hiding. The energy here was different – not just stronger, but vibrant, alive. Everywhere he looked, he saw Sorcerers honing their craft. A street vendor leaned against his stall, idly waving a hand to keep a floating display of wares spinning above his head. Across the street, an elderly woman knelt in front of a shrine, her voice soft as she whispered prayers, her hands glowing faintly with energy that drifted upward like fireflies.

Satoru's hand brushed the edge of his hood, adjusting it slightly as he continued down the street. His gaze darted to the towering structures above, their angular designs softened by carved wooden inlays, ancient symbols etched into the Imperium's imposing architecture. Massive arches loomed overhead, each one adorned with intricate details depicting sorcerer battles, gods, and the eternal war against curses. Some of the depictions were so lifelike that, for a brief moment, they seemed to move.

He stopped in front of a small tea shop, its hanging lanterns casting a warm, inviting glow. Inside, patrons sat cross-legged on tatami mats, sipping tea from delicate porcelain cups while discussing cursed techniques in hushed, animated tones. Through the glass, he saw a young woman demonstrate a technique, her hand forming a pattern in the air. A shimmering sphere of water hovered above her palm, and her companions clapped in appreciation. The woman beamed, her shoulders relaxing as she dismissed the technique with a casual flick of her wrist.

Satoru tilted his head, watching them for a moment longer before moving on. This place was unlike anything he'd seen before. The sheer scale of it all – the population, the culture, the energy – was overwhelming. He couldn't help but imagine how Geto would have reacted to a world like this. His old friend's voice echoed faintly in his mind, full of conviction and passion, dreaming of a world where sorcerers could live freely, without fear, without restraint.

Geto would have loved it here.

The thought brought an odd warmth to Satoru's chest. His steps slowed, his hand brushing against the smooth, cool surface of a nearby pillar as he turned to take in the sprawling view of the central city square. Dozens of Sorcerers gathered there, their cursed energy weaving through the air in delicate, invisible threads. Some practiced openly, their movements fluid, precise. Others stood in small clusters, deep in conversation, their gestures animated.

Above the square, massive banners fluttered, each bearing the insignia of powerful sorcerer clans. The wind carried their colors, vibrant reds, blues, and golds, casting shifting shadows on the plaza below. A towering statue of Ryomen Sukuna himself stood at the center, his multiple arms outstretched, his face carved with an unsettling mix of serenity and menace.

Satoru's gaze lingered on the statue for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. Sukuna's presence loomed over this place, even in his absence. The city carried his legacy, his power, his influence. And yet, standing here, amidst the people who lived and thrived in his shadow, Satoru felt something he hadn't expected: happiness.

This place – this impossible, chaotic, beautiful place – felt alive in a way that no other world had. It wasn't perfect, far from it. He could sense the undercurrents of tension, the flickers of greed and ambition lurking beneath the surface. But for now, none of that mattered. For now, he just wanted to enjoy the moment.

He leaned against the edge of a wooden railing, his eyes following a pair of Sorcerers sparring in a nearby courtyard. Their movements were sharp, deliberate, their techniques colliding in bursts of light and sound. A faint chuckle escaped him. They weren't bad. Not bad at all.

Satoru tilted his head back, the faint glow of Shibuya's artificial sun catching the edge of his hood.

"Not bad," he murmured to himself, his voice low, thoughtful. "Not bad at all."

For a brief moment, he let himself imagine what it would have been like to live in a place like this, where power wasn't something to be hidden or feared. Where kids could laugh and play with their techniques, and where the world felt full of possibility instead of chaos.

The thought passed quickly, like a breeze through the city. With a soft exhale, he pushed himself away from the railing, adjusting his hood once more as he blended back into the crowd. There was work to do, but for now, he walked. The city stretched before him, endless and alive, and he wanted to see it all.

Satoru continued down the bustling street, his hood low over his face, the faint murmur of conversations and the occasional burst of laughter blending with the hum of cursed energy that hung thick in the air. He let his feet guide him, taking in the sights and sounds of Shibuya. Children ran past him again, their giggles carrying above the clatter of footsteps and soft hum of hovering vehicles. A group of Sorcerers stood by a food stall, their conversation animated as they gestured with glowing hands, occasionally summoning small flickers of cursed techniques to emphasize their points.

It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

Then he heard it – the sharp, angry bark of a voice cutting through the air like a blade.

"Worthless freak! You don't belong here."

Satoru's steps slowed, his gaze snapping toward the source of the commotion. Across the street, in the shadow of a narrow alleyway, two Sorcerers stood over a small figure crouched on the ground. The Sorcerers were young, maybe in their late teens or early twenties, their robes marked with clan insignias that glimmered faintly under the dim light. One of them, a lanky boy with spiked hair, raised his hand, a faint flicker of cursed energy coiling around his fingers. His companion, shorter but stocky, smirked as he leaned down, grabbing the smaller figure by the collar of their tattered shirt.

The figure in question was a boy, no older than ten or eleven, his black hair wild and unkempt. His clothes were little more than rags, torn and dirty, hanging loosely on his thin frame. But it wasn't his condition that caught Satoru's attention. It was the boy's eyes – sharp, defiant, glaring up at his tormentors with a burning intensity that belied his vulnerable position.

"Say something, freak!" the lanky Sorcerer sneered, shaking his hand as if preparing to strike. "What's the matter? No cursed energy to defend yourself?"

"Or maybe he's too stupid to use it," the stocky one added with a laugh. "Why don't we teach him a lesson? Show him what happens to nobodies who think they can live among Sorcerers."

The boy didn't flinch. His fists clenched, his jaw tightening as he struggled against the grip on his collar. His voice, when it came, was low and steady. "Let go."

It was a simple demand, but it carried weight. Even from a distance, Satoru could feel the strength behind those words. Not cursed energy – something else entirely. Something dangerous.

The lanky Sorcerer raised his hand higher, the cursed energy swirling brighter around his palm. "Or what? You think you can take us on, you—"

Satoru moved.

One moment, he stood on the edge of the street, blending into the crowd. The next, he was in the alley, stepping between the boy and his attackers with a fluid motion. His hood cast a shadow over his face, his hands still tucked casually into his pockets as he tilted his head, his voice light and almost playful.

"Hey, is this how Sorcerers treat their neighbors?" He glanced at the two bullies, his eyes glinting faintly beneath the hood. "Seems a little excessive for someone who's not even fighting back. For your own good, you should "

The two Sorcerers froze, startled by his sudden appearance. The stocky one frowned, taking a half-step back, but the lanky one sneered, his confidence unshaken. "Who the hell are you? This has nothing to do with you."

Satoru didn't answer. Instead, he turned slightly, his gaze dropping to the boy still crouched on the ground. "You good, kid?"

The boy's sharp eyes met Satoru's, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of confusion, then something harder. He gave a single, curt nod. "I'm fine."

"See?" Satoru straightened, looking back at the Sorcerers. "He's fine. So maybe you should—"

The lanky Sorcerer lunged, his hand glowing with cursed energy as he swung it toward Satoru's face. "Stay out of this!"

Satoru's hand shot out, catching the Sorcerer's wrist mid-swing. The motion was effortless, casual, like swatting away an insect. The cursed energy fizzled out as the Sorcerer's arm froze, held in an iron grip. Satoru's voice dropped, low and calm.

"I wasn't finished."

Before the Sorcerer could react, Satoru twisted his arm, forcing him to stumble forward. A swift tap to the back of his knee sent him sprawling to the ground with a grunt. The stocky one lunged next, his fists glowing faintly with cursed energy, but Satoru sidestepped easily, his foot sweeping out to trip him. The Sorcerer crashed into the ground beside his companion, both of them groaning in pain.

Satoru sighed, brushing nonexistent dust from his hands. "You guys really need to work on your hand-to-hand combat."

The two bullies scrambled to their feet, glaring at him but clearly reconsidering their options. The lanky one spat on the ground, his expression sour. "You're lucky we don't want to cause a scene."

"Right," Satoru said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He tilted his head toward the street. "Now get lost."

"My parents will hear of this!"

Satoru raised a brow. "Hear that you got your ass kicked?"

The Sorcerers hesitated for a moment, then turned and stalked away, muttering curses under their breath. Satoru watched them go, waiting until they disappeared into the crowd before turning back to the boy.

"Okay," he said, crouching down to the boy's level. "You okay? Those guys looked pretty serious about making your day worse."

The boy pushed himself to his feet, brushing dirt from his torn shirt. His movements were deliberate, controlled, almost too mature for someone his age. When he looked at Satoru, his eyes were steady, sharp.

"I didn't need help," he said simply.

Satoru chuckled, standing. "Sure you didn't. But you've got no cursed energy, right? Kinda hard to fight back without that."

The boy's expression didn't change, but Satoru caught the faintest flicker of irritation in his eyes. "I don't need cursed energy."

Satoru raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. There was something about the way the boy carried himself – the way he moved, the way he spoke – that felt… familiar. His posture, his confidence, the way he stared Satoru down without an ounce of fear.

It clicked.

A Heavenly Restriction. No cursed energy, but a body so powerful it more than made up for it.

He stepped closer, his grin widening. "You're interesting, kid. What's your name?"

The boy hesitated, his jaw tightening for a moment before he answered. "Toji."

Satoru froze, his grin faltering for the briefest moment. Then it returned, sharper, more amused.

"Toji, huh?" He glanced the boy up and down, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. Yeah, the kid did kind of look like him. "That's one hell of a name you gotta live up to."

Toji narrowed his eyes. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing." Satoru's voice was light, almost teasing. "Just thinking this is going to be one hell of a story."


AN: Chapter 64 is out on (Pat)reon!