I shut my eyes, pressing a hand to my forehead, and suck in a slow breath. "Alright… too much at once," I mutter, grounding myself. "Let's filter it out." I sit on a busted crate, the wood creaking under me, and focus.
The trick is ignoring the noise background radiation, air currents, the way every speck of dust glints in the fading light. It's like tuning out a crowded room to hear one voice.
My head throbs at first, the overload fighting me, but I keep at it, narrowing my perception bit by bit. After a while—maybe an hour, maybe two—the dizziness fades. I can see again without wanting to puke.
Opening my eyes, I refine it further. The chaos starts to make sense—not cursed energy, but something else, tied to this world's weird rules. I catch faint signatures in the distance, sharp and distinct, different from normal humans.
Superpowered people, maybe? Aliens? Whatever they are, they stand out like beacons now that I've dialed in. It's not what I'm used to, but it's a start—a way to track the big players here.
The air distorts as the streak of blue surges forward, an invisible force pulling everything in its path toward the singularity. The crates groan under the pressure before they're yanked off the ground, splintering apart as they collapse inward. The force only grows stronger, dragging debris and dust into the swirling point of destruction. A textbook execution of Lapse: Blue, straight out of Jujutsu Kaisen.
"So this world has cursed energy but no cursed spirits?" I say, crossing my arms and looking at the crates I just blasted with Lapse: Blue. The energy worked fine—shot out fast and pulled the wood and some debris—but there's no creepy spirits around. It's like the energy's here, but it doesn't turn into spirits. Weird.
"So this world has cursed energy but no cursed spirits?" I say, crossing my arms and looking at the crates I just blasted with Lapse: Blue. The energy worked fine—shot out fast and smashed the wood—but there's no creepy spirits around. It's like the energy's here, but it doesn't turn into spirits. Weird.
I try healing a small cut on my knuckles with Reverse Cursed Technique. The glow starts, but it's slow and heavy, like it's stuck. It works eventually—my skin fixes itself i less than a second—but it's harder than it should be. I frown and mutter, "Gotta be careful. Don't want to mess myself up." I'll hold off on pushing it too much until I figure out how it works here.
Over the next few days, I roam the city's areas, Six Eyes scanning every corner for a hint of home—curses, cursed energy, anything familiar. Nothing. No twisted shapes lurking in the shadows, no malevolent vibes prickling my senses.
Just people—regular ones scrambling through the ruins, and the occasional flicker of those weird energy signatures I'm starting to link to this world's heroes and freaks.
"No curses…" I muse, leaning against a busted lamppost, watching a guy in a gaudy cape fly overhead. "Just people. And those weirdly dressed heroes and aliens."
It's bizarre. My whole life—well, Gojo's life—was about hunting curses, wiping them out. Now I'm in a place where they don't even exist.
Instead, I've got superhumans zipping around, extraterrestrials dropping from the sky, and who-knows-what-else running on rules I don't fully get yet. I push off the lamppost, a smirk creeping onto my face as I shove my hands in my pockets.
"Well," I say to no one, the wind tugging at my hair, "this is gonna be fun." No curses to fight? Fine.
….
A month had passed since that night in the alley, and I was finally getting my act together. I stood inside a small clothing store, flipping through racks of shirts and pants. The stuff I'd been wearing—some worn-out shirt and pants I'd found in that dump of an apartment—was filthy, stained with dirt and who-knows-what from the ruined city.
For the past month, I hadn't really put much thought into what I was wearing—fashion was on vacation. I was too busy collecting my hard-earned paychecks from my lovely, generous customers (who totally paid willingly) and, of course, practicing my powers. You know, for important reasons. Not for fun. Definitely not for fun.
I wasn't a fan of looking like a mess, and honestly, I deserved better. Plus, I had some cash now, thanks to shaking down a few lowlifes over the past few weeks. Nothing big, just enough to get by.
I grabbed a loose white shirt and a pair of dark pants—simple, comfortable, and way better than what I had on. The store clerk, an older guy with a bored look, barely glanced at me as I paid with crumpled bills. After that, I swung by a bakery a few streets over. The smell of fresh bread and sugar hit me as I walked in, and my stomach growled. I'd been craving sweets—maybe it was a Gojo thing, maybe it was just me. I picked up a bag of pastries, some flaky ones with icing, and a couple of candy bars for later. The lady behind the counter smiled at me, probably because I looked like a kid in an adult body at a candy store, and I left with my haul, munching on a pastry as I stepped outside.
With my new clothes tucked under my arm and a sugar rush kicking in, I started wandering the streets. This city was different from the wrecked heap I'd woken up in a month ago. That place had been a warzone—broken buildings, smoke, no life. This one was alive, busy with people walking, cars honking, and shops open. It wasn't perfect—there were still cracks in the pavement and a tense vibe in the air—but it was a step up. I didn't know exactly where I was yet, but I figured I'd piece it together eventually.
As I walked, licking icing off my fingers, I noticed a big screen on the side of a building flashing news. I stopped, squinting up at it. The headline scrolled across in bold letters: "Guardians of the Globe and Omni-Man Save White House from Mauler Twins." The footage showed a team of colorful heroes—red capes, bright suits—fighting off two huge, blue-skinned guys with fists the size of car tires. Omni-Man swooped in, all square-jawed and mustache, slamming one of the twins into the ground. The crowd on TV cheered, and the news anchor's voice buzzed about how the White House was safe again.
I froze mid-bite, pastry halfway to my mouth. I knew this. The Mauler Twins, the Guardians of the Globe, Omni-Man—it clicked all at once. This was the start of Invincible, Season 1, Episode 1. The very beginning, where the heroes save the day and everything seems fine—before it all goes to hell. I lowered the pastry, staring at the screen as the news looped the fight footage. If this was Episode 1, then I was right at the edge of things getting messy. Omni-Man was still playing the good guy, the Guardians were still alive, and nobody knew what was coming.
I shoved the rest of the pastry in my mouth, chewing slowly as I thought it over. This gave me a timeline—sort of. I didn't know the exact day or how fast things would move, but I had a rough idea of what was ahead. I adjusted the bag of clothes under my arm and kept walking, the city buzzing around me.