"Mass isn't about being as heavy as possible—it's about being appropriate," Tsukumo Yuki said before leaving.
Her technique, Star Rage, allows her to apply imagined mass to objects without overly straining herself.
So she hadn't thought twice and nearly drained all her Cursed Energy. After all, no matter how heavy something was, it was insignificant to her. She never expected that helping out with something so small would remind her what real mass felt like.
Before leaving, she glanced at the eyeball. Despite being shaped by her technique, it had become so heavy she could no longer lift it.
And yet, right in front of her, Sōjun Minamoto calmly pressed the eyeball back into its socket. A few blinks later, it had fully stabilized.
An odd feeling stirred inside her. She didn't linger, quietly taking her leave.
Sōjun Minamoto understood what she meant. The current weight was still within what he could manage.
But reaching the Star Eye's complete form was incredibly difficult.
His Cursed Energy had been pushed to its lowest level ever. He had to remain in a constant state of refining it, which inevitably weighed on his mood.
"Are you okay?" Riko Amanai asked, concerned.
She could feel something strange in the air pulling at her emotions. Even her rate of refining Cursed Energy had accelerated.
Lately, she didn't dare mess with him, walking on eggshells out of fear he might snap.
Sōjun Minamoto glanced at her without saying a word. He wasn't at the mercy of his emotions—he just didn't feel like reining them in. He'd grown used to acting freely, sometimes forgetting Riko Amanai was even around.
He bottled his emotions, letting them simmer. Cursed Energy drained and refined in an endless cycle.
Riko Amanai visibly relaxed.
Sōjun Minamoto shifted his focus back to the Star Eye.
There were two ways to fix this: increase his own Cursed Energy output or assimilate massive amounts of curses.
Either way, the root issue was the same—lack of Cursed Energy.
So, he needed a way to increase it.
The first option was incredibly difficult. Much as he hated to admit it, his current strength had already pushed his Cursed Energy close to its limit.
He hadn't realized it was only at Grade 1—near Special Grade. Maybe some kind of balance mechanism was holding him back... Whatever the reason, breaking past this ceiling was proving extremely tough.
The second option, though, was simple: plunder.
So, Sōjun Minamoto began taking on a flood of missions.
He constantly left Jujutsu High, traveling around to exorcise Cursed Spirits. But with how fast they appeared, it was like bailing out a sinking ship with a cup.
Still, those watching him from the shadows didn't see it that way. They thought something major was happening, and the stir he caused didn't go unnoticed. At this point, even his smallest actions could ripple through the entire Jujutsu world.
Especially after the Tengen incident.
...
During this period, Shiko Mishima, now acting as Sōjun Minamoto's assistant supervisor, had gotten busier too.
Even after being promoted to Grade 2, nothing much had changed—she still drove him to missions every day.
The only difference was that she no longer fought over the chance to exorcise, nor did she carry her blade. Sōjun Minamoto could tell she wasn't in the best mood. But since she didn't say anything, he didn't ask.
They kept to their own tasks.
Strands of Sōjun Minamoto's long hair flared red at the tips, lancing into clusters of Cursed Spirits.
Each spirit froze in place, a crimson thread trailing from the back of their heads like puppet strings. They staggered toward Sōjun Minamoto, wrapped in a bloody glow. Midway, their bodies twisted and dissolved into black gas and fluid, flowing along the hair and back into Sōjun Minamoto's body.
These Cursed Spirits were far too weak.
Anything below Special Grade didn't even qualify to form a proper pattern. They lacked techniques—the only valuable thing about them was the Cursed Energy their bodies were made from.
Special Grades, though, were another matter. They popped up when you didn't want to see them and vanished when you needed them most.
Annoyed, Sōjun Minamoto had no choice but to make up for quality with sheer quantity.
He spent several days aggressively assimilating spirits.
The black sigils on his body gradually filled in. The once-sparse lines were completed, reinforcing the defensive barriers he created.
But that was secondary.
The pressure from the Star Eye had been massively relieved. He no longer needed to stay in constant refinement mode.
These external Cursed Energies were perfect for replenishing what he'd lost—after all, they were still his.
They came from the same source, though they couldn't raise his total Cursed Energy ceiling.
Sōjun Minamoto looked at his hands. Broad palms, smooth like jade, faint blue veins visible beneath the skin, long fingers, sharp joints.
In his palm, a crimson glow pulsed.
Long ago, he'd realized his own cells were fiercely exclusive, imbued with overwhelming will. The assimilation technique he used was based on that. Once his cells entered something, they fought until only one remained—no coexistence possible.
He could've developed a Cursed Technique Lapse long ago.
But he didn't.
He wanted something even more refined.
Sōjun Minamoto studied the crimson strand in his hand. Every time he pushed the boundaries of his cells' invasive and assimilative power, funneling it all into his innate technique, the result was a new form of Cursed Technique Lapse.
Crimson-phase cells that, upon physical contact, could assimilate the target's flesh. Since body and soul are deeply connected, the soul would be dragged along too—forcing total assimilation of flesh, soul, and Cursed Energy, granting him absolute control.
It looked no different from his crimson hair—and functionally, it was the same.
He could now use his hair to activate this Cursed Technique Lapse, but it was a world apart from before. The speed, intensity, and effectiveness of assimilation were on a whole different level. If he fought Toji Fushiguro again, it wouldn't just be a brief standoff.
Sōjun Minamoto was in great spirits. No—don't call it "assimilation." It should be called correction. Restoring flaws. Returning all to their rightful source.
Let's name it—Source.
Cursed Technique Lapse: Source.
The origin. The beginning of all things.
...
The Star Eye's pressure had been eased, and the Cursed Technique Lapse was complete.
Sōjun Minamoto was in a good mood.
Tsukumo Yuki showed up again, and without a word, held out her hand.
?
Sōjun Minamoto was confused.
"You said you wanted it heavier, didn't you?" she asked.
He blinked. "You can still make it heavier?"
"Probably another 200 layers," she replied, jabbing a finger toward his face.
"..."
Sōjun Minamoto stared at her soft, boneless hand. He knew the force it contained. His mind raced to do the math.
1.5 countries' worth of mass per layer... 200 times...
That would be the mass of an entire planet.
So it wasn't Tsukumo Yuki who couldn't go further—it was him, Sōjun Minamoto. And this was just one eyeball. He still had a long, long road to his dream of a sky full of stars.
He gritted his teeth, plucked out the eyeball, and handed it over. Once again, Tsukumo Yuki drained every last drop of Cursed Energy as she stacked the mass.
She was giving it her all.
A surge of pressure rose in Sōjun Minamoto's chest. He could feel it clearly—the eyeball now carried a weight as deep and dense as the earth itself.
More... pile it on until it breaks!
From this day forward, none of his five selves were allowed to slack off.
Forget the rest—when it came to Cursed Spirits, there was no shortage. From the dawn of humanity to now, across tens of millions of years...
There was more than enough.