The Rhodes Island landship cut a quiet silhouette against the twilight sky, moored near a rusted ridge of artificial stone.
The metal sang faintly as the wind touched it, and the faint hum of machinery within the structure blended with the sounds of life, distant conversations, footsteps, the clink of tools.
Operators moved with quiet purpose. Many paused to glance at the one walking among them.
Yuta Okkotsu.
He walked with his hands in his coat pockets, steps light but weighted by something invisible. His sword was still strapped across his back, blunt-edged, worn.
Rika floated behind him in silence, not fully manifested, a translucent blur of black hair and sharp teeth that hovered like a warning.
The path ahead had been cleared, but not out of hospitality.
He could feel it. Not just the gazes, not just the tension. The cursed energy that clung to him like a storm cloud made even the most seasoned Arts users shudder.
These people had seen danger. Fought Reunion, faced Ursus experiments, watched friends fall in Originium-plagued zones, but Yuta was something different.
Not a catastrophe. A curse that walked like a man.
Kal'tsit waited at the threshold of the command corridor, flanked by operators who stood ready, though none dared raise their weapons.
She studied him with that same clinical detachment she used when observing terminal patients.
"You're early," she said.
"I walked fast," Yuta replied, voice flat.
Lappland followed behind a few paces, a fresh cut on her cheek and a strange satisfaction in her eyes.
She said nothing, but the smirk on her face made it clear she was still riding the high of the fight, even if it ended in a draw neither of them acknowledged aloud.
Amiya was there too, stiff-backed, hands clasped in front of her. Her expression was unreadable.
Yuta's eyes met hers for only a moment. He lowered his gaze.
Kal'tsit turned and gestured. "This way."
No one stopped him when he entered.
No one welcomed him, either.
Inside the operations deck, they showed him the projected map. Red zones, heat blooms, atmospheric instability. Jogo's presence. The early signs of something worse.
"This was your doing," Kal'tsit said, without accusation, just fact.
Yuta didn't deny it.
"Three years ago, you appeared," she continued.
"Since then, the laws that govern Terra have started to shift. Originium reacts differently around you. People have developed abilities, 'Cursed Techniques' as you call them. Curses now form naturally. Specters without will, born of fear and malice. And worse... others like you are beginning to awaken."
"I know," Yuta murmured. "I saw what my energy does to this world."
Kal'tsit folded her arms. "And now, this... fire demon. You know him?"
He nodded once. "Jogo. A Disaster-level Curse. He shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you," she replied.
Silence.
Then: "Why did you come here, Yuta Okkotsu?"
He took a moment to answer.
"I want to help."
Amiya blinked. The room went still.
Kal'tsit raised an eyebrow. "Out of guilt?"
"No," Yuta said. Then hesitated. "Yes. Maybe. It doesn't matter. I was trained to protect people from curses. If I made this world worse by existing... then I'll fix it however I can."
He looked up, and for a moment, the dim lights reflected something deeply human in his tired eyes.
"I don't care if I die here. I just want to make things right."
Rika stirred behind him, silent and mournful.
Kal'tsit studied him again, longer this time. She saw no deception, only a boy carrying far too much weight.
"We'll see," she said. "For now, you'll remain here. Under watch. I'll assign a room. And a handler."
"I don't need a handler," Yuta muttered.
"You do," Kal'tsit said coldly, "because if you lose control even once, you will die in this place. That is a promise, not a threat."
He said nothing.
Amiya finally spoke, her voice quiet but steady. "We'll find a way through this. Together."
Yuta didn't reply. Not yet.
But for the first time since he'd arrived, he nodded.
Just once.
...
Under the hum of the ship's engines, Rhodes Island pulsed with quiet life.
Operators carried crates, maintained consoles, and exchanged clipped conversations as the massive vessel glided slowly across the barren wastelands of Terra.
But wherever Yuta Okkotsu walked, that rhythm stuttered.
It wasn't deliberate. He didn't speak, didn't stare, didn't so much as flex the cursed energy thrumming beneath his skin.
But the fear hung in the air like poison smoke. His very presence felt wrong to this world, like a thread pulled from another tapestry and sewn crudely into Terra's own.
He wandered the outer decks in silence, hands in his coat pockets, his sword at his back. Operators nearby stiffened.
Some paused mid-conversation. A few instinctively reached for weapons before remembering who he was, what he was.
Rika drifted at his side, her translucent body half-visible to those with strong enough perception. Sharp fingers brushed the railing as she floated along, her massive eye flicking toward any sudden movement.
A younger operator, dressed in a scarf and goggles, nearly dropped her tablet when she caught a glimpse of the spirit.
"D-Don't mind her," Yuta muttered. "She doesn't hurt anyone unless I ask."
The girl gave a tight nod and bolted down the corridor.
Yuta sighed and kept walking.
But as he passed the operators, he felt something.
Not just fear. Not just discomfort.
Faint. Flickering. But unmistakable.
Cursed energy.
Thin strands of it clung to a handful of Rhodes Island members, woven into the natural flow of their Originium Arts.
He stopped when he passed a group of four, guard types in heavy gear, adjusting their weapons before a patrol. One of them, an Ursus with a jagged scar over his eye, looked at Yuta and blinked.
Yuta blinked back.
"You," he said, voice quiet. "You've used Arts before, right?"
The Ursus grunted. "Yeah. Since before Lungmen. Why?"
"Did it change... after a certain point? After something happened?"
The soldier narrowed his eye. His teammates exchanged glances, unsure how to respond.
"Felt it," he finally muttered. "Arts got heavier. More instinctual. Like they wanted something from me. Not just fuel. Emotion. Grit. Rage." He paused. "Kal'tsit said it was your fault."
Yuta nodded. "It is."
No one said anything.
"But it's not... normal cursed energy," Yuta continued. "It's unstable. Raw. Like your world is trying to imitate something it doesn't understand."
A medic-type standing nearby, tall, lithe, with short indigo hair, tilted her head. "And what exactly does it mean, sorcerer?"
Yuta looked toward her. Her Arts were faintly visible to his trained senses, structured and clean, but now ringed with something darker. A ripple of suffering built into the flow.
"It means if you keep using those powers without knowing what they've become, something worse will form. From you. From others."
He didn't need to say the word "curse." It was already crawling at the edge of their understanding.
The soldiers went quiet again.
"We've been through Reunion," the Ursus said eventually. "We've lost people. We've bled. You think we'll crumble just because the shape of our powers changed?"
"No," Yuta said. "I think some of you will survive. But you might not be yourselves when it's over."
That was enough. The soldiers moved on, leaving him alone in the hallway. He leaned against the wall, let out a quiet breath, and looked at his hand. Faint wisps of cursed energy curled along his fingers.
This world was already changing. His presence just accelerated it.
"Yuta."
He turned. Amiya approached, her steps careful but not fearful.
"I thought you might be exploring," she said. "Kal'tsit asked me to give you this."
She held out a small device, a Rhodes Island comm-link.
Yuta took it without a word.
"You're scaring everyone," she added softly. "Even me, sometimes."
"I know."
"You don't mean to, I can tell. But you're still... heavy. Like a storm."
Yuta looked down at the comm-link. "I'll stay out of the way."
"No," Amiya said. "Don't. We need you."
He looked up.
"You're not the only one changing the world, Yuta. Rhodes Island is already halfway down this road. So if cursed energy is part of what Terra becomes... I want to understand it, not fear it."
Yuta didn't answer right away. Then, quietly, "You're braver than I am."
Amiya gave a wan smile. "I'm just more used to pretending."
They stood in silence for a moment. Then Yuta nodded once more and walked past her, back into the corridors, where no one dared stand too close, but none of them truly turned away.
...
The infirmary was quieter than most corners of Rhodes Island. Here, the air was still. Clean.
No clatter of boots or hum of machinery, only the faint sound of antiseptics being sprayed, and the occasional click of instruments being cleaned and stored.
Yuta stood near the window, staring out at the passing landscape, gray ridges of rock and dust, cracked valleys with nothing but wind sweeping over them. Rika floated beside him in silence.
A soft knock tapped against the doorframe. He didn't turn.
"I'm not injured," he said.
"I know," came a voice, calm and cool. "I asked you to come."
Silence stepped into the room. Her steps were purposeful, but not aggressive.
She moved like someone used to managing delicate things, wounds, medicine, people on the brink. Her expression was unreadable.
"Kal'tsit said you might be willing to talk."
Yuta said nothing.
Silence moved past him and stood near the center table, folding her arms loosely in front of her coat. "She believes cursed energy will become a structural part of this world now. That it's not something we can reverse."
Yuta's eyes remained on the glass.
"She might be right."
"Then we need to understand it."
He glanced at her.
"I've studied Originium all my life," she continued. "I've adapted to different energy signatures, mutation rates, catalysts. But whatever this is, this thing that warps our Arts into something more, there's no consistency, no measure. I've seen operators collapse under it. Others grow stronger. Some say they hear whispers. Others feel sick just holding it inside."
"Cursed energy isn't meant to be wielded by people who don't understand pain," Yuta murmured.
"It's born from negative emotions, fear, hatred, sorrow. You don't control it. You carry it. You live through it."
Silence nodded slowly. "Then teach us."
Yuta finally turned toward her.
"I'm not your teacher."
"No. You're not. But you're the only one who understands what's happening."
He looked down at his hands. They were steady. Strong. Bloodied too many times to count.
"...Someone once said that to me," he said. "A long time ago. He forced me to grow stronger. To keep moving. He told me I had the potential to surpass even him. And then..."
Silence waited.
"He died," Yuta said. "He gave everything. Even though he was the strongest... it wasn't enough."
"You're still here," she said.
"Barely."
"Enough to help."
He thought of Jujutsu High. Of the corridors echoing with laughter and curses, with arguments and late-night training.
Of Toge's quiet patience. Panda's grin. Maki's sharp words. And Gojo's blinding presence, always pushing forward, no matter what.
Yuta had never imagined himself in that position. Teaching. Leading. Living.
But the air in Terra was already warping. The operators weren't just drawing Arts anymore, they were wielding pieces of the same dark spectrum he had once bled through.
Maybe... this was where it had to start.
He finally turned toward her and nodded once.
"I'll teach you what I can," he said quietly. "But not just you. Anyone Kal'tsit deems stable enough to listen. No shortcuts. No cheats. Cursed energy punishes arrogance."
Silence's eyes softened just a little.
"That will be enough."
Yuta turned toward the door, his steps slower now. Rika followed, silent as the grave. As they left the infirmary, a thought settled in his chest like a whisper.
This feels familiar.