On the rooftop of an abandoned school building, smothered beneath a pitch-black Curtain, the air clung thick enough to choke on. Every breath dragged in the stench of rust and rot..
Touma Hayase shifted the sealed black bag on his shoulder. Heavy.... the weight of what remained of a human torso pressed into his collarbone.
He looked down at the shattered schoolyard below, where something no ordinary person could comprehend had just finished tearing the world apart.
"Touma, that guy in the suit and glasses said we're all clear down here! Nasty stuff's cleaned up!"
Shinjiro stood beside him, built like a bear, grinning that dopey grin of his. He held a paint bucket in one fist, though what sloshed inside now wasn't paint. His yellow rain slicker had long since turned a muddy brown, soaked through with things better left unnamed.
"Sure, the pay's garbage and we're technically temps, but hey, free meals! Even if it's just marked-down convenience store bentos for now... heh heh."
Touma studied his friend, this man whose capacity for fear seemed to have been left out at the factory. Something close to envy flickered behind his eyes.
In a world this insane, ignorance really was bliss.
Even after that happened. Even after losing his entire family. Even after being shackled by contract to the shadowy outfit calling itself the "Windows," scrubbing blood off floors so the so-called "Jujutsu Sorcerers" didn't have to dirty their hands. Shinjiro could still laugh.
Touma couldn't.
His grip tightened on the body bag's handle until his knuckles went white.
I'm a transmigrator. I have a system. Is this really all my life amounts to? Hauling corpses through a world crawling with monsters?
At the edge of his vision, a flicker of pale blue flame pulsed in and out of existence. Something only he could see. His last lifeline.
[Time until next card draw: 00:10:03]
A thought, and the system panel materialized.
[Name: Touma Hayase]
[Energy: 5 (System classifies as "Cursed Energy." Extremely faint. Barely enough to sense Cursed Spirits, let alone see them clearly.)]
[Cursed Technique: None]
[Equipped Cards (3/3): Mental Pollution Resistance [N], Thin Presence [N], Laborer's Back Strength [N]]
[Acquired Cards (11): So Let Me Ask You This [N], Loves Expired Milk [N], Thick-Skinned [N]...]
[Current draw rates by rarity: N: 99%, R: 0.9%, SR: 0.089%, SSR: 0.01%, UR: 0.001%]
This was everything Touma had to his name in this godforsaken world.
Fifteen years ago, he'd transmigrated into what seemed like a peaceful Tokyo.
Three months ago, the nightmare found him.
His parents had been right there, right in front of him, seized by something invisible and wrung out like wet rags, twisted into grotesque dolls of flesh and bone.
He'd frozen. Couldn't process it. All he'd felt was a wave of nauseating pressure, and then there was blood everywhere.
If a squad of black-clad strangers hadn't shown up when they did, he'd have ended up part of that heap of ruined meat.
They cleaned the scene with clinical detachment, then turned to him. "This is what happens when curses act. If you don't want to die, a guy like you who can see them should come work for us. We'll teach you the rules for staying alive."
From that day forward, the truth of the world cracked open before him. The weak were food. The strong were gods.
He'd begged those people, swallowed every last scrap of pride and pleaded for the power to take revenge. The response was a glance, the kind you'd give trash on the curb. "Talent is something you're born with. A monkey with barely a drop of Cursed Energy? Forget about becoming a Jujutsu Sorcerer. Just do your job."
No talent. Two words hammered into his chest like nails.
The system seemed to agree. One draw per year, and every single one had been garbage-tier N cards.
Mental Pollution Resistance: kept him from losing his mind at scenes like the one that killed his parents.
Thin Presence: let him skitter past monsters like a cockroach clinging to the shadows.
Beyond that, he had nothing.
A shout ripped up from below. The black-clad man they called the Assistant Manager.
"You two temps up there! Move your asses! If a civilian spots all this blood because you clowns left it sitting out, I'll throw you both to the Cursed Spirits myself!"
Another round of screaming. Touma lowered his head, swallowed the fire burning behind his eyes, and worked faster.
In this world, weakness was the original sin.
He didn't know any strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer. He'd never heard of the Big Three Sorcerer Families. He had no idea what a King of Curses or a Ryomen Sukuna even was.
If he didn't seize his own fate, sooner or later he'd end up just like the poor bastard in this bag. Dead for no reason. Rotting in a ditch where nobody would ever find him.
He shoveled rubble with one hand and kept his eyes locked on the countdown.
His heartbeat climbed with every tick.
[Time until next card draw: 00:03:01]
System, I don't care which gods are listening. Please, just this once, give me something. This world is too hopeless. I don't want to be stepped on like a bug. I want to live. I want to take every last one of those things looking down on me, every invisible monster in the dark, and kill them all.
The countdown hit zero.
A sphere of black light bloomed before his eyes, visible to no one else. It hung in the dark rain like a knot of burning black flame, eerie and alive.
The core shimmered mostly white. But if he looked closely, there were points of green light in there, flecks of purple, and even one impossibly faint point of prismatic color.
Each point was a card.
Touma had no idea what those purple or gold lights represented. Maybe the power to breathe fire. Maybe superhuman strength.
He didn't care. Anything, anything that wasn't "Loves Expired Milk" would do.
"Come on!"
He squeezed his eyes shut, reached out with the desperation of a man betting his life, and slammed his hand down.
The gears of fate began to turn.
Every point of light scattered and fled, all except the one his hand had touched first. That single point swelled into a card, growing larger, brighter.
Color he had never seen before. Brilliant, impossible color that shattered the grey fog that had filled his mind for as long as he could remember.
"What... is this?"
His heart hammered. He fought to keep his expression blank, terrified the black-clad men below might notice something off.
It was the highest rarity. UR.
[Simulator (UR): As you can see, you now possess the Simulator. In this cruel world you have yet to fully understand, death is the only constant. But through simulation, you can explore infinite possibilities of the future.
You may intervene in events during a simulation. Annual card draws still occur within simulations. This card must remain equipped.
Upon simulation end, you inherit all drawn cards, memories, total Cursed Energy, Cursed Technique development experience, and physical combat skills.
Start struggling, stranger.]
Even the unluckiest gambler wins eventually.
A 0.001% chance, and he'd hit it on his fifteenth draw.
He didn't fully understand what "Cursed Technique development" meant yet, but he understood "inherit all cards" and "memories" perfectly.
The implications crashed over him like a wave.
He could throw himself into simulations and die. Again and again. Probe the monsters for weaknesses. Study and steal the abilities of Jujutsu Sorcerers.
And find out exactly what had murdered his parents.
"The Simulator... this is my ticket out of hell."
Touma drew a long breath and forced his trembling hands to still.
If no one in the real world will teach me, then I'll trade my life for intel inside the simulations.
Every Jujutsu Sorcerer sitting on their throne, every man-eating monster lurking in the dark... enjoy the time you have left.
The shift was nearly over. He grabbed a broom and slipped into the shadow of the rooftop water tank.
Lines of blood-red text rose before his eyes, carrying something ominous and intoxicating all at once.
[First simulation requires no introductory mission or cooldown period.]
[Starting equipment: Simulator [UR], Mental Pollution Resistance [N], Thin Presence [N].]
[Simulation begins!]