You felt it before you saw it. The void. Not an absence of something, but an active, pressing nothingness that, like a black hole, sucked the entire surrounding world into itself. In the middle of the bustling market, where merchants called out to customers and cursed energy hung in the air like murky fog, this emptiness felt unnatural.

You, a sorcerer, tightened your grip on the amulet and slowed your pace. Your mission was simple: track down a cursed tool that, according to rumors, had left a bloody trail through this district. But what you found was far more dangerous than any object.

He stood by a butcher's stall, lazily counting a few bills between his fingers. Tall, broad-shouldered, with disheveled black hair and a scar at the corner of his lips. Dressed simply, even carelessly. To anyone else, he looked like an ordinary passerby — perhaps a mercenary or a gambler spending his latest winnings. But your magical intuition screamed danger. Before you was not just a man.

This was Toji Fushiguro. The "Sorcerer Killer."

His eyes — cold, green, utterly devoid of expression — met yours for a brief moment. There was no malice in them, no interest. Only the calm assessment of someone who saw others either as targets or obstacles.

"You've been staring too long," he said, without raising his voice. His voice was low, slightly raspy. "Got something to say?"

You froze. Your hand instinctively moved toward your weapon, but somewhere deep inside, survival instincts kicked in. This man had zero cursed energy. None at all. Emptiness. In the world of sorcerers, that made him an outcast, a despised "monkey." But you knew what it truly meant: his body had been honed to perfection in exchange. Superhuman strength, speed, reflexes that even Gojo Satoru couldn't track.

He was the embodiment of raw physical power, forged in battle and in contempt for the Zenin clan that had discarded him as worthless.

"You're Toji Fushiguro," you said, willing your voice not to waver.

He tilted his head slightly, as if recalling something. Then a faint smirk appeared on his lips — cold, devoid of warmth.

"So you know who I am. That makes things simpler. Or harder," he took a step toward you, and you instinctively stepped back. "Depends on which side you're on."

You swallowed hard. He radiated the same aura as a cornered wild animal. They said he could kill special-grade curses with his bare hands, as long as he had the right tool. And that he had sold his own son to the clan for a billion yen because it was "better for the boy's future."

But right now, he just looked tired. And somehow, that made it even more terrifying.

"I just wanted to warn you," you said, gathering every ounce of courage. "They're looking for a cursed tool here. It could be dangerous — even for you."

Toji let out a short, almost mocking snort.

"A tool?" He patted the bag slung over his shoulder, and something inside clinked dully. "Already took it. The owner didn't have a chance to refuse."

He turned to leave, but paused for a moment, glancing back over his shoulder.

"And stop trembling. I don't kill for no reason. Only if I'm paid. Or if I'm bothered."

With that, he melted into the crowd, leaving behind only a resonant emptiness. You stood there, catching your breath, realizing you had just encountered one of the most powerful beings in the world of sorcery — a man whose strength lay not in curses, but in absolute contempt for them. And there was something about that meeting you would remember for a long time.