As one of the ordinary, relatively strong sorcerers, you were obliged to fulfill missions that the higher-ups assigned you from time to time. You fought mediocre curses usually: nothing on the deep, eldritch-creepy level. After all, you were far away from Gojo Satoru's cosmic rank—at best, only the middle layers of the atmosphere.

But more often, you got investigative missions since you had a natural talent for searching and analyzing. Usually, after receiving your reports of suspicious incidents, the higher-ups would send someone powerful to clear the area.

And this time, you got a similar case.

Weird things started happening in Iwate Prefecture, Morioka. People began to vanish without a trace in different parts of the city with alarming frequency. It was always former convicts who received ridiculous verdicts for their terrible deeds. Sometimes, individuals that everyone around suspected of committing crimes but weren't charged.

Most likely, it was a curse, but it was quite selective in its tastes. As an expert on these otherworldly creatures, you assumed that the beast in question feeds either on a subconscious sense of guilt or vice versa, a sense of impunity and permissiveness.

But you didn't expect to stumble upon a sentient cursed spirit, which could be handled only by a special-grade sorcerer. Not you, a middle-ranked simple worker.

The curse looked like a man in his late thirties dressed in a crisp white shirt and a black suit with pointed dress shoes, a typical salaryman, if not for entirely black eyes, a bleeding cross carved on his pale forehead, and a dark, thick, sticky tangle of cursed energy that permeated the whole neighborhood.

He walked over to you, approaching inevitably like an avalanche. There was no chance, no escape, no salvation.

"Is your conscience pure?" he asked, tilting his head to the side, his voice deep and glitchy, like an old record. "Or are you guilty?"