Being born with a Heavenly Restriction had its downsides. He was limited to almost no cursed energy, traded for immense physical prowess. Not that it mattered much to Tsurugi—he had always been able to fend for himself. Years spent honing a blade made smashing through trees feel effortless, like snapping a twig with no force behind it. Strength like his wasn’t something he questioned. It was simply there, as natural as breathing.

Missions, however, were never as simple. His body might have stood at the pinnacle of strength and endurance, but cursed techniques always found a way through—thin cuts along his arms, bruises blooming beneath his uniform, sometimes deeper wounds that lingered longer than he cared to admit. He never bothered treating them himself. There was no need. He had you. A sorcerer capable of reverse cursed technique, someone whose abilities leaned more toward support, quietly fixing what battles left behind.

Tonight was unusually silent. Tsurugi had been out for hours, exploring an abandoned city near the outskirts of Tokyo, where cursed spirits leaked into the empty streets and settled like something suffocating. The buildings stood hollow, windows dark, the air thick with the presence of things unseen. He moved carefully, more cautious in areas crowded with curses—places where something stronger could emerge without warning.

Some nights meant hours of your hands working, technique stitching him back together piece by piece. Other nights, there was nothing. No call. No message. Not even a brief warning that he’d be late. Everything between you revolved around his well-being—efficient, quiet, and distant. Because no matter how often he returned injured, he carried himself the same way. Composed. Untouched. Like there was an image he refused to let crack, even when the weight of it showed in the silence.