The room was white, but not the peaceful kind. It was the sterile, institutional white of padded walls, reinforced corners, and silence so thick it felt alive.
Inside, Namin Kyotosawa sat motionless, arms curled around his knees like he was trying to fold himself smaller. His dark hair clung to his face, matted with sweat and dried blood. He hadn't moved in hours.
From outside the observation glass, three figures in suits watched.
"Four confirmed casualties. Three hospitalized," murmured one, tapping on the clipboard. "And that's just from this incident."
"Bullshit. That boy didn't kill anyone. It was the thing that follows him," said the older man, his tie crooked from hours of arguing. "We have no way of controlling that spirit. It responds only to his emotions, and he's emotionally unstable."
"Then we execute him," the woman said coldly. "Before more die."
The older man's lips twisted. "You want to kill a boy who hasn't even finished high school?"
"Better him than a hundred civilians," she replied.
Inside the room, Namin barely heard them. Not because the glass was soundproofed — though it was — but because their voices had been drowned out by a heavier sound.
Claria's voice.
It echoed through him still.
"I'll protect you forever, Namin. I promise."
---
SIX YEARS AGO
It was raining. The summer kind — hot, sticky, and sudden.
Namin and Claria Tsukihara ran down the path near the elementary gates, sharing a small blue umbrella. She held it too high, as usual, so the water hit his shoulders while she kept dry.
"You're too short," she teased, holding it higher. "Grow faster."
"You're too tall," he shot back, tugging the handle down.
She laughed, loud and free. Her voice had always been bigger than her body — she was small, dainty, but so full of life. Ribbons in her hair, a charm bracelet jingling on her wrist. That day, she gave it to him.
"To protect you," she had said.
"From what?"
"From mean things. Bad people. Curses."
He wore it on his wrist until it broke.
He still kept the broken pieces in a box under his bed.
They stood at the train crossing, waiting. She turned to him, serious for once. "Let's get married when we grow up, okay?"
He laughed awkwardly. "Why would you say that?"
"Because I love you," she said.
Before he could respond, the alarm bells screamed. The train roared in.
Someone pushed through the crowd too fast.
She tripped.
He reached for her hand.
Their fingers missed.
The train didn't.
The first time Claria came back, it was at the hospital.
Namin had been unconscious for three days from the shock. When he woke up, the nurses looked at him like he had horns.
"Your… cousin," one had said, voice shaking. "She visited last night."
"I don't have a cousin," Namin replied.
They didn't press.
That night, he found a flower on his pillow — her favorite, a crushed gardenia, soaked in blood.
The lights in the hallway flickered for hours.
---
Weeks later, three boys tried to mug him on his way home from school. One pulled a knife, trembling. Namin was frozen, crying.
Then the ground cracked open.
It didn't feel like a rescue. It felt like a slaughter.
Claria's curse form was a grotesque parody of what she once was — massive, shapeless, eyes bloated and weeping, with her voice echoing like a broken music box:
"No one… hurts… Namin…"
She ripped them apart. One was crushed like paper. Another was thrown into traffic. The third disappeared completely.
Namin vomited on the sidewalk.
He came like he wasn't part of the world. Wearing a long white coat, blindfold over his eyes, posture so casual it was disrespectful to the tragedy still lingering in the air.
Gyuto Satomu, the man who would change everything.
He crouched next to Namin, who sat with blood on his clothes and a curse hovering inches behind him like a shadow.
"You're kind of a mess," Gyuto said casually. "But the power in that thing behind you… wow. Even I felt it from five blocks away."
Namin didn't respond.
Gyuto tilted his head. "What's your name?"
Namin whispered, "Kyotosawa. Namin."
"Well, Namin… You've got two options. Option one: the government classifies you as a Class S Threat and has you quietly erased. That means either exorcism… or something more brutal."
The cursed spirit — Claria — began to stir, reacting to the threat in his tone.
Gyuto didn't flinch. He raised a single finger. A flash of cursed energy pulsed in the air, enough to make Claria retreat a few steps.
"Option two," he continued. "You come with me. To a school. A place where people like you learn how to not get everyone killed by accident."
Namin looked up, voice barely audible. "A school…?"
"Metropolitan Curse Academy. One of the few places that won't treat you like a monster."
Before they left, Gyuto made him sign a scroll with his blood. Terms of transfer. Responsibility clause. Government waiver. All meaningless legal barriers to hide what the world didn't want to see:
Monsters raised from grief.
As they left the scene, Namin looked back at the place where Claria had first reappeared. Her ghost floated just behind him now, more serene in form, but still not fully human.
She whispered:
"I'll protect you, Namin. Forever. Always. Only you."
He didn't respond.
But deep inside, a piece of him screamed.
Because he remembered clearly now.
She hadn't died because she was weak.
She had died because he had let go.
---
METROPOLITAN CURSE ACADEMY
The gates weren't grand. Just rusted iron twisted into strange runes and symbols that hummed with cursed energy. Beyond them stood an aging campus that looked more like an abandoned shrine than a school.
But Namin Kyotosawa felt something different.
The moment he stepped through the gate, the air shifted. Heavy. Alive. Like the entire academy was watching.
"Welcome to hell, junior," Gyuto Satomu said with a grin.
Namin didn't smile. His cursed companion, Claria, hovered behind him like a shadow in mourning.
Inside the grounds, three figures stood waiting.
Miyaki Zendo, tall and grim, leaned against a post with her weapon — a polearm reinforced with charms and talismans. Her eyes locked on Namin, skeptical.
Beside her, Ryoko Nohamara sat cross-legged, headphones on, mumbling to herself in whispered fragments of cursed speech — half-prayer, half-threat. Her eyes never blinked.
The last was… Gori.
He looked like a gorilla wearing a school uniform. Literally. Massive, arms crossed, and eyes alert. His presence radiated calm, but it was the kind of calm that came before violence.
"So this is the new kid?" Miyaki asked, voice sharp. "The special case?"
"He's the one with the girl curse, right?" Ryoko muttered. "He stinks of grief."
Namin kept his eyes low.
Claria began to pulse behind him.
A tremor split the ground.
Miyaki moved first — lightning quick. Her cursed polearm slammed downward at Namin's feet, stopping inches from impact. Not to strike. To warn.
Namin didn't flinch.
But Claria screamed.
In an instant, her monstrous form exploded outward, slamming into Miyaki's guard like a hammer of grief. A wall shattered. The ground cracked.
Namin's eyes widened in horror. "Stop! Claria—!"
Too late.
Claria's grotesque form surged forward, tendrils lashing out, aiming for Miyaki's head.
But someone was already there.
A snap of fingers.
A flash of blinding cursed light.
And then—nothing.
Time stuttered.
When it resumed, Claria was frozen mid-attack, her form held in place by a web of glowing sigils that wrapped her like chains of light. She convulsed once, then retreated, howling in pain.
Gyuto Satomu stood between them, one hand glowing blue.
"Lesson one," he said, voice like winter steel. "Control your curse. Or I'll kill her myself."
Namin collapsed to his knees.
"I didn't mean to…"
---
Infirmary. Midnight.
Namin sat alone.
A needle was still in his arm, an IV drip slowly running down. The doctors had treated him like a patient — or maybe a prisoner. The attack had rattled the academy. Not because it had happened… but because the staff realized how powerful Claria really was.
Across from him, Satomu finally spoke.
"Claria's not a simple curse. She's a Vow-Bound Type. She's tied to you because of a promise made at the edge of death."
Namin looked up, haunted. "She said she'd protect me forever."
Satomu nodded. "And she's keeping that promise… too literally. Curses born from love are the most violent."
Namin's voice cracked. "I didn't ask for this."
Satomu sat on the edge of the bed. "No one ever does."
---
The next day, Namin was dragged to a sealed training hall.
"Contain her," Satomu ordered. "Don't suppress. Communicate. She's a part of you."
Miyaki, Ryoko, and Gori watched from behind a reinforced glass wall.
Inside the circle, Namin stood, palms sweating. Claria hovered behind him, her form twitching.
"Claria…" he whispered. "Please. Listen to me."
She paused.
For a moment, her cursed form flickered — from monster to girl. For just a breath, she looked like she used to.
Then Ryoko muttered behind the glass: "She's not human anymore."
Claria heard it.
She screamed.
The walls cracked. Glass shattered. Alarms blared.
Gori held the wall up with both arms. "She's going berserk!"
Inside, Namin didn't run.
He stepped forward, hands trembling. "Claria… please…"
"Namin," the curse whispered.
"They want to take you away from me. Do I kill them?"
"No."
"Are you afraid of me…?"
He looked at her, eyes full of tears. "I'm afraid for you."
The curse froze.
Then, for the first time, it wept.
She retracted her limbs. Her form shrank. The arena grew silent.
From the control room, Satomu stared, unreadable. "Interesting…"
That night, as Namin sat alone again, Satomu entered the dorm room and tossed him a black uniform.
"You start official training tomorrow."
Namin didn't respond.
"You did well today," Satomu added.
"No," Namin said quietly. "She only listened because she's still in pain. Not because I'm stronger."
Satomu looked at him, then turned to leave. "Strength isn't about power, Namin. It's about who you can still protect, even when your whole world turns into a curse."
He stopped at the door.
"You've seen hell," he said. "Now show it who's boss."
---
Elsewhere, far from the academy…
In a dark chamber lined with candles and old bones, Tatsuya Munashi stood in front of a dozen cursed spirits. His long black robe was stained with sigils, and his smile never reached his eyes.
"A cursed spirit born of a love vow?" he muttered, voice low. "Now that… that is something worth claiming."
He lifted a scroll. It pulsed with hunger.
"Let's see if the new student of Gyuto Satomu can survive the storm I'm about to send."
He looked at his army of spirits — grotesque, shrieking, boiling with rage.
"Go. Break the gates of the Curse Academy. Bring me the boy… and his curse."
---
The academy's curfew bell had just rung. The dorm halls flickered with dim lights, windows half-fogged from the creeping cold outside. Students retreated into their rooms. The silence was uneasy.
Namin Kyotosawa sat on his bed, fully clothed, eyes locked on his palm where a faint glow remained — residue from the containment training earlier. Claria's energy.
He'd managed to calm her.
But only just.
And now… she slept. Her cursed form hovered, smaller than usual, translucent, like a fading echo. But Namin knew better. She was resting.
Because something was coming.
And she felt it before anyone else.
---
At 2:07 A.M., the barrier ruptured.
A shrieking pulse of cursed energy exploded over the Metropolitan Curse Academy, shaking foundations and tearing apart the protective seals.
Sirens howled. Spell cannons lit the skies.
Ryoko Nohamara was the first to leap from her window, eyes glowing pale silver. Her voice unleashed forbidden speech—chant-sliced curses—before she even hit the ground.
Gori burst through the hallway walls, roaring, fists already glowing with cursed augmentation.
Miyaki Zendo grabbed her spear and didn't ask questions.
And from the north end of the field, something massive stepped through the fog.
A High-Ranked Cursed Spirit — a semi-humanoid war-beast cloaked in chains, horns twisted upward like a crown, and multiple mouths carved along its spine.
It didn't speak. It only existed to destroy.
And it was headed straight for the dorm building.
Namin couldn't move.
He stood in the corridor, barefoot, heart clawing inside his ribs as students screamed and rubble fell.
He could feel Claria pulsing behind him, waking.
> "Namin," she whispered, her voice dreamy, echoing.
"Someone's hurting you. Let me fix it."
"No!" he said aloud. "Not yet. Just… wait!"
She twitched, like a storm trying to be still.
> "You're scared," she said.
"I'm terrified."
> "Then why are you stopping me?"
He didn't have an answer.
Not one that made sense.
---
THE SLAUGHTER BEGINS
The cursed war-beast slammed through the outer wall. A squad of second-year students attempted formation, but its cursed breath incinerated them.
Miyaki struck hard — blade through its shoulder — but was swatted back like a fly. Ryoko muttered her heaviest binding spell, but it only slowed the beast for five seconds.
Gori went hand-to-hand.
And for one glorious moment… it looked like he might win.
Then the beast adapted.
It began speaking in reverse spell-code — a corrupted mirror of Ryoko's technique — and canceled Gori's cursed reinforcement. His massive body hit the ground with a sickening crack.
Blood splattered.
The dorm started to collapse.
From the heart of the academy, a pulse of blue cursed light exploded into the sky — like lightning reversed.
Gyuto Satomu appeared above the battlefield like a specter of death, blindfold fluttering, one hand already glowing.
He didn't scream. He didn't chant.
He just pointed.
And a section of the battlefield vanished. Not exploded — erased. Reality distorted. Air folded into itself. Space shattered.
Half the cursed spirit's body was gone before it could react.
It shrieked, wounded, crawling.
Gyuto floated down, steps slow, like he had all the time in the world.
"You were warned," he said. "You don't touch my students."
He raised his hand again.
But before he could erase it completely—
Another surge of cursed energy erupted from the shadows.
A portal ripped open.
And from it, Tatsuya Munashi emerged.
Clad in ceremonial robes, hair bound back, dozens of cursed talismans wrapped around both arms, he looked more like a priest than a monster.
But Satomu knew the truth.
"Tatsuya," he muttered. "You really sent that thing after a kid?"
"I want the girl," Tatsuya said, smiling. "Claria Tsukihara. The love-curse. She's more valuable than any weapon you have."
Namin stood paralyzed. He watched from a balcony as the entire school collapsed into chaos.
Blood. Screams. Magic. Broken bodies.
And still… he couldn't move.
Claria whispered:
> "If you let me out… I will end them all."
His hand shook.
"I don't want more blood," he whispered.
> "Then you're going to die here."
A chunk of rubble collapsed from above. He didn't react.
But Claria caught it, forming a cursed barrier instinctively.
> "Namin…" she whispered.
> "You said you'd protect me," he said, breath shaking. "But now… I need to protect you too."
> "You can't. You're too weak."
His fists clenched. His eyes burned.
He stepped toward her cursed form.
"I don't care. I'll make a pact. I'll bear your curse. I'll bind myself to you. But you have to promise me something…"
The air warped.
A dark circle formed around his feet. A cursed vow.
He placed his palm against her cursed chest — her core.
"Don't kill anyone unless I say so."
Her monstrous face contorted. Not with anger — with sadness.
"Namin… if you chain me like that… I might fade."
"I'd rather have none of you than watch you become a monster.
The pact sealed.
Her form shrank again.
And for the first time, Claria looked human again.
Bloodied. Weeping. Hollow-eyed.
But herself.
Satomu and Tatsuya clashed at the heart of the school.
The impact of their cursed techniques collapsed towers and tore the sky apart.
But then—
A scream echoed.
Not from Claria.
From the war-beast.
It froze.
Then turned.
And standing atop the dorm's crumbled roof was Namin Kyotosawa, with Claria floating silently behind him — fully contained, no longer monstrous, but still horrifying in her stillness.
Namin raised his hand.
"Claria," he said. "Destroy the beast. No one else."
She nodded once.
And disappeared.
---
The battle lasted eight seconds.
The beast didn't die cleanly.
Claria unraveled it from the inside — tearing not just its body but its soul into ribbons.
When it hit the ground, there was nothing left to bury.
Namin dropped to his knees, exhausted.
Satomu looked at him from afar, then smiled beneath his blindfold.
"Now it begins," he whispered.
"The boy who made a curse from love… and bound it with mercy."
---
That night, Tatsuya Munashi sat in a ruined shrine, fingers curled around a twisted charm.
He watched the replay of the battle through a floating cursed mirror.
"You're not what I expected, Namin," he said.
Then he looked at a scroll labeled Phase Two.
"It's time to give you a proper welcome to this world."
---
Meanwhile, inside the dorm, Claria hovered at the edge of Namin's bed.
Her form was human now, but her eyes…
Still broken.
Still lost.
"You're mine forever, right?" she whispered.
"Even if I fade?"
Namin reached out and took her hand.
"I'll never let go again."
But even as he said it…
A thin crack formed along his arm.
Black veins.
The price of their pact.