Ms. Gojo thought she was dating an ordinary person's boyfriend.

[This chapter contains original settings!!!]

At three in the morning, the underground ventilation duct of the abandoned logistics transfer station reeked of stale engine oil.

The arrest operation was unremarkable.

For the strongest in the modern sorcery world, this group of curse masters, lurking in the shadows like rats, didn't even qualify to give him a little warm-up.

From breaking down the door to completely suppressing them, it only took a few breaths.

At this moment, a dozen or so undercover agents, whose jaws had been dislocated and whose magical powers had been sealed, were being dragged onto a van one by one by the assistant supervisors, like sacks.

Gojo Satoru didn't bother with the finishing touches outside.

He casually leaned against a relatively clean load-bearing wall in the basement, flipping through several paper documents and transaction records that he had just taken from the leader of the stronghold.

At first, he was planning how to use this to ask Sumi Kichikawa for some praise, but as Six Eyes finished reading through the information on the page, the relaxed smile gradually faded from his lips.

These are not some kind of strict organizational chart, but rather some hidden fund flows and safe house deeds.

Gojo Satoru's gaze was fixed on the account name of an overseas shell company.

This account was one of the many secret channels used by the Panxing Cult to launder the commissions of curse masters.

Moreover, the several safe houses found in the stronghold were also properties used by the Panxing Cult to house its peripheral members.

This is not the revival of the "Curse Master Empire".

Xia Youjie never got involved in such trivial matters. He only cared about the core members he considered "family." The Panxing Cult was nothing more than a tool for accumulating wealth and collecting cursed spirits.

What truly made Gojo Satoru feel breathless was that these "legacy" belonging to the Panxing Cult, which should have been completely sealed off or disbanded after the Night Parade of One Hundred Demons, were now being quietly reactivated.

Funds are flowing, old channels are reviving, and those curse masters who once clung to the fringes of the Panxing Cult are being reunited by some force.

Who is receiving the things Jay left behind?

A sharp pain throbbed deep in my brain.

Gojo Satoru closed his eyes, and the image of that deep alley from last year, and his best friend's last smile, crashed into his mind without warning.

"Enlightenment".

A gentle voice interrupted his thoughts.

Gojo Satoru suddenly opened his eyes, his back instinctively tensing for a moment.

Sumi Kikawa approached him, holding a can of strawberry milk she had just bought from a vending machine outside. The cool aluminum can gently pressed against Satoru Gojo's cheek.

"What are you looking at?" Sumi Kichikawa's gaze swept over the bills, her voice calm and without the slightest hint of inquiry.

The cool touch on his cheek shattered the almost frozen darkness in Gojo Satoru's eyes.

He subconsciously tugged at the corner of his mouth, trying to brush it off with his usual sticky, slightly coquettish tone.

"It's nothing, just some boring financial statements." Gojo Satoru took the milk, his knuckles pale from gripping it too tightly.

He pulled the tab, tilted his head back, and took a swig. The sweet liquid slid down his throat, but he felt a bitter taste on his tongue and couldn't taste anything at all.

"It's pretty sweet... Thanks, Cheng."

His voice was strained, and the last syllable even carried a barely perceptible hoarseness.

Sumi Kichikawa didn't reply, but just stared at him quietly.

The once arrogant and domineering leader, who seemed capable of single-handedly holding up the sky even if it collapsed, was now being gripped by a heavy emotion that he absolutely refused to share with anyone.

"If you don't want to laugh, you don't have to," Sumire looked into his eyes and comforted him gently.

Gojo Satoru's hand, which was holding the soda can, trembled violently.

He lowered his head, his white hair and black eye patch obscuring his expression.

After a few seconds of deathly silence, he crumpled the bill into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket, taking a deep breath.

"Sumi, I suddenly remembered something urgent I need to check." Gojo Satoru didn't hug Sumi as usual; instead, he deliberately took a half-step back, creating some distance.

"These people... lock them up in the underground interrogation room first, and don't let the higher-ups at the university interfere."

"Okay." Sumire didn't stop him, and didn't even ask "where are you going?"

He looked calmly at Gojo Satoru and gave the simplest promise.

"You go ahead, I'll take care of things here."

Gojo Satoru seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

He turned around hastily, his tall, white figure quickly disappearing into the night.

He left in such a hurry, so eager to confirm the suspicion that made even breathing painful, that he seemed to be fleeing in panic.

As Gojo Satoru completely disappeared from sight, the warm, watery disguise on Kikkawa Sumi's face vanished completely like the tide.

Instead, there was a chilling coldness.

He turned around and strode towards the makeshift underground interrogation room.

Just as he reached the door, the assistant supervisor in charge of the preliminary review came back, sweating profusely, his face ashen as if he had seen a ghost: "Mr. Kikawa, we can't get anything out of this... these people must have all been bound by 'bindings'."

"Understood." Sumire's tone was completely flat. "Turn off the surveillance cameras, and all of you, leave."

Inside the interrogation room, the incandescent light bulb emitted an annoying hissing sound.

The four hidden stakes, who were firmly fixed to the iron chairs by specially made spell tools, raised their heads, their eyes revealing the fearlessness of desperados.

They knew very well how domineering that restraint was; as long as they kept quiet, even if Gojo Satoru came in person, they would only get a few corpses.

Sumire Kichikawa pulled up a chair and sat down directly in front of them.

"I know you're not afraid of death, and you think I can't do anything to you because of the constraints in your minds." Sumi Kichikawa's voice was very soft, but it was eerily clear in the empty room. "But you seem to have misunderstood one thing."

He leaned slightly forward, and deep within his eyes, a power of rules—not belonging to this world, transcending the system of spells—began to operate silently.

"Here, I set the rules."

The moment he finished speaking, the leader gasped, his eyes bulging out in extreme fear and pain.

Sumi Kichikawa's intervention was not without obstacles.

Binding is the most fundamental logic in the world of sorcery; forcibly breaking it will only cause a person to explode and die.

What he had to do was to forcefully wed his own "rules" into the gaps between the constraints and the person's soul.

It's like walking a tightrope on the edge of a cliff; one wrong step and a man's brain will turn into a pile of mud.

The man's body convulsed violently on the iron chair, black curse marks appearing on the side of his neck, but they were held firmly below his jawline by some invisible force, unable to spread to his brain no matter what.

"Now, answer my questions." A bead of sweat appeared on Kikawa Sumi's forehead, but his gaze was as cold as if he were looking at an inanimate object. "Who summoned you? Who are you working for?"

The man's psychological defenses collapsed under the fear of his soul being squeezed bit by bit.

Under the absolute pressure of the rules, he couldn't even conceive of lying; driven by the instinct for survival, he forced out the name through tears and snot.

"Natsuyu...it's...Natsuyu-sama..."

Upon hearing the name, Sumi Kikkawa's pupils suddenly contracted.

Xia Youjie.

The fragmented clues in my mind suddenly fit together perfectly at that moment.

He finally understood why Gojo Satoru had suddenly made that expression.

Kikawa Sumi no longer looked at the muddy, rotten body on the ground.

He stood up, pushed open the heavy iron gate, and stepped into the night.