"Fly farther," Sōjun Minamoto said to the Fly Head.
"Bzz~ bzz~ bzz~~"
The cursed spirit tilted its head, circling around Sōjun once. On its smooth, featureless mirror-like surface, faint traces of confusion could be seen… along with an unmistakable glee it could hardly contain.
How far?
It circled again.
Sōjun chuckled. "One more week. If you still can't speak by then, don't ever speak again."
When he took direct control of the Fly Head, he could speak through it just fine. Which meant the thing could too—it was just lazy. If Sōjun didn't give it the occasional kick, it wouldn't budge.
The Fly Head flapped its wings in total silence.
That was one of the benefits of its structural overhaul—streamlined and aerodynamic. Two pairs of wings worked in sync, smooth and efficient.
"Fly… bzz… far… bzz bzz away?" Its mirrored surface trembled, producing sound.
A simple sentence, just three words, yet it managed to sound like a swarm of flies buzzing right in your ear. At that moment, Sōjun Minamoto was struck by one thought: all living things had some kind of value—except flies.
Absolutely repulsive.
The cursed spirit shuddered under his gaze and took off in a hurry.
Sōjun's eyes followed it, watching it fly farther and farther, eventually nearing the horizon but never slipping from his sight. He shifted his awareness to the Fly Head, seeing the other side of the sky reflected through its mirror.
The spirit was still accelerating, not yet at its limit. Then, all at once, it froze in midair. A primal warning surged up: go any farther, and you'll die. That warning reached Sōjun at the same time.
He understood—it had reached the outer limit of his mental connection.
So, Sōjun took over in person.
The Fly Head floated high in the air. A soft breeze passed over him, wrapping around like playful children at his side. In that moment, he was the master of the skies. A sense of liberation filled his chest—like a fish slipping into the ocean, a bird soaring into the open sky, finally free of all cages.
His mind cleared, and even the lingering frustration vanished.
The higher-ups? What did they matter? That he ever let them affect his mood was laughable.
Sōjun no longer gave those people—or those things—a second thought.
The Fly Head stared into the distance. The line where sea met sky was reflected on its mirrored surface, the endless glint of light flooding its vision… A moment later, it looked back. Its original body was no longer visible, but it knew—its true self was still watching from afar.
Far off, in a quiet corner of Jujutsu High's dorms, Sōjun Minamoto sat alone on the sofa. A soft chuckle escaped him. The Fly Head blinked rapidly several times, and its form materialized beside him.
Sōjun's smile deepened. He said to the cursed spirit:
"Go. Go devour your own kind."
"Bzz bzz bzz~~"
The spirit flailed wildly, limbs flapping—Don't lump me in with those Fly Heads!
Sōjun ignored it and raised a single finger.
The cursed spirit suddenly looked smug. I get it—six days left. Today's only day one.
"No, I've changed my mind. You have one day left now."
"Bzz…"
"Hm?"
They didn't actually need words to communicate—just a thought was enough to convey everything. But Sōjun Minamoto insisted it learn to speak, to get used to talking. The Fly Head wasn't particularly intelligent, and speech was a good way to kick-start its mind.
At this point, the Fly Head had completely let itself go.
Its hair was both its source of life and its shackle. Swallowing a Golden Core marked the beginning of taking control of its own fate.
That was because Sōjun didn't usually control it.
Like now—he simply let it do what it wanted: devour others of its kind to grow stronger. The instinct to seek power was common to all living things, and this didn't conflict with the Fly Head's own will.
Sōjun was also testing the limits of their thought connection, and the results were more than satisfactory. If he added a suit of flesh-and-blood armor, it would be near perfect.
As for safety, as long as he took over directly, the Fly Head was still more than capable in combat. At the very least, escape wouldn't be an issue.
Sōjun left the Fly Head to act freely.
...
Next, he returned to the forging room. He was going into seclusion to forge more Golden Cores. He still needed five—for the Locust Head, Skull Head, Paper-Sack Head, Five-Eyed Bucket Head, and the Chōchin-obake.
He planned to feed the first one to the Chōchin-obake.
Like the Fly Head, it hadn't had its consciousness erased. As a spirit, it had unique characteristics, making it an even greater test subject for Golden Core compatibility. What Sōjun needed wasn't a limited-use Golden Core—but a true panacea. He would gradually refine and simplify the conditions needed to create it.
The forge room's temperature rose again. Near the orange-red flames, the air was already beginning to ripple and distort.
Sōjun picked out an eyeball as the main ingredient. The other materials were about the same, ground into golden powder and mixed in.
The whole process was casual, like he was a seasoned craftsman. He only needed to focus on one thing—the cursed energy resonance, or what's called "timing." Under perfect control, even that felt effortless.
Soon, a Golden Core formed within the flames and dropped straight into the mouth of a gourd, sinking all the way into its belly.
Sōjun shifted part of his consciousness into his mental realm. After a brief moment, a dark-colored gourd appeared. He beckoned, and it flew into his palm. With a single thought, its color shifted from red to pale green.
In the real world, the gourd in the forge room mirrored the change—turning from crimson to pale green.
The Golden Core was perfectly suited for spirits.
Sōjun repeated the process and forged four more Golden Cores, feeding them to the Locust Head, Skull Head, and Paper-Sack Head.
Those curses had all had their wills erased—their heads were kept only for the sake of preserving their techniques. After consuming the Golden Cores, none of them manifested in the mental realm. Instead, abstract patterns corresponding to them appeared on the surface of a few stars in the sky.
This was well within Sōjun's expectations. In fact, it aligned perfectly with his predictions.
Then it was the Five-Eyed Bucket Head's turn—Tengen's physical remains—and that's where things went wrong.
It lacked a soul. Its cursed energy was incomplete. Worst of all, its technique was only half intact, and it clashed with Sōjun's Innate Technique. The Golden Core nearly exploded inside it.
Assimilation had occurred when Tengen was still whole. Due to a rare combination of factors—his once-in-500-years evolution, the harmonizing effect of barriers, and sheer chance—it had barely formed a fragile equilibrium with Sōjun's Innate Technique.
Now, the slightest external force could shatter that balance and trigger a backlash.
Sōjun tried adjusting the Golden Core's composition, but nothing worked.
Clearly, he needed another solution.
He converted Tengen's flesh into a series of line patterns and sealed it away.
...
Sōjun stepped out of the forge room. Chōchin-obake hovered over his left shoulder, while three humanoid figures followed behind him. Their physiques were flawless, their bearing elegant—but their heads were another story: a locust, a skull, and a square paper box.
Sōjun smiled and clapped his hands, pointing to each one.
"Hello, my brothers and sisters."
The figures moved with eerie grace, each letting out a different kind of laugh. Their expressions were unreadable—there was no telling what they were feeling.
Sōjun frowned slightly, and in response, they all began to applaud. The Chōchin-obake on his shoulder gave a soft shiver, seemingly in agreement.
Sōjun gave the gourd a gentle tap. Aside from it and the Fly Head still outside, everything else here was the result of one mind managing three tasks at once—
He was just amusing himself.