I Was Kidnapped by a Book and Ended Up Saving the World - Chapter 7

As the elevator ascended, Mizutani Hikaru gazed through the glass at the scenery outside. Even though the sky was dim, Yokohama still radiated its unique charm. With the elevator climbing higher and higher, the buildings below grew smaller and smaller. When it finally reached the top—the room where the boss awaited—it would surely be the best viewing spot over Yokohama.

The slow opening of the elevator doors interrupted Hikaru’s thoughts. Outside, the hallway was carpeted in thick pile; even the sound of leather shoes stepping on it was swallowed, creating a nearly perfect silence.

In that silence, a rippling voice suddenly broke through.

“Alice-chan~, this outfit looks amazing, why don’t you try it on~?” A middle-aged man’s voice, ending in a playful lilt, brimming with endless coaxing.

“No way!” A girl’s crisp voice rejected him flatly.

Hikaru lowered his head, dutifully pretending not to hear—like a proper subordinate.

After Nakahara Chūya announced their arrival, the voices inside stopped. The door opened slowly, revealing a man with a red scarf, his deep violet eyes carrying an elegant smile.

Hikaru bowed respectfully, standing half a step behind Chūya—fitting the role of an obedient subordinate perfectly.

Mori Ōgai clasped his hands together, his eyes appearing even more profound under the dim lighting. He spoke:

“I recall, Mizutani-kun, that you can see curses, correct?”

Though Hikaru had already expected trouble, actually hearing it still soured his mood.

Bowing low, Hikaru explained his ability with sincerity:
“Yes, but my level of cursed energy is very low. By the jujutsu world’s classification, I’d be below Grade 4.”

Grade 4 was the lowest rank. With his cursed energy, even in the jujutsu world he’d barely qualify as a monitoring assistant at best.

Mori listened patiently without a hint of change in expression, still smiling lightly.
“Recently, with the dragon head war raging, all this negative emotion piling up is bound to breed unseen things.”

By the end, he sighed faintly, his brows slightly furrowed, as though truly troubled.

Hikaru, though living a plain two-points-a-day office routine, had indeed noticed the increase of curses on the streets.

Yokohama was a special place. Native sorcerers were pitifully few, yet paradoxically the city produced fewer curses compared to other regions. The jujutsu world had sent people multiple times to investigate, but never found a proper explanation.

When the mafia’s old boss had been in charge, jujutsu sorcerers would interact with the organization, resolving curses born from conflicts. But as Yokohama grew increasingly chaotic—and for other reasons too—contact with the jujutsu world had nearly ceased.

Now, perhaps only Hikaru remained, this half-baked fellow who could at least see curses, though he couldn’t exorcise anything bigger than a small fry.

Locking eyes with Mori’s troubled expression, Hikaru’s inner thoughts screamed: Seriously, just hire two sorcerers. The jujutsu world basically works for money. After the war, the mafia profited most; it’s not like they can’t afford it.

Yet outwardly, he bowed lower and said:
“I am willing to share the boss’s burdens.”

When the top boss himself fixed such a gaze on you, even if impossible, one had to show willingness.

Mori waved his hand lightly, signaling not to be so stiff. As Hikaru straightened, Mori asked:

“If you faced a special grade curse, Mizutani-kun, how much confidence would you have?”

“…Confidence to at least die with some dignity.” Hikaru forced himself to answer, otherwise he’d really be sent to fight a special grade.

“Haha.” Laughter suddenly rang out at the door. A bandage-wrapped boy entered, smiling. “So the shorty’s subordinate actually has a sense of humor?”

It was the mafia’s youngest executive—Dazai Osamu. Hikaru hadn’t interacted much with him, only knowing this boy was frighteningly intelligent.

“Hey, you suicidal bastard—”

Hikaru quietly stepped aside, giving Nakahara Chūya room to hurl insults at Dazai.

As their voices rose, Mori slightly raised his own to cut through:

“Since the dragon head war, people in the mafia have been disappearing without reason. Please investigate whether this is the work of ability users—or newly spawned curses.”

At that, Dazai laughed. His coat was wet, his messy black hair damp, like some water ghost slinking in from the dark. Even his smile carried a soggy gloom.

“Abilities are much less effective against curses—and they can’t completely exorcise them. The most efficient method is really to hire sorcerers, isn’t it? Call in Tokyo’s special grades.”

Even the old boss had never gone that far; their appearance fees were astronomical.

“First, find the cause.” Mori’s calm words carried the weight of undeniable authority.

Throughout, Hikaru could only display total agreement. But once outside, though his face was calm, his heart collapsed entirely.

He’d wanted to check out the new dessert shop in Yokohama today. He’d even just topped up his membership yesterday.

“Can you really see those things?” Chūya asked curiously while walking beside him.

Hikaru nodded. While curses were hidden from ordinary folk, among people like them, their existence was no secret.

Chūya had never encountered them directly, and since Yokohama rarely birthed curses, he hadn’t cared much—though he’d heard rumors.

“I can see them, but my level is so low I don’t even match their weakest sorcerers.” If only cursed energy level was considered, he was at the very bottom.

Seeing Chūya interested, Hikaru continued:
“The jujutsu world grades sorcerers very strictly. The strongest are Special Grade. The lowest is Grade 4.”

Dazai tilted his head suddenly.
“Has the mafia ever hired a Special Grade before?”

Hikaru nodded.
“About ten years ago. I heard they destroyed an unformed Special Grade curse in a single blow. I didn’t see it myself.”

At that time, Hikaru had been away on an assassination mission with his foster father. When he returned, he only heard rumors. He’d gone to inspect the aftermath—the ground flattened for dozens of meters, like a bulldozer had plowed straight through. Even from that alone, their overwhelming strength was clear.

Chūya’s interest grew.
“So they’re really that strong, huh.”

“Supposedly that year was jujutsu’s strongest student class. Two became Special Grades, and another mastered Reversed Cursed Technique, able to heal injuries instantly.” Hikaru dug up scraps of memory worth sharing.

Dazai touched his cheek with slender fingers, speaking almost contemplatively:
“Dying under such powerful attacks doesn’t sound so bad. Quick, painless.”

Chūya snorted, straightening his hat.
“Hah, you boring suicide freak. I could give you that kind of death right now.”

Dazai’s retort was light as air:
“Ah, but I’d never want to die at the hands of some short dark midget.”

The three had been walking together, but now the other two stopped dead, voices rising again.

Hikaru screamed internally: Think, brain, think! I need a topic to stop them from fighting!

“About two or three years ago, the mafia and jujutsu world had a falling out,” Hikaru said quickly, forcing out a subject.

It worked—both halted their glare-off, attention caught.

He breathed out quietly, then continued slowly:
“The jujutsu side demanded double commission fees for any sorcerer assigned to the mafia.”

“What?!” Chūya’s brows twisted in anger.

A truly unreasonable demand. The mafia had always honored their agreements and treated sorcerers well. But those wrinkled old men had the nerve to demand such terms.

Hikaru thought maybe it was because they had gathered more Special Grades, which gave them the audacity.

Dazai chuckled, eyes narrowing.
“Re-establishing ties now would cost even more. No wonder the boss dumped this task on us.”

If they managed to exorcise curses themselves, Mori would save a fortune.

Understanding Mori’s intention made Hikaru’s heart sink behind a pained mask. Really? Sending me to fight a Special Grade curse? That’s absurd, even for absurdity.

Sure, with Dazai and Chūya, they could probably escape alive even if they failed to exorcise it. But still—the thought of dealing with such a nightmare was exhausting.

Honestly, he’d rather listen to some book rambling ridiculous stories in his ear all day. At least there he could find a little joy.

The rest of the walk was peaceful. Dazai compiled the list of missing people, mapping their movements.

There was no major overlap among individuals, but one place appeared repeatedly. With his black pen, he circled it.

“Two days ago, they were all in the slums,” he said, tapping the damp-marked paper. “And that just so happens to be right after a small mafia skirmish there.”

He smirked.
“Maybe it was the war and screams of pain that birthed a curse.”

Though Mori had raised the possibility of an ability-user, they all leaned toward curses. After all, an ability-user capable of silently abducting mafia members wouldn’t waste their time on low-level fighters with no secrets.

Hikaru’s gaze lingered on the paper. If he remembered right, his other body—Suzuki Yū—had first appeared in that very place.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that things were turning ominously worse.