The next day.
It was the final day of our inspection, the day I was scheduled to put my full-power technique to the test. Sebas had returned that morning, so we finished a quick breakfast before heading out to the experiment ground. This time, we focused on the upper section of the divided terrain.
"Everyone, please take two of these," I said, handing out the items. "I’ve placed a warding spell on them to repel the miasma. One should be enough, but take two for insurance. Wrap them around both wrists."
I distributed the misanga I’d asked Eleonora to make the night before. She had stayed up to produce a large batch, so I didn't have to worry about running low. Since they were made from undyed fiber slime thread, they were stark white. If you thought of them as braided cords, they weren't all that different from shimenawa ropes.
I had also crafted white metal fasteners modeled after shide—the paper streamers found on sacred ropes—to serve as both decoration and clips. Perhaps they could be called "accessory-style shimenawa."
While we chatted amiably, I summoned a curse slime from my Dimension Home and draped it around my neck. With the misanga on both wrists and the rake staff I’d finished the previous night in hand, I was ready. The others took their positions about five meters away, surrounding me as a safety precaution.
"I’m starting now!" I declared.
I took a deep breath and began drawing out the miasma.
I channeled mana gently into the rake and scratched the ground. Instantly, miasma erupted with the force of a burst water main. I flinched for a second at the sheer volume and density—it was incomparable to the black dust from the other day—but I couldn't afford to hesitate.
I directed the miasma into the mana gemstone as it emerged, all while continuing to rake the earth for more. As I silently repeated the motion, the miasma began to drift, escaping my ability to absorb it all at once. This was within the scope of my plan, so I remained calm.
To living creatures, miasma was a poison. It was a harmful, negative thing. In my old world, we had a saying: "Birds of a feather flock together." It meant those with similar natures or temperaments naturally gathered. "Like attracts like."
I used this to reinforce my mental image. Good things surround good things; bad things surround bad things. I focused on the miasma as the "bad," and a dramatic change occurred. The miasma’s diffusion, which had been gradually spreading because my recovery couldn't keep pace, suddenly halted. The drifting fog began to coalesce, forming a black mist that swirled around me.
I slowly increased my output. I didn’t need to force the focus anymore; it flowed naturally.
"Hey, do this work too. Finish it by tomorrow morning. I’m checking it first thing, so make sure it's done!"
I had caught the thread of the sensation during my venting session with Eleonora. Curse magic fed on negative emotions. And what were those emotions? What was their source? To me, they were "experience" and "the past." They were the events a person had lived through and the feelings they had carried ever since.
In my case, the source was my entire life as Ryoma Takebayashi. There was no need to go looking for negative emotions; once I loosened the lock, they flooded out incessantly alongside my memories. They welled up like thick, heavy crude oil, bubbling violently at the surface of my heart.
Usually, acting on such raging emotions was unbecoming of an adult or a professional. I had always kept a firm lid on my heart, ensuring nothing leaked.
Now, I just had to stop holding it back.
I loosened the seal.
I let the overflow run free.
"Hey! I found a mistake in your documents! If you’re going to act like you’re a competent worker, submit something perfect the first time! This is a job; that level of care should be basic! Redo it now! If you don't like it, quit! I can replace you in a heartbeat!"
"Ugh, Takebayashi-san is getting harassed again because the section manager is in a bad mood. Calling a font size that's 0.5 points too small a 'mistake' is ridiculous. He didn't even specify a size in the first place."
"Careful. If the manager hears you, you'll be next."
"Ah, sorry. He helped me with my work yesterday, so I just felt bad for him."
"Wait, you had him do your work too? Me too."
"He'll be fine. He has the stamina for it, and it's what he always does. I asked him for a favor, too."
"Right... Takebayashi-san will be fine."
Ah... they had been having those carefree conversations right behind me while I was being torn apart. The section manager had been petty, making up excuses to scream, so it wasn't like I had made mistakes because of the extra workload. But hearing that attitude in that situation had definitely stung.
It wasn't just my core duties, either. I remembered being saddled with complaint handling, sales support, and all sorts of other tasks. If I refused, the complaints moved behind my back. "He used to do it without complaining!" or "Why can't he just knock it out like usual?"
Hearing those whispers from the breakroom had been unbearable. I had wanted to help, but I wasn't some high schooler swapping cleaning duties; sometimes, I just couldn't take on more. I wanted to scream at them, to ask if they really didn't understand that.
Those memories acted as a primer, drawing out more.
"Takebayashi-san, this is unacceptable. It’s fine to change the person in charge, but you have to handle the handover properly. The new guy was crying because you wouldn't cooperate! It was a waste of time, and it's a real nuisance for us! No matter what I asked him about the job, he just said 'I don't know' or 'I'll check.' It was pitiable. I didn't think you were the type to play such petty tricks on a junior just because you were taken off the account."
A client on the phone, blaming me for someone else’s incompetence—
"Oops! I broke the classroom window... whatever, let's just say Takebayashi did it. If we say it was him, no one will doubt it."
"Sounds good. But seriously, why do the teachers have it out for him? Especially the PE Gorilla. He just starts screaming the moment he sees him."
"Who knows? Maybe because he’s a delinquent? You know, 'reputation.' I don't see him doing anything bad, but he must be doing stuff in secret. Where there's smoke, there's fire. People say those things for a reason."
"Hmm... well, whatever. I don't care what happens to him. It's his fault for letting rumors spread. At least we're off the hook."
In a classroom, being framed for a crime I didn't commit—
"Senpai, can't you do something about that new guy, Takebayashi? He’s just a part-timer, but he’s such a busybody that he makes it look like we’re slacking off."
"I get it. I feel the same way... but the kid actually works hard, and the manager likes him."
"Even so, it’s ruining our harmony. Everyone thinks he’s annoying. You’re our supervisor; be strict with him."
"But that kid is scary. It’s weird to tell him not to work hard, but... he’s got a massive build. If I make him snap, I'm not winning that fight. He carries five times as much as everyone else during restocking."
"Why are you so timid? He’s just a high schooler! This is pathetic... Fine, we'll handle him ourselves."
"Wait, what are you going to do?"
"We're just going to surround him and have a serious talk. We're sick of him, and we're going to make sure he knows it. If the manager scolds us more because of him, of course we're going to get a little aggressive."
"Well... I guess it’s fine if it’s him. I don't like him either. Just don't cause an incident that affects the shop."
"Of course. We're just going to hammer some common sense into an ignorant kid. We worked so hard to get these full-time positions during a recession. I won't forgive a brat who gets offered a full-time job just because the manager likes him... right, Senpai?"
In a breakroom, targeted by irrational anger and an ominous plot—
"Why? Do I really have to spell it out?"
"Could you come down to the station for a moment?"
"Our eyes met! He was definitely looking at me! Get on your knees and apologize! Right now!"
"Why is someone like you even here?"
"Don't you even want to help out?"
"A lecture on morals? You're an adult; face reality. It might be too late for you, though."
"You're in the way... I wish you'd just die."
"You're a rotten tangerine. Garbage of society. Remember that even after you graduate."
"What? A complaint? That's just you blaming others! People who complain are just failures."
"Don't take that tone. We're only saying this for your own good."
"No one wants you here."
"The fact that you don't understand proves you're the problem."
"Death by fire is the most painful way to go. I hope you burn to death."
"It wasn't your job? You should say, 'It’s my responsibility for not stepping in to help!'"
"Why don't you just do it all? Stop grumbling. You lack initiative."
"Teacher! We can't get along with Takebayashi!"
"Internalizing blame is a requirement for a professional."
"People like that always end up as criminals."
"Others might be forgiven, but you never will be."
"Everything is your fault."
The trivial things at the edges of my memory linked together, creating a flood of faces and voices from across my life. The insults and verbal abuse I had endured overlapped like a ritualistic shomyo chant, echoing through my mind.
In the past, I had always swallowed the dissatisfaction, telling myself I was just unlucky. When I was younger, I’d tried to talk about it over drinks, but people only laughed. "There’s no way someone that crazy actually exists," they’d say. "You’re lying," "You’re exaggerating," or "That's a poorly written story."
Every time I heard that, I realized they had truly never dealt with someone who lived outside the bounds of reason.
It wasn't pleasant to have my life dismissed. I can't say I didn't feel a flicker of spite toward them for their ignorance... but at the same time, I thought it was a wonderful thing. If someone can live without ever meeting people like that, there is no greater blessing.
Sorrow, anger, envy, and longing—various emotions turned into a muddy torrent. The miasma grew so dense it blocked out the sun. I was surrounded by a wall of solid black. The misanga protected me, but I felt as though I were trapped in a coffin. Strangely, the world outside went silent.
Just as my sight and hearing seemed to fail, my memories converged.
I don't remember when it started, but in my old life, it was a pain I felt every time I got into bed. Alone in the dark, I would think the same thing until I fell asleep.
"What is the point of living like this?"
No matter how I looked at my future, there wasn't a single light. I was merely surviving out of habit, putting up a front so I wouldn't shame myself as a human being. Life was painful, but what lay at the end of all that endurance? Nothing. Only the image of myself dying alone, a nuisance to everyone.
In that case, should I just accept their words? I was sturdy, I had the katana my father left me, and I had the skills to use it. I had little to lose. If I finally did something, wouldn't any words thrown at me be more acceptable than they were now? At least they would be based on my actual actions.
The impulse to release my emotions was overwhelming. All I had to do was act. One more step, and the seal would break—!
"—That’s enough."
Just as my emotions were about to turn into murderous intent and self-destruction, I snapped my focus back. Simultaneously, a sharp warning pulse came from the curse slime at my neck. I realized the miasma had crept closer to my body than before.
Declaring that I had reached the limit, I raised the rake and shifted my stance. In the darkness, the sound of the rake scratching the earth and the vibrations in my hands grounded me. As I repeated the movements, my turbulent heart began to settle.
It was just like my martial arts training... That was why I could never stop, even when I thought the skills were useless. I focused on the finishing touches, careful not to lose control.
I increased the mana I funneled into the rake. I visualized the rake as bone and the mana as flesh—an extension of my own arm.
Bad things gather around bad things. Miasma gathers around negative emotions. Miasma gathers around a curse. Miasma gathers around me. Miasma gathers around the extension of my body.
If I had asked the gods to erase my memories and let me be born as a normal child, my life wouldn't be like this. My achievements were built on my past life. Because I had that past, I could never be a "normal" child.
My previous life and the emotions it birthed were inseparable from who I was now. In a sense, they were a curse named "Ryoma Takebayashi" placed upon the boy I had become. Even if those memories faded over time, they would never truly disappear.
"If you’re going to haunt me forever," I growled, "then at least make yourself useful!"
With a burst of will, I drove the mana from the rake into the gemstone. The wall of miasma was sucked into the flow; the black barrier peeled away, and sunlight broke through. My mood was still pitch-black, but I could see the sky, the faces of my companions, and the rake—which had transformed into a monstrous, ebon hand.
It was a mass of miasma shaped like an arm. Beyond the sheer discomfort of its density, the miasma within it pulsed like blood vessels—or like insects squirming beneath the skin. It was visually grotesque.
"Hand of Kesho," I whispered.
The words felt right. With the mental image complete, the technique stabilized. The black hand, having no physical substance, drew in the miasma without letting a single wisp escape. It was incredibly efficient—I felt like I could clear the entire field.
But I couldn't. I was draining mana quickly, and the mental fatigue was even worse. I stopped the absorption and pulled the remaining miasma into the gemstone. Once the last of it was sealed and I confirmed nothing had leaked, I ended the spell. The collective sigh from the others sounded like a gale.
Rosenberg approached me quietly.
"Well done," he said. "How was it?"
"A success. The effect was exactly as planned. The only issue is the durability of the tools."
I looked at the rake. The claws were almost entirely decayed, and the handle felt like it would crumble if I squeezed it. The bamboo hadn't been able to withstand the miasma. The misanga were intact, but their mana had been nearly exhausted. Only the gemstone was unscathed.
"I want to improve the misanga's strength and efficacy," I added. "That would make it safer. I think I put out as much power as I could for one go, but—"
"That’s quite enough. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we are finished for today. You can analyze the details later. For now... drink this."
He produced a small bottle of gray liquid. It smelled of chemicals and fresh fruit.
"What is it?"
"This training is a massive mental burden. Temporary depression is a given. You might experience hallucinations or delusions, and if you push yourself, those symptoms can become permanent. This is a preventative measure. It’s a sedative. Sleep is vital for mental health. This will put you under before you can spiral into dark thoughts, allowing your mind and body to reset. It is the most effective way to avoid the aftereffects of this ritual."
Apparently, the next best thing was a nutritious meal. It was exactly like the depression treatments in my old world. I suppose mental care followed the same logic regardless of the world.
"Hmm?"
"Is something wrong?" Rosenberg asked.
"No, just my taming magic... It seems the slimes I had processing the clay from the well have started to evolve. I have an idea of what they'll become, so I'll check on them later. I understand the need for the medicine, too. But shouldn't I wait until we get back to the lodge?"
"Ryoma, carrying one kid back is easy," Welanna called out. "Don't worry about it. Just drink up."
I took them up on the offer and downed the medicine. It didn't taste great, but the fruit juice made it tolerable. As I handed the empty bottle back, Sebas gave me a water skin to wash out the taste. After a few gulps, a wave of intense drowsiness crashed over me.
"Thank you for the water..." I managed to mumble. "I'll leave things... to you..."
With that, my consciousness went dark.