I Don’t Want to Be a Heroic Spirit

It was an old, abandoned shrine built halfway up a mountainside.

There were barely any signs of modern civilization here, and the long stone steps were littered with fallen leaves, untouched by human hands.

No trace of recent human touch could be seen; instead, nature's presence was overwhelming.

Though it was a clear, sunny day, visibility in the forest was low. Towering trees blocked most of the sunlight, casting this hidden spot in deep shadow—a place that seemed untouched by the progress of industrialization, despite its location within the city.

On her way, Baobhan Sith noticed a butterfly fluttering by, its sapphire-blue wings catching the sunlight like they were dusted in gold.

Beyond the butterfly, she spotted a fox peering at her from deeper in the woods. Legends held that foxes were wise and spiritual creatures. With one glance, the fox darted away, wary and quick.

After climbing the long, worn stone steps and passing under a crumbling red torii, Baobhan Sith finally arrived at the abandoned shrine where the cursed spirit lurked.

With her first step into the shrine, Baobhan Sith felt a subtle shift.

It was as if she wasn't standing on stone but on pulsing, squirming flesh—as if the shrine was no ordinary building, but the gaping mouth of a beast, waiting to devour whatever came near.

The sensation was fleeting. When she blinked, Baobhan Sith was still standing there, everything seemingly unchanged, as if that feeling had been no more than an illusion.

But she wasn't about to dismiss her intuition as a mere trick of the mind.

Something was definitely wrong with this place.

At the very least, the cursed spirit here wasn't like the usual small fry she'd encountered.

"Interesting," she murmured, her crimson lips curving into a wicked smile as a hint of bloodthirst flared in her gray eyes.

"Looks like I won't be bored today."

Her spirit essence stirred, restless from the lack of worthy foes, of blood that deserved to be spilled.

The shrine's doors were shut tightly, as if rejecting all visitors.

She pushed the heavy wooden doors open, their groaning echo almost as if they'd collapse on the spot.

Looking inside, Baobhan Sith froze.

"…"

She withdrew her foot, carefully examined the shrine's structure from the outside, then stepped in again, looking around the room before stepping out once more. She moved further back, scrutinizing the building in its entirety.

"Master, quit second-guessing reality and just go inside," Da Vinci chided in her ear.

With a sigh, Baobhan Sith entered, her expression a mix of curiosity and caution.

Inside, it was as if she'd walked into another world.

From the outside, the shrine was clearly abandoned. Moss-covered pillars, fallen leaves left unattended, crumbling stone bricks—all made it look like a relic left to decay. Where statues had once stood, only broken pedestals remained.

But what she saw inside?

A meticulously clean room, brimming with traditional Japanese elegance. Soft rugs lined the polished wooden floor, a breathtaking landscape painting adorned one wall, with a massive bell hanging above it.

A delicate fragrance lingered in the air—incense, she guessed, though she wasn't well-versed enough to place it.

And most notably…

"This room… it's the same size as the shrine looked from the outside, right?"

Through a half-open door, she glimpsed a lush green lawn, bordered by a long wooden walkway leading to another building in the distance.

None of which she'd seen from outside.

She didn't believe this lavish, ornate interior was simply hiding within a dilapidated exterior. The shabby appearance of the shrine didn't feel like a disguise.

Besides, since entering, Baobhan Sith had sensed an eerie, oppressive energy in the air.

Cursed energy was born from human negativity—remorse, rage, jealousy, fear, despair, greed, bloodlust. Cursed spirits emerged from these emotions, any one of which could be a breeding ground for their birth.

Baobhan Sith despised the stench of cursed energy; it reeked of drunken vomit, repulsive to her and her spirit essence alike.

There was also a palpable presence of death mixed within it, suggesting someone had already met their end here.

The source of the cursed energy was clear—it had to be the spirit lurking within.

The thick, pervasive energy filling the shrine, combined with this warped, surreal space…

"First grade…? No, maybe special grade?"

In the hierarchy of both sorcerers and curses, special grade was the highest classification.

In the original story, a special-grade sorcerer was said to be capable of singlehandedly destroying a nation. Baobhan Sith didn't quite recall the exact standards for a special-grade curse, though the original series might have mentioned it.

She only knew that the Cursed Spirit Manipulation curse and Sukuna's finger curses were classified as special grade. Strong ones, like Jogo, could turn half a city into a molten wasteland, while weaker special grades, like the ones infused with Sukuna's fingers, could still be overpowered by Yuji Itadori and his allies.

Though the first special-grade curse was only defeated by releasing Sukuna, and the second encounter also involved curses from the Cursed Womb: Death Paintings, the battles revealed the protagonists' growth to audiences in real-time.

While she wasn't sure about the exact requirements for special-grade classification, Baobhan Sith had an inkling that curses with domains were certainly special grade.

Now, the question was: Was this strange space she found herself in a domain?

Both Sukuna and Gojo described domains as the pinnacle of jujutsu techniques. In her eyes, domains functioned similarly to the reality-marble bounded fields in the Type-Moon universe. It imposed the sorcerer's inner world on reality, amplifying their abilities to an absolute level within it, along with granting an unavoidable hit.

If this was indeed the curse's domain, then what was its effect? Why hadn't she sensed anything upon entering? And why hadn't it attacked her, even after so much time had passed?

Pacing in circles on the soft carpeted floor, Baobhan Sith felt it helped her think faster.

Customarily, she would have removed her shoes upon entering, but she ignored the convention entirely.

After all, she had a particular fondness for her heels. Her dream was to craft a pair that would surpass any high heels across panhuman history. Though this current pair fell short of that goal, they were her most prized design to date.

She had a strong aversion to taking them off, as well as to walking barefoot on a structure likely forged by a cursed spirit.

She only mused over her thoughts for a moment before her pacing stopped.

Not because she was dizzy, but because standing silently before her was a figure in a white fox mask, dressed in a white hunting robe, their gender indeterminate.

The figure stood there, still as a statue, as though they had been waiting in that very spot for a long time.

Even Baobhan Sith hadn't sensed their arrival.