𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜

02

BEING TOLD SPECIAL since you were young, you couldn't seem to understand what that entailed exactly. Your innate ability was discovered at the young age of six and from then on, you were treated differently by everyone around you. Was it a good thing or a bad thing? You weren't sure. But this new discovery had somehow managed an onset of distance between your loved ones. Together and simultaneously, you were both more revered and alone than you had ever been.

Celestial Technique. That was the name to your ability, labeled immediately to be a Special Grade. You didn't feel powerful necessarily -- really, you were like any other kid -- but they reminded you of it constantly, hammering it into your head. They reminded you through the tough training, through the scoldings, through the words of affirmations that you were the strongest. Their whispers became the shadows that never ceased to haunt you, forever living in the core of your heart.

And because you were but a lost kid in this tough world, you simply accepted it. You accepted it because it was the only thing you knew how to do.

They had trained you like a dog. One that grew to despise failure.

Even now, failure was like the end of the world to you. Which was why you tended to overthink about it, gnawing at your lip away in anxiety. This only would fuel you up more -- this fear of failure.

You slipped your phone into your pocket, realizing everything had set in motion. Judging from the call, both Geto and Gojo must've been confronted by enemies. But so were you.

In the back alley of the complex, there stood a man in his mid-twenties, with rumpled blond hair and a goatee, pretty bulky with muscles lining the arms. Upon sensing your presence, he positioned himself into a fighting stance. But as you approached closer, his stance loosened, and a sneer painted his lips. "Are you lost, little lady? And here I thought I'd be able to deal with the one and only Gojo."

You raised your brows, feigning a look of hurt. "How harsh. Underestimating me already. You're that one Curse User W group?"

He bristled at your response. "It's Curse User Q! Not W!"

You blew a low whistle, amused by how easily provoked he was. "Oh, is that what it was? The obedient little dogs to the Religious Group, right?"

His gaze darkened, growing more infuriated by your mocking. "That's it. You're going to regret running your mouth once I'm done with you." Feet widening and returning to stance, he held up his fists, curse energy running through the course of his body. Quietly observing him for a moment, you realized his technique was based off wrestling. No matter. It shouldn't be too difficult.

Not that your mind was clear of your doubts and worries. However easy it could be, you would jump to the worst possible conclusion. Even just a mistake or being careless could lead you to failure.

You threw a small dagger into the air, the hilt of it spinning gracefully like a ballerina. Murmuring familiar words beneath your breath, your hands brimmed of curse energy. Falling and falling it so ever did. And when you snatched it, the curse energy poured and submerge, spreading like vines. At your touch, the weapon also grew in size and length, to stretch out into a majestic looking sword. See-through and translucent, it reflected blues and purples in an intoxicating aura.

The man before you spewed out laughter, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Is that... a halo? What are you, an angel?"

You glanced upward, the golden, gleaming ring beaming unnaturally bright. It encompassed over your head every time you brought out your sword, which you actually used to be quite embarrassed by. You hated the halo, believing it was too extra and cringy, however, you found out its use. It had saved you from certain situations when you were trapped in a pickle, so for anyone to ridicule it, it became a sensitive topic.