Two weeks had passed.
Two goddamn weeks of nightly patrols, shadow-walking through alleys, graveyards, rooftops, and abandoned buildings. Riku had fought everything from twitchy Grade 4 slimeballs to overgrown Grade 2 insect curses with dicks for tails. He'd even smacked down a pair of Semi-Grade 1 posers that turned out to be Grade 2s wearing "intimidation" masks.
But no real Grade 1s. Not a single confirmed Semi-Grade 1. It was like they vanished. Or like someone else was wiping them out before he could find them.
Worse? His draws sucked.
Every night, after beating some half-formed curse with shaky legs and a drooling mouth, the system would ding and deliver hot, steaming disappointment.
[Daily Draw has been replenished!]
[You have earned 1 additional draw for defeating a cursed spirit!]
And what had he gotten? Two Weeks of Garbage.
[Laundry Mastery (D-tier Passive)] – You never shrink clothes. Wow.
[Perfect Teeth (C-tier Passive)] – Your smile is flawless. No cavities ever.
[Bread-Slicing Technique (D-tier Skill)] – You can cut bread with perfect angles. That's it.
[Fan Summoning (C-tier Active)] – You can summon a folding fan. For flair. Useless.
[Pillow of Supreme Comfort (C-tier Item)] – A pillow that guarantees the best sleep ever.
[Tax Filing Proficiency (D-tier Passive)] – You can do your own taxes without crying.
[Enhanced Whistling (D-tier Passive)] – Your whistling is clear, sharp, and can shatter glass if you really try.
[Magic Alarm Clock (C-tier Item)] – Rings at the perfect time to avoid oversleeping, even on accidental naps.
[Toilet Summoning Scroll (D-tier Item)] – Emergency porta-potty. Riku called it the "shit scroll."
He stared at the system screen each night with a blank expression, eyes twitching.
"Two fucking weeks of cursed hunting and I've built up a goddamn sitcom inventory," he muttered, lying in bed, face half-buried in the Pillow of Supreme Comfort. "I'm gonna strangle a god if the next draw is another passive for fucking knitting or some shit."
Still, not all was wasted.
He'd gotten faster, more in tune with Armament Haki, sharper in fights. Every battle, even against jobber curses, had honed his instincts. His control over cursed energy was smoother now — he could layer it like an aura over just his legs to boost movement or coat his fists without wasting extra energy.
And the 127 fighting styles from Batman? He was starting to weave them in more naturally. Using Chin Na to disarm blade-wielding curses. Krav Maga for brutal takedowns. Jeet Kune Do when he needed to flow. He even used Bartitsu on a snake-type curse once, just to flex.
But the lack of strong enemies was eating at him.
"Where the hell are the real bastards?" he said, crouched on a rooftop that night, city lights stretching below him. "Either they're hiding… or someone's cleaning house before I get there."
His eyes narrowed.
"Time to start looking for answers."
He sank into a low crouch, letting the night air wash over him as he extended his cursed energy outward like a radar ping. It wasn't perfect yet—his sensory range was limited, hazy at best—but he was getting better. Tracking signatures took finesse. Strength wasn't always loud. Some of the nastiest curses knew how to suppress their presence.
But all things leaked, eventually.
Riku shifted off the rooftop, dropping to the pavement with a soft thud. Cursed energy coiled around his legs to muffle the impact. He let his senses spread wider as he walked—alley by alley, district by district—watching, feeling, tasting the pressure in the air.
At first, nothing.
Then… something.
Weak. Slippery. A jittery Grade 3 huddled beneath an overpass, chewing on bones like it owed them money. The thing looked like a bloated pigeon crossed with a toddler's nightmare—too many eyes, not enough teeth.
Riku landed in front of it silently. The curse looked up.
He let it move first. It screeched, lunging with a wing made of talons.
Riku weaved under it and slammed an Armament Haki-coated elbow into its gut, hearing the satisfying crack as its insides folded. It skidded into a wall, dazed, twitching.
"Waste of time," he muttered, stepping forward to finish it.
[Congratulations! You have defeated a Grade 3 Cursed Spirit and have received 1 draw.]
He didn't even blink at the notification.
Instead, he turned on his heel and kept moving. The goal wasn't Grade 3s. Not anymore.
But even the weak ones left traces. Trails. Sometimes they followed stronger curses. Or got bullied by them.
He kept tracking. Hours passed.
Another signature—a different frequency.
This one was erratic, fluttering like a dying heart.
Grade 2.
He found it inside an abandoned train yard, wrapped around the engine car like a cocoon of shadows. Spider-shaped. Clicked with its teeth like it was chewing glass.
Riku rolled his shoulders.
He stepped in, cursed energy sliding over his skin in a slick sheen of black. His right fist darkened with Armament Haki as he launched forward, feinting high before ducking and driving a fist into one of the spider's legs. The impact echoed like a gunshot. The leg shattered.
The thing shrieked and sprang up—
—but Riku met it mid-air, twisting into a brutal judo throw, driving the curse into a steel container so hard the metal crumpled like paper. He moved like water, like chaos wrapped in technique. A reverse elbow shattered the curse's jaw. A rising knee crushed its sternum.
He exhaled.
[Congratulations! You have defeated a Grade 2 Cursed Spirit and have received 1 draw.]
"Still not good enough."
He scanned the area. The cursed residue was thicker here. Something had passed through recently. Bigger. Much bigger.
He crouched, touched the ground, and focused. His cursed energy crawled over the surface like a scanner. A faint imprint… almost wiped. But not quite.
Something had walked through here. Something strong.
His pulse quickened.
He followed it.
The trail led him across the industrial zone and into the woods just outside the city's edge. It twisted, doubled back, and split—but he kept on it, steady.
Then he felt it.
Not one curse. Three. All Semi-Grade 1s. Maybe.
They were clustered together, feasting on something. The air was thick, like syrupy dread.
He slowed. Scanned.
No. Two of them were faking it. Same intimidation trick he'd seen before.
But the third…
It was real.
He slipped in quietly.
The two weaker ones noticed him first. Rushed forward, trying to scare him off with wide aura flares and gurgling threats.
He dropped the first with a spinning elbow into a throat—crunch—and snapped the second's leg before suplexing it into a broken tree stump. Fast. Efficient.
[Congratulations! You have defeated a Grade 2 Cursed Spirit and have received 1 draw.]
[Congratulations! You have defeated a Grade 2 Cursed Spirit and have received 1 draw.]
He turned.
The third curse stood across the clearing.
His eyes narrowed.
"That's the real one."
It hissed, flexing its limbs. Spines pushed from its back. A line of jagged teeth split across its face like a grin.
Riku focused.
No room for showboating. He layered cursed energy into his joints, reinforced his shoulders with Armament Haki, and took a low Panther stance—fluid, but ready to pounce.
The curse charged.
He moved sideways, countering with a sharp parry and a reverse low kick that cracked the curse's kneecap. But it didn't go down—it grabbed him mid-spin and hurled him into a tree.
Riku flipped mid-air, caught the branch, rebounded—
—and smashed a reinforced palm into the curse's sternum, aiming for the cursed nucleus.
It roared, spitting black mist, trying to blind him.
He backed off, eyes stinging, but kept moving. Drunken Fist. Then Judo. Then Boxing. He flowed between styles like a storm.
The curse tried to keep up. It couldn't.
He baited it with an open guard, dodged its lunging strike, and slammed a cursed energy-coated fist through its chest.
He felt it—the pop of the nucleus rupturing inside.
The curse collapsed, screaming until it dissolved.
[Congratulations! You have defeated a Grade 1 Cursed Spirit and have received 1 draw.]
He dropped to one knee, breathing heavy. But he was smiling.
"Finally."
He wiped the blood off his arm, got up, and scanned the air again.
That one had been alone. No backup.
Still… it proved they were out there.
And he was getting better at finding them.
He grinned up at the stars.
"Time to turn this dry spell into a massacre."
He vanished into the trees, cursed energy trailing behind like a whisper.
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Remember kids 99% of gamblers quiet before the make it big. What is the lesson? Don't stop gambling.