"Of course this world is vast," Mei Mei finally replied. Her voice had returned to its usual steadiness, professional and composed, though a faint trace of tension still lingered beneath the surface. "There is Holy Magic belonging to the Church. That sacred magic is indeed capable of healing wounds—even severe ones."
She slowly rotated the iron bottle in her hand, the motion calm yet deliberate, as if every movement had been carefully measured.
The cold metallic surface reflected the dim light of the room, casting a faint glimmer that shifted with the turn of her wrist. A thin shimmer of light flickered against the wall, almost as though the bottle itself carried an invisible aura.
"However, Holy Magic has side effects on Jujutsu Sorcerers," Mei Mei continued at last. Her voice remained steady and professional, yet carried a subtle weight. "When it is used to heal them, that sacred energy suppresses and interferes with the Cursed Energy they possess. It doesn't just weaken their reserves—it also destabilizes their control for a period of time."
"Destabilizes?" I tilted my head slightly, trying to imagine the sensation.
"Yes." Mei Mei stopped spinning the bottle and lightly tapped her finger against its surface. The soft metallic sound rang clearly in the quiet room. "Techniques become less precise. The flow of energy feels chaotic, like a river whose current suddenly changes direction. In some cases, Cursed Energy even leaks out, making the user easier to detect—by Cursed Spirits or even by other Sorcerers."
Her gaze sharpened, growing visibly more serious.
"In normal circumstances, that might not be a major problem. But in our world, even the smallest opening can mean death."
Now I could picture it clearly. A sorcerer who had just survived a fatal wound, yet their technique wavered, their Cursed Energy leaking unconsciously—like lighting a torch in the middle of darkness and hoping no one would notice.
"Holy Power is indeed highly effective against Cursed Spirits," Mei Mei went on, her tone turning colder, more calculated. "That is why the Church remains relevant even now. Sacred energy naturally neutralizes curses. But for a Sorcerer, accepting healing from them is simply trading one risk for another. Not everyone is willing to make that exchange."
I nodded slowly. It made sense. To recover, yet grow weaker. In this world, every advantage demanded a price.
"Then what about healing potions?" I asked, unable to hide my curiosity.
"High-grade potions are extremely expensive," Mei Mei answered without the slightest hesitation. "Only wealthy families or major clans can afford to stock them in significant quantities. They are usually reserved for the main heir or the strongest fighters."
She narrowed her eyes slightly. "As for low-grade potions? Their effects are slow and limited. For serious injuries, someone might need to drink three to five bottles at once—and even then, full recovery is not guaranteed. Deep wounds may close, but organ damage or severe blood loss still requires time."
Her sharp gaze fixed on me, as though ensuring I understood every comparison she was laying out. "Furthermore, potions work by accelerating the body's natural processes. They stimulate regeneration, hasten blood clotting, repair tissue gradually. But they do not directly reconstruct tissue using Positive Energy like Reverse Cursed Technique does. In critical situations—such as massive blood loss or organ failure—potions are often too slow. The victim could die before the effects fully take hold."
The room felt even quieter now. Even the ticking of the wall clock became distinct, its slow rhythm a reminder that time continued moving forward, indifferent to life and death.
"Now compare all of that to this Cursed Tool," Mei Mei continued, lifting the bottle slightly higher until the reflected light struck her face. "Anyone with Cursed Energy can pour it into this tool and obtain a healing liquid based on Positive Energy. No need to master Reverse Cursed Technique. No years of training. No risk of technique failure due to errors in energy conversion."
Mei Mei's gaze seemed to pierce straight through me, sharp and heavy with unspoken meaning. "This isn't just a tool," she said at last. "This is the distribution of a rare ability in the form of an object. You're turning something that should belong only to a handful of elites into something accessible to far more people. That means a shift in the structure of power itself."
I crossed my arms over my chest, my fingers tapping lightly against my upper arm as my thoughts spun quietly behind a calm expression.
"So what you're worried about isn't the price," I said slowly, lowering my eyes to the bottle in my hand, "but the consequences."
"Correct." Mei Mei's voice was steady, firm like a line that could not be bargained with. "If this object spreads widely, the major clans will try to control its supply. Shadow organizations will attempt to steal it. There may even be conflicts to monopolize its distribution. It won't just be a war of money—but a war of information and silent assassinations."
She stepped slightly closer, closing the distance between us until the air felt more compressed, more charged.
"And if they discover that the source is someone capable of consistently producing Cursed Tools like this…" Mei Mei paused deliberately, letting the weight of her words linger between us, "…then that person will not be allowed to remain free."
Silence settled over us, heavier than before. I could feel the seriousness in every word she had spoken—not fear, but the cold calculation of a merchant who fully understood the true value of the product in her grasp.
A faint smile curved my lips. "In that case, doesn't that mean I'm extremely valuable?"
Mei Mei stared at me for a long moment. In her eyes flickered a mixture of admiration for the staggering profit potential… and frustration that I could say it so casually, as if we were discussing something trivial.
"Yes," she finally replied, her voice quiet yet unmistakably certain. "And precisely because of that, you could find yourself in a very dangerous position."
"Then let's do this. You sell one. The other is for you. If you die, the person helping me make money disappears. That's clearly a huge loss for me. So it's better if you have one as well. If someone targets you to obtain this Cursed Tool or to trace my existence, then if you're injured, you can recover instantly and escape with your body fully restored."
I spoke with an easy smile.
My tone was relaxed, almost flat, as though we were merely dividing business assets—not objects capable of determining life and death on a battlefield.
My fingers held the bottle for a few seconds longer before I finally extended it toward her, making sure she understood that I was not joking.
Mei Mei did not take it immediately.
She simply stood in front of me, staring without blinking for several seconds that stretched longer than they should have. Her eyes narrowed slightly, sharp as a thin blade trying to peel back the layers of my thoughts.
The midday breeze drifted gently through the air, stirring strands of her pale blond hair until they brushed against her cheek. Sunlight reflected in her irises, making her expression even harder to read—somewhere between suspicion, surprise, or perhaps… a faint hint of being moved.
"Is that so?" she murmured softly.
There was a pause before her next words emerged.
"Thank you… I suppose." Her tone lacked its usual light teasing. There was no playful lilt, no calculated charm.
The gratitude sounded awkward, as though she were uttering something rarely given without first calculating profit and loss. It was clear she was accustomed to transactions—not generosity.
"Oh, and this." I summoned the purple flame again, its heat coiling around my hand as another Cursed Tool materialized from within it. This time it was not a bottle, but a pair of jet-black fabric gloves.
At first glance, the gloves appeared ordinary. But upon closer inspection, faint lines resembling delicate cracks spread from the wrist to the fingertips. The lines shimmered subtly when touched by light, as if something slumbered beneath the thin layer of cloth—something restrained, waiting to be awakened.
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