Or, more accurately, she glared at the ten-digit personal cell phone number she had just successfully scammed out of his manager.
Nobara glared at the glowing screen of her smartphone as if it were a Grade 1 cursed spirit that was actively refusing to be exorcised. She had the device gripped tightly in both hands, an empty text thread blinking mockingly at her in the dim light of her dorm room.
Getting the number had actually been pathetically easy. Her pride simply hadn't been able to handle him sliding a generic store card across the counter and politely brushing her off.
So, exactly ten minutes after she left the boutique, she had marched into a quiet alley, dialed the store's main line, and put on her best, most tearful 'frantic rich girl' voice.
She had spun a desperate tale to the manager about how she took off her grandmother's priceless heirloom ring to try on the jacket, left it on the counter, and the "incredibly handsome, dark-haired employee" must have accidentally swept it into his own pocket while cleaning up the register.
The manager, terrified of losing a high-paying VIP customer and facing a disastrous online review, had completely folded. She had handed over Ren's personal cell number without a second thought so she could "contact him immediately before he got on his train to check his pockets."
It was a flawless tactical victory.
But now that she actually had the number, she had absolutely no idea what to do with it.
Hey, it's the girl from the boutique.
She typed it out with her thumbs, stared at it for exactly two seconds, and then aggressively mashed the backspace button until the screen was blank again.
"Ugh, no. Too boring. I sound like I'm filling out a customer feedback survey," she muttered to herself, her nose wrinkling in deep disgust.
You should have just given it to me when I asked.
"Needy! Gross!" She hammered the backspace key until the cursor blinked at her from a completely empty text box once again.
With a frustrated groan that bordered on a battle cry, Nobara chucked the smartphone across her dorm room. It bounced harmlessly off a pile of laundry and landed face-down on the rug.
"What am I even doing?" Nobara huffed, crossing her arms and letting herself fall backward onto her mattress with a dramatic bounce.
She stared up at the ceiling, thoroughly annoyed with herself. "Since when does Nobara Kugisaki agonize over a text message? I am a prize. I am the undisputed jewel of Tokyo! The jewel of Tokyo does not chase, and she absolutely, unequivocally does not text first."
It was a matter of basic principle. The natural order of the universe dictated that guys tripped over themselves to get her attention, shower her with compliments, and offer to carry her shopping bags.
That was how the system worked. Going out of her way to message a guy who had the sheer audacity to brush her off with a generic store card? Unthinkable. It was pathetic. It was bad for her brand.
"If he has functional eyes, he knows exactly what he missed out on," she declared to the empty room, nodding to herself in firm agreement.
"I've already done my part. I executed a flawless covert operation just to give him a second chance. The ball is entirely in his court."
She conveniently chose to ignore the glaring logistical flaw in her logic: he literally did not have her number and had absolutely no idea she had just successfully socially engineered his manager to get his. Minor details.
She rolled over, burying her face in her plush pillow. She was going to go to sleep, forget all about the stupidly handsome retail worker with the unfair cheekbones, and go back to effortlessly exorcising curses tomorrow. She had standards to uphold.
Ten seconds passed in total silence.
Slowly, Nobara lifted her head. Her eyes narrowed, piercing through the dim light of the room as she glared intensely at the phone resting on the rug.
...
The crisp night air of Tokyo bit at Ren's face as he stepped off the main, brightly lit thoroughfare and slipped into the suffocating shadows of a narrow alleyway.
The glow of the city quickly faded behind him, replaced by the damp, metallic scent of stagnant water and neglected garbage.
It was well past midnight. If his meta-knowledge of the timeline was correct, right about now, a certain arrogant, volcano-headed Special Grade curse was getting absolutely dismantled by Satoru Gojo somewhere out on a deserted highway.
With the heavy hitters occupied and Kenjaku undoubtedly observing the spectacle, the streets were temporarily devoid of any immediate, catastrophic threats.
It was the perfect window to see exactly what he was working with.
Ren reached under the back of his loose flannel shirt. He gripped the thick white athletic tape he had used to secure the weapon to his spine.
With a sharp, deliberate pull, he ripped the tape away, freeing the flat, unadorned scabbard.
He brought the weapon around to his front and wrapped his fingers firmly around the leather-wrapped hilt.
"Alright," Ren muttered, his voice dropping into a low. He brought his free hand up, pressing his thumb against his knuckles and cracking his fingers one by one.
The sharp pops echoed loudly against the damp brick walls.
"Let's see what a physical gift actually feels like."
He didn't have to wait long.
Further down the alley, where the shadows pooled into an impenetrable black mass, the static-like cursed energy began to rapidly condense. A grotesque, sickening gurgle echoed from the darkness.
A Grade 3 cursed spirit dragged itself out of the gloom. It looked like a bloated, misshapen amalgamation of rotting flesh and discarded tires, possessing far too many multi-jointed legs that clicked against the asphalt.
Its bulbous, asymmetrical eyes locked onto Ren, sensing absolutely no significant cursed energy beyond the blade he held.
To the spirit, he looked like an easy, defenseless meal.
The curse let out a high-pitched, screeching wail and launched itself forward, its many legs propelling it over the damp pavement with startling speed.
The bloated mass of rotting flesh and tires closed the distance in less than a second.
There was no hesitation. No conscious thought process analyzing the threat or deciding how to counter it.
His body simply moved.
Pivoting smoothly on his heel, the creature sailed past him. Its jagged claws tore harmlessly through the empty air where his chest had been a fraction of a second before. The monster crashed heavily into the damp brick wall, letting out a confused, wet gurgle.
Before it could untangle its many legs, the matte-black, single-edged blade in his hand blurred.
A clean, horizontal slash tore through the creature's thick side. It felt like cutting through wet paper.
The tactical weapon sheared through the cursed energy with zero resistance, leaving a trailing arc of dark static in its wake.
The monster shrieked, whipping a heavy, tire-like appendage toward his head in a desperate counterattack.
Ducking effortlessly beneath the wild swing, pure instinct guided his arm. A swift, brutal upward thrust drove the fourteen-inch blade directly up through the creature's lower jaw and deep into what passed for its skull.
Twisting the hilt sharply, he pulled the weapon free.
The Grade 3 curse immediately stopped thrashing. Its bulbous eyes rolled back before the entire grotesque mass crumbled, turning into a pile of dissolving ash and fading purple static.
Silence rushed back into the damp alleyway.
Flicking the empty air to clear the blade, he stared at the dissipating ash. The whole encounter had lasted maybe five seconds. His breathing remained completely steady, and his heart rate hadn't even spiked.
A sharp, familiar ping echoed in his mind.
The dim alley was suddenly illuminated by the crisp, bright glow of a translucent blue interface materializing right in his line of sight.
[ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: First Cursed Spirit Kill(Grade 3)]