A/N: Yes, that title is a damn journal citation—because I wanted to have a bit of fun with it. Ideally, it would've been:
Uchiha, S. A Comprehensive Review in Theory of Negativity and Cursed Spirits. Konohagakure: Konoha Cursed Studies Press, 20XX.
But alas, the title box glared at me like an editor with a word limit, so I had to trim it down.
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A loud slurp echoed through the ramen stall like a trumpet of triumph.
It was Naruto, of course.
"Ahhh! This hits the spot y'know!" he declared between exaggerated gulps of noodles, his voice cutting through the chatter. His chopsticks worked at blinding speed, pulling up a fresh bundle of ramen from the bowl.
"Teuchi-jii-chan! You've outdone yourself!"
Teuchi, behind the counter, was already drenched in sweat, frantically ladling broth and shouting orders. His hands moved in a blur, grabbing bowls, toppings, and noodles like a one-man kitchen battalion.
"I wasn't expecting this kind of crowd today!" he hollered over his shoulder, barely missing a beat.
Akai gave a solemn nod as he sat at the edge of the group, quietly sipping his own bowl.
Understandable.
This wasn't just the usual duo of Akai and Naruto. No, Naruto had somehow taken Akai's casual promise of a ramen treat and turned it into a diplomatic buffet.
"I told you I'd treat you," Akai muttered toward Naruto, squinting at the mountain of bowls the boy had already demolished.
"I know," Naruto beamed, thumb pointing toward the man beside him, "but Iruka-sensei said he'd treat me, so it's a win-win!"
Iruka chuckled awkwardly. "I didn't realize it came with so many plus-ones," he said, though his tone held no real annoyance. His gaze flicked briefly to Akai, then to the others seated around them.
"Looks like the whole village's here..."
Akai exhaled slowly. He hadn't expected this either.
Beside him, Shisui sat with his usual calm air, lazily stirring his ramen with his chopsticks like it was a tea ceremony. "I don't mind," he said, tone amused. "This is actually kind of fun."
Akai side-eyed him.
Then there was Shion.
Somehow, the so-called princess of the Land of Demons had found her way to a tiny, old ramen stall, perched neatly on one of the stools, chopsticks poised with curious precision.
She sat beside Shisui, her lavender eyes watching the rising steam with intrigue.
"This is... unexpectedly nostalgic," she said after her first bite. "It reminds me of the street vendors outside the shrine."
"Except we're surrounded by shinobi, ramen broth, and loud children," commented Taruho dryly, seated protectively beside her.
His own bowl remained untouched, eyes scanning the stall like someone expecting an ambush.
Shion nudged him. "Eat, Taruho. No one's trying to assassinate us over pork broth."
He sighed but reluctantly picked up his chopsticks.
Akai rubbed his temple and glanced down the row.
Naruto, Iruka, Shisui, Shion, and Taruho. All gathered around him in a food stall meant for a couple of weary villagers. It felt... surreal.
He slurped his noodles in silence.
Shisui leaned closer and nudged him slightly with his elbow. "You good?"
Akai stared into his broth.
"...Nothing. The experiment still failed in the end."
Shisui laughed. "You'll get another shot tomorrow. For now, eat. You've got your own little weird squad now."
Akai blinked and looked around.
Yeah. He kind of did.
"Let the adults talk for a bit," Shisui said casually, leaning back slightly as Naruto's eighth slurp echoed like a declaration of war on silence.
Naruto blinked, cheeks puffed with noodles. "Huh?"
Iruka gave a long-suffering sigh. "Naruto, just eat."
"You're 15, you're not an adult." (Akai)
Shisui ignored Akai's remark, and turned to Iruka, "You look like you want to say something, Iruka-san."
Iruka turned toward Shisui, brow slightly furrowed. "Well, I heard there were some... issues with Akai?"
Shisui nodded, the shift in his expression subtle but unmistakable—calm, but serious. "Yeah. Hokage-sama wants him monitored for a while."
"Monitored?" Iruka echoed, glancing toward Akai who slurps the ramen as if he's deaf to their conversation. "What for? He's not exactly the rampaging type."
"Oh, he's not," Shisui agreed, voice light with irony. "He's just annoying. And dramatic. And impossible to read. You'd think someone with red eyes would be better at not making me want to strangle them half the time."
"Thanks," Akai deadpanned, still sipping his broth. "I live to be a thorn in your side."
"That explains the journal entries on how to surgically remove my soul with cursed energy," Shisui muttered.
Iruka raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"
"It's nothing," they both said in unison.
Iruka exhaled slowly. "Okay, but why aren't the Hyuga monitoring him? Isn't he... one of theirs?"
Akai didn't even look up this time. "I don't live in the Hyuga compound anymore."
There was a brief pause. Even Naruto stopped chewing for a second.
Iruka frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I moved out. Complicated reasons. Long story," Akai said, repeating their earlier tone, but with less bite. "Just... easier this way."
Shisui gave Iruka a small shrug, as if to say, don't ask too deep. Iruka nodded silently, the teacher in him not pushing—for now.
And just like that, the moment passed, and Naruto finished his bowl with a victorious slam of the chopsticks.
"All done!"
"That's your fourth," Iruka muttered in despair.
"Fifth, actually," Shion chimed in softly.
"..." Iruka despaired, reaching for his wallet as Teuchi returned with the bill.
"I'll tally this up real quick—"
"No need," Iruka said with a noble, if tired, smile. "I'll cover it."
The table fell silent.
He reached into his wallet with the pained grace of a man offering up his soul, pulling out enough Ryos to make Teuchi whistle in appreciation. As the coins left his hand, Iruka audibly whimpered.
Clap
Clap
Akai and Shion pressed their hands together solemnly in unison, heads slightly bowed.
Naruto blinked. "Eh? What are you doing?"
Akai, eyes still closed, answered first. "We pray for the soul of Iruka-sensei's wallet."
"May it rest in peace," Shion added, voice almost reverent.
"May it reincarnate as a human in its next life," Akai said, just as solemnly.
Naruto, catching the mood, clasped his hands too. "May it give me more ramen!"
Iruka slowly turned to him, expression flat.
"No. You don't get to pray."
Finally, after their chaotic ramen dinner and the funeral for Iruka's wallet, the group began heading back.
The night air was cool, the streets calmer now, lit by the occasional lantern flickering against the darkness.
Naturally, Akai, Shion, and Naruto found themselves walking the same path—Taruho following close behind, ever the dutiful shadow, while Shisui trailed leisurely with his hands tucked behind his head, keeping a careful eye on both Akai and Shion under the guise of nonchalance.
The walk was mostly quiet, the silence filled with the sort of comfort that only follows full bellies and shared nonsense. Eventually, they reached the familiar apartment building.
The two older guardians followed them up as the three of their rooms are placed all the way on the upper floor.
Naruto was the first to speak. "Alright! Same time tomorrow?"
Akai shrugged. "Sure."
"Iruka-sensei's not coming again though," Naruto added, scratching the back of his head. "He said he needs time to heal." His face twisted, clearly not understanding the trauma of an emptied wallet.
"Understandable," Shisui mumbled.
They stopped in front of their rooms—doors lining the hallway side by side. One by one, they peeled off from the group.
Taruho gave a respectful nod. "Goodnight, Lady Shion."
Shion turned and smiled gently. "Goodnight, Taruho. Akai-san."
"Night," Akai replied with a small wave, already halfway inside.
"See you tomorrow!" Naruto grinned wide as he pushed open his door.
Shisui, ever the last one lingering, lifted two fingers in a lazy wave. "No cursed spirits tonight, alright?"
Akai gave him a pointed look. "No promises."
.
.
.
After seeing the kids off to their rooms, Shisui lingered in the hallway longer than necessary.
Naruto's door slammed shut with theatrical flair, followed by a thud and a loud complaint about "instant noodles" and "sleep." Akai's door closed soundlessly—methodical, precise. Shion's door clicked softly behind her, like the air itself had learned to tread lightly.
Shisui waited a few more seconds, making sure silence took hold.
Then he turned—and found Taruho still nearby, arms crossed, posture blade-straight.
"You always this tense?" Shisui asked, casually falling into step beside him.
"I'm her guardian. It's my job."
Shisui smirked. "Not much for conversation, but you sat through that circus of a dinner without flinching. That's some serious discipline."
Taruho glanced at him. "You didn't stay just to compliment me."
"Maybe not," Shisui admitted. "I wanted to ask about what Shion said. About demons. Or cursed spirits, depending on who you ask."
That made Taruho pause.
"Akai's the one who introduced me to the term 'cursed spirits,'" Shisui continued. "But I've heard the other one before—'demons.' Not something most kids today know, but some older stories still mention them. Something about a distant place—Land of Demons, I think it was called."
Taruho's silence stretched for a moment, then he nodded.
"It exists. And yes—what you call cursed spirits, we've long called demons. Born from human malice, just the same. The weaker ones are shapeless, mindless. But the stronger they are, the more... complete. Some are fragments of older things. Others... are worse."
Shisui's expression sharpened. "You're talking about Mōryō, aren't you?"
Now Taruho looked directly at him.
"I've heard the name," Shisui said. "From some old fairy tales. Story goes, there was a demon who came from another world."
Taruho nodded. "He was sealed. A priestess stopped him—barely. There was a Shinobi clan that tried to use his power once. They failed. It was her, in the end."
"Shion's ancestor?"
"Her mother. Lady Miroku."
Shisui sighed with two hands in his pockets, "So the old story's real. Guess I shouldn't be surprised anymore."
He folded his arms. "It's funny. At first I only ruffled Akai's head a few times, thinking it was his childish imaginations. Now that there's actually an explanation for it, I'd become to wary about it." While saying that, his hand had squashed on a certain bug headed curse spirit he picked up off Iruka.
As expected, Taruho wasn't lying when he said he can't see or feel the lesser ones. So he looked like a crazy dude, strangling air. Well, thankfully, he is not the schizophrenic kid who EAT that air, like a certain someone.
"That's because the source never changes," Taruho said quietly. "No matter what land they come from. No matter what you call them."
Shisui tilted his head.
"Maybe the legend stated that the Moryo comes from another realm, but lady Miroku had stated it sternly."
"They're not invaders," Taruho said
"They're consequences. Manifestations. Born of humans. So if you plan to fight them—fine. Exorcise them. Seal them. But don't hate them."
He looked at Shisui, something firm in his gaze.
"The brighter your heart, the stronger your spirit when you face them. At least, that's what Miroku-sama used to say."
Then he bowed, a small motion, and turned down the hall, his footsteps fading into the hush.
Shisui stood alone now. A step—and he vanished in a blur.
A high rooftop. Wind brushed against his flak vest as he crouched beneath the moonlight.
His usual calm was gone. Taruho's words echoed.
They're consequences. Born of humans...
It shouldn't have rattled him. Not yet. But something about it stuck. Not a memory—more like a warning.
He should be writing up his report on Akai. Logging behavior notes. Following protocol.
Instead, his eyes narrowed.
Something felt... wrong.
He reached out—not with chakra, but with something else. Instinct. That strange sense he'd been developing. Negativity sensitivity, Akai called it.
Crude. Inexact. But honest.
There was movement in the energy.
Like a ripple on still water—cursed energy. Friction in the air.
"Just a peek," he muttered.
And vanished.
First Stop: Hospital
Even from the rooftop, the sorrow was obvious. The building practically bled grief.
Loss. Pain. Fear. The kind of emotions that stayed long after people left.
Shisui crouched, scanning windows. Most rooms were still. Nurses worked in a quiet rhythm. A few patients whimpered in their sleep.
Then—there.
A corner room.
Cold. Still. Off.
The incineration room.
Always a hotspot for curses. Memories came into mind, there was a few times Akai would suddenly circled a place in the middle of walking on a straightline, despite no obstacle there, or even a person, he dodged the thin air as if there was something there.
And that actions were frequent. Shisui now understood why, because this is not just a hotspot for curse, it was the whole breeding ground.
Should I kill them? Shisui thought thus.
But it's not like he could clean the whole place with patients around, so maybe he'd do it later when he got the chance.
He moved in a blur, leaving almost no trace.
Next: The Ninja Academy
He landed atop the academy roof, knees bent, posture loose but alert.
The building was vast. More than a school. A factory for shinobi. A shrine to the Will of Fire.
And too quiet at night.
Again, that feeling. Like a mosquito in the dark. Not loud—but present.
Shisui rested his chin in his hand, eyes scanning the shadows.
Shisui stepped into the building, the hinges giving the faintest creak before silence reclaimed the space.
Unlike the hospital, the academy's quiet wasn't born of sorrow or fatigue. It was just empty. Vacant. Still.
Nobody lived here. Not really.
Sure, there were dormitories for some of the teachers—an old annex tucked on the far end of the grounds—but hardly anyone stayed overnight anymore. Too much noise during the day. Too many memories at night.
He moved carefully through the corridors, his sandals brushing against polished floors that gleamed even in the moonlight. Classrooms sat like tombs, desks in perfect rows, blackboards half-erased, the air dry and dead.
And still... it was there.
Cursed spirits.
They clung to the corners. Thin, translucent things—small, quiet, but undeniably present. Shisui narrowed his eyes, watching them flicker in the dimness. Parasites feeding on echoes.
He crouched by a classroom doorway and pulled out Akai's journal, thumbing through familiar pages until he found the note he needed.
"Curses are born when cursed energy leaks from humans harboring negative emotions. Populated places—hospitals, schools—are fertile ground for them. The energy doesn't just come from those who stay... but from anyone who's ever been here and left something behind."
Shisui closed the notebook, exhaling slowly.
That was the problem. These spirits weren't just drawn by the people here now—they were made by memories. Thoughts. Fleeting anger. Shame. Grief. Even a former student's anxiety before an exam could plant a seed that festered in the dark.
"This is a breeding ground," he muttered.
How do you cleanse something like this?
Not just the curses—but the source?
He leaned against the wall, arms folded, thinking.
You could teach people, maybe. Spread awareness. Let them know how curses are made. Educate them about negativity and its consequences. Tell them, "Don't be negative."
He almost laughed.
"Yeah, right," he whispered. "Might as well tell people to stop breathing."
Negativity was part of being human. You couldn't erase it.
Not entirely.
Maybe that was why people like Akai existed. People who didn't just see the curse—but the pattern. The cause.
Shisui straightened and scanned the hall again. The spirits here weren't doing much. Yet. But they were multiplying, slow and quiet.
Left alone, they'd grow.
He tapped a kunai against his palm, then vanished again into the dark, eyes sharp.
If he couldn't stop the thoughts... he could still stop what came after.
It was a massacre.
To anyone without the eyes to see cursed spirits, it would've looked like Shisui had simply turned the academy halls into a training ground—an empty display of speed and agility.
But to those attuned to cursed energy, the truth was brutal.
With a kunai in each hand—twin flashes of steel—Shisui moved like a ghost of war. Each step, each blur of motion, carved a streak of violence through the shadows. The walls stayed clean, the floor barely scuffed, but the air reeked of spiritual blood.
Purple-black ichor sprayed in arcs, vanishing before it ever touched the ground. He struck low, fast, and hard—eviscerating spirits born of anxiety, of old grudges, of whispered regrets left to fester between school desks and chalkboard corners.
Some curses hissed as they died, curling into nothing. Others barely had time to react before they were sliced in half, their forms unraveling like burnt paper.
Then—something new.
A deeper pulse. A black fog bled from under a classroom door. Words—thick, ugly characters inked in raw emotion—spun in the air like a calligraphy of malice: failure, disappointment, disgrace.
They churned, coiling together to form a shape. Legs—long and crooked—began to emerge from the ink, clawing their way into the world.
Shisui didn't wait.
He flashed forward, cutting straight through the vortex. His kunai severed the words mid-formation, slicing the cursed energy at its root. The half-formed legs hit the floor with a wet thud—and dissolved into vapor before they could even twitch.
He didn't slow down.
One breath, one movement, and he was gone again.
Shunshin.
To the right wing. A faint curse in the teacher's lounge—snuffed out in a single strike.
Then to the gymnasium. A writhing mass near the old equipment shed—cleaved down the middle with twin blades.
Then to the stairwell. A curse born from a student's forgotten humiliation—crushed before it could even turn to look at him.
He moved without pause, without hesitation.
A silent storm of precision.
By the time he stopped, the corridors had returned to stillness. No curses. No flickers. Only the distant creak of wood and the quiet whisper of wind through the academy eaves.
Around him, remnants of the battle flickered out—purple blood seeping into the floor, vanishing into thin air along with the twisted corpses of malformed spirits. Nothing lingered. No bodies. No stains. Just the lingering scent of energy—burnt and bitter.
Shisui straightened, spinning a kunai once between his fingers, then let it drop back into its holster with a soft click.
He watched as the last puddle of ichor melted away, curling into nothing.
"Hm. Ah!" he said suddenly, raising a finger as if recalling a trivia fact. "Chapter two—Curses clean their own selves."
He smirked faintly. The line came straight from Akai's journal.
"What a relief, then," he muttered, slipping the second kunai into place. "The others might not be able to see curses, but at least they won't slip on purple-blooded wet floors they can't see."
The joke landed in the empty hallway with only the hum of silence for laughter—but Shisui grinned anyway.
And then, as always, he vanished.
.
.
.
To be continued.