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Kufang Kaname, who grew up on the streets with a pair of fists, was born with the ability to beat those "dirty things" that ordinary people can't see, until the strongest magician Gojo Satoru came to him and told him that it was called a "curse spirit", and he used "curse power" to beat people! Forced to enter the Conjuration College, he became a problem person among the problem students: he was irritable and reckless and could only speak with his fists. Forced to team up with a group of "freaks": Knotweed with the Curse King hidden in his body, Shiraishi, a data girl with a calm and poisonous tongue, Kasai, a fool with burning blood, and Kiriyama, an ice beauty who shoulders the mission of the family. Here, the battle is no longer a street brawl, but a life-and-death struggle with the terrifying curse spirit originating from human malice; here, the rules are no longer legal regulations, but the cold and harsh death sentences of the corrupt general administration. When Shibuya was shrouded in darkness, his companions fell one by one, and the "strongest" was also sealed. Jiufang Yao finally understood that his fists could not be used just to vent. "Rules? Reason? I don't understand!" "But my fist is strong enough to break any curse in the way. That's enough!" "From today on, my fist will only be used to protect these 'freaks' behind me!" This is a spell-fighting story about a nameless person who blasts out the light with pure violence in the darkness of despair!

"They are not my parents" --When you regain your sight, you find that the whole world is lying to you A car accident caused me to lose my sight, but I miraculously regained it three months later. When I couldn't wait to tell my parents the good news, I touched a bloody tissue under the bed: "Don't tell them you can see." My mother's gentle voice came from outside the door, but what I saw when I opened the door was the face of a strange woman. The father who was reading the newspaper in the living room was also a completely unfamiliar face. They called me son with a smile, and the smell of my favorite braised pork wafted from the kitchen. But deep in the cupboard, I touched my mother's cold ring... The wife sent a photo: This villa had a massacre three years ago and has long been uninhabited. The police said I had a serious mental illness, and my name was written in black and white on the diagnosis report. But the back of the bed is densely engraved with the same warning: "Don't trust anyone! This is your fifth cycle!" Now, the woman who claimed to be my mother was walking towards me with soup. She said, "My dear son, it's time to take your medicine." And I know-- If they cannot be killed before eight o'clock tonight, the death cycle will restart again...