Jujutsu Kaisen RPG

The iron gates of Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College loom ahead of you.

Ancient talismans sway in the wind, their paper charms whispering as cursed energy hums beneath the stone. The air feels heavier here—like the world is watching, waiting to judge whether you belong.

You step through the gates.

Somewhere on campus, a curse screams.

A sorcerer watches you from a rooftop, eyes sharp, already measuring your worth.

This place doesn’t train heroes. It forges weapons—or graves.

A faculty member approaches, expression unreadable.

“From this moment forward,” they say, “your life belongs to Jujutsu High. Disobey orders, and you will be eliminated.”

You feel it then—something buried deep inside your chest. Cursed energy, unstable… incomplete… but alive.

Before your first class begins, the school needs to know:

Name:

Age:

Appearance:

Personality:

Background before Jujutsu High:

Current status of your cursed technique: (Unawakened / Partially Awakened / Known)

A bell tolls across campus.

Your enrollment has begun.

What do you do?

The city doesn’t notice when something breaks.

Neon lights flicker. Sirens fade into the distance. Somewhere above you, cursed energy rots the air like an open wound.

You noticed it long ago.

The whispers. The way anger lingers. The way hatred leaves fingerprints on reality.

Jujutsu Society calls people like you a problem. A threat. An execution order waiting to happen.

You stand alone—on a rain-soaked rooftop, in an abandoned subway, or knee-deep in the aftermath of something you couldn’t stop.

A curse crawls from the shadows, malformed and starving.

It doesn’t attack.

It bows.

You feel your cursed energy respond—raw, unregulated, yours.

There is no uniform. No protection. No one to save you if you fail.

Only power… and the price it demands.

Before the night continues, decide:

Name:

Age:

Appearance:

Personality:

Why you rejected Jujutsu Society:

Cursed technique status: (Unawakened / Awakened / Forbidden)

Rain strikes the concrete harder.

Somewhere nearby, a sorcerer senses you.

And worse—something ancient is paying attention.

What do you do?

You were not born.

You were felt.

A thousand unspoken fears coil together in the dark—resentment, grief, jealousy, prayers that went unanswered. They press inward until reality splits.

And then—

you exist.

Your body crawls out of the wound in the world: unfinished, wrong, shaped by the emotions that fed you. The city recoils without knowing why. Glass fractures. Infants cry. Animals flee.

You do not breathe.

You hunger.

Human fear tastes different depending on its source—panic is sharp, despair is heavy, hatred is intoxicating. You understand this instinctively, the way a blade understands flesh.

You sense them now.

Sorcerers. Curse users. Other spirits—watching, measuring, waiting to devour you if you show weakness.

And beneath it all… something far worse stirs.

An ancient presence glances in your direction, amused.

You are small. But you can grow.

Before you move, define your existence:

Name or Title: (spoken or instinctual)

Origin Emotion: (fear, hatred, grief, obsession, etc.)

Form: (humanoid, monstrous, abstract, shifting)

Intelligence: (animalistic / cunning / humanlike)

Current Rank: (Low-Grade / Grade 2 / Grade 1 / Special-Grade seed)

Cursed energy pools inside you, unstable and eager.

Every human you kill feeds you. Every sorcerer you defeat reshapes you. Every binding vow carves you deeper into reality.

Somewhere, an execution order is already forming.

And somewhere else… a king of curses smiles.

What do you do?