POV: Mahito
Date: Unknown
Well, I said all of that, but I'm currently shaking in my boots.
These two are, without a doubt, the strongest opponents I've faced so far. My Technique is pretty reliable when it comes to categorizing strength, and from what I can tell, they're sitting around Grade Two and Semi-Grade One.
Which actually spells very good things for me.
If either of them were a fully realized Grade One, I might've already been cooked.
I did burn through a solid chunk of cursed energy dealing with that mammoth curse earlier, but even so, about half of my reserves remain, and that should be more than enough if I don't screw this up.
I just have to play it smart.
Alright, Mahito.
Fake it till you make it.
"Show me what you've got, humans!" I shout as I spring forward, cursed energy coiling tightly around my body before flaring outward in a controlled burst.
Target the weakest link first.
So I go for Tachibana.
His composed noble expression fractures into a strained scowl as he barely manages to block my incoming kick, the impact forcing his arms to tremble under the pressure. Rather than pressing for damage, I twist my hips mid-motion and convert the strike into raw force, launching him backward instead of trying to break through his guard.
He goes flying, crashing through branches and vanishing into the trees.
"Tachibana-dono!" the old man calls sharply, his neck snapping toward where his charge disappeared.
"Eyes on me, old man!" I bark immediately, closing the distance without hesitation.
I can't afford to let them regroup. The second I slow down, they'll take momentum, and I'm not confident I can wrestle it back without wasting a hefty amount of cursed energy, if they decide to go on the offensive together.
I also pointedly ignore the steady influx of Belief settling onto the Special Grade Path. Now is not the time to get distracted by progress bars.
While the young master hadn't been able to keep up with my movement, the old man is an entirely different story.
I throw a punch meant to test his guard, but instead of blocking, he catches my fist cleanly in his palm, his grip iron-tight before he pivots on his heel and redirects my momentum with effortless precision.
Oi oi.
He flips me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing, sending me airborne before I can properly brace.
That movement—what the hell was that? I know martial arts are effective, but that bordered on anime nonsense.
Still, I manage to recover midair, twisting my body and planting my feet against the trunk of a tree. Digging my toes and one hand into the bark, I cling sideways to the surface, staring back at him with a wide grin.
This is surprisingly fun.
I launch myself off the tree like a spring uncoiling, re-entering the fray with a sweeping kick aimed at his head. He ducks smoothly beneath it, his movements are as economical as they are disciplined, and counters with a rising punch that would've taken my jaw clean off if I hadn't twisted my torso out of alignment at the last second.
Using that twist, I plant my hand into the earth, using it as a pivot to generate torque and send another sweeping kick toward his ribs.
Having a body this responsive is honestly amazing.
This one connects solidly, drawing a grunt from him as the impact lands clean, but instead of being thrown back like I expected, he merely slides a step before stabilizing himself and settling into what looks like a defensive stance.
I prepare to rush him again—
And then something grips my arm.
I blink in confusion before the world violently shifts.
I'm hurled sideways like a ragdoll, my shoulder screaming as I slam into a tree trunk hard enough to crack it—
—and then I go straight through it.
Wood explodes around me as I tumble across the forest floor before rolling back onto my feet, dirt and splinters scattering in all directions. Through the haze of debris, I catch sight of something slithering through the trees—what looks like thick vines, twisting and retracting with unnatural speed.
"Interesting Technique," I say, rolling my shoulder once as I study the writhing greenery around us. Because it has to be, right? Vines don't just sprout out of nowhere and start playing grab-the-curse. This is definitely some kind of plant manipulation, probably limited to existing vegetation, but still dangerous as hell in a forest.
Also, holy shit, that dislocated my arm.
Thankfully, it's not broken. A break would take longer to reconstruct properly, but a dislocation is barely an inconvenience. I reach up, grip my forearm, and with a sharp twist, pop everything back into place, the joint sliding smoothly as cursed energy knits the strain away in an instant.
Boy, am I glad about the dulled pain.
"It's nothing especially impressive," the old man replies calmly, though the forest around us seems to disagree as more vines slither out from bark and soil alike, thickening the battlefield with each passing second. "My Technique is called Sovereign Vines. It allows me to rapidly generate and manipulate vines from surrounding plant life."
"Why are you telling me this?" I ask honestly, blinking at him in surprise. Who explains their ability mid-fight? Is this actually a thing? Did anime not lie to me after all?
"Revealing one's hand," His tone reminds me of lecturers, and he continues without missing a beat, "is a binding vow. By disclosing the nature of one's Technique, one increases its effectiveness at the cost of placing oneself at greater risk."
As he speaks, I glance at his soul and immediately notice the difference. His cursed energy flow smooths out, becoming denser and more refined, like oil poured cleanly into a machine.
Huh.
Binding Vows, huh? That sounds exploitable. I wonder if I could fake a reveal at some point—sell a lie convincingly enough that it still counts. That would be hilarious.
"Ah. Fair enough," I say with a nod, it's nice to have someone that goes along with your easy going while in a kill or be killed situation.
"And," he adds with the faintest smirk, "I am also buying time."
Ah.
Right.
Two-on-one.
I jump back instinctively, the air behind me shattering as something invisible cleaves through the space I'd occupied, ripping up the earth in a violent spray of soil and roots.
"You dare ignore me, Curse?" Tachibana's voice cuts through sharply.
He doesn't look damaged in the slightest. If anything, he looks more irritated now, the aristocratic composure cracking at the edges.
"I would never ignore you, Young Master," I reply with a bright smile, brushing dirt from my sleeve, "I'm taking both of you very seriously."
He scoffs, clearly unconvinced. "Hardly. You claim seriousness, yet you refuse to reveal your full strength."
…What?
I keep the confusion off my face with effort.
"Even now," he continues, pointing at me accusingly, "you are not outputting the level of cursed energy you displayed earlier."
Behind my pleasant grin, my brain works hard.
What the hell are you talking about, mate?
I turn inward for a split second, analyzing myself mid-fight.
Oh.
I'm instinctively suppressing my output.
I'm so used to cloaking myself while hunting curses—so I don't attract unwanted attention—that I must've started doing it automatically when this fight began.
…still, I can use this.
"Then force me," I say lightly, my smile shifting into something sharper, almost playful, as I deliberately raise my cursed energy output to match roughly the young master's level.
That way, they can never quite pin down my cursed reserves ceiling.
Ooooooh~ that's a nice spike of Belief. It settles onto the Outline of my Soul again, swirling without committing fully to a Path.
The ground beneath me erupts as a cluster of vines bursts upward, twisting violently in an attempt to snare my legs. I shift sideways in one smooth motion, letting them coil around empty air before retracting with a hiss.
"Yoto," Tachibana says without taking his eyes off me, "I will provide support."
He remains at range, posture straight. Not confident in close combat? Makes sense. Whatever his Technique is, it likely operates best from a distance.
"Hai, Tachibana-dono," the old man responds smoothly, stepping forward instead, posture lowering, ready to tumble into motion at any moment.
So that's how it works. Quite the clean formation.
"Come," I say, curling my fingers twice in invitation.
Even as more vines begin twisting through the trees toward me, I find myself moving on instincts I never consciously learned, my body folding and rotating in ways that feel both alien and completely natural as I slip past grasping tendrils while launching myself forward in the same motion.
The old man meets my charge head-on.
His fist snaps toward my jaw, and I tilt just enough to let it graze past before he chains the strike into a relentless sequence, each punch flowing into the next without pause. There's no time to exploit an opening because he doesn't leave one; every movement feeds into another with explosive efficiency, his stance aggressive in a way that maximizes force without wasting a single breath.
Jesus Christ.
Superpowered martial arts are insane.
He's using some strange, compact striking form that keeps me under constant pressure, barely giving me space to think as I block and deflect, my forearms absorbing the shock of each impact.
"Nice form!" I grunt, seizing the moment his next arm extends just a fraction too far. I grab it, ready to use it as leverage to pull him in—
—but I can't capitalize, because something slams into my ribs from the blind spot.
It feels like a punch, though lighter than the old man's strikes, and I'm sent skidding across the forest floor before I recover mid-roll.
I glance up and finally see it.
Floating just a few centimeters above the ground is what looks like a translucent duplicate of Tachibana himself, its form shimmering faintly like a mirage.
Holy shit.
Does this kid have a Stand as his Technique?
That's awesome.
I push myself upright, but I'm a split second too slow as vines erupt from the tree beside me, coiling tightly around my arm before I can fully evade.
They're reinforced with cursed energy, but they're not unbreakable. I slice through them with a sharp burst of my own output, though the delay is enough for the ghostly double to close the distance.
The right hook lands clean.
Fuck.
I feel ribs give under the impact, a sharp crack echoing through my chest as blood sprays from my mouth.
Fun fact: my physiology is disturbingly close to human. Which means organs, bones, etc.
Healing isn't difficult, but it isn't instant either, and I have the distinct feeling that they're not about to give me a courtesy timeout.
I twist away from another surge of vines and sidestep a crushing downward strike from the old man, who has already re-entered close quarters like we never left.
Damn.
These two work together ridiculously well.
The old man dominates hand-to-hand combat while turning the forest itself into a battlefield, and Tachibana hangs back just enough to spot openings, sending his Stand in to punish any mistake while keeping himself comfortably out of reach.
"What's the matter, Curse?" Tachibana calls out, taunting me. "Is this already too much for you?"
Oh.
Oh, thank you.
That's the perfect pivot.
Time to build a Narrative.
"You two are incredible," I say, smiling widely despite the blood on my lips and the dull ache radiating through my torso. I vault over the old man's sweeping strike and plant a foot briefly against his shoulder before springing off his back, flipping away to create distance.
I make sure there aren't any vines within immediate range before settling into a relaxed stance, facing them fully.
"Truly, this is my first battle against humans," I continue, drawing in a slow breath as cursed energy circulates through my body, knitting bone and sealing ruptured vessels while they watch carefully. "And I'm already having this much fun!"
The air tightens.
I shift my footing deliberately, lowering my center of gravity, adjusting my shoulders, aligning my hands.
The old man's breath catches.
"That stance—"
Yeah.
There it is.
Belief surges.
[Source of Belief: Human (Semi-Grade One Sorcerer)]
Path of Guided Belief: Power – High Talent]
Analysing
[Quantified Belief Threshold Not Met!]
[Faith Stored]
A new Path forms, one extremely important that will compound throughout the rest of my life, one centered around talent in combat.
After all, I'm simply imitating the stance the old man was kind enough to demonstrate.
Was it the same as his?
Obviously not.
It was full of holes, little inefficiencies that would probably make someone who studies me properly cringe. But if I could scare them with just this much, make them Believe, then the results would speak louder than perfection ever could.
"My turn!"
When we clashed again, I felt it immediately—the shift.
The old man's composure wavered as I stepped into his zone using the same footwork he'd demonstrated earlier, adjusting my hips the way he had when throwing a punch, aligning my shoulders to maximize torque just like he did.
Punch blocked.
Slip past a swipe.
Jump over the Stand as it sweeps in from my blind spot.
I bring both legs down in a hammering strike aimed at the ghost's guard, and he absorbs it, making me fall to the ground before snapping his foot upward toward my face in a sharp, punishing counter.
I evade using the exact footwork I saw the old man employ minutes ago.
It's not perfect. It feels slightly off, like wearing someone else's shoes and pretending they fit, and I have to reinforce the movement with cursed energy just to keep the balance stable.
But it did its job.
His eyes harden, and then one of his fists rockets forward with killing intent, an opening he deliberately creates to end this in one decisive blow.
Now, now—
I grin, and this time there's nothing forced about it.
I catch his fist on my forearm and rotate my body in one smooth motion, mirroring the same principle he used earlier in the fight. The movement flows cleaner than before, and I twist him over my shoulder before hurling him toward the tree line surrounding our clearing.
Mid-throw, I layer 'Poltergeist' over the motion.
The added force sends him flying faster than I could have thrown with just physical strength, leaving him no chance to stabilize.
The old man's expression changes into pure shock, and I can see it clearly in his soul as well—disorder, disbelief—as his back slams into one tree and then another stops his momentum completely, his body crumpling to the ground with a pained groan.
[Path of Guided Belief: Power – High Talent]
Analysing
[Quantified Belief Threshold Not Met!]
"That technique…" Tachibana's voice cuts through the clearing.
I turn toward him, and the look on his face is no longer irritated arrogance.
It's horror.
"Impossible," he breathes. "How could you use that—?"
"It was easy," I reply, making sure my expression softens into a truly grateful look, "After all, the old man showed it to me."
His mouth opens, but for a moment, no sound comes out. The words seem to struggle against whatever pride or denial he's clinging to before one finally slips free.
"Monster."
The old man, still forcing himself upright, echoes the sentiment without speaking, and I feel it—feel the Belief surge from both of them as it coils through the air and sinks into my soul, my Technique devouring it greedily.
[Path of Guided Belief: Power – High Talent]
Analysing
[Quantified Belief Threshold Met!]
[Faith Manifest]
Ah.
So this is how it works.
Up until now, every upgrade I'd taken had been physical—stronger body, deeper cursed energy reserves, sharper output—but none of it touched the mind.
This is different.
It's like someone just adjusted the lens through which I see the world. Movements that felt disconnected seconds ago now line up like pieces of a puzzle waiting to be assembled, and angles, timing, weight distribution—all of it starts making intuitive sense in a way it simply didn't before.
Is this what talent feels like?
The old man's stance replays in my head, but now I can see where I misstepped, where my hips lagged behind my shoulders, where my center of gravity drifted just a fraction too far forward. The mistakes are catalogued and discarded almost automatically, replaced with a much cleaner and sharper execution.
Damn, this is fucking amazing.
Damn.
This is fucking amazing.
"Hahaha, that is true," I say, my smile stretching just a bit too wide, "but take comfort in this—this monster has yet to be disappointed."
Remember, Mahito.
I am the Adversary.
I don't just defeat them. I challenge them. I force them to grow, to struggle, to justify their existence against me.
"Let us continue."
I begin walking toward Tachibana, and he looks acutely aware of how alone he is in this moment. His Stand shifts protectively in front of him, hovering between us as his only reliable shield.
"You were both kind enough to reveal your Cursed Techniques," I continue, tilting my head slightly as I advance. "Allow me to return the favor."
Concentrate it. Shape it. Direct it.
Raw Cursed Energy manipulation is wildly inefficient compared to an Innate Technique, that's what I gathered from how my own Faith Manifest barely uses cursed energy, but for the past three days I've been using it to disguise it as my actual ability, calling it 'Poltergeist' so it looks like I'm using a Innate Technique instead of being some brute-force Curse shoving energy around without finesse.
And in those three days?
I've fought almost dozens of Curses.
Let's just say I've gotten pretty good at wasting energy effectively.
"Push!"
I slam my hand forward and unleash a compressed wave of Cursed Energy that detonates outward in a visible surge, crashing into the Stand and sending it skidding backward through the air as gashes rip across its ghostly frame.
"S-so, you did have one," Tachibana grunts, feet dug into the earth as he braces himself against the aftershock, grounding his body so he doesn't get thrown back like his Stand did.
"Don't worry," I tell him brightly, "I won't do the whole 'revealing one's hand' thing."
Mostly because nothing would happen.
Tehe~
That's a pretty scary look you've got there, young master. Ease up a little. I might actually piss myself.
Aaaah, yes. There it is.
More Belief.
[Path of Guided Belief: Cursed Technique – Poltergeist]
Analysing
[Quantified Belief Threshold Not Met!]
Hmm. Close.
Between this kid, the old man, and all the Belief I squeezed out of those Curses over the past few days, I'm making solid progress.
"Don't look down on me!" Tachibana roars, face flushed with anger.
His Stand rockets forward again, fist cocked back, and I shift my weight to dodge—
—only for vines to erupt from the soil and coil tightly around my legs, locking me in place.
Ah.
So the geezer's still conscious.
Man, I forgot the most important rules. I need to double-tap.
"Now, Tachibana-dono!" the old man shouts from the ground, one hand clutching his stomach while the other controls the vines. Interesting, beforehand he wasn't using any hand movement, but now, with his one arm raised and fingers curled, the vines were significantly harder to cut off.
"Take this!"
The Stand pulls its arm back and drives forward.
I could blast it away with another 'Poltergeist' wave, but that would burn more reserves than I'd like, especially since I can't capitalize while these vines have me pinned.
Besides…
This might be more impressive.
So instead, I raise my arms and brace.
The Stand's fists crash down on me in a relentless barrage, a merciless storm of rapid strikes hammering into my guard with mechanical precision. It's not overwhelmingly strong, but it's fast—absurdly fast—and the rhythm is tight enough that I almost expect it to start shouting 'Ora!' with every punch.
One… Six… Twelve... Nineteen—
Found it.
The rhythm.
I deflect one fist slightly off-course instead of blocking it outright, disrupting the flow just enough to slide my own punch forward so our knuckles collide midair.
I grin.
Then the barrage resumes—
—but this time, I'm matching it.
Blow for blow.
Strike for strike.
Each exchange teaches me something, and I adjust in real time, copying the angles of its elbows, the rotation of its shoulders, the efficiency of its recoil as I slowly begin to overwhelm it with superior force.
It's fast.
But it isn't stronger than me.
With a sharp punch to its sternum, I send it flying backward, and Tachibana grunts sharply as feedback ripples through him from the damage inflicted on his Stand.
Not over yet!
"Pull!"
I hook my fingers through empty air and yank.
The Stand jerks mid-flight as 'Poltergeist' latches onto it, dragging it back toward me against its will and straight into my waiting grasp.
And then I proceed to beat the absolute shit out of it using its own combinations.
The vines tighten for a moment as if reconsidering their strategy, then abruptly shift tactics, swinging hard and flinging me bodily across the clearing instead of trying to pin me down.
I laugh as I go sailing through the air.
This is so much fun. Why am I having so much fun?
Still, I can feel it now—my reserves have noticeably dipped from how aggressively I've been using 'Poltergeist' today, I should have enough for maybe three more strong applications before things get uncomfortable.
Before diving back in, though, I take a moment mid-recovery to assess my opponents.
The old man looks like he's only a few breaths away from collapsing. His posture is hunched, shoulders trembling, each inhale uneven and shallow, probably from the damage I dealt to his back earlier.
Tachibana, on the other hand, hasn't been physically touched.
And yet he looks worse.
Sweat drips from his jaw, his once-neat hair now disheveled and clinging to his face, and his body trembles as if he's holding up something far heavier than his own body. The feedback from his Stand must be harsher than I initially assumed.
Alright.
Next phase of the plan is a go.
By the way, there is no next phase.
I'm improvising.
I clap my hands together with an enthusiastic grin. "That was good!"
"Don't mock us!" Tachibana snaps, trying to rise to his feet only for his legs to buckle, forcing him to his knees. His hands slam into the dirt to steady himself. "You're not taking us seriously. Not taking me seriously!"
"Hmm?"
"Just like my family," he continues, voice cracking with fury as he punches the ground. "Just like all the rest!"
…is he about to trauma dump on me?
"Tachibana-dono," the old man murmurs softly with sadness.
No, seriously.
Is this actually happening?
"Untalented. Weak. Shameful." Tachibana's voice trembles as he forces himself upright again. "Those are the words whispered behind my back while they smile to my face. Every single one of them." His eyes snap toward me, burning. "And now you. A Curse."
Ah.
I see.
A noble from a prominent house, probably a branch family member, important enough politically that no one dares insult him openly, yet not strong enough to stand proudly among his peers. Smiles to his face, knives in his shadow.
Damn.
He really is trauma dumping on me.
…I can absolutely use this.
"Hey, Tachibana," I call out casually, tilting my head as I take a slow step toward him. "When was the last time you did something just for yourself?"
"What?" His brows knit together.
"I'm guessing you've spent your whole life trying to prove them wrong, yeah?" I continue, pacing lazily towards him without any aggression. "Training harder. Pushing further. Bleeding more than anyone else just so you could meet their expectations."
He doesn't answer, but his Soul does, and how it shakes and blurs tells me how close I hit the mark.
I close the distance gradually.
"But no matter how much you tried, it was never enough," I say, my voice lowering. "No matter how hard you trained, you couldn't match what they demanded of you."
"You—" he starts, but I cut him off.
"Then let it all go!"
He freezes.
"Let go of all of it," I repeat, my expression turning serious as I sweep one hand dramatically through the air. "The weight they've chained around your shoulders."
His soul trembles violently now, and I can feel the Belief surging toward me in waves, settling along the Outline of my Soul as my Technique greedily absorbs it. I force myself not to react, keeping my expression composed, almost solemn.
"Abandon those meaningless burdens!" I declare, voice ringing across the clearing.
The old man stares at me like I've lost my mind.
"Right here. Right now." I continue, pointing directly at Tachibana, "there is only one thing that matters!"
His breathing steadies.
Little by little, he pushes himself upright, drawing on whatever cursed energy he still has left, reinforcing his body with stubborn resolve.
"With this obstacle in front of you," I say, spreading my arms wide as if welcoming him, "you don't bow to it."
My grin widens.
"You push forward and scream."
Opening myself up completely, I lean into the performance.
"Fight to win!"
Tachibana roars back instinctively, mirroring my intensity as his fist draws back, cursed energy condensing around his arm in a desperate, blazing surge.
Good.
This is perfect.
It won't hurt that much. I'll take it clean, maybe stagger back for dramatic effect, tell him it was a fine strike before gracefully allowing him to pass out. Throw in something about how he stood tall even on the brink of defeat.
It'll be beautiful.
Then I notice something is wrong.
"Black-"
The air shifts.
Space itself seems to warp for a fraction of a second as a violent flash of black lightning erupts around Tachibana's fist, his cursed energy snapping into alignment in a way that feels fundamentally different from everything before.
"Flash!"
Spoiler: Blackflash:
Impact.
The world fractures around the point of contact as his fist connects with my body, and I feel his cursed energy behave in a way that is absolutely not normal.
What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu—
I'm sent flying.
Not just knocked back—launched.
The force behind the blow is magnitudes beyond what I calculated, and by the time I crash through the trees I can already tell something is catastrophically wrong.
Half my torso is just… gone.
Shit.
Shit shit shit shit.
Black Flash?
What the actual fuck?
I thought his technique was just the Stand! Ah, dang it, I forgot, maybe two Innate Techniques were the norm?
I hit the ground hard and roll, vision swimming as I force what little composure I can manage. There's no time to process the pain properly because if I do, I might actually scream.
I won't be able to use 'Poltergeist' after this, I won't have enough cursed energy in the tank.
Diverting almost all of my remaining cursed energy inward, I focus everything on regeneration, forcing it to circulate through torn muscle and shattered bone as I push myself upright. Blood spills from me in heavy sheets, soaking into the dirt as I try to close the wound before I collapse from sheer structural failure.
Okay.
Mask on.
I stretch my lips into a wide grin.
"Marvelous blow!"
Ah, shit—blood dribbles down my chin as I speak.
Dammit. I need time. Just a little more time to finish healing. Can we talk for a bit, young master? Please?
Tachibana doesn't respond.
Thankfully, he isn't charging in either.
"He did it," the old man whispers from somewhere to my side, awe thick in his voice as he watches his charge.
"Hmm?" I tilt my head innocently despite the fact that my organs are still rearranging themselves. "He did what?"
Please explain what the fu—
That seems to break something in the old man, because when he looks at me now, the revulsion that once twisted his features has dulled into something far more complicated. He shakes his head lightly and even laughs under his breath.
"Black Flash," he says. "A phenomenon in jujutsu. When cursed energy is applied within one millionth of a second of a physical strike, it creates a distortion in space itself. The cursed energy flashes black, and the destructive force of the attack increases by the power of 2.5."
Oh.
Oh shit.
No wonder that last hit felt like I got punched by a truck, exponentials are insane.
Also—
"Why are you telling me this, old man?" I ask, squinting slightly before snapping my fingers. "Ah! Another 'revealing one's hand' situation?"
"Hahaha, not quite." He shakes his head, genuine mirth coloring his tone, and I can't help but notice with quiet satisfaction that when he looks at me now, there's far less disgust than there was at the start of this battle.
"I'm buying Tachibana-dono time."
…huh?
He must see the confusion flicker across my face, because he continues calmly.
"Once a Black Flash is achieved, the sorcerer enters a state of supreme focus. Manipulating cursed energy becomes as natural as breathing. Their understanding deepens in an instant." He smiles faintly. "I am simply ensuring Tachibana-dono has time to grasp the essence of what he has touched."
This old fucker.
I force my grin to widen and turn toward the one who just blasted half my body away.
Tachibana stands completely still, staring down at his clenched fist as though it holds secrets he never believed he could possess. I can see it clearly in his soul—something has shifted. It's rejoicing in a strange way, trembling with exhilaration while simultaneously settling into a calm, steady rhythm.
He throws a punch into empty air.
The Stand manifests behind him and mirrors the motion perfectly, the movement somehow translating perfectly.
I could also see how his manipulation of cursed energy was smoother than ever. If before he used a cup's worth of energy to power a strike, now he's using a spoon and achieving the same output.
How ridiculous.
I want one.
I want to land a Black Flash now.
"Don't worry, old man," I say lightly, shrugging despite the fact that I'm still knitting my torso back together. "I would've given him the time anyway."
"Yes," he replies after a moment. "I believe you would have."
Belief trickles into my Outline again as a steady stream.
"But I was right," I continue with a smug grin.
"Oh?"
"You two are fun." My eyes remain fixed on Tachibana. "He especially just needed to let go of what was weighing him down."
The old man laughed at that.
And Tachibana lifts his head.
Alright, let's see what you do with enlightenment, young master
"Yes. You're right."
When Tachibana's eyes meet mine, they are no longer clouded with blind rage.
They're calm.
How impressive, they remind me of a lake, one that doesn't thrash against every stone thrown into it. I can see the change clearly in his soul as well; where before it flared erratically, now a firm determination runs through it, standing solid, and such feeling leaking through his gaze.
"I am Tachibana no Toshimichi, Jujutsu Sorcerer."
He takes his stance, one palm open before him aimed my way, the other a clenched fist by his side.
I grin at him, even as internally I groan.
By this point my torso has fully regenerated, the flesh knit back together as if it had never been torn apart, but my reserves are dangerously low. I'm running on scraps of cursed energy now; if I tried to launch even one more 'Poltergeist' blast the way I did earlier, I'd probably collapse before the impact even landed.
Weird.
Why am I still having fun?
"My name is Mahito," I reply lightly, rolling my shoulders as I shift into position, "a curse born from humanity's hatred toward itself."
Belief begins to pool again, feeding into the Outline of my Soul as Toshimichi smiles faintly at the declaration.
"Yoto," he says without looking back, "don't interfere."
The old man raises a brow, clearly questioning the sanity of that request, then exhales and shrugs before lowering himself onto a fallen tree
How casual of you, Yoto-san.
But we both understand.
Toshimichi is running on fumes.
Even with the heightened state granted by Black Flash, even with his newfound efficiency, he was nearly empty before that strike. His control is better now, his understanding significantly deeper, but it doesn't change the fact that his body will give out soon.
He doesn't know I'm in the same boat.
I adjust my stance to fully face him, lowering my center of gravity and coiling my body like a spring wound to its limit.
No tricks in such an honest move.
In his mind, and now in mine as well, the message is clear.
Our next strikes will be the last.
Belief poured out of both humans.
Toshimichi grinned, and I grinned back, both of our Souls shaking in laughter.
Who would've thought?
I created this persona deliberately, shaped it to be the best possible mask to achieve my goal, but it turns out this might actually be my nature.
I really do enjoy a good fight.
"Extension Technique: Soul-Echo!"
He launches forward in a blur, and as he does, his Stand overlays his body like an invisible suit of armor, its form merging with his movements until they are perfectly synchronized. I have no doubt it amplifies his physical output, reinforcing each strike with doubled force.
Extension Techniques, huh?
The longer I stay around sorcerers, the more I learn.
I don't think I could attempt something like this if I hadn't witnessed such thing, in the split second before I began my charge, my instincts now enhanced by the High Talent, allowed me to make a connection I would have never done before.
Ever since I realized my Outline could hold Faith without a set Path, I've been curious.
So now—
I pour it out.
[Utilizing Accumulated Belief]
[Path: Cursed Technique - Poltergeist]
It's wildly inefficient, nowhere near a one-to-one conversion, and probably awkward because 'Poltergeist' doesn't align perfectly with the Adversary persona I've been cultivating.
But with the accumulation from countless cursed spirits, the Belief from these two, and every scrap I've gathered over the past few days—
It's just barely enough.
I rush forward to meet him, fist drawing back as his does the same.
[Faith Manifest]
And through my fist, I—
"Push!"
"Ora!"
Hah, he said the thing.
Spoiler: Impact
The collision is catastrophic.
The sound alone feels like something tearing open the sky, a shockwave ripping outward as dirt and shattered wood explode from the impact point.
That strike—
Damn.
Forget Grade Two.
That final punch of his was absolutely at the level of a Grade One.
My right arm is gone.
Just gone.
Boy, am I glad to be a Cursed Spirit, considering how often I keep losing limbs lately.
What the hell happened to Toshimichi?
Groaning, I drag myself up from the trench my body carved into the earth, which is considerably more difficult with only one arm to work with. Dirt and splintered roots slide off me as I stagger to my feet.
The clearing—
No, it's not even a clearing anymore.
The center of it has been gouged out into a massive crater, the force of our clash having shoved trees aside and flattened everything nearby until only bare earth remains, as if the forest itself recoiled from the impact.
…fuck.
I did this.
Well, obviously not me myself alone, but holy hell I was powerful enough to cause something like this.
I'm strong.
Heh, this realisation feels good.
Ah, there they are.
Two souls flickering faintly at the edge of the crater.
Nice, they're both alive then.
…let's just take a few seconds.
I stand there in the settling dust, letting my breathing even out while I direct what little cursed energy I have left inward. Healing has been getting easier with time; specially with my Talent upgrade, it's like my body understands its own blueprint more clearly, which makes restoring missing parts feel a lot more like following some weird guideline of my soul than anything else.
Regenerating my arm is almost routine now.
The real issue is my reserves.
I am running dangerously low on cursed energy, and if something else jumps out at me right now, I might genuinely be in trouble.
Still.
I got my Poltergeist.
An actual, fully manifested technique that I can use offensively that doesn't take up chunks of Cursed Energy to use!
That's nice as hell.
Ugh, okay, time to act.
"Hahaha, that was fun," I stroll forward through the lingering dust with an easy smile plastered on my face, stepping over torn earth and splintered roots as if this were just the aftermath of a particularly lively spar.
Yoto-san is kneeling beside Toshimichi, carefully checking over his unconscious form. The young noble looks peaceful now, collapsed on his back in the center of destruction he helped create.
Thankfully, he doesn't seem as damaged as I had been. Human's did heal much worse then cursed spirits after all.
"Mahito," Yoto acknowledges without rising, though I can see the tension coil through his body as he subtly shifts into a position that would allow him to intercept me if I made a move toward his charge.
"Yo, Yoto-san." I lift my newly restored arm in greeting. My sleeve is completely gone, shredded beyond saving, so the bare limb waves cheerfully in the open air.
"You appear… well," he observes carefully.
"Hahaha, thanks. I am well," I reply easily. "I had a lot of fun with both of you. Really, thanks for the lessons in jujutsu."
I even give him a small bow of respect.
He blinks at that, clearly caught off guard.
"I'll see you around, Yoto-san," I continue lightly as I turn away. "And when Toshi wakes up, tell him to keep having fun."
With that, I start walking out of what used to be a clearing, aiming to find somewhere secluded to crash down and sleep off this bone-deep fatigue before my energy completely bottoms out.
"Wait!"
I pause, glancing back over my shoulder.
"Why?" he demands. "Why do all of this? Why allow Tachibana-dono to grow? Why…" His gaze locks onto mine, searching for something real beneath the smile. "Why not kill us?"
"Hmm." I tilt my head. "The reports should've told you already, right?"
This time, my smile widens into something brilliant and unrestrained, and I can feel the Belief surge again.
"Because I love humans."
Spoiler: Mahito
Later, approximately an hour.
As soon as I'm far away enough, I fall on my face in a crash.
Uuuuuuugh.
What a nerve-wracking day.
Still, it definitely had its upsides. I managed to hold my own against a Semi-Grade One and a Grade Two at the same time, helped Toshimichi break through his limits, and fully solidified my stance as the kind of adversary who forces humans to grow stronger through conflict.
Everything is coming up Mahito.
…
Wait.
I slow my steps.
Something clicks into place in a way I really don't like.
I only started getting significant Belief when those two were physically in front of me.
If the Tachibana family already knew about me through reports, if my existence was being discussed among them, then technically I should've been accumulating Belief from the entire household the moment fear and curiosity started spreading.
But I didn't.
I only got Belief from the two of them.
…
Oh.
Do I need to be close to the source of Belief for my Technique to actually consume it?
…
…
…
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-
AN: And that's the chapter!
I kind of got lost on the sauce while making the fighting. I really enjoy a good beatdown, just letting yall know. I specially like smart fights
Anyways, Mahito gets two new things here! He gets Poltergeist, finally! And he get's a higher Talent, something that is extremely important if he wants to keep this charade moving.
Talent needed a surpringly low amount of Belief to manifest, because Mahito himself was already talented, so it's less of him jumping from a 1 to 10, and more like jumping from a 5 to 10
Also, Toshimichi might be a reoccurring character, I kind of got a bit too invested while making the fight. He might return, he might not. (Nah, he'll return)
Also, introduction to one of Mahito's Weaknesses. He needs to be close to the source of belief for it to actually effect him, about 100 meters is his effective range, outside of it his Technique is unable to consume any Belief.
Hope you all enjoyed the chapter!Last edited: Mar 24, 2026 Like ReplyReport Reactions:mastidus, alex357, ShayDM4n and 1,183 othersPassingByMar 3, 2026NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks Interlude 1: And so the chips fall New View contentPassingByProfessional GoonerMar 13, 2026Add bookmark#401POV: Tachibana no Toshimichi
DATE: Chōtoku 2, Month 8, 17th Day.
Talent was everything.
From the moment one was born, destiny was decided by the measure of talent they possessed and how far they could push it. In the world of Jujutsu there was little room for anything else; ambition and discipline mattered, of course, but without talent, they were merely tools placed in the wrong hands.
Those blessed with great talent and equally great ambition would rise to define the age itself, becoming the figures whose names shaped the era and whose shadows stretched over the masses beneath them.
Everyone else could do little more than live within those shadows, watching from below as the truly gifted carved their legends into history.
Such was the nature of Jujutsu.
A world that demanded talent.
And in this era above all others, that truth had become even more absolute.
"I have returned, Tachibana-dono."
Toshimichi bowed deeply as he spoke, the movement practised after a lifetime of doing it.
The journey back had not taken long. Their clan's province lay close enough to the capital that a normal traveler might complete the trip within a few weeks, but for sorcerers—unburdened by roads and capable of cutting through dense forest with unnatural speed—the distance shrank to only a few days of travel.
Even so, Toshimichi could never quite suppress the quiet awe he felt whenever the vast sprawl of Heian-kyō came into view.
It was difficult not to marvel at it.
Yet admiration for the capital was not why he had returned.
He was here to deliver his report.
The room where he knelt was reserved only for the Sorcerer's matters of the clan, a chamber deliberately built without windows so that the outside world could not intrude upon its discussions.
The only light came from a handful of candles placed carefully around the space, their weak flames casting long, shifting shadows across the wooden walls.
Behind him, Yoto—his ever-loyal retainer—remained kneeling in the same formal posture.
Before Toshimichi stood three closed tatami doors.
Whoever waited behind them was hidden from view, yet he already knew who occupied those unseen spaces. The elders of the Tachibana clan had gathered to hear his report personally.
To either side of the doors stood three men each, silent guards posted before their respective masters.
Even if Toshimichi didn't know exactly which elders sat within this room, one of them was obviously the head of the clan himself.
Tachibana no Kimisai.
His uncle.
The title meant little.
As a member of the branch family, Toshimichi had not even met the man until he was twelve years old, and by that time the distance between them had already deteriorated.
After all, Toshimichi possessed no remarkable talent.
He was still a sorcerer, which meant the outside world treated him with proper reverence, but within the sorcerer part of the Tachibana clan such status meant little. Compared to the prodigies born during this golden age of Jujutsu, he had been nothing more than average.
A Grade Two.
An acceptable rank in ordinary times.
But in this era?
It was considered less then mediocrity.
Once, kneeling before these elders—men who openly scorned his limitations—would have set his heart ablaze with silent fury.
Once, the humiliation would have gnawed at him until he could barely contain it.
…and yet…
Now?
Now he found that he simply did not care.
"Report," Kimisai finally said from behind the doors, his voice flat with disinterest; obviously, the man had been interrupted from something. "Was the Window's assessment correct?"
Toshimichi lowered his head slightly as he listened, recognizing the familiar tone immediately.
The clan head was already bored.
Ordinarily, a full report was unnecessary when a Window made an error in identifying a curse. Most of the time the dispatched sorcerer simply resolved the situation and punished the Window for the mistake afterward.
But this particular report had been absurd enough to warrant further scrutiny.
Curses capable of speech were hardly rare within the capital. In places where human populations gathered densely, the curses born from their fears often developed a crude intelligence of their own.
Yet this report described something different.
A curse that spoke like a human, one who could reason like a human.
That was something unheard of.
Even now, Toshimichi suspected this entire meeting existed only for the sake of appearances, a performance meant to reassure the clan that the elders took their duties seriously. None of them truly believed the report could be accurate.
Most likely, they expected Toshimichi to confirm the Window's mistake so the matter could be quietly dismissed.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Heh.
Too bad for them.
"It was, Tachibana-dono."
Toshimichi remained bowed as the words left his mouth. After speaking, he deliberately allowed the silence that followed to stretch across the chamber, giving his statement time to settle into the minds of those listening.
He could almost picture their faces behind those closed doors.
…Hehe.
"…What?"
One of the elders spoke before anyone else could respond. The sudden outburst sounded jarringly out of place within the solemn chamber, and Toshimichi had no doubt the man would be reprimanded later for his lapse in decorum. Still, in this moment, such etiquette had become secondary to the implications of his report.
"Explain."
The command came sharply.
In the past, such curt authority would have made Toshimichi bristle beneath the weight of it, anger simmering behind the respectful posture he was forced to maintain.
Now, however, the only thing he felt was a quiet amusement at how quickly their tone had shifted.
"Sorcerer Yoto and I were both witnesses to the curse itself," Toshimichi replied evenly, his head still lowered. "I can confirm that the Windows report was accurate in every detail."
"Impossible!" another elder snapped immediately.
"My words are the truth."
He said it lightly, without force or emphasis, because he did not need to argue the point here.
In the center of the room, precisely where he knelt, a small barrier had been constructed into the floor itself. It was a specialized technique—simple in purpose but absolute in execution—that sacrificed every other function a barrier would normally possess for a single Binding Vow to be willingly taken to anyone kneeling within its range.
The target cannot lie.
Toshimichi had no doubt similar barriers existed in the compounds of other great clans. In matters where absolute truth was required, such tools were indispensable.
Of course, clever wording could still obscure reality through omission or misdirection.
But it was far better to have such a measure in place than to rely purely on trust.
"You've changed."
Kimisai's voice drifted from behind the doors, carrying a hint of intrigue that Toshimichi had rarely heard from his uncle directed towards him.
For a brief moment, Toshimichi had to suppress the urge to laugh aloud.
Yes.
Perhaps he had changed.
His eyes had been opened.
Still, he said nothing, remaining bowed in silent respect as tradition demanded.
"Tell me more," Kimisai continued after a moment. "If the report holds true, then this is a danger that we cannot ignore; share everything you have learned."
Behind the paper doors, Toshimichi could see the shifting silhouettes of the elders. One of the shadows lifted an arm—Kimisai's, most likely—gesturing for him to continue.
Toshimichi bowed his head once more before speaking.
"The curse appears human," he began carefully. "In fact, if not for the stitches that cover his body like patchwork, I would confidently say he could be mistaken for a sorcerer."
A ripple of quiet murmuring spread through the room.
A curse assuming a human form was rare, though not entirely unheard of. The stronger the curses became, the more their bodies tended to resemble those of humans.
So how strong would a curse that appeared entirely human be?
"The Curse is nothing short of a genius in terms of talent."
The moment those words left his mouth, Toshimichi could practically feel the atmosphere change.
Several of the guards frowned openly now, their stoic expressions twisting into visible disgust at the thought of a human sorcerer praising a curse so openly.
"Oh?" one elder responded, clearly intrigued despite himself.
"Throughout the battle," Toshimichi continued, "the curse progressed from the level of a complete amateur to that of a skilled combatant capable of matching even Yoto in pure technique."
That was not a claim to be made lightly, because Yoto was without a doubt the most skilled hand-to-hand combatant of the clan.
Memories of the fight flashed vividly through his mind—the moment when the curse had mirrored Yoto's stance perfectly, the fluid confidence in movements that should have taken years to learn.
The fear he felt then had been very real.
"His growth was nothing short of monstrous," Toshimichi finished. "During the battle itself, he continuously adapted and learned from us."
"You speak as though it were alive," one elder remarked coldly.
Then the following question came, dripping with derision.
"You failed to exorcise it?"
The implication behind the words was obvious, a subtle jab at what they assumed must be his incompetence.
And yet, despite the insult, Toshimichi found himself smiling faintly.
"Yes," he answered without hesitation. "I failed to exorcise him."
The elder's provocation lost its weight immediately, sliding off Toshimichi's calm response without effect, so he simply grunted out a "Continue."
"In terms of cursed energy," Toshimichi said, "I cannot provide an accurate assessment."
"Explain," Kimisai ordered, his tone sharpening.
"The curse is capable of completely hiding his presence," Toshimichi replied. "One could stand directly before him and still be unable to sense the amount of cursed energy he possesses—unless he allows it."
It had been quite a shock. Normally, Sorcerers can amplify their Curse Energy outwards as an intimidation technique, but Toshimichi had heard of one that hides the user's Cursed Energy.
As he continued speaking beneath the barrier's effect, effectively hand-beating them with the truth, Toshimichi noticed the subtle shifts in the room once more. How the guards became just a little bit more restless at his words.
"However," he added, "at the beginning of our battle, he released a tremendous amount of cursed energy."
Toshimichi lifted his head slightly, though he remained formally bowed.
"More than even you, Tachibana-dono." He spoke the words without the slightest hint of fear.
"You dare insult our—?!" One of the elders snapped in outrage, the sheer idea of a curse possessing greater cursed energy than the head of the Tachibana clan clearly too offensive for him to tolerate.
The outburst did not last long.
A sudden wave of cursed energy rolled through the room. The pressure pressed down upon the chamber with quiet authority, silencing the elder mid-sentence before he could finish his protest.
Toshimichi had only been on the receiving end of this particular Cursed Energy once, and he knew who it belonged to.
Tachibana no Kimisai was a powerful Grade One sorcerer, a man who stood near the top of the hierarchy in both skill and power. His strength alone had been enough to maintain the clan's standing during an era where the Fujiwara and the Minamoto had begun to rise and leave them to fade in obscurity.
In any other time the Tachibana would have seen a new rise with him as their leader.
Unfortunately, strength like that was merely above average in this era.
"Are you certain?" Kimisai asked calmly.
The pressure of his cursed energy settled heavily onto Toshimichi's shoulders as he spoke, the weight deliberate, as if making sure that his nephew didn't make any mistakes.
Toshimichi did not even need to think about the answer.
Compared to the overwhelming surge of cursed energy the curse had released during their battle, the aura filling this chamber now felt-
"Yes,"
Smaller.
Kimisai hummed thoughtfully from behind the doors before withdrawing his cursed energy, allowing the oppressive atmosphere in the chamber to loosen. Several guards subtly exhaled as the pressure faded, though they quickly resumed their rigid stances.
"His technique was equally impressive," Toshimichi continued, maintaining his respectful posture. "From what we observed, he appeared capable of manipulating objects purely through thought, pushing and pulling them as if guided by invisible hands."
"What a dangerous technique," Toshimichi could almost see his uncle's eyebrow raising, especially since it was so similar to a specific Sorcerer of the Sugawara, who now served under the Abe clan's Desshi Pacification Squad.
"His ability to heal was just as dangerous," He continued without problem, "By the end of our battle, and suffering many injuries, he appeared unharmed."
Curses could heal just by using Cursed Energy, since they are spiritual creatures born of it, unlike Sorcerers, who need positive energy to do such a thing, but rare was the case of those who could heal so quickly to become relevant in battle.
"Yoto, do you support Toshimichi's words?" One of the elders said, and he had the impression that it was less to support it, and more just to make sure that he wasn't lying about anything.
He couldn't see behind him, but he knew that Yoto nodded in agreement.
"This lowly retainer supports Toshimichi-dono's words." The old man's voice was even more gravely than the elders'. "At a certain point, the Curse lost half of his torso, and managed to heal it within the breath of a conversation."
More murmuring, and Toshimichi had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Seriously, were these guards here for anything else but to sound amazed?
"By the end of our battle, his technique had already become more refined," he said. "Our final clash destroyed a large clearing within the forest. Earlier in the fight, such devastation would have been impossible."
"A Special Grade curse, then," Kimisai mused aloud.
Toshimichi shook his head subtly, but it went ignored.
In recent years, Special Grade curses had begun appearing more frequently across the land. At first, the change had been subtle, but now the pattern was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
It was as though a rising tide of power had begun to crash down upon the world of jujutsu.
The classification of Special Grade had originally been created for beings whose strength could not be measured within the existing scale. This was particularly true for curses, whose growth could be wildly unpredictable.
And yet…
Toshimichi found himself disagreeing with the conclusion forming within the room.
Mahito was not merely a Special Grade.
He was something else entirely.
Something that would continue growing until the existing system could no longer categorize him at all.
A monster.
"And if the curse is as powerful as you claim," another elder finally asked, his voice edged with suspicion, "how did you survive?"
Toshimichi did not hesitate.
"He spared our lives."
The reaction was immediate.
"Ludicrous!" one of the guards burst out, no longer able to restrain himself. "Forgive me, Elder—Tachibana-dono—but I cannot remain silent any longer."
The man stepped forward, rising from his position along the wall. His head had been shaved completely bald, and his narrow face had flushed an angry red as he fixed Toshimichi with a sharp glare.
"Yamato—" one of the elders began sharply before stopping himself midway through the reprimand.
Toshimichi understood immediately.
Even though the barrier ensured he could not lie, they clearly believed his words were exaggerated. To them, his perspective simply lacked the proper scale.
It was the same principle as an ant declaring a single grain of rice to be enormous; from its limited viewpoint, the claim might be true, but to a human the same grain would appear smaller than a fingernail.
"You speak endlessly of the curse's brilliance," Yamato continued, his tone sharp with irritation as he turned briefly to bow toward the clan head before addressing Toshimichi again. "Yet in doing so, you elevate your own accomplishments beyond reason."
He lowered himself to one knee before the doors.
"My lord," he said respectfully, bowing his head. "Allow me to demonstrate the difference in our abilities. If we measure his strength against mine, we may better understand the true scale of the curse's power without… bias."
Without bias, my ass.
Toshimichi kept that thought to himself.
The decision came without hesitation, delivered from behind the paper doors with the same authority Kimisai had used throughout the meeting.
"You may proceed."
The permission caused a shift in the room. Several of the guards straightened slightly, their attention sharpening now that the discussion had moved from words to demonstration.
There wouldn't be much mobility in this room, and he would be fighting at a loss as his Cursed Technique was better when he was at a safe range.
But then again, it didn't matter.
Toshimichi himself rose smoothly from his kneeling posture, the movement unhurried as he stepped away from the small barrier that had bound his honesty.
Across from him, Yamato's expression twisted into a faint smirk as he stood.
He didn't know much about him, except that he was a Sorcerer retainer of their family, but it was obvious that the man looked down on Toshimichi.
Yamato was a capable sorcerer by most measures, but his own talent was hardly extraordinary. Like Toshimichi, he had plateaued at Grade Two, even worse he has yet to show signs of his Innate Technique, and perhaps that was precisely why he disliked him so much.
Because even if both are Grade Two, by virtue of being a member of the noble family, Toshimichi was treated much better than him.
He would even go out on a limb and say that Yamato likely saw this as a great opportunity to put down the 'delusional' sorcerer back in his place.
A dumb idea even before his fight with the Curse. Even back then, Toshimichi was confident he would win if it came to blows. Not quickly, or cleanly, and without a doubt there would be heavy exertion, but he would win.
But now?
The difference between now and a few days ago was something he could feel deep within his bones.
Before his encounter with Mahito, there had always been a wall standing before him—an invisible limit that no amount of training or discipline had allowed him to overcome. No matter how hard he pushed himself, his control remained lacklustre, and his instincts dulled by hesitation.
But after that fight…
It wasn't just the Blackflash; it was what the Curse spoke of.
Do something for myself, huh?
The wall was gone.
Or rather, it had never truly been a wall at all.
Now that he had crossed it once, Toshimichi could see it for what it really was.
A stepping stone.
Cursed energy flowed through his body with a smoothness he had never experienced before, responding to his will as naturally as breathing.
Across from him, Yamato drew his sword in a single sharp motion, the blade flashing briefly in the candlelight.
"Don't take this lightly," Yamato warned, though the smug curve of his lips betrayed his confidence.
Before the last syllable had even left his mouth, he lunged.
Steel cut through the air as he struck in the same breath he finished drawing the weapon, the speed of the attack respectable by any reasonable measure.
Once, Toshimichi might have struggled to react in time.
Once, they would have stood on equal ground.
Both Grade Two sorcerers.
But now…
Now the movement felt painfully obvious.
Toshimichi simply stepped backward.
The motion was almost casual, a small shift of his foot accompanied by a gentle surge of cursed energy reinforcing his body. The blade passed through empty air where he had stood a moment before, Yamato's strike missing by a comfortable margin.
So this was the difference.
This was what it meant to truly understand cursed energy.
Toshimichi exhaled softly.
"Extension Technique," he said, raising his hand as cursed energy gathered around him.
"Soul-Echo."
The name had come to him in the middle of his fight with the Curse, created on instinct rather than anything else. It was less a polished technique and more a desperate attempt to push himself beyond his limits, to draw upon every fragment of strength hidden within his soul in order to stand against the monster before him.
And even then, it had not been enough,
But that did not fill Toshimichi with despair.
If anything, the thought made his heart race with excitement.
Because it meant there was still more room for him to grow.
To his credit, Yamato didn't hesitate; his slash, which met nothing, was drawn back, and he resettled his posture. While there was confusion on his eyes, he charged forward, filled with irritation.
This time, Toshimichi moved first.
The distance between them vanished in a blur as he stepped forward, his body surging with enhanced strength as Soul-Echo reinforced every movement, a transparent armor above his own flesh.
Yamato barely had time to react.
Toshimichi's fist drove forward in a straight line, striking the man squarely in the sternum with a force that echoed sharply through the chamber.
The impact locked Yamato's body instantly.
His sword slipped from his grasp as the air was forced violently from his lungs, his entire frame seizing for a brief, helpless moment before he collapsed onto the floor with a choked gasp.
For several seconds, he could do nothing but struggle for breath.
The fight had ended with a single strike.
Silence settled over the room.
Even the guards along the walls stared in open surprise, their rigid composure slipping as they looked between the fallen Yamato and the man who had defeated him so effortlessly.
Behind the paper doors, the elders stirred.
"…Impossible," one of them muttered under his breath.
Another voice followed soon after, unable to hide the astonishment.
"How did you become this strong, Toshimichi?"
The chamber remained wrapped in a stunned silence as the bald guard lay on the floor, struggling to draw breath, his body still locked from the precise strike Toshimichi had delivered.
At length, Kimisai's voice came from behind the central door.
"…A Black Flash."
It was not phrased as a question
Toshimichi inclined his head in acknowledgment, once again falling into a kneeling position, ignoring the hateful glare that Yamato directed towards him, having regained his breath.
"Yes, Tachibana-dono," he admitted simply. "I achieved a Black Flash during my battle."
A low murmur rippled through the room.
After all, the difference between those who achieve it and those who do not is like Heaven and Earth. A phenomenon that many a sorcerer would chase their entire lives without touching.
Kimisai hummed softly, the only other sorcerer in their clan who also achieved a Black Flash.
"Your strength, it's too much for just a Black Flash." He spoke matter-of-factly.
Toshimichi straightened slightly, though he remained respectful in posture.
"It was through my battle against that curse," he continued, "that I was able to grow beyond my previous limits."
He lifted his gaze just enough to meet the doors before him.
"Mahito."
The name hung in the air of this darkened room.
"The curse introduced himself as Mahito," Toshimichi said calmly. "A being born from humanity's hatred toward itself."
The reaction was immediate, shock spreading through the chamber like wildfire.
All here knew the implications; they knew that curses could be incarnated from specific negative feelings.
The very concept of such a curse was disturbing in a way few others could match; hatred between humans was not a fleeting emotion but a constant presence throughout history.
A curse born from such a source…
What type of monster would be born?
Heh, certainly not what they expected it.
"A curse daring to give itself a name is disgusting," one of the elders said with clear disdain.
Yes, that had been his own reaction at the time, when he first met the Curse.
But now, at this point, Toshimichi felt a flare of annoyance, annoyance that this old bag of bones would insult him.
"Mahito described himself as a wall," Toshimichi continued, subtly defensive. "He claimed that his role was to stand before humanity as a great obstacle—something for sorcerers to challenge and overcome."
One of the elders let out a derisive snort.
"A curse positioning itself as humanity's trial?" he scoffed. "What arrogance."
Toshimichi's faint smile returned.
"It might have been," he conceded. "But it was through facing that adversary that I was able to become stronger."
Mahito had not fought like a mindless curse.
Through their battle, he did nothing but laugh and smile, having fun even as he was damaged, challenging them to rise to the occasion, to test them, and encouraging them to grow stronger.
Toshimichi ignored the elders and turned towards his uncle, bowing deeper towards him.
"I have found the answer, Tachibana-dono," he said calmly, "as to why this generation is so much greater than all those who came before it—and why it will remain so for all those who come after."
A long pause followed before Kimisai finally spoke again.
"What have you found… nephew?"
The title sounded strange coming from the clan head's mouth, as though he himself were unused to saying it.
But Toshimichi did not dwell on that; he only noted that now that he himself was considered a Grade One in terms of strength, it could be said that his position in the clan was no longer at the bottom.
Instead, his thoughts drifted briefly to a figure far beyond the walls of the Tachibana compound.
Master Tengen.
Years ago, the immortal guardian words had once sent ripples across the entire jujutsu world.
"The balance of the world has changed."
At the time, neither the capital nor the great clans had understood what those words truly meant.
Yet no one had dared to ignore them either. Tengen was the cornerstone upon which the structure of jujutsu society had been built, the one responsible for preserving its knowledge and guiding its teachings across generations.
If the Star had spoken, the world of sorcery would listen.
Only later—only as the years passed and a new generation began to rise—did the meaning slowly become clear.
This era would be different.
This era would become the Golden Age of Jujutsu.
One prodigy after another had emerged, each more extraordinary than the last, until the world itself seemed to overflow with monstrous talent.
Sorcerers whose very existence threatened to reshape the history of jujutsu.
And somehow…
All of them had been born within the same era.
Minamoto no Yorimitsu.
Abe no Seimei.
Ashiya Dōman.
Fujiwara no Kaoruko.
Kiyohara no Nagiko.
Taira no Sadamitsu.
The Angel.
And those were merely a few of the names already echoing across the capital.
In an era overflowing with such overwhelming talent, it had reached a point where possessing talent alone meant little. If one were not a monster like those figures, then history would simply leave them behind.
For a long time, Toshimichi had believed that such monsters were born because of a mistake; a divine mistake was the only thing that could explain it.
But now…
Now he finally understood.
There was no doubt left in his mind.
Toshimichi lifted his head slightly, his voice steady as he spoke the conclusion he had reached.
"They were all born to challenge The Adversary of Humanity."
News traveled quickly through the world of sorcerers.
Whispers spread from temple to clan estate, carried by messenger papers and wandering exorcists alike.
A curse had appeared.
A curse that had openly challenged all of humanity to face him.
From the furthest reaches of the Land of the Rising Sun, every sorcerer would eventually hear the same name.
Mahito.
And in this Golden Era—an age overflowing with monsters disguised as prodigies—each listener found themselves wishing the same thing.
To challenge him.
"Hahaha! That's amazing!"
The young man's laughter rang freely through the busy street, as though he had just heard the most entertaining joke of his life. His silver hair caught the afternoon light in a strange way, and if someone looked too closely, they might wonder why the shape of it resembled fox ears.
"A curse that talks like a human? And it challenged all sorcerers?" he continued between laughs. "That's-! I don't even have words for that!"
Beside him walked another boy of the same age, though his demeanor was far calmer. His long black hair swayed gently with each step, several deep green strands running through his bangs like streaks of ink.
"You know," the boy said dryly, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, "normal people wouldn't find this funny."
The silver-haired youth shot immediately.
"Then why are you smiling?"
His grin was matched by the black-haired boy.
"I never said we were normal."
The two of them continued down the crowded streets of the capital, chatting easily as merchants shouted and carts rolled past. Behind them, the messenger paper that had carried the news slowly crumbled into ash
Two young geniuses walked side by side, two men who would one day be remembered as those who reshaped what it meant to be an exorcist.
For now, however, they simply laughed.
"I doubt the curse is truly as fearsome as the Tachibana claim."
The man's voice was calm, almost bored, as he read the report laid before him.
"Still," he continued after a moment, tapping the parchment lightly, "rumors alone can destabilize a realm if they spread too far."
"Yes, Fujiwara-sama."
The woman before him remained bowed deeply, her posture perfect and unmoving as she waited for his next command.
"Dispatch the Sun, Moon, and Star Squads," he ordered casually. "Have them exorcise this curse in my name."
"Yes, Fujiwara-sama."
The man simply leaned back in his seat and smiled faintly.
Having loyal assassins trained from childhood to have no identity certainly simplified things.
They never asked any questions.
"We will carry out your command, lord father."
Two children—one boy and one girl, both on the edge of adolescence—bowed deeply before the man seated at the head of the room. Once dismissed, they turned and left together, their footsteps quiet against the wooden floors.
"You seem troubled."
The girl spoke first.
Her voice was flat, her expression so still it was almost impossible to read.
Her brother glanced sideways at her, though he did not seem surprised she had noticed.
"I was just wondering how strong this curse really is," he admitted after a moment,
His sister stopped walking.
"Put your mind at ease," she said.
Without another word, she turned away and began walking toward the one place he knew she always returned to whenever she was not eating, sleeping, or sent away on a mission.
The training yard.
Even after she disappeared from his view, her voice carried calmly over her shoulder.
"Even if the curse is a monster…"
Her steps never slowed.
"I will exorcise it."
And her brother believed her without question.
After all…
His sister was nothing short of a Monster herself.
"Is this information accurate?"
The woman who spoke stood near the open balcony, golden hair cascading down her back like molten sunlight. Though she was not particularly tall, the commanding presence in her voice left little doubt about who held authority in the room.
The man kneeling behind her bowed his head gravely.
"Yes. The reports are consistent."
"So, he is here."
Her expression darkened as she turned toward the setting sun on the horizon.
Above her head, a radiant halo shimmered with radiance, and from her back unfurled a pair of vast wings. The air trembled softly as she rose from the balcony.
"The Adversary!"
With a single beat of her wings, she launched into the sky.
More and more.
People laughed at the idea.
People raged at the idea.
They thought it to be foolish.
They thought it to be amazing.
Some were afraid.
Others were furious.
And yet all of them-
Believed.
POV: Mahito
The rock floated in the air.
Hmm.
With a simple push of intent, it rose a little higher before gently lowering again as though guided by invisible hands.
Hmmmmmm.
I tried making it move faster this time, but the moment the speed increased, the movement became awkward and stiff. Instead of turning smoothly, the rock just shot forward in straight lines like a badly thrown dart.
Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Ah, I lost control-
The pebble slammed straight into my eye.
Ouch—
Aiaiai!
"Fuck! Piece of shit—motherf—!"
Taking a deep breath, I grab the stone through Poltergeist.
"Okay, okay… just breathe, Mahito," I muttered while clutching my face. "Just slowly pull it out and—"
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH-!
AN: Well, hello there, am I a week earlier than normal? Yes, I am.
I honestly did not expect to like Toshimichi as much as I did, yet somehow he managed to worm his way into my plans, and he swiftly becomes the first 'disciple' of the Adversary! He'll probably show up later in the story
We also give a bit of a showing of the various parties that gain bits of this news, especially during the time that this is happening, where rebellions are being plotted, and legendary figures are breathing.
This is the Golden Age of Jujutsu, where the term Special Grade won't be enough to classify everyone, and with this cataclysm in the rise, who else can challenge humanity but the Adversary himself?
Heh, unfortunately, poor Sukuna is wandering around as a teenage boy, massacring whatever traveller finds themselves on his path, so he didn't get the memo.
For those wondering how Toshimichi managed to make such a sudden jump from Grade Two to Grade One
Well... let's just say that Mahito's Outline of the Soul isn't just for accumulating faith
After all, its his very soul, the shape of how it stands and how it interacts with the world.