A week had passed since Gojo Satoru had pushed Kamo Arata to the precipice of death. A week of aching muscles, of bruised ribs that still protested every deep breath, and of nightmares painted in shades of crimson and blinding white. But it was also a week of profound, unsettling clarity. The fear was still a cold companion, a constant reminder of how close he had come to being extinguished, but it no longer paralyzed him. Instead, it had sharpened into a fierce, unyielding resolve. He had stared into the abyss, and instead of succumbing, he had found a spark of defiance.
He spent his mornings in solitary meditation, not just to recover his cursed energy, but to reconnect with his blood, with Sanguine Genesis. He felt its power differently now – less a burden, more a part of him, a terrible, beautiful extension of his will. He still relied on the clan's prepared blood bags for sustained practice, the metallic taste a constant reminder of his physical limits. The concept of an inexhaustible supply felt like a distant, impossible dream, a luxury he couldn't afford.
His classmates, Maki, Inumaki, and Panda, had been quiet around him since the "spar." He sensed their unease, perhaps even a new layer of respect, but also a subtle distance. They had witnessed his humiliation, his near-demise, and the raw, desperate power he had unleashed. It was a side of the Kamo heir they hadn't seen.
One crisp morning, Gojo Satoru appeared in the common area, his usual blinding smile back in place, but with an underlying current of seriousness that Arata now recognized. "Alright, my little problem children!" he announced, clapping his hands together. "Today's lesson: teamwork. Or rather, the lack thereof. Kamo-kun, you're up."
Arata straightened, a flicker of anticipation, and apprehension, in his chest.
"Today," Gojo continued, his gaze sweeping over Maki, Inumaki, and Panda, "you three," he pointed at them, "will fight Kamo-kun. All three of you. At once. And Kamo-kun," his blindfolded gaze seemed to pierce Arata, "you will fight them alone. No holding back. No conservation. I want to see you bleed. I want to see you fight."
Maki's eyes narrowed, a challenge already sparking within them. Inumaki's collar shifted, a soft "Salmon" escaping his lips, a mixture of surprise and readiness. Panda just grinned, cracking his knuckles.
"This isn't about winning or losing," Gojo clarified, though his tone suggested otherwise. "It's about pushing limits. Yours, and his. Let's head to the training ground."
The training ground was the same one where Arata had faced Gojo, the earth still faintly scarred from his desperate attacks. This time, however, the silence was broken by the focused breathing of his opponents.
"Ready?" Gojo called out, stepping back to observe. "Begin!"
Maki moved first, a blur of motion, her polearm a lethal extension of her intent. She was fast, relentless, her strikes aimed at Arata's joints, designed to cripple and disarm. Inumaki, from a distance, began his incantations, his voice low, guttural, preparing a powerful cursed speech attack. Panda, meanwhile, charged directly, a hulking mass of raw cursed energy, aiming to overwhelm Arata with brute force.
Arata didn't hesitate. The lessons from Gojo's brutal baptism echoed in his mind: No hesitation. No conservation. He met Maki's first strike with Minazuki, the blade ringing as it deflected her polearm. He didn't just parry; he flowed, his sword style a precise, elegant dance, each movement designed to absorb and redirect. He channeled a small amount of blood into Minazuki, feeling the blade hum, its inherent ability to store and release blood a crucial asset.
"Blood Mist!" he roared, not from Crimson Arc, but from his free hand, releasing a burst of vaporized blood directly at Maki's face. It wasn't meant to harm, but to disorient. Maki recoiled, momentarily blinded, giving Arata a precious second.
He spun, drawing Crimson Arc. Inumaki was mid-incantation, his mouth open. Arata nocked an energy arrow. "Blood Bind!" The arrow flew, not at Inumaki directly, but at the ground just before him. It exploded into a tangle of hardened blood tendrils, wrapping around Inumaki's legs, forcing him to break his concentration with a startled "Tuna!"
Panda was on him then, a massive fist swinging. Arata met the blow with a hardened blood shield, conjured instantly from his free hand. The shield cracked, but held, absorbing the impact. The force still sent a jarring shockwave through Arata's arm, making him grit his teeth. He felt the familiar drain, the blood bags on his thigh a tantalizing, yet currently inaccessible, resource.
"You're good, Kamo!" Panda rumbled, already winding up for another strike. "But can you keep it up?"
Arata knew he couldn't. Not against all three. He needed to create space, to isolate. He pushed cursed energy into his legs. "Flowing Red Scale!" He burst forward, dodging Panda's next strike, leaving a crimson afterimage. He aimed for Maki, who had recovered from the mist, her eyes blazing with renewed intensity.
He engaged her in a rapid exchange of blows, Minazuki a blur against her polearm. He used the katana's ability to store and release blood, augmenting his strikes with sudden bursts of liquid crimson, making his movements unpredictable. He fought with a ferocity he hadn't known he possessed, his mind clear, focused only on the fight. The fear of depletion was still there, but it was a dull throb now, overshadowed by the exhilaration of pushing his limits.
Suddenly, Inumaki, having broken free of the blood bind, unleashed his attack. "Don't move!"
Arata felt a crushing pressure, a wave of cursed energy that tried to lock his body in place. He grunted, fighting against it, every muscle screaming. He knew he couldn't fully resist Inumaki's cursed speech, but he could mitigate it. He channeled cursed energy into his core, hardening his resolve, and with a desperate surge of will, forced his body to take a single, agonizing step to the side, breaking the direct line of effect. The movement was small, but it was enough.
Maki, seeing his momentary paralysis, lunged, her polearm aimed for his head. Arata, still fighting Inumaki's command, couldn't fully parry. He raised Minazuki, blocking the strike with the flat of the blade. The impact sent a jarring shock up his arm, and he staggered back, his vision momentarily blurring.
Panda was there, a shadow, his massive fist connecting with Arata's side. Arata gasped, pain exploding through him. He flew backwards, hitting the ground hard, Minazuki skittering away. He lay there, gasping, his body battered, his blood supply critically low. He was defeated.
Gojo walked over, his footsteps silent on the training ground. He looked down at Arata, then at Maki, Inumaki, and Panda, who were now standing over him, their breathing heavy, but victorious.
"Alright, that's enough," Gojo said, his voice calm. He looked at Arata, who was slowly, painfully, pushing himself up. "Kamo-kun. You fought well. You didn't hold back. You used everything you had. That's progress."
He then turned to the trio. "Maki. Your physical prowess is unmatched. Your cursed tools are formidable. But you rely too much on brute force. You need to learn to read your opponent's cursed energy, not just their movements. Anticipation, not just reaction. And your impatience, while a strength, can also be a weakness. You rush in where a slower, more calculated approach might yield better results."
Maki nodded, her jaw tight, absorbing the critique.
"Inumaki," Gojo continued, turning to the Cursed Speech user. "Your technique is devastating. But you telegraph your attacks. Your incantations are too long. You need to find ways to shorten them, to make your commands instantaneous. And you rely too much on direct commands. Explore the nuances of your cursed speech. What about indirect effects? What about subtle manipulations of the environment?"
Inumaki shifted, a quiet "Bonito flakes," acknowledging the truth in Gojo's words.
"Panda," Gojo said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You're strong. You're durable. But you're predictable. You rely on your raw power. You need to learn to integrate your cursed energy more subtly. To surprise your opponents. To use your unique physiology in ways they won't expect. Don't just be a wall; be a moving, thinking fortress."
Panda scratched his head. "Got it, Gojo-sensei. More tricks, less punching."
Finally, Gojo turned back to Arata, who was now leaning on Minazuki, his breath still ragged. "And Kamo-kun. You finally let go. You fought with conviction. You used your Sanguine Genesis to its fullest current extent. Your ability to shift blood states, to use Minazuki's storage, to craft those trick arrows – it's phenomenal. You're learning to adapt, to think on your feet, even when pushed to the brink."
He paused, his voice dropping slightly. "But you're still limited by your own blood. That's your current bottleneck. You need to find a way to overcome that. To find an inexhaustible supply. Your technique, Arata, is called Sanguine Genesis for a reason. It's about creation, about origin. You've only scratched the surface of what blood truly is. You need to master your versatility. You need to look deeper into yourself, into the very essence of your power, and try to create something more. Something entirely new. The Jujutsu world is a cruel teacher, Arata. It will demand everything, and only then, if you survive, will it grant you more."
Arata looked at his exhausted classmates, then at the blood-stained earth beneath him, and finally at Gojo, whose words, though harsh, resonated with a profound truth. He had been pushed, broken, and rebuilt. He had seen his limits, and now, he saw the path to transcend them. The fear of depletion, of his own blood running dry, was a stark reality. But the desire to unlock the deeper mysteries of Sanguine Genesis, to truly wield its power without restraint, burned brighter than ever. He would face those battles. He would find a way. The Crimson Dawn was not just a promise; it was a brutal, demanding path, and Arata was now, truly, ready to walk it.