The scars from the Shibuya mission were fading from Arata's skin, but the deeper ones, etched into his psyche, remained. The memory of the Grade 1 curse dissolving under the corrosive touch of his blood, the chilling power of Crimson Erosion – a terrifying discovery he hadn't fully comprehended even as he unleashed it. It was a power born of desperation, a primal act of survival, and it left him with a profound sense of awe and a pervasive dread. He hadn't yet named this new property, or even understood its true mechanics, but he knew it existed, a terrifying potential lurking within his veins.
He spent hours alone in the specialized training rooms, not merely practicing the established Kamo techniques, but experimenting. He would draw a small amount of blood, form it into a minuscule bead, and then, with intense concentration, try to recreate that desperate surge of cursed energy, that intuitive push that had turned his blood into a destructive solvent. He tried it on hardened steel plates, on thick sections of concrete. The results were inconsistent. Sometimes, the blood would simply splatter. Other times, it would hiss and bubble, leaving a small, smoking scorch mark, a testament to the corrosive property, but never with the same overwhelming effect as in Shibuya. He was trying to command a power he had only awakened by instinct, a power that felt inherently monstrous. He was, as Gojo had urged, looking deeper into himself, trying to 'create something more,' but the process was fraught with peril and ethical uncertainty.
Meanwhile, a subtle shift began to ripple through Tokyo Jujutsu High, one Arata, with his heightened senses, couldn't ignore. Gojo Satoru, the seemingly carefree teacher, began to carry a new weight. His blinding smiles, while still present, seemed to thin around the edges, his jokes often falling flat, laced with an underlying tension. Arata would sometimes catch Gojo in a rare moment of stillness, gazing out over the campus, his posture radiating a profound weariness. He was no longer just the invincible mentor; he seemed burdened, almost haunted.
Arata knew Gojo was fighting battles on multiple fronts. His own rapid rise to Special Grade had caused ripples in the conservative Jujutsu society, especially within the Elder Council and the traditionalist clans. Rumors filtered down, fragmented whispers of Gojo challenging the higher-ups on how they handled curses, how they disposed of sorcerers deemed "failures." Arata understood. After his near-death experience in Shibuya and the terrible power he'd unleashed, he knew he could easily have been categorized as too volatile, too dangerous, and quietly eliminated. Gojo, Arata realized, was the only reason he wasn't simply 'disposed of' for the sheer terror of his emerging abilities.
One evening, Arata found himself passing by Gojo's office, the door ajar. He heard Gojo's voice, low and strained, on a private call. "...no, you cannot simply 'contain' him. This is beyond mere cursed spirit manipulation... He believes in his cause, even if it's utterly twisted... I know what he's capable of... this is different." The name was never spoken, but the chilling context, the undertone of a personal tragedy, hung heavy in the air. Arata had never heard Gojo sound so grim, so utterly devoid of his usual boundless confidence.
The realization settled in Arata's gut like a cold stone. Gojo wasn't just dealing with the typical duties of a sorcerer. He was fighting something far more personal, far more devastating. There was a deeper darkness brewing in the Jujutsu world, a shadow that even Gojo, the strongest, struggled to contain. It hinted at a betrayal, a loss so profound it could shake the very foundations of their world. Arata instinctively knew this unseen enemy was connected to Gojo's rare moments of profound melancholy.
His own training continued with a renewed sense of urgency. The lessons from Shibuya about the cost of power, the necessity of pushing beyond known limits, now felt terrifyingly relevant. He pushed himself to master the fluidity Gojo had spoken of, combining his Kamo clan techniques with the raw versatility of Sanguine Genesis. He could unleash Piercing Blood, followed by a Blood Bind from Crimson Arc, then transition to a fluid sequence of Minazuki strikes, the blade's internal reservoir a lifeline that allowed him to extend his barrages without immediate reliance on blood bags. He was becoming a vortex of crimson fury, driven by the chilling revelation of his potential and the dawning awareness of the world's inherent brutality.
He still didn't understand Reverse Cursed Technique, nor did he consciously aim to create corrosive or acidic blood properties in a controlled way. But the potential for "Crimson Erosion" lurked within him, a terrifying, unnamed capability that he knew, instinctively, could only be truly mastered or fully awakened under extreme, life-threatening pressure. He was slowly, cautiously, pulling on the threads of that new ability, making his solidified blood constructs unnaturally sharp, or his blood projectiles carry an unsettling, chilling precision, hinting at properties yet to be fully revealed. He was readying himself, unknowingly, for a storm that was slowly, inexorably, gathering on the horizon.
The tension in the air at Jujutsu High grew almost palpable. The weight on Gojo's shoulders seemed to increase daily, and the usual minor cursed spirit incidents escalated in frequency and severity. It was the calm before a very violent storm, and Arata, now fully awake to the grim realities of his world, felt the tremor of its approach deep in his bones.