Another day passed.
It was March, the season when spring gathers strength. Each morning he woke to birdsong and floral scents and saw new green buds.
Soujun did not rush to take a mission.
He kept up his daily practice and began to learn the environment, locking in a personal cadence for training and life.
Mishima Utako moved decisively and had already relocated nearby. She brought a single suitcase, packed everything, and moved in.
"Nearby" still meant two or three kilometers away, which was by design. He had chosen his place because there were no neighbors and he could own the quiet.
In the morning, just after finishing his cursed energy refinement for the day, Soujun stepped out in a good mood to head for the cafeteria.
In his field of view, Mishima was in her own courtyard honing her body and blade work.
She wore training pants and a white tank top. The lines of her abdominal muscles rose and fell with each movement like gills breathing. Heat steamed off her. She had clearly been at it for a while.
Very diligent.
Soujun did not disturb her.
He went alone to Field No. 5.
There were still few people. He could have the whole ground to himself, which suited him perfectly.
Study theory, drill martial arts, develop techniques. The four gym halls to the east, south, west, and north made a tidy loop.
The morning vanished in a blink.
Eagle-eye optimization and compound-eye construction were slotted into spare moments.
Unless a project was brand new or a Phase Two upgrade had been scoped, he would not pour large blocks of time into it. Once he had comparable experience, the work became near copy-and-paste with his technique, so he removed it from daily focus.
In the afternoon,
Soujun stopped by Yaga Masamichi's place and happened to meet him returning.
"Isn't it the break right now," Soujun asked.
That made Yaga fall silent. "I have hobbies besides teaching."
Soujun asked what those hobbies were.
He would not say.
Soujun asked where he had been.
He mumbled "the forest."
He would not give details.
So Soujun laughed.
Kukuku.
A grown man with a secret base.
He was angrily shooed out of the house for that.
—
At dusk, after a day of wandering, Soujun returned home.
He logged into the sorcerers' forum again.
He first browsed the popular threads. The comments were not all chatter. There was always usable intel embedded inside. He was good at extracting it.
He jotted down what mattered and only then opened the mission board.
One quick scan showed all Grade 1 missions, filling the screen end to end. Scrolling to the bottom revealed a "next page" prompt, and there were so many pages that the index showed an ellipsis.
A small line at the bottom read: Special Grade missions require permission.
He could not view those yet.
Because the site was linked to real identity, he could take Grade 1 and Grade 2 missions.
He clicked "next page" four times before Grade 2 missions finally appeared.
The first was a Grade 2 curse-clearing cluster. After reading the intel carefully, he thought it was a good fit to test baseline strength.
He sent the mission info to Mishima.
"Meet time and place," she replied quickly.
"I am planning to accept this one. Any advice," he asked.
She paused, then replied, "Either way works."
He clicked accept. Approval came fast and the mission was assigned.
"Tomorrow 14:30, meet at the main gate," he wrote.
"Received," she replied.
—
Next day, the morning routine was unchanged.
After lunch he rested briefly, made light preparations, and strolled to the gate.
He arrived fifteen minutes early.
Mishima had beaten him there.
When he came out she was standing by the road, gazing over the green sea of forest below. The moment she saw him she ran ahead to lead the way to a black sedan and took the driver's seat.
She seemed extra attentive today.
He got in on the passenger side.
They barely spoke.
The sedan rolled out smoothly and then jumped gears into hard acceleration.
He rocked for a moment, then steadied, and cast her a curious look.
Then it was fast. Very fast.
Any time they hit a clean stretch she opened it up. They cut the travel time significantly.
Tires squealed and left a black streak before the car settled to a neat stop on the roadside. Mishima stepped out, checked the scene, and with practiced ease formed a sword-hand seal.
"Born of darkness, blacker than black, all filth and defilement be purified."
A black Curtain flowed down.
The Curtain hides things from civilians and also makes cursed signatures manifest.
Soujun was sensing too. A moment later he confirmed the intel was accurate. Four Grade 2 curses, plenty of Grade 3 and 4.
He relaxed. When the Curtain had fully set, he waved lightly. "I will go."
Mishima suddenly blocked his path, hope flickering on her face. She hesitated, then clenched her jaw.
"If possible, may I go first?"
Huh?
Uh oh, the aide wants to be the striker.
He looked puzzled, thought for a beat, then nodded. Easier for him, and his payout would not be reduced.
He stepped aside and followed her into the Curtain, taking a position to the flank. His double pupils shone.
Joy flashed across Mishima's face, then relief. She gathered herself, right hand on the hilt, left on the scabbard. Cursed energy surged, sheathing the blade.
The curses were bunched together.
She stamped her right foot and skimmed low across the ground. The draw-cut opened the scabbard and several lines etched the air.
Those lines stirred a breeze that seemed slow yet moved too fast, passed through the mass of curses, then faded.
It looked like nothing had happened. The field stilled.
Only when the curses sensed a hint of edge and tumbled in swathes did the power of that stroke reveal itself.
She did not let up. Using the terrain, she threaded through them, basic slashes landing like finishers. Curses fell in numbers.
The Grade 2s entered together. Three charged her while one hung back inside the pack, hunting a cheap shot.
They had no intelligence, but they did have coordination. If left to develop, they would be more and more dangerous.
Pressure spiked. She chose to advance, not retreat, slipping past the ambush and raising the tachi high, then bringing it down hard, trading injury to split the other two.
Her whole body shuddered and her aura turned savage, almost unrestrained. She let out the classic three-part laugh.
Ah—hahahahahaha—hahahahahaha.
Her offense rode that laugh. She ignored her wounds, locked on target, and would not stop until the end. With each sweeping arc, pressure lines bloomed around her, whipping up a strong current that carried grit and pebbles and slammed into the horde.
When it went quiet again, Mishima stood leaning on her blade, breath a little ragged, surrounded by the dispersing curse miasma of the dead. Her figure flickered within it.
She was not weak. Her conviction to pursue strength was fierce. She loved the fight.
So why become an aide.
His double pupils stilled. He dialed his sight back.
The mission was complete.
On the drive back, Mishima kept smiling. Pain made her mouth twitch now and then, but it did not touch her good mood.
Are sorcerers all like this now, he wondered.
"About the bounty, please do not worry," she said suddenly.
Ah?
He nodded and said nothing. He could hardly admit he had not thought about it at all.
They returned to Jujutsu High.
With her guidance, he logged in and they submitted the mission together.
Both had to confirm. Then a dedicated investigator would do an on-site check. Once approved, the bounty auto-deposited.
This usually took two to three days.
As an auxiliary supervisor, Mishima's pay was settled separately by the school.
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