After his official promotion to Grade 1, Soujun's benefits and allowances increased again.
He made a trip to the mission hall to update his records, claim resources… there were quite a few errands to run.
Most important was the ID badge. His old one had to be surrendered and destroyed. On the new badge, the design was the same, but with one difference:
The [2] was now a [1].
The symbol of a Grade 1 sorcerer.
As his designated assistant supervisor, Mishima Shiko had to accompany him.
Her process was even more complicated.
Both of them submitted evaluations of each other, and both filled in "satisfactory."
"Here's to continued good teamwork." Shiko extended her hand with a smile.
Soujun smiled back and shook it.
"Let's keep pushing forward."
On the way back, Shiko stayed silent. From what Soujun knew of her, she was sulking again—most likely out of jealousy.
Though her strength was formidable, close to quasi-Grade 1, her official ranking was only Grade 3.
A commoner. No innate technique.
In the eyes of the higher-ups, that meant no talent, not worth investing in—someone to be discarded.
Some clans didn't even regard those without techniques as human peers.
This was how the warped hierarchy of the jujutsu world had formed.
During her student years, it had left Shiko with… less than pleasant memories.
She had done nothing wrong. But to certain eyes, her very existence was a crime.
The arrogant who looked down on her yet couldn't defeat her targeted her all the more viciously. The prejudice had continued ever since. As long as she—and others like her—remained, that bias would not fade.
Her years had not been easy.
Jujutsu High, once the birthplace of clans' power, had grown into an institution with supreme influence in the community. But by now, it had long since become twisted.
Yet Shiko herself, carefree as she was, still loved the school deeply.
Back in her darkest days, a teacher had brought her into Jujutsu High, giving her a new life—a life completely different from that of ordinary people, one she was willing to stake her soul for.
So her devotion to the school was, at its heart, gratitude to that teacher.
That teacher was someone Soujun knew well: Yaga Masamichi.
From pawn to player—Yaga seemed to be moving pieces in a larger game.
…
As they passed Shiko's place, she didn't even realize, still following him absentmindedly.
Soujun tilted his head suddenly, meeting her downcast eyes and drooping face.
He reached out to pat her head lightly. "From now on, let me be your recommender."
The words had barely left his mouth before Soujun sidestepped in haste.
Shiko's blade sliced empty air. She didn't mind. "Then you'll have to do it twice."
She watched him leave with a smile, raising her right hand to wave lightly. Her voice trailed off on the wind, but still rang clear in his ears:
"No problem. However many times it takes."
Shiko lifted her head again. In truth, she was fortunate—whenever times grew unbearable, she always managed to meet good people.
…
Back home, Soujun trained as usual, striking with his fists.
Promotion to Grade 1 hadn't changed much. His life's rhythm remained steady.
Strangely enough, despite his time at Jujutsu High, and despite participating in many large-scale cooperative missions, he had never once seen anyone land a Black Flash.
He had pored over case studies and analysis records of Black Flash in the school archives. Comparing them to his own understanding, nothing seemed amiss.
When the margin of error between a physical strike and cursed energy impact was within 0.000001 seconds, space distorted, cursed energy flared black, and the power multiplied to the 2.5th power.
No sorcerer could deliberately invoke Black Flash.
Those who had experienced it stood leagues closer to the core of cursed energy than those who had not.
…
All things he'd heard before.
The explanations for Black Flash were never thorough. But one point was agreed on: it depended entirely on feel.
When the feeling came, it was explosive. When it didn't, no amount of effort could force it.
Soujun was stuck at that very threshold.
"Feeling" was too subjective, impossible to capture in words. The few records that existed were scattered and contradictory, hardly systematic.
Soujun often lost himself in thought during training.
For example: when channeling cursed energy into a punch, the energy split into many parts—strengthening the fist, striking the opponent, adding speed, disrupting perception, or producing special effects.
While managing all that, the sorcerer also had to time the strike precisely and balance the cursed energy composition—all crucial to landing a Black Flash.
Then there were external influences: environment, the opponent's energy, their physique.
Even things like temperature, humidity, and wind direction had some effect.
And if one wove in techniques at full force, the conditions for Black Flash only grew harsher.
Soujun, with his perfect command over cursed energy, body, and soul, could satisfy most of these requirements.
But the factors beyond himself remained beyond his control.
Through sheer trial and error, whittling away at wrong answers with his technique, he had spent years experimenting. Now, at last, he was on the brink of success.
…
Under the great tree in his courtyard, Soujun struck again and again, cursed energy rippling across his fists, always fine-tuning.
All he needed was one successful Black Flash. Just once, and the rest would follow easily.
But the first was always the hardest. He had reached the utmost of control. What remained was luck.
And he hated that.
For his luck was abysmal.
…
Days passed, fading into his training.
At last, while refining the locust-head curse's spatial technique, Soujun caught hold of a spark of Black Flash.
He punched into the air.
In his palm, a thread of black lightning flickered. Brief though it was, lasting only a heartbeat, his heart leapt with joy.
So Black Flash was, at its core, a power of space.
The ignorant miss what's right before them.
The descriptions had even said it: "space distorts."
Soujun had always thought this was a side effect—distortion from energy waves or excessive force, like heat haze warping the air.
But he had been wrong about the order.
First space must distort—then the force layered onto it erupted with greater might.
Now that the final barrier was clear, Black Flash came naturally. At least against the air, Soujun could unleash it at will.
The next step was to try it in real combat, to face varied opponents, build experience, shorten the time needed for calculation, until his fists struck purely from intent.
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