The training field smelled of wet grass and ozone.
Maki circled him slowly, pole balanced on one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Her glasses caught the weak morning sun.
"So," she said. "You gonna stand there looking pretty, or actually fight?"
Kai rolled his shoulders once. The leather jacket lay folded on the grass. His forearms were exposed now — pale skin mapped with thin, silvery lines that looked like old burn scars, except they shimmered faintly when he moved, like words written in dying light.
Panda leaned forward, paws clasped. "This is gonna be interesting."
Inumaki watched from the sidelines, zipper mouth sealed, eyes sharp.
Kai didn't answer with words. He stepped into range — not aggressive, just present.
Maki struck first.
A clean overhead swing, fast enough to whistle. She wasn't holding back.
Kai didn't dodge.
He raised his left arm. The script on his palm flared — soft blue-white, English cursive mixed with kanji, looping once before settling.
The pole stopped mid-air, an inch from his forearm. Not blocked. Not parried. Just... stopped.
Maki's eyes widened behind the lenses.
"What the—"
Kai lowered his arm. The pole dropped like it had forgotten how to swing.
He spoke quietly, voice low and even. "In exchange for letting me test your strike, you get your weapon back in three seconds. Deal?"
The air between them shimmered. Faint script appeared in the space — translucent letters floating like smoke:
Terms accepted.
Maki felt it. A small tug in her chest, nothing painful, just... pressure. Like a string tied around her ribs.
Three seconds later the pole lifted again, light as ever.
She stared at him.
"You just... what, cursed my weapon?"
Kai shook his head once. "Contract. Consensual. Low cost."
Panda blinked. "Wait, that's your technique? You make deals?"
Inumaki tilted his head. "Salmon?"
Maki tightened her grip. "Explain."
Kai met her eyes. Calm. Empty.
"Only if you ask nicely."
She exhaled through her teeth. "Fine. Please explain what the hell that was, transfer."
A ghost of something crossed Kai's face — not a smile, just the memory of one.
"Cursed Contract," he said. "Jax Clan inherited technique. I state terms. If you accept, it binds. Small deals cost little. Big deals..."
He trailed off, flexing his scarred hand. The script pulsed once, then dimmed.
Behind him, for the briefest moment, the silhouette flickered again — a girl with long hair, arms folded, watching Maki like she was measuring something.
Maki saw it this time. Clearly.
"Who is that?"
Kai didn't turn. "Debt."
Maki stepped closer. Close enough that he could smell the sweat on her skin, the faint metallic tang of her cursed tool.
"You gonna tell me the rest, or do I have to force it out of you?"
Kai looked down at her. Not condescending. Just... tired.
"Force it," he said quietly, "and the cost goes up."
A long silence.
Then Maki smirked again — smaller this time, sharper.
"Alright, Jax. Spar for real. No holding back. No weird deals unless I say so."
Kai nodded once.
They reset.
This time when she swung, he moved.
Not fast like Gojo. Not elegant. Just efficient. He slipped inside her guard, arm brushing hers — contact for half a second.
Script flared again, brighter.
But he didn't speak terms.
The script faded without activating.
Maki swung again. He blocked with his forearm — the impact rang like metal on metal. Her pole vibrated. His arm didn't.
She pushed harder. He gave ground, step by step, never countering. Just absorbing.
Until she overextended.
He caught her wrist — gentle, almost careful.
Script ignited on both their skin now.
"In exchange for stopping this swing," he said softly, "I take the strain in your shoulder. Deal?"
Maki froze.
She could feel it — the offer hanging in the air like smoke. A small, clean string waiting to be tied.
She looked at his face. No smirk. No pity. Just quiet certainty.
"...Deal," she muttered.
The script sealed.
A soft snap, like a knot tightening.
Maki felt the ache in her shoulder vanish.
Kai's left shoulder dipped slightly. A fresh line of silver appeared across the old scars — thin, fresh, glowing for a second before dulling.
He released her wrist.
Maki stepped back, rubbing her shoulder. It felt... good. Better than before the spar.
She stared at the new scar on his arm.
"You just took my strain."
Kai rolled his shoulder once, testing it. "Balanced."
Panda whistled low. "Dude, that's kinda broken."
Inumaki nodded slowly. "Tuna mayo."
Maki didn't move.
She looked at the scars again — dozens of them now, layered like old contracts. Then at the space behind him where the silhouette had been.
"You do that a lot?" she asked.
Kai picked up his jacket. Slung it over one shoulder.
"Only when it's worth the price."
He turned to leave.
Maki called after him.
"Hey."
He paused.
"Don't think this means I owe you anything."
Kai glanced back.
"You don't."
He walked away.
Behind him, Sora's echo lingered a second longer than usual — watching Maki with something almost like approval.
Then she faded.
Maki stood there, pole still in hand, shoulder light, chest tight for reasons she didn't want to name yet.
The field was quiet again.
But something had shifted.
A string had been tied.
Small.
Clean.
Unbreakable.