On the blood-stained lawn, Maki Zen'in's footsteps were firm and powerful; with every step, she left clear imprints in the muddy bloodstains.
Her hand gripping the long sword was as steady as a rock, the cold light on the blade shimmering in the sunlight. Her body, originally exhausted from extra training, now erupted with astonishing resilience.
She did not retreat in the slightest, walking straight toward the Special Grade Cursed Spirit in the center of the Stadium.
Rin remained standing where he was, his blood-red Sharingan calmly observing everything.
His gaze swept past Maki Zen'in's upright back and fell upon the Matador Cursed Spirit, his eyes devoid of any ripples.
In truth, he hoped that Maki Zen'in would recognize the difficulty and retreat; the terror of a Special Grade Cursed Spirit was far beyond what her current strength could contend with.
Yet, there was not a hint of hesitation in Maki Zen'in's footsteps; that resolve caused him to temporarily suppress the urge to intervene.
In the center of the Stadium, the Matador Cursed Spirit had long since put away its cruelty toward ordinary people.
Its tall, thin figure appeared even more upright against the backdrop of its magnificent golden Matador attire. The gems embedded in the garment refracted dazzling light in the sun, forming a glaring contrast with the blood-stained lawn beneath its feet.
The silver blade in its hand flashed with a biting cold light, and while the edge still bore traces of undried blood, it did not affect its elegant posture in the slightest.
Seeing Maki Zen'in walking toward it alone, the corners of the Matador Cursed Spirit's mouth curled into a genuine smile—a joy like meeting a "soulmate," certainly not a disguise.
Its gaze first fell upon Rin in the distance, and upon touching those blood-red eyes, its pupils contracted slightly, immediately followed by an even more satisfied smile—that was recognition and expectation for a powerful opponent.
When it discovered that Rin had not come forward together but instead chose to let Maki Zen'in engage first, the Matador Cursed Spirit's smile grew even more intense, the joy in its eyes almost overflowing.
One-on-one—it clearly viewed this as a form of "respect."
Respect for its "performance," and respect for its status as an opponent.
When Maki Zen'in stopped ten meters away, the Matador Cursed Spirit slowly raised its hand and elegantly performed a standard Matador salute to her.
Its movements were fluid and solemn, as if it were not facing an enemy intent on taking its life, but a noble warrior, rather than the prey it had previously slaughtered at will.
"Welcome, great warrior."
The Cursed Spirit's voice was low and resonant, carrying a strange rhythm, as if it were reciting poetry:
"I have been waiting for a worthy opponent to make this performance even more perfect."
It paused, its gaze sweeping across Rin in the distance once more before returning to Maki Zen'in, its tone filled with sincere gratitude:
"And, thank you very much for coming one by one. I accept this respect for the 'performance'."
The audience in the stands seemed to be infected by this sense of "ritual," and the fanatical shouting gradually subsided, turning into rhythmic applause.
They watched the three people in the Stadium with wide eyes, expecting this "noble duel," having long forgotten the cold corpses on the ground and the essence of this "performance"—a bloody massacre.
Maki Zen'in tightened her grip on the long sword. She could sense the sincerity in the Cursed Spirit's words, yet she did not lower her guard in the slightest. She would not forget that this seemingly elegant Cursed Spirit had just been wantonly slaughtering humans, treating lives as props for its performance.
"I am not here to accompany your performance."
Maki Zen'in's voice was cold and firm:
"I am here to end you."
The smile on the Matador Cursed Spirit's face did not disappear; instead, it grew more approving:
"What a firm will! This is a qualified opponent!"
It slowly straightened up, the silver blade in its hand slightly raised, pointing at Maki Zen'in:
"Then, let us open the curtain for this performance with a brilliant duel. Warrior, please make your move!"
As its voice fell, the Cursed Energy around it began to surge slowly, no longer the violent aura from before, but becoming refined and elegant, just like itself.
The cold light on the silver blade grew increasingly biting, carrying a heart-palpitating pressure as it enveloped Maki Zen'in.
Maki Zen'in took a deep breath. Without the slightest hesitation, she exerted force under her feet, her figure shooting toward the Matador Cursed Spirit like an arrow released from a bow.
The long sword traced a sharp arc, slashing straight at the Cursed Spirit's face. She knew she had no time to hesitate; the three-minute trial officially began at this moment.
Rin in the distance remained standing where he was, his blood-red Sharingan like the most precise instrument, firmly locking onto every detail in the Stadium.
The slight trembling of Maki Zen'in's wrist when swinging the blade, the faint fluctuations of Cursed Energy beneath the Cursed Spirit's cloak, and even the tiny blood droplets splashed when the blades collided were all clearly captured by him.
The Special Grade Cursed Spirit before her had strength far exceeding her capacity to bear.
The "three-minute" promise Rin had made was never a pact from the beginning, but an unsolvable problem.
He knew clearly that with Maki Zen'in's current strength, let alone three minutes, being able to last one minute under this Cursed Spirit would depend on the opponent showing mercy.
He had never thought Maki Zen'in would succeed, and even secretly hoped she would recognize the difficulty and retreat. That way, he could rightfully refuse that "friend" invitation and continue being the unburdened self he was.
Yet, Maki Zen'in in the Stadium simply would not retreat.
The golden and red Cursed Energy collided violently once again, the harsh sound of metal clashing ringing throughout the Stadium.
Maki Zen'in gritted her teeth, enduring the numbness in her arm as the long sword, carrying pale blue Cursed Energy, slashed toward the Matador Cursed Spirit again.
Her movements became faster and faster, but also increasingly impatient; within the firmness in her eyes, a trace of anxiety gradually began to dye them.
The Matador Cursed Spirit maintained its elegant posture; it seemed to never have thought of attacking actively, merely dancing its bright red cloak like a blooming flower.
Whenever Maki Zen'in's long sword slashed over, the cloak would precisely block the path of the attack. The seemingly thin fabric was like the hardest shield; Maki Zen'in's blade, when slashing onto it, would be instantly swallowed, leaving not even a trace.
Even more bizarrely, whenever the cloak unfurled, the Cursed Spirit's body seemed to merge into the void; no matter from which angle Maki Zen'in attacked, she could not touch its actual body.
Instead, at the moment her offensive was exhausted, when the old force had just departed and the new force had yet to be born, a cold light would suddenly dart out from the folds of the cloak.
The Matador's long sword could always precisely land on Maki Zen'in, carving out a cut that was neither too deep nor too shallow.
Warm blood splashed onto the bright red cloak, making that shade of red become even more intense and glaring.
Rin saw it clearly: that long sword was imbued with special Cursed Energy. Any wound it inflicted would cause blood to flow out continuously, unable to coagulate, as if a "bloodletting curse" had been cast.
One minute passed in the blink of an eye.
Maki Zen'in's sportswear had long been soaked through with blood. From her forehead to her calves, she was covered in dense wounds, and blood dripped down the hem of her clothes, pooling into a small puddle of blood at her feet.
Her breathing became heavy and rapid, her chest heaving violently, and the hand gripping the long sword had begun to tremble uncontrollably, her vision also becoming somewhat blurred due to blood loss.
That she could last until now was entirely due to the Cursed Spirit "showing mercy."
This Matador Cursed Spirit had never, from start to finish, treated this duel as a life-or-death battle, but as a meticulously choreographed performance.
Its purpose was not to quickly kill Maki Zen'in, but like a cat catching a mouse, to slowly consume her stamina, drain her will, until she was exhausted and lost the ability to resist, and then deliver the final "execution" to draw a "perfect" period to this performance.