The guardian barrier in Nagoya's second node hummed quietly, its surface reflecting the grey afternoon sky. Inside, the unconscious lay in neat rows—thousands of them, stretching across the stadium floor like fallen leaves after a storm.
Ieiri Shoko moved among them, her white coat brushing against the sleeping forms, her hands checking pulses, lifting eyelids, noting temperatures. Behind her, Nanako and Mimiko followed with instruments and clipboards, recording data, cross-referencing readings.
"Their blood pressure and heart rate are about thirty percent below normal," Nanako said, frowning at the numbers.
"Their body temperature is also lower than average," Mimiko added, pressing a thermometer against a sleeping woman's forehead. "Not dangerously low, but... consistently low."
Kanon carried supplies—blankets, water, the small things that made a difference. She had less medical training than the others, but she worked just as hard, just as fast, her borrowed body still finding its rhythm after Kenjaku's departure.
Ieiri Shoko straightened, wiping her hands on her coat.
"Basically, their physical characteristics match someone in a deep sleep after extreme exhaustion. But this isn't natural exhaustion. Their energy was forcibly extracted. They didn't spend it—it was taken."
"So they'll wake up on their own?" Kanon asked.
"Not necessarily." Shoko's voice was grim. "The mechanism is different. If they stay like this too long, they might never wake up at all."
Nanako looked at the endless rows of unconscious bodies, at the stadium that could hold tens of thousands, at the impossible scale of the problem. "There must be millions across Japan. How can we possibly treat them all?"
"We can't." Shoko's gaze shifted to the figure standing at the barrier's edge—Kamo Itsuki's clone, motionless, watching the horizon. "But Itsuki can. He knows the human body better than anyone. He knows what's happening to them, and he has a plan. He always has a plan."
She spoke with absolute certainty, the certainty of someone who had watched Kamo Itsuki turn impossibility into inevitability, again and again.
'Itsuki. Whatever you're going to do, do it soon. These people can't wait much longer.'
The iceberg appeared without warning.
It descended from the clouds like divine judgment—massive, crystalline, its surface gleaming with a cold that seemed to predate the world. The sun vanished behind it. The shadow it cast swallowed the guardian barrier whole.
Kamo Itsuki's clone looked up, his expression unchanged.
'Rime. Sukuna's subordinate. A thousand years frozen, now thawed.'
He transmitted the information to Shoko and the others in an instant—not words, but understanding, the knowledge flowing through their connection like blood through veins.
The iceberg fell.
Air compressed beneath it, roaring like a wounded beast. The wind it generated flattened what remained of the surrounding buildings, sending debris flying like shrapnel.
Inside the barrier, Nanako and Mimiko clutched each other. Kanon pressed closer to Shoko. The sleeping bodies around them did not stir.
The iceberg struck.
*BOOM. *
The sound was not a sound—it was a physical force, a pressure wave that shattered windows for a kilometer in every direction. Ice shards exploded outward, thousands of crystalline blades, each one capable of piercing steel.
They stopped at the barrier's surface.
The dome flickered once, twice, then steadied. The ice shards fell, harmless, melting before they touched the ground.
The iceberg itself remained, pressing down, its weight enough to crush a city block.
Kamo Itsuki's clone raised a finger.
He flicked.
The shockwave traveled from his fingertip to the iceberg's core, splitting it along invisible fault lines. The massive structure cracked, crumbled, dissolved—not into chunks, but into mist, into nothing, into the memory of a threat that had never quite arrived.
The barrier was clear. The sky was visible again.
And Rime stood at the edge of the destruction, untouched, watching.
Ieiri Shoko walked out of the barrier.
Her white coat billowed behind her. The spirit-slaying sword that Kamo's clone had given her had transformed—not into a blade, but into bandages, wrapped around her hands and forearms like the bindings of a boxer.
Kamo Itsuki's clone watched from the barrier's edge, his cursed energy reserved for the dome itself. This fight belonged to Shoko.
"Years ago," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone, "Shoko made a Binding Vow. No sleeping in. No staying up late. A simple promise, but one she's kept faithfully."
He watched as Shoko's posture shifted, her weight settling, her center lowering.
"That vow has accumulated life force within her body. Years of it. Decades of it. Energy she never spent, never wasted, never burned away in sleepless nights or lazy mornings."
The bandages on her hands began to glow.
"Once that life force transforms into destructive power..."
Shoko moved.
She was not fast in the way Geto was fast, or Toji, or the others who had honed their bodies into weapons. She was fast in the way a predator was fast—efficient, economical, inevitable. Her feet left the ground. The distance between her and Rime collapsed.
Rime's hands rose. Frost condensed from the air, forming a shield of crystalline ice, thick as a castle wall.
Shoko's fist struck.
The shield exploded—not cracked, not shattered, but vaporized, transformed from solid ice to mist in an instant. Rime's eyes widened. It backpedaled, hands already forming another defense, another barrier.
Shoko was already through.
Her second punch caught Rime in the chest, lifting the ancient Cursed User off its feet, sending it tumbling across the rubble. Ice cracked beneath it. The ground where it landed frosted over.
Rime rose slowly, brushing dust from its robes. Its expression—what little was visible beneath its monk's hood—had shifted from indifference to something approaching interest.
"You are not a typical healer," Rime said. Its voice was soft, androgynous, carrying the weight of centuries.
Ieiri Shoko rolled her shoulders. The bandages on her hands glowed brighter.
"I'm not a typical anything."
She charged again.
Ieiri Shoko did not retreat.
Instead, she moved forward, her body flowing around Rime's counterattack like water around stone. Ice spikes erupted from the ground where she had been standing—she was already elsewhere, already closing the distance, already striking.
The bandages on her arms lashed out.
They were not ordinary bandages. They were the spirit-slaying sword, transformed, given flexibility and reach. They moved like serpents, wrapping around Rime's arm, tightening, binding.
Rime's eyes narrowed.
Frost spread from its body along the bandages—not slowly, but explosively, a wave of cold that would have frozen a lesser opponent solid. Ice crystals crawled toward Shoko's hands, toward her arms, toward her heart.
Shoko's wrists twisted.
The motion was subtle, almost invisible, but the effect was immediate. The frost cracked, fragmented, fell away. The bandages loosened, retracted, and Shoko's foot struck—a sharp kick to Rime's abdomen that lifted the ancient Cursed User off its feet.
Rime rolled with the impact, using the momentum to create distance. Its hands came up, frost condensing into twin ice blades—elegant, deadly, humming with cursed energy.
It lunged.
Shoko sidestepped. The blades passed within centimeters of her face, close enough to leave frost on her cheeks. She did not flinch.
Ice cones materialized behind Rime, launching toward Shoko in a staggered volley. She ducked under the first, spun around the second, batted the third aside with her bandaged forearm.
The volley ended. The distance between them remained.
Both stood still, assessing.
'He's skilled,' Shoko thought, her breath misting in the cold air around her. 'Centuries of experience. He doesn't waste movement.'
She activated Reverse Cursed Technique, the positive energy flowing through her body, repairing the minor frost damage on her skin. In seconds, she was restored—fresh, whole, ready.
Across from her, Rime attempted the same.
Its cursed energy gathered at the bruises Shoko had inflicted—and stalled. The wounds did not close. The damage did not heal.
Rime's eyes widened, just for a moment.
'The bandages. Her weapons are preventing my regeneration.'
It was a minor injury—nothing that would affect its combat ability. But if Shoko could maintain her peak condition while Rime accumulated damage, the battle would eventually tip.
Rime had followed Sukuna for centuries. It had fought in wars that shaped the jujutsu world. It had faced enemies stronger, faster, more numerous than this woman before it.
It had never faced an opponent whose weapons made its regeneration useless.
'I cannot afford to be hit again. Not where it matters.'
Rime's stance shifted—subtly, almost imperceptibly. Its weight settled. Its hands lowered.
Shoko noticed.
'He's changing tactics. More defense. Less risk. He's going to try to outlast me.'
She smiled.
'Good luck with that.'
The bandages on her arms glowed brighter. The life force accumulated over years of Binding Vow hummed beneath her skin, waiting to be spent.
She charged again. Rime met her halfway.
The next exchange would be decisive.