Chapter 114: A Sudden Practical Teaching Session
Inside the Curtain, daylight died.
The black barrier swallowed the street whole, smothering the summer sun beneath a layer of stagnant darkness. The pedestrians outside had vanished from sight, replaced by the hollow silence of an isolated battlefield. Even the air changed. The smell of takoyaki, asphalt, and exhaust faded, drowned beneath something rotten and oily.
The scent of a Cursed Spirit.
"ROOOOAR!"
A shriek tore through the abandoned construction site ahead, rattling the glass panes of nearby buildings. From the shadow of the half-finished structure, something enormous dragged itself into view.
It was the size of a truck, hunched low to the ground on insect-like limbs. Its body was swollen and malformed, covered in slick purple fluid that dripped from its shell in thick strings. Every drop that struck the concrete hissed, eating into the ground and leaving smoking pits behind.
A Semi-Special Grade Cursed Spirit.
Not quite a Special Grade, but close enough that an ordinary sorcerer would have frozen before even raising a hand.
Gojo Satoru strolled into the Curtain with both hands in his pockets, his expression more offended than afraid.
"So this is the mission target?" He wrinkled his nose behind his small round sunglasses. "Gross. Seriously, who designed that thing?"
"Satoru," Geto Suguru said from beside him, his tone calm but his gaze sharp. "Don't get careless. Its Cursed Energy is unstable."
"Careless? Me?"
"Yes. You."
Geto's fingers were already forming a summoning sign. His posture remained relaxed, but several Cursed Spirits were waiting just beneath the surface, ready to tear their way into the world at his command.
But before either member of the strongest duo could make a move, a black blur shot past them.
Yami.
He had already thrown the worn guitar bag aside.
What came out of it was not a guitar.
It was a rusted steel pipe wrapped in old newspaper.
Gojo stared.
"Huh?"
The white-haired teenager looked almost personally insulted.
"Is that guy serious?"
Geto's expression also stiffened. "He's planning to fight a Semi-Special Grade with that?"
"And he still has no Cursed Energy." Gojo pushed his sunglasses down with one finger, staring with the Six Eyes. "Not a drop. He's going to beat a curse with scrap metal?"
For a Cursed Spirit, attacks without Cursed Energy were supposed to be meaningless.
That was basic knowledge.
Trying to exorcise a curse without Cursed Energy was like trying to punch smoke. You might disturb the shape, but you would never reach the core.
"Hey!" Geto shouted, his hand moving to summon Rainbow Dragon. "Get back! You'll die!"
Yami did not slow down.
He lowered his center of gravity mid-stride, his breathing changing.
One breath.
The air entered his lungs in a controlled rush, then spread through his body like fire poured through veins. His heartbeat deepened. His muscles tightened in sequence, not as separate parts, but as one unified machine.
The rusted steel pipe in his hand was only ordinary iron.
Yet in that moment, under the force of his grip and the heat rising from his palm, it seemed to hum.
"Total Concentration."
Yami's eyes sharpened.
"Sun Breathing."
The Cursed Spirit lunged, its massive forelimb smashing down with enough force to turn concrete into powder.
Yami stepped into the attack.
Not away.
Into it.
His foot struck the ground. Cracks spread beneath his sole. His body shot upward like an arrow, twisting in midair as the steel pipe carved a perfect arc through the darkness.
"First Form."
The pipe descended.
"Circle Dance."
There were no flames.
No dazzling sword light.
No Nichirin blade to draw out the true brilliance of the form.
Only physical strength refined past common sense, a breathing rhythm pushed to the extreme, and a scorching heat that made the surrounding air ripple.
Bang!
The steel pipe slammed into the Cursed Spirit's shell.
Gojo expected it to bounce off.
At most, he expected the pipe to bend, snap, or melt beneath the acidic slime.
Instead, the impact detonated.
The Cursed Spirit's iron-hard carapace shattered like thin porcelain. Purple fluid sprayed into the air. The monster's enormous body lurched backward several meters, its limbs scraping deep trenches through the concrete.
"GRAAAH?!"
The curse screamed in pain.
Gojo's sunglasses slid halfway down his nose.
"…What?"
For once, his voice lost its lazy arrogance.
"No Cursed Energy, no Cursed Tool, no Heavenly Restriction, and he cracked the shell of a Semi-Special Grade with a junk pipe?"
He turned sharply.
"Suguru, you saw that, right?"
Geto's hand was still frozen in the middle of a summoning sign.
"I saw it."
His eyes narrowed, but the shock did not leave them.
"That wasn't brute force alone. He compressed the movement of his entire body into one strike. Breath, joints, muscles, balance, timing. Everything hit at the same point."
He paused.
"Is he under a Heavenly Restriction?"
"No."
Gojo's answer came almost instantly.
The Six Eyes saw deeper than ordinary perception. They could trace the flow of Cursed Energy, identify techniques, measure efficiency, and dissect nearly any anomaly in front of him.
And what they told him now was absurd.
There was no binding on that body.
No trade-off.
No hidden Cursed Energy.
No technique.
Yami was not like someone whose Cursed Energy had been exchanged for physical strength.
He was simply strong.
Irrationally strong.
At the center of the battlefield, Yami gave the Cursed Spirit no chance to recover.
The steel pipe had bent slightly from the impact, but he adjusted his grip without hesitation, shifting from a sword stance into something rougher, more practical. The Cursed Spirit roared and stabbed at him with six insect limbs, each one coated in corrosive slime.
Yami's pupils cleared.
"Transparent World."
For an instant, the monster's outer shell vanished from his vision.
Skin. Muscle. Cursed Energy flow. Core structure.
The hideous body became a map.
Every joint, every weak point, every interruption in the circulation of Cursed Energy lay exposed.
"There."
Yami moved.
The first stab grazed his sleeve.
The second missed his throat by a finger's width.
The third slammed into empty air as he slipped under the limb and struck upward.
Bang!
The steel pipe smashed into the underside of a joint.
The limb buckled.
Bang!
A second strike hit the next node.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sounds came in rapid succession, dull and brutal, like war drums echoing inside the Curtain.
The massive Cursed Spirit, which had appeared so menacing moments ago, was being beaten backward by a boy with no Cursed Energy and a rusted pipe.
It swung wildly, trying to crush him, but every attack missed by the smallest possible margin. Yami moved through the gaps as if he had read the monster's intentions before it made them.
Gojo watched in silence.
Then his grin slowly returned.
It was sharper now.
Less mocking.
More interested.
Yami ducked beneath a sweeping limb, spun, and hammered the pipe against a cracked section of the shell. Another piece broke away.
Without looking back, he called out, "Hey, Satoru."
Gojo's eyebrow twitched.
"What?"
"Don't just stand there."
Yami slid aside as acid splashed across the ground behind him.
"This is a rare practical teaching session."
Gojo stared.
"A what?"
"A practical teaching session," Yami said, striking another joint. "A Jujutsu Sorcerer who only relies on Cursed Techniques won't live long. Taijutsu matters too."
A vein pulsed on Gojo's forehead.
"Hah?"
Geto lowered his hand slightly, then glanced at Gojo with visible amusement.
"He's lecturing you."
"I noticed!"
"He might be right, though."
"Suguru."
"What?"
"Don't side with the pipe guy."
Despite his irritated tone, Gojo had already moved.
The provocation landed perfectly. His annoyance became battle intent, and battle intent became motion.
A manic grin spread across his face.
"Suguru, we're not letting him steal our mission."
Gojo vanished.
The next instant, he appeared above the Cursed Spirit, one finger extended.
"Cursed Technique Lapse."
A blue light condensed at his fingertip.
"Blue."
Space twisted.
A violent attractive force collapsed inward, wrenching one of the Cursed Spirit's limbs from its body with a wet, cracking tear.
The monster shrieked.
Geto moved almost at the same time.
"Rainbow Dragon."
A massive white dragon-shaped Cursed Spirit burst into existence, its scales gleaming even under the Curtain's darkness. It coiled through the air and slammed into the monster's flank, crushing the Cursed Spirit against the skeletal frame of the unfinished building.
Concrete pillars cracked.
Dust poured down like rain.
For the first time, the three moved together.
Yami took the front, slipping into close range and destroying the monster's balance.
Gojo attacked from impossible angles, using Blue in short, precise bursts to tear away limbs and distort its movements.
Geto controlled the battlefield, sending Cursed Spirits to block escape routes and pin the target when it tried to retreat into the shadows.
There was no rehearsal.
No plan.
No introduction.
Yet the rhythm formed naturally, as if the battlefield itself had accepted the three of them as its center.
The Semi-Special Grade Cursed Spirit became a toy in the hands of three monsters.
"Satoru," Yami called suddenly. "Three o'clock, left side. There's a flow break."
Gojo did not ask how he knew.
He simply lifted his hand.
"Got it."
A snap-fired Blue struck exactly where Yami had indicated.
Boom!
The curse's Cursed Energy flow collapsed for a fraction of a second. Its chest split open, exposing a pulsing purple core buried beneath layers of flesh and shell.
Geto's eyes flashed.
"That's the core."
"Now!"
Yami's grip shifted.
The steel pipe in his hand was almost unrecognizable, bent and cracked from repeated impacts. He treated it like a javelin, drawing his arm back as his breathing tightened again.
Total Concentration.
Sun Breathing.
Every muscle from his foot to his shoulder moved in sequence.
Then he threw.
Whoosh!
The steel pipe became a black streak, tearing through the air with a shrill whistle.
Pfft!
It pierced the exposed core.
Purple fluid exploded outward.
The Cursed Spirit let out one final, distorted howl before its massive body convulsed and collapsed, slamming into the concrete with enough force to shake the Curtain.
Then the curse began to dissolve.
Silence returned.
Only the slow drip of purple liquid and the settling dust remained.
Yami exhaled.
A thin layer of sweat clung to his forehead. His fingers trembled slightly from the backlash of forcing his weakened body to move at that level.
As expected.
Without Shiranui, without his peak condition, and with the aftereffects of crossing time still dragging at his body, even a Semi-Special Grade took effort.
If it had been his 2018 self, something like this would have ended in a single stroke.
He needed to recover.
Quickly.
Before the real monsters of this era appeared.
A shadow fell over him.
Yami looked up.
Gojo had walked over at some point and was now standing directly in front of him, sunglasses lowered, those bright blue eyes staring at him like he had found a new species of cursed creature.
"Hey."
Gojo leaned closer.
"Who exactly are you?"
Yami said nothing.
Gojo pointed at him.
"You have no Cursed Energy. None. But you can see Cursed Energy flow. You broke through a curse's defense with raw physical strength. You use some weird breathing method to raise your output. And you called me teacher."
He leaned even closer, close enough that Yami could count his eyelashes.
"Explain."
Geto walked over as well, though his approach was quieter. His expression remained composed, but his eyes lingered on Yami with far more seriousness than before.
Yami glanced from one to the other.
Then he pointed at the ruined remains of the steel pipe sticking out of the dissipating curse.
"Are you finished asking?"
Gojo blinked.
"What?"
"If we don't leave soon, the kikufuku outside will be sold out."
Gojo froze.
For three full seconds, he stared at Yami.
Then he burst out laughing.
"Hahahahahaha!"
The laughter was loud, unrestrained, and completely unsuited to the gloomy Curtain around them. He laughed so hard he bent forward, one hand on his stomach.
"Interesting. You're seriously interesting."
Geto sighed. "Satoru, don't encourage suspicious people."
"Too late. I'm encouraged."
Gojo threw an arm around Yami's shoulders with no sense of distance whatsoever.
"I don't know what freakish mountain you crawled down from," he said, grinning, "but those moves just now weren't bad."
"High praise," Yami said dryly.
"Don't get cocky. I said not bad, not amazing."
"You looked pretty shocked earlier."
"I was not shocked. I was evaluating."
"You nearly dropped your sunglasses."
"That was air resistance."
Geto looked between them, then gave a quiet laugh despite himself.
For a moment, the Curtain's darkness felt less oppressive.
Yami felt the weight of Gojo's arm on his shoulder. Heard the younger, sharper edge in his voice. Saw Geto standing nearby, still smiling gently beneath a future that had not yet crushed him.
Something warm and painful stirred in his chest.
So this was where it began.
Not with grand declarations.
Not with trust earned through years of blood and battle.
Just a strange encounter, a dead curse, and a white-haired brat who was far too easy to provoke.
Yami smiled.
"Then I look forward to working with you."
Gojo tilted his head. "Working with us?"
"My name is Yami."
He paused, then added with a faint curve of his lips, "A passing taijutsu teacher."
Gojo snorted. "You really are weird."
"Coming from you, that hurts."
"It should."
Their conversation sounded light.
Almost peaceful.
But Yami still noticed it.
For a brief instant, Geto Suguru's gaze changed.
It was subtle enough that most people would have missed it. A flicker of something complex beneath the calm surface.
Curiosity.
Admiration.
Confusion.
Maybe even discomfort.
An existence with no Cursed Energy, yet capable of fighting Cursed Spirits head-on.
A person who did not fit neatly into the categories of sorcerer, non-sorcerer, curse, or Heavenly Restriction.
For Geto Suguru, who would one day divide the world into sorcerers and monkeys, Yami's existence was a contradiction.
And contradictions had power.
The seed had already been planted.
As for what kind of flower it would become...
That would depend on how this summer ended.
.....
[If you don't want to wait for the next update, read 50 chapters ahead on P@treon.]
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