The air was thick with the faint scent of sandalwood and the lingering stench of cursed spirits.
A tall, dark-skinned man wearing sunglasses and a beret leaned irritably against the wall.
Miguel.
This top-tier jujutsu sorcerer from Africa was currently fiddling with a section of densely woven black rope that emitted strange fluctuations, muttering under his breath.
"Damn it..."
"These Japanese people are all insane!"
"Releasing a thousand high-level cursed spirits in two major cities at once? Such a psychopathic plan is crazier than those man-eating demons!"
Miguel looked at the black rope in his hand, now less than half its original length, and a look of deep pain and frustration crossed his face.
This Black Rope was a peerless cursed tool that his family had spent decades and countless generations of sorcerers weaving day and night.
Its unique ability to disturb cursed techniques was a priceless treasure, unmatched in the entire jujutsu world.
And now, it was reduced to this tattered state.
Whenever he thought about how the rope had broken, the memory of a terrifying, one-sided battle from a mission in Africa several months ago would uncontrollably resurface in his mind.
That black-haired youth with deep red eyes and a katana at his waist.
"That damn Cursed-Energy-Less Sword Saint..."
Miguel shuddered, subconsciously touching his chest, which still throbbed with a faint ache.
He could never forget that day.
The youth named Yoru appeared as if out of thin air and severed his proud Black Rope with a single draw-sword technique that didn't even have a ripple of cursed energy.
Even more absurdly, after giving him a brutal beating, that freak didn't kill him.
Instead, using a method bordering on brainwashing and threats, he strong-armed him into Suguru Geto's terrorist organization!
"Help me stall that white-haired guy for a while. When this is over, I'll teach you a set of physical techniques that can unleash ultimate power even without cursed energy."
Miguel spat on the ground, mimicking Yoru's playful tone from that time.
"And I actually believed such childish lies?!"
Just as Miguel was full of complaints...
"Tap, tap, tap."
A steady set of footsteps echoed from the other end of the corridor.
Suguru Geto, still wearing his gojo-kesa, walked slowly toward Miguel with that gentle yet chilling smile on his face.
"What is the matter, Mr. Miguel?"
Geto glanced at the Black Rope in Miguel's hand.
"You seem a bit uneasy about tomorrow's Night Parade of a Hundred Demons?"
"Geto, cut the crap with me."
Miguel rolled his eyes and tucked the Black Rope back into his shirt.
"I'm just a mercenary here for the money—and someone who was coerced by that freak's violence."
"I have no desire to be cannon fodder for a crazy plan that wants to destroy the world on a whim."
Miguel looked at Geto, his voice laced with caution.
"Spit it out. You didn't come looking for me for no reason."
"That guy Yoru dumped me here with you. Does he want me to go die, or is there some other dirty business?"
Geto didn't take offense at Miguel's rudeness.
He simply smiled, a complex depth flashing in his narrow eyes.
"It is actually quite simple."
"There is an extremely dangerous—one could even say the most crucial—mission in the entire Night Parade that must be entrusted to you."
The smile on Geto's face faded, replaced by an unprecedented gravity.
"On the battlefield in Shinjuku."
"I need you to stall that man named Satoru Gojo for exactly ten minutes—no matter what, even if it costs you your life!"
Ten minutes?!
Hearing that number, Miguel's pupils constricted, and his breath hitched for a split second.
Even though he was from Africa, he wasn't some ignorant bumpkin.
He knew better than anyone what the name "Satoru Gojo" represented in the jujutsu world.
The strongest of the modern era!
A monster who possessed the Limitless cursed technique and the Six Eyes, an existence almost akin to a god!
"Are you insane?!"
Miguel straightened up abruptly, looking at Geto in disbelief.
"You want me to stall that white-haired monster?"
"That's not a mission; that's a suicide request!"
Miguel waved his arms excitedly.
"Is that white-haired guy really that strong? Is he even stronger than that black-haired demon who beat me into submission and snapped my Black Rope in one strike?!"
In Miguel's subconscious, Yoru—a terrifying existence who could completely ignore the rules of jujutsu and crush him with pure physical force and extreme heat—was already the ceiling of strength he could imagine.
'Yoru and Satoru, huh...'
Hearing Miguel's question, memories of that historical peak confrontation deep within the Tombs of the Star Corridor ten years ago surfaced in Geto's mind.
He shook his head with a bitter smile, his voice tinged with deep emotion.
"They are entirely different types of monsters."
"Yoru's strength lies in his absolute destructive power and insight, which can sever all causality and transcend death itself."
"In terms of pure physical prowess and killing efficiency, he is indeed a freak that even Satoru must be wary of."
Geto looked at Miguel, his gaze sharpening.
"But Satoru is different."
"Satoru's strength lies in his Limitless technique."
"It is an absolute defense; as long as he does not deactivate it voluntarily, no one in this world can touch him."
"Facing Satoru, even Yoru can only look on in frustration unless he activates that extremely special red-eyed state."
Geto pointed his finger at the bulge in Miguel's shirt.
"Therefore, in the entire Night Parade..."
"The only thing that can slightly interfere with Satoru's absolute defense..."
"...is the Black Rope in your possession that can disrupt cursed techniques."
Miguel fell into a long silence after hearing Geto's explanation. He knew the properties of the Black Rope, of course; it was his only survival capital among these lunatics.
But even so, facing the man called the strongest of the modern era...
Ten minutes?
A single mistake for even a second would probably result in being blown to smithereens instantly, right?
"Sigh..."
Miguel let out a long, helpless sigh.
He knew that from the moment he was beaten by Yoru in Africa and forced to sign that unequal treaty...
He was on this sinking ship, and there was no way off.
"Ten minutes, then."
Miguel took a deep breath, reached into his shirt, and tightly gripped the remaining half of the Black Rope.
The irritation in his eyes was gradually replaced by the ferocity and resolve of a top-tier sorcerer.
"If I survive this..."
"I hope that black-haired demon Yoru keeps his promise."
"Otherwise, I'll haunt you crazy bastards even as a ghost!"
Carrying the half-section of Black Rope, Miguel turned and walked toward the assembly point for the Shinjuku battlefield.
Miguel wound the Black Rope inch by inch around his wrist, feeling its coarse and cold texture.
He looked back toward Shinjuku, where the neon lights flickered in the night like the gaping maw of a giant beast.
"Ten minutes..."
He repeated the number under his breath, his eyes growing hollow and cold.
His solitary back radiated a tragic solemnity, like a warrior crossing a river from which he might never return.
And on this night of madness about to erupt.
This African powerhouse who had been strong-armed by Yoru.
Could he really survive like in the original story?
Could he survive those long and lethal ten minutes under the terrifying wrath of Satoru Gojo, the strongest of the modern era?!