"I thought you were like me. Given your age, I knew reaching this level was difficult—but now I see you're nothing special."
"You don't trust your martial arts. You think your control over your power is near perfect, but you can't actually do it, can you? You can't put everything on the line and throw a punch without reservation."
"The current you couldn't even beat the 'me' from ten years ago."
Kyogoku Makoto stood his ground, letting out one grand declaration after another. To Hasegumo, it was just noise.
"You talk too much. We won't know who wins until the fight is over."
The words had barely left his lips before Hasegumo lunged. He threw a straight right, keeping his left hand tucked near his ribs—a perfect balance of offense and defense. Yet, Kyogoku Makoto acted as if he didn't even see it. Same stance, same straight punch, same result.
Hasegumo was sent flying once again. Even with his ironclad mental resilience, he couldn't help but doubt himself. He was physically stronger, yet he kept losing the head-on clashes. Was it some secret technique? Looking at Makoto's movements, there was nothing extra, no hidden trick—just the simple act of throwing his entire soul into a single strike.
"Participant Hasegumo has been blown back again! Kyogoku Makoto is clearly dominating. Perhaps Hasegumo should consider a change in strategy?" The announcer's words hit Hasegumo like a home run ball to the gut.
"So what? As long as I've tried my best, it's fine. Martial arts... it wasn't something I had to do. It was just a promise."
Hasegumo stood up, but he felt like a different person. He stopped obsessing over over-powering his opponent. He returned to his initial plan: close the distance and exploit the gaps in Makoto's defensive rhythm.
This is enough. This is more than enough, Hasegumo thought. Within a range of less than a meter, the two men engaged in a flurry of exchanges so intense it was beyond the comprehension of the average spectator.
Makoto's earlier taunts had been picked up by the announcer's microphone, but the crowd couldn't make heads or tails of it. They only saw that their "Unbeatable Legend" was winning, which meant their "all-in" bets were safe.
"The kid still hasn't found his 'Heart'?" Old Man Kamo stared at Gen Ijichi, eyes wide.
"No," Gen sighed, a bitter edge to his voice. "I thought he'd find it during the tournament. But his physical talent and his Cursed Technique are so perfectly suited for close quarters that he's had it too easy. Exorcising Curses has been a walk in the park for him."
Gen gritted his teeth. "But it's fine. Master Kyogoku isn't the type to let him off easy."
Masamichi Yaga watched them, completely baffled. Knowing nothing of high-level martial arts, he could see Hasegumo was losing, but the cryptic "riddler" dialogue between the two old masters beside him left him entirely in the dark.
Back in the ring, the battle had reached a fever pitch. By now, the shirts of both combatants had disintegrated under the sheer pressure of their movements, fluttering to the mats in tatters.
They fought shirtless, skin-to-skin, the sound of meat hitting meat echoing through the stadium. The audience was roaring, captivated by the raw brutality.
The fighters, however, were in a different world.
Not good. He's still holding back, and my reactions are starting to slip, Hasegumo realized. Staying in a "phone booth" fight with a monster like Makoto was draining his stamina and mental focus much faster than he had anticipated. The mounting pain in his body was a screaming reminder of his limits.
It's time, Makoto thought.
Suddenly, Makoto's movements—which were already so fast they could only be captured by high-speed cameras—accelerated even further.
His left fist buried itself in Hasegumo's gut, forcing him to stumble back. In the next heartbeat, Makoto's right fist followed, carrying the weight of a mountain as it swung toward Hasegumo's chest.
Not enough! Faster! Move! Hasegumo leaned back, bracing his right hand against the ground to stabilize himself, and launched a spinning kick with his left toward Makoto's jaw.
Makoto didn't dodge. He reached out with his left hand, snatched Hasegumo's ankle out of the air, and prepared to slam him into the concrete. Hasegumo managed to twist away, forcing another reset.
Even though Makoto's strikes held no killing intent, the sheer pressure of the defense forced Hasegumo into a trance—the world around him began to slow down.
This feeling... it's just like the fight with the Daitengu. Is this my life flashing before my eyes?
The "Revolving Lantern" state isn't just a precursor to death. For those with enough talent, it provides a window of hyper-accelerated thought to find a path to victory. But Hasegumo wasn't thinking about a counter-attack.
The golden sun broke through the clouds, reflecting off the droplets of sweat flying through the air.
It's so beautiful... this world.
Why am I practicing martial arts, anyway? If I can't win, I should just give up. Why am I still standing?
Memories flooded back: three years of sweat in the dojo; Uncle Gen's constant smiles; the Curses he'd exorcised using both fists and jujutsu; Hachi barking in the yard; the deaths of the old master and little Kiyotaka.
He remembered it all.
The scenes shifted again: his past life, waiting for death in a hospital bed; the cold forest where he woke up after reincarnation; the taste of good food; the fizz of a cold Coke; the smiles of strangers.
"This... this is my gratitude to the world!"
The moment Hasegumo's feet touched the ground, every stray thought vanished. This is enough. This is plenty!
He lunged forward one last time. Channeling his Steel Fist technique, he threw a straight punch with every ounce of strength in his body.
Makoto smiled. He lowered his center of gravity and threw a straight punch of his own in response.
BOOM!
"What?! A perfect draw?! Has Kyogoku Makoto finally exhausted his stamina?" The announcer was talking nonsense. After all that fighting, Makoto had barely broken a sweat, while Hasegumo was flushed red and clearly battered. There was no way Makoto was more tired.
Hasegumo brought his hands to his chest, thumbs touching and fingers curled—he blew a mock "heart" kiss to his opponent. Makoto tapped his own chest in a silent salute of respect.
"Again!"
They charged once more. But this time, it was different. Hasegumo stopped obsessively trying to close the gap. The flow of the match shifted; it was no longer a one-sided suppression. Hasegumo was finding a rhythm in his defense.
Is this it? Shindigunken? I've been fighting a monster like this all this time, and I actually thought I could win?
As they traded blows, Hasegumo realized he could enter that "slow-motion" state at will. He wasn't just thinking faster; he could briefly predict Makoto's next move. It wasn't about watching muscle contractions or shifting weight—it was a spiritual resonance, as if he were reading Makoto's very soul.
He realized his previous level of skill had been like a frog at the bottom of a well. True martial arts were so much deeper than he had imagined.
"Three, two, one... It seems Hasegumo no longer has the strength to stand! The winner is Kyogoku Makoto!"
The stadium erupted into a tidal wave of cheers. The old man in the stands shook as he took another heart pill, breathing a sigh of relief. "My house is safe! I swear, Kyogoku Makoto is the God of Martial Arts!"
Hasegumo, the loser, lay on the ground with a smile on his face. Utterly drained, he watched as Makoto hoisted the championship trophy high above his head.
Makoto walked over to him slowly. "Kid... you're stronger than I was ten years ago."
"That really hurts, old man," Hasegumo joked, his voice raspy. "But... I found it."
"Is that so? I hope we can fight again in the next tournament."
Once he'd recovered enough strength, Hasegumo pushed himself up. "Talk about fair-weather fans. I'm the runner-up, and not a single person came to help me up."
A slip of paper fell out of his pocket. [Participant 777: Hasegumo. Clean Sweep Victory. Odds 1:46. 1.1 Million Yen.]
Gamblers really do never prosper.
"Yo, Master. Uncle Gen. And... some Yakuza guy I don't know."
There is a vast distance between the 2D world and reality. Even though Hasegumo had seen the anime, he couldn't quite reconcile the real Masamichi Yaga with his animated counterpart.
Gen Ijichi walked up and immediately smacked him upside the head. "You brat! Losing the match and you're still grinning? People will think you bet against yourself!"
"Oh crap!" Hasegumo suddenly remembered. He patted his pockets and found nothing. The smile vanished instantly. "I'm ruined. Uncle, you have to lend me some cash."
"Where's your money?"
"I put my life savings on myself to win the whole thing."
Whack! Another smack to the head. "Of all the things to do, you had to gamble? And you bet on yourself and lost? How embarrassing!" Gen roared.
"Failure is the mother of success! Besides, you saw it—that guy was a freak of nature. He's been training years longer than me. I gave it my all!"
The smile returned to Hasegumo's face, the energetic martial arts youth restored. "But I reached that state, Uncle. Shindigunken."
"Master Kyogoku is truly something," Gen muttered. "He achieved something even Curses couldn't manage."
"Hey, it was my own hard work! You're just jealous, aren't you, old man?"
"You brat!" "Totally jealous."
"Ahem." Yuta Kamo cleared his throat, and the two fell silent.
"This is Masamichi Yaga," Kamo said, gesturing to the burly man in sunglasses. "He's a teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu High. You'll be studying under him once you enroll."
Masamichi Yaga? Itadori's teacher? Hasegumo looked at the "Yakuza boss" before him. I didn't recognize him at all. He looks way scarier than in the anime. Wait... does this mean I'll be classmates with the protagonist? Hasegumo's timeline was a mess. He couldn't remember exactly when the anime took place, and he didn't realize that Yuji Itadori had likely just been born. The "foolish" Hasegumo was already imagining leveling up alongside the main cast.
Hasegumo quickly dropped his playful act with Gen and gave a polite bow. "It's an honor. My name is Hasegumo, nineteen years old. I look forward to working with you."
Yaga nodded, satisfied. "Hasegumo. I'll call you Gumo. Don't be nervous; I'm just a teacher. We'll have plenty of chances to learn from one another."
How am I supposed to not be nervous? the "swordsman" behind Yaga thought. Turn down your Cursed Energy output, for god's sake! You're terrifying!
Hasegumo's sharp eyes caught the figure behind Yaga. "Wait, isn't that the guy who was cheating with Cursed Energy?"
"He is a 'wild' sorcerer," Yaga answered. "Using techniques against civilians is strictly forbidden. He's being taken to headquarters for judgment." Yaga turned, grabbing Kumaya Kenshin by the collar.
"Don't even think about running. Well, that's all for today. Gumo, catch up with your seniors. Report to Jujutsu High tomorrow morning. Come early—there's an entrance exam. You can only enroll if you pass."
Yaga and Kamo turned to leave, Kenshin in tow.
"What if I fail?" Hasegumo shouted after them.
"Then it means you have no talent for being a sorcerer," Yaga's voice drifted back without him turning his head. "You can just go back to practicing martial arts."
"Talent?" Hasegumo squeezed his fist, then slowly relaxed it. "I've got plenty of that to spare."
"Let's go, Uncle. Buy me a drink."
"You lost the match and you want a drink? You're doing ten thousand practice punches tonight!"
The two continued their bickering as they disappeared into the city lights.