For the Foolish Cult Leader, a Gift of Deception

(The plan was going smoothly. Everything was unfolding according to the most perfect script.)

Watching Suguru Geto's deep-eyed, frenzied calculations, the little angel in Mizuki Makoto's heart was nearly laughing itself breathless.

As long as you don't charge at me with a three-section staff to make up for all the PE classes I skipped, then put on a live performance of [Three Strikes to Smash the Strongest Soul, Teacher, I'm a Jujutsu High Student], we can talk this out.

After all, having personally seen someone bat an ultimate technique on the level of Uzumaki back like a billiard ball, unless you were a Special-Grade Gorilla with muscles for brains like Maki-chan—scratch that—you would never dare use another ultimate move to send yourself to your death before figuring out the "reflection mechanism."

Suguru Geto did not unleash another world-destroying Uzumaki, nor did he grab Playful Cloud and rush in for hand-to-hand combat.

He slowly raised a hand, palm facing the ground.

"Cursed Spirit Manipulation: Multiple Parallel."

In that instant, the shadow behind him was no longer a sea of fodder curses rushing out in a swarm. Instead, it precisely separated into over a hundred Grade 1, Semi-Grade 1, and Grade 2 cursed spirits of all shapes and sizes. Rather than mindlessly roaring as they had before, they moved like special forces programmed for battle, splitting into more than a dozen tactical squads and completely locking down that damned brat from above, below, left, right, and even every gap in the blind spots of space.

"If that truly is Infinity, then how many directions and types of attacks can you handle at once?"

Suguru Geto stood elegantly with his hands behind his back, tilting his head slightly. His gaze carried an icy scrutiny. At that moment, he looked less like a curse user fighting for his life and more like a teacher standing at the podium of Jujutsu High, giving an In-Class Test to an unruly student.

"Mizuki-kun, consider this an extra 'final assignment' from me."

"Even Satoru's godlike Limitless is, at its core, merely absolute control over distance and space."

Suguru Geto stood elegantly with his hands behind his back, his eyes narrowing with the cruelty of someone trying to strip Mizuki Makoto layer by layer, down to the bone.

"Then how far does your Infinity extend? Can it simultaneously block malice from every direction? Or perhaps... can your so-called Infinity only protect the tiny patch of ground your eyes can see?"

He murmured softly, his gentle tone chilling to the bone, and lightly tapped the air with the tip of his right index finger.

"Don't disappoint me, Mizuki-kun. If you can't solve this question, then as payment, you may be buried in these shadows along with your meager answer."

"An after-school tutoring session for a primitive gorilla from a 2017 Jujutsu High student is only just beginning, Mr. Man-Bun."

Mizuki Makoto wiped away the nosebleed caused by his overheated brain, smeared it across his coat to draw a bloody mocking smiley face, then abruptly tore off his uniform jacket and flung it into the sea of cursed spirits.

—Riiip.

The instant the jacket left his body, Mizuki Makoto's bare arms and back came directly into contact with the surrounding [space], and Ushura Bullet's range of influence instantly expanded severalfold.

He took a deep breath, enduring the sharp pain in his mind from overexertion as the azure "special effect" at his fingertips suddenly burst apart.

"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."

Mizuki Makoto shouted low. A second before the hundred-plus Grade 1 and Grade 2 cursed spirits could tear him apart, his body shot through their murderous formation like a warped shimmer of space.

After shedding the cumbersome Jujutsu High jacket, his bare arms, shoulders, and back came directly into contact with the coordinates of the surrounding air.

—Buzzz!

Ushura Bullet, which had originally only been able to manipulate the tiny space around his hands, had its sensory range multiplied severalfold in that instant. Like a loach coated head to toe in lubricant, he slipped into the black mire formed by the cursed spirits.

Whoosh—!

The first wave of wind blades and poison struck from a blind spot. Mizuki Makoto did not even turn his head. The fake [Blue] jumping at his fingertips as a "special effect" burst instantly, visually creating a terrifying point of suction.

Faced with cursed spirits closing in from three-dimensional angles, he did not dodge. Instead, he charged straight at claws capable of shredding a tank and threw a heavy punch crackling with blue arcs of electricity.

In that one ten-thousandth of a second, his fist seemed to generate a miniature gravitational black hole!

A Grade 3 centipede cursed spirit's fangs, mere fractions of a second from touching Mizuki Makoto's skin, seemed to be caught by an enormous magnet, its entire body bizarrely "drawn" in. Then, with a gorgeous over-the-shoulder throw, he used its own momentum to slam it viciously into the group of cursed spirits sneaking up behind him.

Bang!!

The sound of shattering bones echoed through the area as the two waves of cursed spirits crashed into a heap of mangled flesh.

Yet the true mechanism was a scam capable of making Suguru Geto die of rage.

Mizuki Makoto had never possessed the ability to create a gravitational black hole. As a physical combat failure who had skipped countless PE classes, he could not fight cursed spirits through pure bodily strength like the future Yuji Itadori or the current Maki.

He had merely concentrated an infinitesimal amount of Blue in his fist, creating an incredibly weak yet crucial "capture anchor."

This tiny amount of Blue could not pull anything at all, but once it touched a cursed spirit's body, it created a strange sense of "adhesion," preventing it from breaking free from his touch for a fraction of a second.

And that brief instant was enough.

When the broad areas of skin exposed to the air caught their movements, Ushura Bullet would activate instantly—I did not need to grab them. I only needed to gently "nudge" them along the direction of their force, letting all their power slide along the curve of my body into empty space.

There was only one thing to do: the instant they touched my skin, force their forward vector to slide backward along the lines of my muscles—like placing a bar of soap coated in lard beneath the wheels of a speeding race car.

It was like first using a tiny magnet to precisely "lock" them inside my attack range, then using my lard-coated body to gently redirect all their charging force and violent kinetic energy into their companions.

The visual "gravitational pull" was merely an illusion created by their excessive momentum after I used weak Blue to lock their positions and shift their coordinates, forcing them to "stick" to me.

Using Ushura Bullet to minutely shift the points where force acted on space was practically a bug-level passive skill of "100% Reflection" and "Everyone Fights Each Other" when dealing with a group battle. Any attack that failed to hit Mizuki Makoto would end up striking its companions square in the face.

He strolled leisurely through the center of the carnage as cursed spirits slaughtered one another.

Amid the purple blood spraying through the air and severed limbs flying everywhere, his bare upper body remained so clean it was almost enviable. Like a ghost that did not exist in this dimension, no matter how the hundred-plus cursed spirits crowded and roared around him, he continued weaving through that tiny space, his movements as graceful as a waltz called "Bloody Violence."

Praise be to you! Great Gorilla Cult Leader! Yes, yes, yes, keep sending out those fodder cursed spirits!

Mizuki Makoto sang mad praises for this "Gorilla Cult Leader" in his heart.

As he calmly walked through the swarm of cursed spirits, he rapidly calculated the man-bun cult leader's remaining assets.

During the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, one Special Grade had been deployed in Kyoto. I killed one during that previous Grade 2 promotion test. There should also be one Special-Grade Imaginary Vengeful Cursed Spirit, Tamamo-no-Mae, that he has never used...

Just as I thought, Mr. Geto. You probably don't have that many Special-Grade cursed spirits in your hands!

As a Special-Grade Sorcerer who was not quite so special-grade, you would never waste your final trump card during a probing stage like this. As long as you keep playing this "In-Class Test" with Grade 1 and Grade 2 fodder, then with my current cursed energy consumption, I can definitely hold on with this "space slide" and fake Blue gravitational interference until Miguel gets elbowed into "Neguel" by that white-haired old fossil.

"Former Special-Grade sir, your 'In-Class Test' seems a little too gentle."

Mizuki Makoto violently twisted a Grade 1 cursed spirit covered in eyes into a pretzel, casually sent two fodder curses that tried to approach flying, wiped the sweat from his face, and flashed Suguru Geto in the distance an exceedingly arrogant grin.

"If this is all you have, then I suggest you fill out that blank retirement report sooner rather than later. After all, this kind of rough work that 'drains stamina' is beneath your so-called great cause. If you are truly bored out of your mind, why not spend these twenty minutes quietly considering what posture you should use to apologize when the teacher gets here, so you won't look too pathetic?"

[Current Time: 08:20. Objective: Hold out for another 11 minutes 40 seconds.]

Suguru Geto stared fixedly at the student in the distance. The killing intent in his eyes was gradually replaced by a profound sense of absurdity—he even began to wonder whether he had truly fallen behind the times. Could his choice really have been wrong? Was Satoru's way the correct one? Then what were the parents he had killed with his own hands? What was he, the one who had killed his own parents with his own hands!?

"What's wrong, Mr. Geto? These fodder curses can't even scratch the paint on this layer of Infinity."

Mizuki Makoto stood at the center of the encirclement of over a hundred cursed spirits with his hands in his pockets, speaking so arrogantly that he wanted to slap himself twice. But he knew that the more punchable he acted, the more Suguru Geto would suspect that he was approaching Gojo Satoru's Infinity.

Yet from the angle Suguru Geto could not see, his legs were actually shaking wildly, and cold sweat had already soaked through his shirt.

"Teacher Gojo! Are you still not done playing around in Shinjuku?!" Mizuki Makoto let out a miserable roar deep in his heart.

"Isn't he just some Black guy with braids who's playing with a whip upside down? Aren't you the strongest? Is it really that hard to blast him into the Pacific Ocean with a single Red? Please, even if you just teleport over and give me one look, I could burn twenty thousand fewer brain cells!"

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