Things Had Gone Too Smoothly for Us

The instant the referee lowered his hand, both fighters moved.

Projection Sorcery-the Zenin Clan's premier Cursed Technique-divided one second into 24 Frames, preset the movements, then forced their execution. Once it activated, the user became a programmed machine, every movement precise to the millisecond, every trajectory unalterable.

It was the Cursed Technique the Zenin Clan took pride in, and one both Wana and Shinya knew intimately.

Yet the same Cursed Technique looked entirely different in different hands.

Wana's steps were light and nimble, like a swallow skimming over water. Her movements were crisp and clean, without a single wasted motion-the result of the training she had received in the Zenin Clan since childhood. Every movement had been honed thousands of times, refined to a staggering degree of precision.

Shinya was completely different.

His movements were sharp and vicious, every strike carrying a savage edge, as though he meant to tear his opponent apart. In his hands, Projection Sorcery was not an elegant art but a lethal weapon-he did not care whether his movements looked good or his form was correct. He cared about only one thing: landing a hit.

Bam!

Their fists collided in midair with a heavy boom.

Wana used the impact to retreat, her toes scraping two shallow marks across the ground. She steadied herself and looked up at Shinya, a flicker of wariness crossing her eyes.

Shinya also retreated half a step, but that half-smile remained on his face, as though everything was under his control.

"Not bad, cousin," he said, rotating his wrist, his tone faintly amused. "Looks like you haven't wasted all these years."

Wana did not answer. She merely adjusted her breathing.

She knew Shinya all too well.

Ever since he was little, he had enjoyed using words to unsettle his opponents. He would mock them, provoke them, find an opening when they least expected it, then drive his attack straight through.

This was not the first time he had treated an opponent this way, nor would it be the last.

"Let's continue." Wana's voice was calm.

Shinya's smile deepened.

A second later, they both activated their techniques.

Projection Sorcery: 24 Frames-at full speed.

Wana became a blur across the arena. Her movements flowed like water: a punch, an elbow, a knee, a kick, each flowing seamlessly into the next. This was the fighting style she excelled at-overwhelming her opponent with relentless attacks, giving him no chance to breathe.

But Shinya was no pushover either.

He weaved through Wana's attacks, barely avoiding each one, yet always advancing at just the right moment rather than retreating. Unlike Wana, he did not strive for perfect movement. Instead, he countered her offensive in an almost brutal fashion-taking hits, dodging, striking back. It was crude and direct, but remarkably effective.

"Too slow, too slow!" Shinya taunted as he dodged. "Is that all you've got, cousin?"

Wana ignored him and picked up the pace.

A punch grazed Shinya's cheek, stirring a few strands of hair. An elbow slammed toward his chest, only to be blocked by his arm. A knee drove toward his stomach, but he twisted aside. A kick swept at his legs, but he jumped over it-

Then Wana's fist slammed squarely into Shinya's chest.

Bam!

Shinya flew backward, flipped in midair, and landed steadily at the edge of the arena.

He glanced down at the spot on his chest where she had struck him, then raised his head, his smile unchanged.

"That was a good punch," he said, brushing the dust off his clothes. "Shame it still lacked power."

Wana's brow furrowed slightly.

She knew that punch had not been weak-with her strength, it could have shattered a thick stone slab. Yet Shinya acted as though he had merely been bitten by a mosquito.

His Martial Arts had grown stronger than before.

In Kyoto Jujutsu High's spectator stands, the atmosphere was as heavy as the sky before a storm.

The crushing defeat in the previous match still weighed on everyone's minds, and now they faced a daughter of the Zenin Clan's main line. Though Wana was not as famous as her older brother Zhiyan, the name "Projection Sorcery" alone was enough to inspire dread.

The deputy team leader sat beside the team leader, her arms folded across her chest and her brow tightly furrowed. After watching the match for a while, she finally could not help speaking.

"Team leader, what do you think?"

The team leader did not answer immediately.

His eyes followed the two figures in the arena, their high-speed afterimages reflected in his pupils. He stayed silent for so long that the deputy thought he had not heard her. Just as she was about to ask again, he finally spoke.

"To be honest," he said, his voice low and slow, as though weighing every word, "I really don't like Shinya."

The deputy blinked.

"He's arrogant and looks down on everyone," the team leader continued, his gaze never leaving the arena. "He disregards his teammates during training, acts on his own during missions, and makes snide remarks all the time. Honestly, having someone like that on the team is a headache."

The deputy gave a bitter smile.

That was true enough. Shinya's reputation at Kyoto Jujutsu High was poor-not because of his strength, but because of his personality. He looked down on anyone weaker than him, and unfortunately, that included most of the school.

"But-" the team leader changed tack, his voice sinking lower. "I have to admit, he's strong."

He paused, as though making a difficult decision.

Then he sighed.

"He might be able to win."

Watching his expression, the deputy felt conflicted. She knew he disliked Shinya, knew he would rather use someone slightly weaker with a better personality than a troublemaker like him. But in this Goodwill Event, Shinya was undeniably among Kyoto Jujutsu High's strongest fighters. If they did not use him, who else could they use?

"Let's hope so," the deputy said quietly, turning her attention back to the arena.

In Tokyo Jujutsu High's spectator stands, the mood was much lighter-at least on the surface.

Satoru Gojo sat with his legs crossed and another lollipop in his mouth, sprawled lazily in his seat. After watching the match for a while, he turned toward Utahime beside him.

"Hey, Utahime," he said casually. "Weren't you about to ask something earlier?"

Utahime rolled her eyes at him and said nothing.

Satoru Gojo paid it no mind and kept talking.

"Come on, Wana can easily handle a weakling like that."

As he spoke, he waved a hand as though shooing away a fly.

"Right, Zhiyan?"

No one answered.

Satoru Gojo waited a few seconds, puzzled. He turned toward Zhiyan, who was sitting beside him-

Then his expression changed.

Zhiyan's expression was nothing like what he had expected.

He was not looking at Satoru Gojo. His eyes were fixed firmly on the two fighters in the arena. His brow was slightly furrowed, his lips pressed together, his jaw tight-that was not the relaxed expression of someone watching a guaranteed victory. It was... worry.

Satoru Gojo's sunglasses slipped slightly, revealing his widened eyes.

"No way," he said, a trace of disbelief in his voice. "Don't tell me even you-"

He did not finish, but his meaning was clear.

"Things have gone too smoothly."

It was Xian Di who answered.

Satoru Gojo turned and stared at him blankly.

"What?"

Xian Di did not look at him. His gaze, too, rested on the arena. His expression was calm, but not in his usual way-normally, that calm was confident and composed. Now it was more like the dead stillness before a storm.

"All these years," Xian Di said softly, almost to himself, "whether it was me, you, or Zhiyan and Wana-"

He paused.

"Things have gone too smoothly for all of us."

Satoru Gojo froze.

Xian Di continued, his tone as flat as though he were stating a fact.

"Ever since we entered Jujutsu High-or rather, ever since we were born-we've won against every opponent, on every mission, in every challenge. We won easily, we won beautifully, and we won so often that it started to feel inevitable."

He turned to Satoru Gojo.

"Like flowers in a greenhouse."

Satoru Gojo frowned.

"You mean-"

Xian Di nodded.

"Exactly."

His gaze returned to the arena, settling on Wana.

"Wana is innocent. That's one of her strengths, and part of what makes her endearing-but in Jujutsu Society, innocence isn't always a good thing."

His voice grew lower.

"This isn't training. It's combat. To win, you have to do whatever it takes."

Satoru Gojo instinctively wanted to argue.

"Don't the rules forbid seriously injuring anyone?"

Xian Di turned and looked at him.

That gaze-

It was so cold that a chill ran down Satoru Gojo's back.

"Accidents can always happen."

Xian Di spoke each word distinctly, as though every one had been dredged up from beneath the ice.

Satoru Gojo opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but his throat felt blocked.

Suddenly, he remembered certain things.

The cursed spirits they encountered on missions would not show mercy because someone was a good person. The eyes watching from the darkness would not spare someone because he was young. The malice hidden behind smiles would not steer clear because someone was innocent.

The rule of this world had never been "good people are rewarded."

The rule of this world was-the strong survived.

And were he-the six of them-really strong yet?

Or had they simply been sheltered so well that they had forgotten what this world was truly like?

Satoru Gojo fell silent. At some point, even the lollipop in his mouth had stopped moving.

At that moment, the fight in the arena changed dramatically.

Shinya's attacks suddenly grew vicious. His speed more than doubled, and his movements became fiercer, every strike aimed straight at Wana's vital points.

Wana was forced onto the defensive, her footwork beginning to falter.

Her Projection Sorcery was still running perfectly, every movement precise to the millisecond-but the problem was that Shinya's rhythm had changed. He no longer fought at the pace Wana anticipated. Instead, he changed tempo constantly in an almost frenzied manner, fast then slow, left then right, making her predictions fail again and again.

This was the deadliest aspect of a battle between two users of Projection Sorcery-

When you understood the Cursed Technique well enough, you knew where its weaknesses lay.

And Shinya understood it all too well.

Fine beads of sweat formed on Wana's forehead. Her breathing grew rapid, her movements less fluid than before. She knew Shinya was leading her by the nose, but she could not find a way out-his attacks were too relentless to give her a moment to breathe.

Then she made a mistake.

A mistake she would never have made during training.

Her step lagged by a fraction of a second.

Within Projection Sorcery's 24 Frames, a delay of a fraction of a second meant the collapse of the entire movement sequence.

Shinya's eyes lit up.

He did not let the opportunity slip away.

A short blade suddenly slid from his sleeve into his right hand-a compact Cursed Tool, its edge coated in faint cursed energy, sharp enough to slice through steel.

Wana's pupils contracted sharply.

She tried to dodge, but her body was still executing the previous frame's movement. There was no time to adjust.

The short blade sliced through the air.

Slash-

Blood sprayed.

A gash opened across Wana's waist and abdomen, blood instantly soaking her clothes. She let out a muffled groan and retreated several steps, clutching the wound, her face turning pale.

The atmosphere in the arena froze.

Wana glanced down at the wound across her waist and abdomen, then looked up at Shinya.

Shinya stood a short distance away, toying with the little blade. The blood on its edge was glaringly bright in the sunlight. A half-smile lingered on his face, his eyes filled with the delight of a cat tormenting a mouse.

"Oh dear," he said, his voice brimming with false concern. "Are you all right, cousin?"

He spun the blade around his fingertips and tilted his head at Wana.

"If you can't keep going, just surrender. After all-I wouldn't want to hurt my dear cousin."

He placed particular emphasis on "cousin," as though savoring something delicious.

"That piece of trash-!"

In Tokyo Jujutsu High's spectator stands, Satoru Gojo shot out of his seat.

His face was livid, his eyes wide. The lollipop fell from his mouth and bounced twice on the ground. He was already leaning forward, one foot stepping out-

"Gojo."

Zhiyan's voice came from behind him, quiet but like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head.

Satoru Gojo stopped in his tracks.

He turned and stared at Zhiyan in disbelief.

Zhiyan's expression remained grave, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight-but the words he spoke seemed inconceivable to Satoru Gojo.

"Sit down."

Satoru Gojo froze.

Suguru Geto had already hurried over from beside them and reached out to catch Satoru Gojo's arm.

"Satoru, calm down-"

"Calm down?!" Satoru Gojo's voice rose, charged with urgency and anger. "Didn't you see what that piece of trash did to Wana?!"

He was loud enough for everyone in the surrounding rows to hear. The students from Tokyo Jujutsu High turned toward them, and some people on Kyoto Jujutsu High's side looked over as well.

Satoru Gojo did not care.

He stared at Zhiyan, waiting for his answer.

Zhiyan did not look at him.

His gaze remained fixed on Wana in the arena, his eyes holding something Satoru Gojo could not understand.

"Sit down," he said, his voice low and cold.

Satoru Gojo's chest heaved. He opened his mouth to say something, but the sight of Zhiyan's cold, hard face made him swallow the words.

Seething, he roughly shook off Suguru Geto's hand and dropped back into his seat, folding his arms across his chest with a thunderous expression.

"What the hell..." he muttered, his voice full of resentment. "Zhiyan, you bastard..."

What he did not see was-

Zhiyan's hand on his knee had long since clenched into a fist.

His knuckles were white, his veins bulging.

His nails dug into his palm, leaving deep marks.

In the arena.

Wana pressed a hand over the wound in her side, blood seeping between her fingers and dripping onto the ground.

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

But she neither cried out nor backed down.

She raised her head, looked at her younger cousin standing opposite her with a faint smirk, and forced a smile.

"Shinya," her voice trembled slightly, but her tone carried undisguised scorn, "you still love those dirty little tricks, don't you?"

Shinya's smile stiffened slightly, but quickly returned to normal.

He twirled the small knife between his fingers, tilted his head, and put on an innocent expression.

"How could you say that about me, cousin?"

His voice dripped with feigned hurt.

"The rules don't forbid weapons, do they?"

As he spoke, he raised the small Cursed Tool knife and gestured toward the referee.

The referee glanced at him, then at the wound in Wana's side, hesitated, and nodded.

"The match will continue."

Shinya turned his gaze back to Wana. His smile grew even more brazen, and he no longer bothered hiding the malice in his eyes.

"Cousin," he pointed the knife at Wana, the blood on its blade gleaming dark red in the sunlight, "can you still hold out?"

Wana did not answer.

She took a deep breath and removed her hand from the wound.

Blood continued to flow, staining the hem of her clothes red. But she did not look at the wound again. Instead, she resumed her fighting stance.

Her form remained precise, her gaze unwavering.

"Come on," she said.

Shinya's smile froze for a moment.

Looking into Wana's eyes-those clear eyes, without a trace of retreat-he suddenly felt uneasy.

He hated that look.

That look that said, I won't surrender.

That look that said, You can hurt me, but you can't defeat me.

That look that reminded him of someone.

"Then-" Shinya's smile twisted into something vicious. "As you wish."

He moved.