They said it would be a sparring match, but even before the start, I could feel the tension in the air—the kind of quiet that isn't silence but expectation, heavy and sharp, like the edge of a knife just before it touches skin.
The courtyard had been cleared of students, though I could feel the eyes from the windows above. Gojo lounged against the upper railing like he had nothing better to do, sunglasses catching the light, his grin unreadable. Yaga stood nearby with arms folded, his expression unreadable but not uninterested.
Maki stepped forward to face me, her cursed tool already in hand, a staff wrapped in dark lacquered wood that glinted faintly in the sun. She didn't need cursed energy—never had. Everything about her was sharpened will, born from muscle and resentment and years of fighting for what others inherited.
I didn't say anything. Neither did she.
We bowed.
Then it began.
She didn't waste time. Her first swing came low and fast, the staff slicing through the air like a spear. I sidestepped, barely, the wind from the blow brushing my ribs.
She pressed forward—another strike, a sudden spin, a sweeping kick. It was like being inside a storm, every motion smooth but brutal, like a dancer who didn't care if her partner left with broken bones.
I kept moving.
Taguchi's lessons played behind my eyes, not as commands but rhythms, the memory of motion, of breath, of stillness. I let my body lean instead of resist, shifted instead of blocked.
But I wasn't winning.
She cracked my shoulder with the butt of her staff, then swept my legs out from under me. The ground rushed up. I hit hard, breath knocked from my lungs. She didn't pause. The staff came down again—this time toward my head.
I rolled.
It slammed into the stone, splintering the tile.
I got back to my feet, gasping.
Her eyes were focused. Not cruel. Just clear.
She wasn't trying to hurt me out of anger. She was testing how far I'd bend before I broke.
I didn't retaliate.
I didn't know how.
Gojo's voice floated down, lazy and amused. "He's either a pacifist or he's stalling. Either way, this is getting boring."
I moved again, trying to find rhythm, but Maki was already there. She struck my ribs. I reeled. She drove a knee into my stomach. I staggered back.
Blood in my mouth.
Pain was everywhere now, in layers, like heat under skin, but something else stirred beneath it.
The flicker.
Not a fire. Not a scream.
Just light.
It uncurled in the pit of my chest like breath drawn into lungs long starved, not a weapon, not yet, just presence. It didn't burn. It woke.
She came again.
I didn't dodge.
I didn't block.
The staff stopped inches from my face.
She blinked.
I wasn't glowing yet. Not like before. But something was there. The shimmer just under my skin. The pressure between us shifted.
Gojo straightened.
Yaga tensed.
The staff came down again, hard, direct.
I raised my hand.
Light spilled through my fingers—not blinding, but absolute.
The staff cracked in two.
Not broken by force. Unmade.
Maki stepped back, eyes narrowing.
She didn't show fear.
But she didn't charge again either.
I lowered my hand.
The glow faded, slow, reluctant.
I breathed once, twice.
Pain was still in my ribs, my shoulder, my jaw—but it wasn't everything. It wasn't enough to drown me.
Yaga stepped forward.
"Enough."
Maki gave a shallow nod and turned, walking off the field without a word.
The moment she passed the chalk ring's edge, the world breathed again.
Gojo was already halfway down the stairs. "You didn't retaliate until you had no choice," he said, his voice light. "Interesting."
I wiped blood from my mouth.
"She would've killed me if I let her."
"Probably."
Yaga was already writing something on a tablet. He didn't look up.
"Not cursed energy," he muttered. "Not cursed at all."
Gojo clapped me on the shoulder. "Congratulations," he said. "You're now officially something no one understands. Good luck with that."
I didn't see Maki that night.
Didn't see Toge or Panda either.
No one spoke to me at dinner.
Not because they hated me.
Because they didn't know what box to put me in.
That made me worse than an enemy.
That made me unpredictable.
I found Taguchi later in the empty hallway outside the training rooms. He didn't look surprised to see me.
"You didn't lose," he said.
"No," I answered.
"You didn't win either."
"No."
He looked at me like he was waiting for something, and I gave it to him.
"I didn't want to."
"Good," he said. "Wanting to win is where most people go wrong."