The moment everyone has been waiting for...
Without any further to do, enjoy!
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(Third Person's POV)
The afternoon sun cast long, golden beams through the shoji doors of the dojo, illuminating swirling motes of dust kicked up by the fierce exchange within.
Clank! Clank!
The sounds were sharp, percussive, and rapid. Two figures moved in a controlled whirlwind of violence. Busujima Saeko, her wooden sword a blur, pressed an aggressive offense. Zen'in Maki, wielding a similar bokken, met her with an economy of motion that spoke of brutal efficiency.
It was a clash of two different kinds of power.
Maki's movements were refined, each block and counter a product of her harsh tutelage and her own relentless experience.
She read Saeko's powerful swings, deflecting them with minimal effort, searching for an opening in the kendoka's solid form.
But Saeko had raw, overwhelming physicality on her side. Her Heavenly Restriction granted her speed and strength that defied her slender frame.
When their bokken met, it was Maki who was often forced back a step, her arms vibrating from the impact. Saeko, for all her Kendo discipline, was adapting, using her sheer power to break through Maki's defenses.
She wasn't as experienced, but her body learned at an alarming rate, her muscles memorizing Maki's patterns.
They were both sweating heavily, their breaths coming in sharp gasps.
Maki saw an opening, a slight overextension in one of Saeko's powerful downward slashes. She ducked inside Saeko's guard, aiming to unbalance her.
But Saeko anticipated it. Instead of pulling back, she used the momentum, twisting her body and using her free hand to grab Maki's wrist.
With a powerful heave fuelled by her enhanced strength, she used Maki's own forward motion against her, hurling the other girl over her hip.
Maki hit the dojo floor with a heavy thud, the air driven from her lungs.
Before she could recover, the blunt tip of Saeko's wooden sword was hovering an inch from her face.
Both girls were panting, chests heaving, sweat dripping from their chins onto the worn wooden floor.
After a moment, Saeko slowly pulled the sword back and smoothly sheathed it at her hip. "Thank you for the duel" she said, her voice respectful.
Maki, still on the floor, gave a curt nod, pushing herself up on her elbows. "Yeah. You too." The respect was mutual.
Saeko then did something unexpected. She extended a hand. Maki looked at it for a second, then grasped it, allowing Saeko to pull her to her feet.
"You're very skilled," Saeko said, handing Maki back her bokken
Maki took it. She then looked Saeko up and down. "Your body... it's incredible. Is it all just your restriction?"
Saeko shook her head. "No. This level of control is thanks to my Sensei."
Before Maki could ask more, the dojo door slid open. Yoshioka Akira stood in the doorway, his crimson eyes taking in the scene.
"Sensei," Saeko greeted him.
"Yoshioka-san," Maki said with a nod.
Internally, Maki was conflicted. This man was supposedly the flamboyant Gojo's cousin, yet they were polar opposites.
Where Gojo was a roaring bonfire of energy, Yoshioka was the deep, still cold of a winter night.
And his declaration with Gojo had sent shockwaves through the entire Jujutsu World
The title of "strongest" was being contested.
"I apologize, Zen'in-san, but I will need Busujima-san for the moment" Akira said, his voice calm.
"Maki," she corrected him, a hint of sharpness in her tone. "Just Maki. I don't like being called Zen'in."
Akira gave a single, understanding nod. "Maki-san, then." He turned and walked back into the hallway. Saeko bowed slightly to Maki and followed him.
In the quiet, dimly lit hallway, Saeko fell into step beside him. "What is it, Sensei?"
He stopped and turned to face her, his gaze intense. "Why are you holding back?"
Saeko's eyes widened. "I... I wasn't."
"You were," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "If you were serious, you wouldn't even be sweating like that against her"
She stared at him, caught in the depth of his red orbs. There was something about him that compelled honesty, that made her walls crumble. She lowered her eyes, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"I'm ashamed," she confessed, the words feeling both terrifying and liberating. "Ashamed of myself. Of what I am." She took a shaky breath. "That night... the night you helped me, when I hurt that man... I felt elated. I felt a warmth in my core, seeing him whimpering in pain. I'm nasty. I'm an ugly human being."
Akira stared at her for a long moment, his expression unchanging. Then, he spoke.
"And?"
Saeko flinched. "Huh?"
"You like hurting people. And?" he repeated, as if discussing the weather.
The simplicity of the question stunned her into silence.
What did he mean, 'and'?
"You think yourself ugly for having that part of you," he continued, his voice still flat, "But that's only a part of who Busujima Saeko is." He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. "You like hurting people? Then do so. Turn those who try to hurt you into whimpering sows that will never forget the pain you cause them. Smile at their pain. Embrace that part of you. Only then will you ever unleash your full capacity."
Tears she didn't know she was holding back welled in her eyes.
It wasn't condemnation.
It wasn't pity. It was acceptance.
A brutal, unvarnished acceptance of the darkest corner of her soul.
The heavy fog of self-loathing that had numbed her mind since that day was violently ripped away, leaving behind a raw, terrifying, and exhilarating clarity. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, not from fear, but from a profound, grateful release.
Akira then shifted gears as if the deeply personal confession had never happened "Now, for the real reason I came to find you. There will be some future arrangements made, as I was speaking with Principal Yaga." He gestured with his hand, and a sheathed katana seemed to materialize within it. She hadn't seen where he was holding it. "Take it."
Hesitantly, Saeko reached out and took the sword. The scabbard was simple, unadorned wood. She gripped the hilt and slowly drew the blade.
The moment the blade was fully unsheathed, she felt it, a low, hum of pure, unadulterated bloodlust. The sword was alive, and it was hungry.
It was a katana with a distinct, fearsome beauty. The blade was a deep, menacing black, seeming to absorb the dim light of the hallway. The hamon, the temper line, was a wild, unpredictable pattern, like frozen lightning.
But the most striking feature was the feeling that emanated from it.
"Its name is Sandai Kitetsu," Akira stated, watching her reaction. "It was wielded by a very powerful swordsman, long ago. A man who walked the earth and sailed the seas with the sole intention of becoming the strongest swordsman in the world. The blade wasn't always black. It became that way through the swordsman's own will, stained by the essence of hundreds of battles."
Saeko stared at the black steel, the hum resonating with the newly acknowledged darkness in her own heart. "It's... alive. It wishes for carnage."
"Good," Akira said, already turning to walk away. "Then you will feed it. I'm sure you and that blade will become very powerful together."
He walked away, his footsteps silent on the wooden floor.
Saeko stood frozen, the cursed katana in her hands.
That man, with a few simple words, had not only understood her but had given her permission to be her whole, terrifying self.
He had handed her a key to a cage she didn't even know she was in.
She stared at his retreating back, a new, fierce determination solidifying within her. A small, sharp smile touched her lips, the first genuine, unburdened smile she had felt in a long time.
"I'm sorry, Sakurajima-san," She whispered to the empty hallway, her grip tightening on the hungry black blade. "But I'll be joining the competition"
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The air in Ieri Shoko's office was perpetually cold, carrying the sterile scent of antiseptic and the faint, metallic hint of blood
It was less an office and more a morgue, with stainless steel stretchers and storage units lining the walls usually used for sorcerer that fell in their line of duty
Gojo Satoru sat perched on one of these stretchers, his long legs dangling playfully
Shoko leaned against her desk, a cigarette held loosely between her fingers, its smoke curling towards the ceiling.
She watched him, her tired eyes missing very little.
"You seem a little giggly. More than usual" she commented, her voice a low drawl
"Can you blame me?" Gojo replied, a wide, boyish grin spreading across his face. "I'm going to fight someone strong tomorrow. I feel kinda excited."
"Oh?" Shoko took a slow drag. "It's the first time I've seen you actually happy about fighting someone."
"'Cause most of my fights are just so boring," he said, his tone shifting to one of genuine complaint. "No one has ever made me go all out. Not really."
"And this Yoshioka... is strong?" she asked, her gaze sharpening.
"Hmm." Gojo's grin faded into a more pensive expression. He looked up at the ceiling, as if calculating. "If I were to put a number on it, I'd say there's a 60/40 chance, with me being the 60, of course." He glanced back at her, his eyes serious behind his blindfold. "Though I don't know his full capacities yet, I can tell. He's pretty STRONG."
"60/40?" Shoko repeated, exhaling a plume of smoke. "That sounds... close."
"I know," Gojo said, and the excitement was back in his voice, edged with something deeper. "That's what makes it exciting."
A comfortable silence fell between them, filled only by the soft crackle of Shoko's cigarette.
She studied him, the way his energy, while still boundless, seemed more focused than she'd seen in years.
"You know" she began, her tone casual but deliberate, "looking at how you acted around him... it brought back some memories. He looks similar to you, even if he's more handsome," she added with a faint smirk. "But he acts a little bit like him."
Gojo's expressive face stilled. The playful energy around him dimmed, just for a fraction of a second. "You thought that too, huh?"
Shoko didn't need to answer. They both knew who "him" was. Suguru Geto.
The straight man to Gojo's comedy, the calm to his storm, the other half of the "Strongest Duo" or their era
His betrayal had carved a hollow space in their world, a dent in Gojo's invincible facade that he would never openly acknowledge.
He'd tried to find a new dynamic with Nanami, but it wasn't the same.
It could never be the same.
Geto and Gojo weren't just friends; they were two sides of the same coin, two pillars holding up the sky of their generation
But now, only one pillar remained, standing alone at the top, bearing the weight of the title "Strongest" by himself
'Maybe' Shoko thought, watching the complex emotions play out on Gojo's face, 'That was one of the true, unspoken reasons he was so eager for this fight'
It wasn't just about testing his strength against an equal. It was a desperate, hopeful search for someone, anyone, who could stand beside him again.
Someone who could turn the summit from a lonely peak, to a shared vista.
Gojo hopped off the stretcher, the moment of melancholy passing as quickly as it came, replaced by his characteristic bravado. "Well, I've got a fight tomorrow. Wish me luck, Mickey."
Shoko gave a wry smile, playing along with their old joke. "Good luck, Rocky."
He gave her a two-fingered salute and strolled out of the morgue, the door swinging shut behind him.
But the smile he left with was different. It was a real one, the kind Shoko hadn't seen since Geto left.
Alone again, Shoko took one last, long drag from her cigarette before stubbing it out. She exhaled a final, slow stream of smoke into the cold, silent air.
"Tomorrow" she murmured to herself, "will be an interesting day."
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The hallways of Jujutsu High were quiet in the evening, the stone and wood absorbing the last of the day's energy.
As Yoshioka Akira walked towards his assigned guest room, he saw two women conversing near a corner. One was dressed in the formal attire of a shrine maiden, Iori Utahime.
The other was a striking woman with white hair styled in two long braids, one covering half her face, the other hanging down her back, her attire sleek and black, Mei Mei.
Utahime spotted him first. Her expression, which had been one of mild annoyance, instantly morphed into one of fiery recognition. "You!" She hissed, her voice cutting through the silence.
She stormed towards him, her geta sandals clacking angrily against the wooden floor. Akira didn't break stride or alter his pace, continuing his calm approach until they met in the middle of the hallway.
Utahime thrust an accusatory finger towards his face. "You were the one causing those impossible readings for weeks!"
He looked from her furious face to the finger pointed at his nose. "You must be Iori Utahime" He stated calmly. "Tengen-sama and Gojo both mentioned you. They said you were... passionate about my technique."
"Passionate?!" She shouted, her voice echoing. "I spent countless nights, fuelled by nothing but coffee and rage, trying to decipher who or what you were! And then you just decide to waltz in here like nothing happened?!"
Akira watched her, his expression unreadable. "I see I caused you significant distress. In that case, I apologize, Iori Utahime. I made you worry for nought." He gave her a slight, formal bow of his head.
Utahime recoiled as if struck. The sincere, straightforward apology completely disarmed her. She uncrossed her arms, the fight draining out of her as she muttered under her breath, "Fucking white-haired guys, always so meddlesome..." She scratched her head in frustration. "Ahh, I can't stay mad at an apology like that. If it were Gojo, he'd just laugh in my face. Fine. You were just using your technique to exorcise spirits. But you owe me one, you hear?"
"Yes, Iori-san," he acknowledged.
"You really are the complete opposite of Gojo, huh?" She observed, her tone finally settling.
"Hmm," he nodded.
Mei Mei chose that moment to glide into the conversation, her voice a silken, flirty purr. "Well, well, would you look at that. If it isn't the famous Yoshioka Akira. I've heard your name whispered in certain high circles in the mundane world. There are some very wealthy, very powerful people paying good money for any scrap of information about you."
Akira didn't need to guess; he knew exactly which families were digging for information about him, espcially after the school festival. "...And you will sell it to them?"
"Of course" Mei Mei said without a hint of shame. "Money is, after all, the most important thing in the world. Unless you have a more... profitable counter-offer?"
Akira considered it. Killing her would silence her, but it would be messy and counterproductive. Paying her off was an option, but he had a more elegant solution.
"I believe that since you are here, you plan to broadcast tomorrow's fight using your crows" he stated.
"Naturally. Gojo has already paid me a handsome sum to stream it live for the Jujutsu Higher-ups and a few other select clients."
"And you are also administering the betting pools for the battle, I would guess."
"One conversation and you already know me so well? My~" she cooed. "If I were a more paranoid woman, I'd think you were stalking me. But yes, you're correct. I'm managing the bets, and I myself am going to place a wager, though I haven't decided who to back yet."
"Isn't that illegal?" Utahime interjected
"It would be," Mei Mei replied smoothly, "But I'm not the one betting. My cute little brother Ui Ui will be placing the wagers."
"How are the odds?" Akira asked, his crimson eyes fixed on Mei Mei.
"Of course, the odds are heavily in Gojo's favor," she explained. "The odds are 1 to 5. But for you, Yoshioka-san, the odds are 1 to 15"
"Then, bet on me," Akira told her, his voice leaving no room for doubt.
"Oh? And if you lose, I would lose a tremendous amount of money. That doesn't sound like an equal business deal."
"Then here is my offer," Akira said. "If I lose, I will personally reimburse you for the entire amount bet, plus an additional fee for your trouble and I will provide you with exclusive, verifiable information about me that you can sell to your clients. If I win, you keep the massive profit"
Mei Mei's visible eye gleamed with avaricious interest. "Now that sounds more like it. I like your style, Yoshioka-san. Very well, I will go with your plan."
"Hmm," he nodded. "Then I shall retire for the evening." With that, he simply walked past them and continued down the hall.
Utahime stared after his retreating back, then turned to Mei Mei. "You know, for someone who looks even better than Gojo, he is the total opposite in personality."
"Yeah~" Mei Mei agreed, a thoughtful smile on her lips.
Utahime let out a small sigh, a faint, unexpected blush on her cheeks. "....I could get used to that"
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(Next Day – Morning)
The observation room was packed and buzzing with a tense anticipation.
Every screen on the wall was lit, fed by the sharp eyes of Mei Mei's crows, broadcasting from within the special barrier Master Tengen had crafted.
On one side stood the Kyoto and Tokyo Jujutsu High staff and students; on the other, Yoshioka Akira's eclectic class, along with Momo, Okarun, and the Turbo Granny in her Maneki-neko prison.
"It's finally beginning" Kusakabe muttered, his arms crossed as he stared intently at the central screen.
"Hm," Nanami grunted in agreement beside him, his expression typically stoic but his focus absolute.
"Who do you bet is going to win?" Panda asked, turning his fuzzy head towards Maki.
"Gojo-sensei might be an idiot" Maki stated, her gaze unwavering, "but he is too strong."
Beside her, Saeko, her hand resting unconsciously on the hilt of her newly acquired katana, offered a counterpoint. "So I've heard. But Yoshioka-sensei is strong as well. Even all of us combined couldn't make him sweat."
"Yeah! Go, team Yoshioka!" Hana cheered, pumping a fist into the air.
"Osu!" chorused the rest of Akira's students, a united front of belief in their teacher.
"No! Team Gojo! Osu" Miwa, the Gojo's (Self-procraimed) number one fan. Cheering for Jujutsu High's teacher
"Osu…..." And received a weak cheer, compared to Yoshioka's cheers
"Look, they've entered the barrier," Shoko commented, her voice cutting through the chatter.
The screens showed a breath-taking and impossible sight
A perfect replica of a modern Japanese city district, complete with buildings, streets, and even parked cars, all conjured within Tengen's barrier.
It was a testament to the master's unparalleled skill that he could create something so vast and realistic, a temporary world for two titans to clash.
Everyone watched, breath held, as the two white-haired figures appeared on opposite ends of a wide, empty boulevard.
Gojo Satoru was dressed for a serious fight, a tight-fitting black shirt, white baggy training pants with a black belt, and black martial arts slippers. He cracked his neck, a familiar, confident smirk on his face.
Akira, in stark contrast, looked as if he were on his way to a meeting. He stood perfectly still, elegant and imposing in a full, impeccably tailored black suit.
Then, Tengen's resonant voice echoed through the barrier and into the observation room. "Both fighters are in the barrier. The battle has begun!"
A collective hush fell over the spectators. Who would make the first move?
The answer was immediate and utterly shocking.
"Nine Ropes. Polarized Light. Crow and Declaration. Distance between Front and Back"
Gojo's voice was deadly serious, devoid of its usual playful lilt.
He formed the precise hand signs he so often skipped, his power condensing with terrifying speed. The air around him warped.
"A 'Purple' right off the bat?!" Kusakabe shouted, his composure breaking.
"Is 'Purple' powerful?" Miko asked, her voice small amidst the tension.
Shoko didn't take her eyes off the screen. "It's Gojo's most powerful technique, alongside his Domain Expansion."
On the screen, Gojo extended his hand, index and pinky fingers pointed forward. The energy swirling before him coalesced into a sphere of violent, shimmering violet.
"Maximum..." Gojo's eyes locked onto Akira's distant form. "Hollow Technique: Purple!"
With a flick of his fingers, he unleashed it. The orb erupted, expanding to the size of a small house and hurtling down the street with cataclysmic speed.
It didn't destroy the buildings it passed; it erased them from existence, leaving a smooth, scarred trench in the cityscape. To many watching, the fight seemed already over.
They did not expect the response.
"Blackout..."
Akira's voice, calm and clear, began his own chant. He held his right hand by the wrist, pushing it back in a formal, precise hand sign.
"Storm's insurgence. Gilded dust. Obliterate Day and Night"
The enormous purple orb was almost upon him, the distortion of reality washing over his suit. He didn't flinch.
He pushed his right hand upward, his left gripping his bicep for stability.
"Maximum..." The orb was mere feet away, the light casting his face in violet hues. "...Erase"
He brought his hand down in a sharp, cutting motion.
A visible distortion, a wave of absolute nothingness, shot from his hand making a path on the air as his hand descended.
It wasn't a blast or an explosion.
The moment it touched the leading edge of the "Purple," the powerful orb simply... stopped.
Then, with a sound like the universe scraping a blackboard, the entire "Purple" vanished.
No explosion, no residual energy, just empty air and the ruined street behind where it had been.
The observation room was utterly, profoundly silent. Jaws were slack. Even Shoko's cigarette hung forgotten between her fingers.
The silence was broken by Gojo's indignant shout from the speakers, his voice filled with a mixture of outrage and glee.
"Hey! That's cheating!" he yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at Akira. "You can't just delete my technique like that!"
And so, with the most powerful attack of the strongest sorcerer being casually negated, the battle for the title had truly, spectacularly begun.
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Inside the pristine, fabricated city, the two white-haired sorcerers now stood facing each other in a central plaza, the air still humming from the erased "Purple." Gojo's expression was a comical mix of outrage and pouting, like a child whose favorite toy had been snatched away.
"You can't just delete my most powerful technique and pop it like it was a balloon!" Gojo protested, stomping a foot for emphasis. "Hax! I call hax! Referee! I demand a VAR revision!" He shouted to the uncaring sky of the barrier.
Akira remained a statue of calm. "You possess the Six Eyes and the Limitless, the only one in four hundred years to be born with both, and you call me a cheater?"
"Hey! I was born this way!" Gojo retorted, striking a dramatic pose with his hands on his hips and chest puffed out. "I didn't ask to be born this perfect and talented!"
Akira just stared, his expression unchanging, a silent, placid lake to Gojo's raging river.
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Back to the spectators
The room was filled with a chorus of exasperated sighs and facepalms.
"Are they really fighting or just playing around?" Kusakabe asked, his voice laden with disbelief.
Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, a long-suffering sigh escaping him. "With Gojo, it's usually both."
In contrast, Shoko and Yaga watched the bickering with small, almost nostalgic smiles.
They remembered a time when Gojo was younger, more prone to this kind of playful arrogance.
Seeing it now, directed at someone who could actually engage with it on his level, was a stark reminder that beneath the weight of being the "Strongest," Gojo was, at his core, someone wanting to enjoy enjoying himself in life
--------------------------
"...And so, after all the gods of jujutsu reunited, they named me, Gojo Satoru, the most gifted, goodest boy in the entire world!" Gojo finished his imaginary tale with a flourish.
Akira simply stared, and for the first time, a faint, almost imperceptible upward quirk touched the corner of his lips. It was there and gone in an instant. "Let us just continue the fight" he said, his voice a low rumble.
"Okay, then! Imma beat your ass!" Gojo dropped into his stance, torso low, hands open and extended forward, energy crackling around him.
"Hmm," Akira acknowledged, settling into a poised, open-palm stance of his own. "You will try."
For a heartbeat, there was absolute stillness. The fabricated city was silent, holding its breath.
Then, they vanished.
The sound of the impact came a split second later, a thunderous CRACK that shattered the windows of the nearby buildings. They had reappeared in the exact centre of the distance between them, their forearms colliding in a block that sent a shockwave rippling through the ground.
What followed was a blistering exchange of hand-to-hand combat that was almost too fast to follow.
Gojo was a whirlwind of precise, powerful strikes, his movements fluid and unpredictable, leveraging the infinitesimal calculations of his Limitless to optimize every motion.
His fists and elbows shot out in blinding combinations, aiming for pressure points and vital areas.
Akira, however, was a fortress.
He met Gojo's flurry not with matching punches, but with a devastatingly effective focus on his legs.
He was a master of kicks.
A powerful roundhouse kick forced Gojo to lean back at an impossible angle, the wind from it slicing a gash in the pavement.
A low, sweeping kick aimed to take Gojo's legs out was avoided by a micro-teleportation, only for Akira to seamlessly flow into a spinning back kick that Gojo had to block with both arms, the force still sending him skidding backward.
Akira's style was efficient and brutal.
He used piston-like front kicks to keep Gojo at bay, his balance perfect, his suit jacket flaring with each movement.
When Gojo closed the distance, Akira used his knees and low side kicks to disrupt his rhythm.
It was a breathtaking display of martial prowess, a dance of destruction where one used overwhelming, optimized offense and the other used unbreakable defence and powerful, long-range counters.
Frustrated at being kept at a distance, Gojo feinted a high punch and dropped into a low sweep. Akira anticipated it, leaping over the sweep, but as he was in the air, Gojo grinned.
"Got you."
He didn't try to hit Akira.
Instead, he planted his hands on the ground and used his technique not on Akira, but on himself.
With a burst of reversed cursed energy, he violently threw his own body backward, sliding across the ground like a stone skipped on water, putting a dozen meters between them in an instant.
He came to a stop on one knee, already raising his hand, index and middle finger pointed directly at the still-descending Akira.
"Bye-bye," Gojo said, and swiped his fingers to the right.
An invisible, monumental force, a concentrated application of the Limitless, seemed slam into Akira mid-air.
There was no time to dodge or negate it.
The force caught him like a fly in a hurricane and hurled him laterally with terrifying speed.
He became a black-clad projectile, shooting across the plaza and smashing through the wall of a nearby office building with a deafening crash of crashing into the building's exterior wall
--------------------------------------------
Back in the spectator's room, the sudden reversal had left many bewildered.
"Wait, how did that happen?" Miko asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Even Kageyama's "Telekinesis" couldn't touch Yoshioka-sensei without being negated."
Kusakabe, arms still crossed, offered a theory. "Yoshioka's technique, from what I've observed and seen, seems to function similarly to Gojo's Limitless in one aspect: it provides a passive field around him that erases Cursed Energy on contact. But as we saw with the 'Purple' there must be a limit to the amount of energy his passive field can handle, forcing him to actively use his 'Erase' technique for larger threats."
"But Gojo just grabbed him!" Panda exclaimed. "If Yoshioka's field erases Cursed Energy, Gojo's neutral Limitless shouldn't have been able to touch him either."
"You're missing the key detail," Kusakabe countered, his gaze fixed on the screen showing the dust cloud from the building impact. "He didn't grab Yoshioka."
Nanami adjusted his glasses, his voice calm and analytical. "He grabbed the space around Yoshioka."
He let the concept sink in for a moment before elaborating. "Think of it like this: Gojo's Infinity creates an infinite space between himself and an attack. Yoshioka's field erases any Cursed Energy that enters its range. They are both defences, but they operate on different principles. Gojo didn't try to apply his Cursed Energy directly to Yoshioka's body. Instead, he used his Limitless to manipulate the very space Yoshioka was occupying. It's the difference between trying to punch a man protected by an energy shield, versus picking up the entire patch of ground he's standing on and throwing it."
"Precisely" Kusakabe nodded. "By manipulating the space itself, the air, the ground, the very world around him, Gojo found something that Yoshioka's passive erasure doesn't account for. His technique erases energy, not the space that Gojo can warp"
Principal Yaga watched the screen, a grim understanding on his face. "So now... he's found a way to fight back against Yoshioka's technique. This is no longer a test of raw power. It's a battle of wits and application between two of the most broken abilities the Jujutsu world has ever seen"
-----------------------------------
Back inside the barrier, the fight escalated into a vertical battlefield.
Gojo launched himself like a missile through the hole he'd created, his knee aimed like a piston for Akira's stomach, blazing with reinforced Cursed Energy.
Their brief exchange had been enough for the Six Eyes to process two critical pieces of data:
First, Akira's erasure field couldn't nullify Cursed Energy inside another person's body. Internal techniques and raw reinforcement were viable weapons.
Second, there was a hard limit to the passive erasure. Otherwise, his "Purple" wouldn't have required a Maximum Technique to counter.
Seeing the attack coming, Akira didn't try to block. Instead, he reinforced his fingers with his own energy and stabbed them like daggers into the building's wall. Using his embedded grip as an anchor, he swung his body out of the path of the devastating knee.
BOOM!
Gojo's attack struck the wall where Akira had been, cratering the concrete and sending a web of cracks racing outwards.
Still hanging by his fingers, Akira didn't waste a moment. He swung his body and launched a powerful kick toward Gojo's head.
Gojo brought his arms up in a cross-block, but the sheer force of the blow sent him flying backwards.
However, in a display of impossible physics, Gojo simply twisted in mid-air and landed feet-first on the building's exterior wall, standing perpendicular to the ground as if it were solid asphalt.
What followed was a breathtaking chase across the face of the skyscraper. Akira moved with terrifying agility, ripping his fingers out of one spot only to bury them in another a few meters away, using them to pull himself laterally and vertically across the sheer surface.
Gojo ran along the wall, his Limitless ignoring gravity, closing the distance with bursts of speed.
Gojo pointed a finger "Red!"
A compact sphere of repelling energy shot toward Akira. Akira braced to counter it, but at the last second, Gojo flicked his wrist. The "Red" veered sharply, bypassing Akira entirely and smashing into the building's facade a dozen meters away, burrowing deep inside.
Seizing the opening, Gojo flew forward.
But Akira was already on the move, running sideways along the wall as Gojo pursued, launching a series of reinforced punches and kicks that Akira evaded by a hair's breadth, each dodge requiring him to anchor himself with his fingers.
They raced upward until they reached the roof. The moment Akira's feet touched the flat surface, Gojo shot high into the air above him.
Akira leaped upward to meet him.
It was a trap.
Gojo, with a triumphant grin, raised two fingers and then lifted them skyward.
The "Red" he had fired earlier, which had been carving a path of destruction through the building's core, erupted from the top of the skyscraper directly beneath Akira's ascending form. Akira saw it coming, twisting in mid-air to face it. He thrust his palms forward, and the "Red" slammed into them, its violent energy being erased upon contact in a shower of fizzling sparks.
But Gojo wasn't done. With his other hand, he pointed at the ravaged building and made a sharp lifting motion.
The structural damage caused by the "Red" was catastrophic. Massive chunks of the skyscraper, torn free by the explosive force and Gojo's manipulation, were violently hurled upward toward Akira. He batted the smaller pieces aside with his forearms, but the shockwaves from the impacts disrupted his trajectory.
Then, Gojo focused his power, using his Limitless to grasp the entire upper half of the shattered building. With a monumental heave of will, he ripped it from its lower half and hurled the multi-ton structure directly at the airborne Akira.
Trapped in the air with a mountain of concrete and steel flying at him, Akira had no room to dodge.
He faced the onslaught, his crimson eyes calm. As the colossal mass was about to crush him, he pushed both hands forward, palms open.
"Delete"
The moment his palms made contact with the leading edge of the building, the entire chunk, every piece of rebar, every ton of concrete, every pane of glass, vanished. It didn't explode or turn to dust; it was simply erased from existence.
Gojo stared, his grin faltering for a split second at the new variable of their fight
-------------------------------
Back in the Spectator Room
The room was dead silent, save for the hum of the screens. They had just watched half a skyscraper cease to exist.
Kusakabe was the first to speak, his voice low with realization. "So, there's another application."
Nanami nodded grimly beside him. "His 'Erase' can nullify Cursed Energy projectiles at a distance. But this 'Delete'... it seems to be able to delete physical matter he is in direct contact with."
Mei Mei watched the screen, a calculating glint in her eye, her arms crossed. "Two devastatingly powerful techniques housed in one individual. Gojo will have his work cut out for him trying to find a consistent workaround for both." The potential value of the information she was gathering was skyrocketing by the second
Then, as they turned to the screens, they saw another thing that shocked them.
The spectators stared, utterly dumbfounded. The sheer absurdity of what they had just witnessed rendered the room silent for a moment before erupting.
"What?!" The exclamation came from multiple people at once, a chorus of pure disbelief.
-------------------------------
In the barrier, the two white-haired titans were a blur of motion, their battle carrying them across the rooftops of the fabricated city at a speed that strained the eyes.
They were forces of nature, one a storm of boundless energy, the other a void of absolute negation.
They landed on the roof of another skyscraper, the brief impact of their feet cracking the concrete.
Then, in a sudden shift, Akira pivoted and threw himself backward off the edge. Gojo, without hesitation, leaped after him, a predator diving on his prey.
They fell, the wind whipping past them. Gojo was angled downward, his focus entirely on Akira. Akira, falling on his back, looked up at his pursuer, his expression as unreadable as ever.
Then, Akira did something that defied all known logic of Jujutsu. He shaped his right hand into a finger pistol, pointing it directly at the falling Gojo.
He chanted a single word, that made the fight turn on itself
"Restore"
And at the tip of his finger, energy coalesced. Not his own erasing power, but a familiar, violent, shimmering crimson.
It was the exact same "Red" that Gojo had launched earlier, the one Akira had completely erased from existence and it had been restored.
The resurrected "Red" shot upward from his fingertip.
Gojo's eyes widened in genuine shock.
His own technique, fired back at him with perfect fidelity. He twisted his body in mid-air with impossible agility, the sphere of repelling energy grazing past him, the force of its passage almost tearing at his clothes.
The "Red" continued its trajectory, slamming into the building they had just leaped from.
The resulting explosion was catastrophic, shearing the skyscraper in half and sending the upper portion tumbling down in a thunderous avalanche of steel and concrete.
Both fighters landed on the street below, their impacts cratering the asphalt.
A colossal plume of dust and debris billowed out, engulfing the area. As the haze slowly began to settle, Gojo stood staring at Akira, his usual smirk completely gone, replaced by a look of profound, affronted astonishment.
He pointed a finger at Akira, his voice a mix of outrage and a strange, grudging admiration
"I know it's a lot coming from me," Gojo stated, his tone utterly serious, "but your technique is bullshit"
-------------------------------------------
The spectator room was a cacophony of stunned theories and rising tension.
The impossible had just become routine, and each new development shattered their understanding of jujutsu.
"Okay, can anyone explain to me what the fuck that was?" Kusakabe demanded, running a hand over his head in sheer frustration.
The gentle Miwa, watched the screen with wide, confused eyes. "Did he... um... copy Gojo-sensei's 'Red'?"
"No," Shoko stated flatly, lighting another cigarette. The familiar ritual was the only thing keeping her grounded. "It wasn't a copy."
Nanami adjusted his tie, his analytical mind racing, though a drops of sweat adorned his forehead "I concur. If his ability was simple replication, he would have utilized other techniques by now. This is fundamentally different"
The room fell into a contemplative silence, broken only by the hum of the monitors. Shoko took a long drag, her tired eyes fixed on Akira's form on the screen. "Gojo has 'Red' as the reverse application of his 'Blue'" She mused aloud, connecting the dots. "It's the positive and negative applications of his technique. If Akira's base technique is 'Erase'... a form of absolute negation..."
Yaga's head snapped up, the conclusion dawning on him. "...Then the reverse would be 'Restore'. A return to a previous state. It's not copying; it's reverting the effect of his own erasure."
Kusakabe's eyes widened in horror as the full implication hit him. He scratched his head violently. "That means he can 'Restore' any attack he has erased before! He could use anything... Oh, shit!"
"What?" Miko asked, her voice small amidst the rising panic.
"Gojo gave him the perfect counter from the very beginning of the fight!" Kusakabe exclaimed.
Maki's face paled. "What?! You mean..."
Shoko nodded, a grim finality in her voice. "At the very beginning, Gojo used his 'Purple.' Akira erased it. We don't know the exact conditions or limits of his technique... but if his 'Restore' can bring back anything he's erased..." She let the sentence hang, the terrifying conclusion settling over everyone.
"Then Gojo is fighting an enemy who can, at any moment, throw his own most powerful attack back at him," Mei Mei finished, her voice laced with a professional's appreciation for the strategic nightmare "Gojo's only path to victory is to prevent Akira from using his cursed technique, be it by keep him from using it, or by exhausting it"
Maki's jaw tightened. "That would mean..."
"A domain fight" Panda commented
"Salmon," Inumaki agreed, his usual limited vocabulary carrying the weight of their shared understanding
"Here it comes," Hakari said, his voice cutting through the speculation.
All eyes snapped back to the screens. In the dust-choked street, Akira and Gojo had separated, each leaping back a dozen yards to create space.
The air around them began to warp and distort, the sheer density of their power becoming visible.
Then, in perfect, terrifying unison, they moved.
Gojo brought his hands together, fingers interlocking in the unmistakable sign.
Akira pressed his palms together in a prayer-like motion.
And their voices, one brimming with battle-lust, the other calm and absolute, echoed as one through the barrier.
"Domain Expansion."