Training Hall – Kyoto School of Sorcery
The echo of the impact still resonated. The cracked floor revealed the exact spot where Ichiro Kawakami had been brutally knocked to the ground by Naoya Zen'in. The young second-year, with a robust body hardened by years of training, lay unconscious with a broken rib and his pride shattered.
Naoya didn't even breathe heavily.
"A bad joke," he muttered, annoyed, brushing a speck of dust off his shoulder.
Around him, the other students watched him in a silence charged with emotion: surprise, fear… and, in many cases, silent hatred.
Utahime Iori – Perspective
Utahime couldn't hide her unease. This had gone beyond simple training. It was a lesson, yes… but one delivered with calculated cruelty.
Naoya hadn't sought to win. He had sought to humiliate. And he succeeded.
"Zen'in," he said harshly. This isn't a battlefield.
Naoya barely turned his head, not bothering to hide his disdain.
"With or without curses, they keep falling like civilians. Is this the best this school has?"
Utahime gritted his teeth. He knew losing control would only give him more reasons to despise them. But deep down, something told him that this kid hadn't come to learn... he'd come to measure them. To decide if this place was useful for their development.
And he was starting to think it wasn't.
Ichika Anezaki – Perspective
From the shadow of one of the pillars, Ichika Anezaki watched everything silently. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She felt Naoya's every word like poison.
Ichiro wasn't the best of them. But he was their friend. And seeing him crushed like he was worthless... stirred something more than rage.
It ignited a fire.
"He doesn't care about us..." she muttered.
She remembered how Naoya didn't even blink when he knocked Ichiro down. As if he measured people only by their usefulness.
"He doesn't see allies. Only stepping stones."
The most dangerous thing wasn't his power. It was his certainty. The confidence with which he looked at everyone as if he'd already decided they were trash.
"Someday... someone has to put him in his place."
And if no one else did, she would.
Gakuganji Director's Office
Gakuganji flipped through reports while an old pipe smoked between his fingers. The room smelled of cheap incense and damp wood. Beside him was the scroll with the records of the training battle. The report was clear: abnormal speed, lethal precision, extremely high-level cursed energy. Unusual tactical ability for his age.
And most importantly:
Absolute control of the environment and the enemy.
"This boy…" he muttered with a crooked smile. "He didn't just inherit Naobito's speed. He's more ruthless. Less emotional."
Utahime had been clear: the boy was a problem. But for Gakuganji, he was a solution in the form of a problem.
He stood up, folding his hands behind his back as he looked at the old portrait of Satoru Gojo, hanging on a faded wall.
"Gojo…" he said softly. "If you ever want to return to this school as a symbol… it will be this boy who will bring you down. Not your enemies. One of ours."
And then he smiled. For the first time in years.
Temple Gardens – Later
Naoya walked in silence. The night breeze lightly stirred his hair as he passed the cherry trees in the old garden. His mind wasn't on Ichiro or Utahime.
It was on another defeat… more personal.
I still can't use the Reverse Curse Technique. Not even halfway. I understood the theory, but my body isn't responding as it should. I'm missing something...
He remembered Gojo.
That idiot had activated the technique after dying at Touji's hands. Something in that death had awakened the reversal of energy in his body.
A broken boundary. An understanding born from the abyss.
"Will I have to die to master it...?" Naoya whispered, fearless. It was a logical question.
He stopped before a small pond. He looked at his reflection in the water, distorted by the ripples.
He didn't look like a student. Or like a child.
"These Kyoto sorcerers... they're shadows. Useless. I don't need them."
And then, an idea popped into his head.
If he can't learn from them... maybe I can provoke something that will bring him closer to the brink of death. A way to overcome that barrier. A method.
Cruelty wasn't a means. It was his compass. And it was pointing in a new direction.
Ichika's Room – Night
Ichika wrote in her diary, emotionless. Each word was a knife.
"Naoya Zen'in isn't a student. He's a weapon."
"Today he measured us like cattle. And tomorrow, perhaps, he'll start killing without reason."
"Someone must stop him. Someone must bring him down before we all end up like Ichiro."
"And if no one has the courage, I will."
She closed the diary tightly.
The seed of hatred was no longer just a feeling. It was a plan.