Teiko Middle School — First Gymnasium, Fitness Testing Area.
The air thickened.
After that world-shattering vertical reach, the gym felt like it had suddenly frozen.
The malicious laughter that had filled the room vanished, strangled mid-air.
All eyes were on the white-haired youth under the basket, who casually wiped his fingers with a handkerchief.
Without a single run-up, without any effort, he had touched the very top edge of the backboard.
NBA-level vertical… on a middle-school freshman.
The visual impact alone shattered everyone's sense of reality.
"U-Um… next is the strength test."
The second-year data recorder's voice trembled. The impatience from before had vanished, replaced by awe, like facing a living anomaly.
"Satoru Gojo… please this way."
Gojo tossed the handkerchief into the trash.
Hands back in his pockets, he strolled forward, leisurely.
The crowd parted instinctively, like the Red Sea.
Whispers remained—but now they carried fear.
The strength area was lined with bench presses and squat racks.
One burly First String center snorted.
"Tsk. Jumping high doesn't matter. Basketball is a contact sport."
His arms were thicker than most people's thighs.
"With those skinny limbs, he can't even stabilize a barbell."
Many nodded internally.
Gojo's body looked delicate, streamlined, almost ornamental.
Every muscle perfectly proportioned, carved to the golden ratio.
Nothing bulky. Nothing intimidating at first glance.
Gojo approached the bench press.
The record holder: third-year vice-captain, 85 kg. Monster-level for middle schoolers.
"How many plates?" the recorder asked, hand trembling toward the 40-kg weights. "We should start light…"
"Add them all."
Gojo yawned.
He lay on the bench, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, unreadable.
"All of them?" the recorder stammered. "That's… over 110 kilograms!"
"Is Teiko out of plates?" Gojo's tone was flat. "If so, bring the next set from over there."
110 kg.
They whispered, horrified.
"This kid is insane."
"He'll crush himself!"
"What if someone dies?"
Nijimura approached, frowning.
"Know your limits. If you get hurt just to show off, you're out."
"Show off?"
Gojo chuckled lightly.
He gripped the barbell.
In an instant, the Cursed Energy coursing through his body flowed into his arms.
With Six Eyes precision, every muscle fiber contracted perfectly, zero energy lost.
Where mortals disperse power, his was concentrated absolutely.
"Watch closely. This is… the strongest."
No prep. No grunt.
Clack—!
The barbell, loaded with every plate, lifted as if it weighed nothing.
Effortless.
Like a feather.
Hands steady. Movements precise.
One… two… three… ten reps.
Boredom in each motion. Breathing even.
"Too light."
He racked the barbell. The clang echoed, hearts skipping beats.
Gojo sat up. The crowd stared, mouths agape.
"So this is Teiko's powerhouse? You don't even have heavier iron?"
"If I pushed harder, I could bend it."
Dead silence.
The center who mocked him earlier paled. He suspected Gojo hadn't lifted steel at all—but the metallic clang told the truth.
"Strength test… full marks. Off the charts."
The data recorder's hand trembled, writing "MAX" on the record sheet.
Next—50-meter sprint.
If vertical jump and strength shattered minds, speed would obliterate them.
Teiko's infrared timing system measured to 0.01 seconds.
Gojo didn't crouch.
Hands in pockets. Body slightly leaned forward. Casual.
The starter gasped silently.
"Running with hands in pockets? Who does he think he's looking down on?" whispered one upperclassman.
Akashi Seijuro, silent until now, narrowed his red-and-gold eyes.
The "aura" around Gojo shifted.
If he had been a sheathed sword… now the edge was drawn.
Just an inch—but that inch made the skin prickle.
"That stance…" Akashi murmured.
"Every muscle relaxed… yet ready to explode. The stance of a beast before the hunt."
Bang!
The starter gun fired.
Only a white afterimage remained on everyone's retinas.
No exaggerated arm swings.
No strained expressions.
Satoru Gojo moved like an azure storm, tearing across the court before anyone could blink.
[Blue: Weakened Version Application]
Although teleportation was restricted in public, he combined his Cursed Energy–enhanced leg explosiveness with the Six Eyes' perfect calculation of wind resistance.
The result? Speed beyond the human eye.
Fifty meters—start to finish.
For normal middle schoolers:
7 seconds = excellent
6 seconds = genius
For Satoru Gojo?
The starter gun's smoke hadn't even cleared.
A gale had already swept the finish line.
The wind slammed into the judge, scattering hair and nearly sending his clipboard flying.
Gojo stood on the crash pad behind the line, brushing off invisible dust.
The gym… was frozen in stunned silence.
"Ho… how many seconds?" someone stammered.
All eyes flicked to the electronic timer.
The numbers expected… didn't appear.
The high-tech screen flashed red. Frantically. Then settled on a single word:
[E-R-R-O-R]
"Is it… broken?"
The data recorder rushed over. Shock etched every line of his face.
"This machine… it's brand-new, German import!"
He smacked it. Nothing.
A calm, youthful voice spoke from the sidelines.
All heads turned.
A first-year with short crimson hair walked forward slowly.
First-year uniform. Not tall. But every step radiated leadership.
Akashi Seijuro.
He gestured toward the starting sensor… and the finish line.
"It's simple," he explained calmly. "His start was so fast, the sensor couldn't close the circuit before he'd already crossed the finish line. His explosiveness exceeded the sampling rate of the machine."
"In short…"
Akashi's gaze swept across the crowd, landing on Gojo at the finish line.
"This machine isn't qualified to record his speed."
Chaos erupted.
"Speed that even a machine can't measure? A human? Impossible!"
Midorima froze, his Tanuki Shigaraki figurine nearly slipping from his grasp.
"In front of him… common sense doesn't exist."
Aomine Daiki could no longer remain seated.
He rose, eyes blazing. Blood pumped like wildfire.
The thrill of encountering a true monster surged through him.
"Hey, white-haired guy."
Aomine grinned, teeth flashing. He spun a basketball on one finger, his gaze locked on Gojo.
"Let's go one-on-one. I want to see if the machine's wrong… or if you really are that fast."
The First String cleared the court.
If anyone could challenge this transfer student, it was Aomine.
Gojo stood at the finish line, watching the approaching dark-skinned youth.
The system panel pinged.
[Side Mission Triggered: Establishing Authority]
[Mission Content: Shut out Aomine Daiki in a 1-on-1 (unawakened Light form)]
[Reward: Unlock skill "Limitless Cursed Technique: Automatic Defense (Elementary)"]
"Oh? The dark-skinned shooter?" Gojo's lips curved into that arrogant, punch-worthy smile.
He didn't refuse. He sauntered toward Aomine.
Center court.
190 cm of white-haired superiority.
Looking down at Aomine, only 175 cm at this time.
"You want to challenge me?"
Gojo combed back his hair lazily. Azure eyes glinting with mischief.
"Admirable courage. But one thing must be clarified."
"This isn't a 1-on-1."
He raised a finger.
"This is a… one-sided teaching session."
"Huh? Foul mouth, kid," Aomine spat, veins popping.
But excitement danced in his eyes. "I hope your skills match your talk."
"Captain Nijimura."
Gojo turned briefly to the helpless captain.
"Since the fitness test broke the machine, let this dark-skinned guy be my opponent for practical assessment. No problem?"
Nijimura sighed.
"Permission granted. Five balls only. Loser cleans the gym for a week."
"No problem."
Aomine tossed the ball.
"You attack first."
Gojo caught it with one hand. The orange ball felt exceptionally obedient in his long, slender fingers.
He studied Aomine. Panther stance. Coiled, ready to strike.
The ace of the "Generation of Miracles"?
Six Eyes scanned him: muscle activity, nerve reaction, center-of-gravity stability. Top-tier, no doubt.
But…
"Too slow."
Gojo whispered.
"What?" Aomine froze.
Then—
No jab steps. No fakes. No dribbling tricks.
Just one casual dribble to the front-right.
And in an instant…
Vanished.
Aomine's vision registered nothing.
Boom!
A massive roar.
Gojo hung from the rim. The backboard groaned. The basketball slammed to the floor, bouncing up.
The gym… silent.
He swung lightly, landed with elegance, and turned toward Aomine. Pupils dilated.
A malicious grin formed:
"Too fast? Shall I… slow down for you?"
"After all…"
"I am invincible."
By the sidelines, Akashi's red eyes snapped wide.
In that instant, he glimpsed something beyond talent.
An abyss.
Absolute power.