A surge of keen anticipation thrummed through Kamo Itsuki at the prospect of fighting Gojo Satoru.
For all his obsession with Puppet Jutsu and Barrier Techniques—passionate hobbies, really—his primary vocation had always been that of a sorcerer. And the technique that had consumed most of his time was, unquestionably, Blood Manipulation.
Yet, Blood Manipulation existed in a different universe from Gojo's Limitless.
Limitless was a masterpiece of synergy, an all-encompassing system. Its defensive aspect, the boundless "Infinity," created a conceptual moat, a real-world paradox where approaching objects asymptotically approached zero velocity. Theoretically, it rendered the user untouchable—an impenetrable fortress. Offensively, it boasted a devastating and elegant arsenal: Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue, Reversal: Red, and the cataclysmic fusion, Hollow Purple. Coupled with the omniscient analytical power of the Six Eyes, which dissected cursed energy flow with flawless precision, Gojo Satoru was engineered for victory. It was hard to even conceptualize his defeat.
By comparison, Blood Manipulation felt almost… quaint. Even with Kamo's unique liberation from blood volume limits, it was, at its core, the manipulation of a single substance. Its variations were finite. It wasn't considered a top-tier technique among regular sorcerers, let alone sufficient for the monsters Kamo envisioned as his true adversaries—those who sought to overturn the jujutsu world itself.
Thus, he had been forced to forge a different path, strengthening himself through relentless innovation outside of direct combat. So far, his growth rate satisfied him. He had yet to face an opponent who pushed him to his absolute limit.
But his previous battles had been minor skirmishes. He lacked a true crucible, a worthy opponent to validate the direction of his efforts.
His fight with Fushiguro Toji had been one of those rare, valuable tests—a pressure cooker that had forced him to master Black Flash. Yet, Toji was ultimately a physical brawler. The victory, once Kamo seriously employed his cursed technique, felt decisive yet oddly hollow. He'd had to repeatedly heal the man with Reverse Cursed Technique just to prolong the engagement enough to feel a sense of fulfillment.
He had painstakingly lured out Kenjaku, that ancient schemer, fully expecting a proper, high-stakes duel. The result? A profound lesson in dishonorable pragmatism. Kenjaku had opened with a world-ending move, robbing Kamo of another precious testing opportunity.
There were, in theory, two other avenues.
The first: hunt Special Grade Cursed Spirits. It would test his mettle, protect civilians, and weaken the enemy's forces—a perfect trifecta. But Special Grades were phantoms, elusive by nature. Without them actively causing incidents, tracking them down was a frustrating exercise in futility.
The second: challenge the other Special Grade Sorcerers.
Tsukumo Yuki's power was undeniable, but she was perpetually overseas, and their relationship wasn't close enough for a casual, life-or-death sparring request.
Geto Suguru was off the table entirely. A real, no-holds-barred fight between them would decimate Geto's meticulously collected arsenal of curses, crippling his strength for the sake of a mere test. It was an unacceptable cost.
That left only Gojo Satoru.
And Gojo Satoru was, in many ways, the perfect opponent. He possessed a Reverse Cursed Technique potent enough for near-instantaneous healing. There would be no need to hold back. No need for restraint.
They could finally cut loose. They could fight to the *death* and be done with it.
The thought brought a sharp, focused smile to Kamo Itsuki's lips. At last, a proper laboratory for his power.
The desire had always been there—a quiet, persistent itch for a true, unrestrained clash with Gojo Satoru. But recent chaos and a pragmatic understanding of his own odds had kept it shelved. Now, with Gojo himself issuing the challenge? It was a gift. He accepted without a second thought.
With the agreement sealed, the next, more logistical problem presented itself: where?
"Where should we fight?" Gojo asked, his head tilted in genuine, almost childish puzzlement.
"You didn't seriously think any old place would do, did you?" Kamo replied, a dry smile on his lips.
"No, I figured some deserted island overseas would be plenty of room for the two of us," Gojo said, crossing his arms with casual assurance.
"Even deserted islands have ecosystems. Mindless destruction is… inelegant."
"Fine, then. A desert? The poles? The middle of the ocean?" Gojo offered, stroking his chin.
"Satellites. Shipping lanes. Aircraft. The energy signatures alone would draw attention we don't need," Kamo countered, his brow furrowed.
"This is no good, that is no good—are you just making excuses to back out?" Gojo leaned in, his expression turning petulant.
"Of course not. I'm considering the variables," Kamo said, pushing the encroaching face away. "I'm just being thorough."
"Then what's your brilliant idea?" Gojo huffed, crossing his arms again.
Kamo's gaze turned inward, contemplative. "Before I focused on the Cursed Spirit Corpses… I was researching a different project. A 'super-grade' barrier."
He explained the concept: a barrier designed not just to conceal, but to contain. To withstand catastrophic internal force—a necessity for safely exorcising high-grade curses en masse without collateral damage. The theory was nearly complete.
"We fight inside it," Kamo stated simply.
Gojo's eyebrow arched high above his blindfold. A slow, incredulous grin spread across his face. "You're sure? You're absolutely certain this barrier of yours can handle us?"
The doubt in his voice was palpable. If anyone else had suggested containing the combined might of Gojo Satoru and himself, he'd have laughed them into next week. But this was Kamo Itsuki. The man who turned fungal curses into bureaucrats.
The skepticism remained, but it was now edged with a spark of intrigued, almost giddy, anticipation.
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