The official report was brief, clinical, and deeply unsatisfying.
Jujutsu High Incident Report
Date: [Redacted]
Subject: Kanon, First-Year Student
Incident: Disappearance following routine Cursed Spirit exorcism mission
Status: Missing, condition unknown
No further details. No explanation. Just a name, a date, and an absence.
Exactly one month later, Kamo Itsuki summoned three students to meet him at the school.
Maki, Panda, and Inumaki Toge gathered on the sunlit path leading to the classroom, their footsteps slow, their conversation heavy.
"Did you guys hear?" Panda's round face was creased with worry. "About Kanon?"
"Salmon." Inumaki Toge nodded, his single word carrying the weight of confirmation.
"The report says 'disappeared.' Nothing else." Maki's frown was sharp, her jaw tight. "That's not enough."
"Let's ask Teacher Kamo when we see him," Panda suggested.
"Mm-hmm. We only knew her for a few days, but still..." Panda trailed off, his concern genuine.
"Salmon."
They entered the classroom and found it empty. Kamo hadn't arrived yet. They settled into seats, but the silence was uncomfortable, so Panda spoke again.
"Any idea why he called us specifically?"
Maki considered. "Probably a mission. If it were regular class, he'd have called everyone."
The door opened before they could speculate further.
"Sorry to keep you waiting." Kamo Itsuki entered, his expression apologetic but focused. "Come with me. I have something to show you."
"Wait." Maki rose, her posture rigid with urgency. "Teacher Kamo. What happened to Kanon? Do you know anything?"
Kamo paused. A flicker of something—regret? calculation?—crossed his features before settling into resigned acknowledgment.
"Thought I could gloss over that." He sighed. "I investigated the site. Based on what I found, Kanon is alive."
Relief flickered across three faces, then confusion.
"If she's alive, why isn't she back?" Panda asked.
Kamo's expression darkened. "I can only speculate. Here's what matters: if you encounter her, stay away. Report her location to me immediately."
"Why?" Maki's voice sharpened. "If she's alive and in trouble, we should help—"
"Because she may not be the Kanon you remember."
The words landed like stones in still water.
"It's not hopeless," Kamo added, his tone softening slightly. "But this is adult business. Your job—your only job—is to grow stronger. So that when we need you, you're not useless."
He let the silence stretch, then turned.
"Follow me."
They followed.
Through Jujutsu High, past familiar buildings, up a winding path into the back mountain—an area none of them had ever explored.
"There weren't houses here before," Panda said, eyes widening at the three new structures standing in a neat row against the forest edge.
"There weren't," Maki confirmed. "No reason to come here."
Kamo stopped before them, gesturing.
"Training rooms. One for each of you. Inside, you'll find a custom-made puppet designed specifically for your growth."
He turned to face them, his gaze carrying weight.
"You are not to leave Jujutsu High until you defeat the puppet inside. That is an order."
Without waiting for questions, he walked away, leaving them standing before their individual trials.
Maki stared at the door bearing her name. 'A puppet? Teacher Kamo's creation can't be that difficult. Once I figure out its patterns, victory should be achievable.'
She pushed the door open.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the world compressed.
An invisible force slammed into her from all directions—crushing, pressing, trying to drive her to the ground. Her legs buckled. Her spine protested. Every muscle screamed as she fought to remain upright.
'Gravity. At least double.'
She forced her head up, jaw clenched, eyes blazing with defiance.
A single step. Normally effortless. Now a monumental struggle.
The room was sparse—bare walls, a high ceiling, and in the center, a figure waiting in silence. A puppet, human-shaped, featureless, radiating an aura of patient menace.
Maki's lips curved into a fierce grin.
'Fine. Let's dance.'
Each step was a battle.
Maki's muscles screamed in protest, her lungs burning as she forced air through constricted lungs. The double gravity crushed down like an invisible giant pressing her toward the earth.
But she did not stop.
Her jaw was locked, teeth grinding. Sweat beaded on her forehead, tracing hot paths down her cheeks before dripping onto the floor. Each droplet fell with an audible plink against the dense surface.
'Adapt. My body adapts. That's what Heavenly Restriction does.'
Slowly, incrementally, her legs steadied. The trembling in her calves eased. Her breathing, though still labored, found a rhythm.
She lifted her head and looked toward the center of the room.
A figure sat there, motionless. It wore a mask—the expressionless face of Susanoo, ancient and inscrutable. A long sword rested across its lap, hands folded over the hilt.
Maki's eyes narrowed.
'A puppet? It feels like a person. The presence, the stillness... but Teacher Kamo said puppet. So puppet it is.'
Now that she could see clearly, she took in the rest of the room. Dim lighting. Walls of some dark, dense material. And weapons—racks and racks of them, lining every wall.
All swords. No naginata. No polearms. Just swords.
'Convenient. And inconvenient.'
Her gaze returned to the puppet, which had risen silently to its feet. The mask turned toward her, featureless yet somehow watching.
'Sword Puppet,' she named it in her mind. 'Fitting enough.'
The Sword Puppet did not bow. It did not announce itself. It simply moved.
One moment it was across the room. The next, it was there—a phantom closing distance too fast to track, the blade in its hand a silver blur aimed directly at her throat.
Maki's instincts screamed. She threw her sword up in a desperate block.
CLANG!
Sparks erupted from the collision. The force of the impact traveled up her arm, numbing her fingers, rattling her teeth. She stumbled backward, feet skidding, barely keeping upright.
The Sword Puppet gave her no time to recover.
It came again—a flurry of strikes, each faster than the last. Sword shadows wove a net of death around her. Maki parried, dodged, parried again, but she was drowning. Every block sent fresh shockwaves through her aching limbs. Every deflection cost more than the last.
THWANG-CLANG-SHINK!
Her arm was going numb. Her grip weakening. The Sword Puppet pressed its advantage, relentless, merciless, precise as a machine.
'This is insane. How is a puppet this strong? In double gravity? How is it moving like this?!'
She backpedaled, barely deflecting a thrust aimed at her chest. The impact nearly tore the sword from her hand.
Sweat flew from her brow as she twisted, dodging a horizontal slash by centimeters. The blade whistled past her ear, close enough to feel its cold breath.
'I can't win like this. Not head-on. Not yet.'
The Sword Puppet paused for a single heartbeat—not out of mercy, but as if resetting, readying its next, deadlier assault.
Maki panted, sword lowered, every muscle in her body screaming.
But her eyes still burned.
'Fine. You're stronger. Faster. Better with a sword.' She reset her stance, grip shifting. 'But I'm not done learning.'
The Sword Puppet lunged again.