[The annual Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event is about to begin.]
[But what should be a serious occasion reeks of gunpowder, or more accurately, one-sided contempt.]
["Huh? Are the Kyoto people here yet?"]
[Gojo stands with those absurdly conspicuous little round sunglasses perched on his face, hands stuffed in his pockets, blowing a bubble-gum bubble while shouting the question at Geto beside him.]
[The Kyoto team is standing right there, less than fifteen meters away. In Gojo's eyes, they might as well be weeds growing by the side of the road.]
["Satoru, keep it down. No matter how weak the opponents are, we should at least show basic courtesy as hosts."]
[Geto delivers this with his usual easy smile. It sounds like he's smoothing things over, but the way he leans into the word "weak" cuts deeper than Gojo's bluntness by a factor of three.]
["Tch. What a pain."]
[Gojo stretches lazily, not even bothering to glance at the Kyoto students whose faces have gone scarlet with rage.]
["Hey, Suguru, wanna bet on who clears faster? Loser buys sushi in Ginza."]
["Sure, but this time we're counting collateral damage. You flattened half a forest on the last mission."]
[Watching these two special grade problem children make wagers like nobody else exists, you let out a quiet sigh from the back row.]
[This is what "the strongest" looks like at rest. To them, the Exchange Event is nothing more than a boring recess game.]
["Um... Hayase, are you sure it's okay for you to compete?"]
[The Assistant Manager beside you asks with some concern.]
["Normally, support-type technique users stay in the rear..."]
[Ieiri, after all, had flatly declined to participate this time.]
["It's fine. There's something I want to test."]
[You push your glasses up and glance at the fifty-centimeter Wukong perched on your shoulder.]
["Besides, trailing behind those two monsters, I doubt there'll be any scraps left to pick up."]
[The starting whistle blows. Two figures bolt from the line like horses off the reins, gone in an instant. A heartbeat later, massive explosions and the shrieks of dying Cursed Spirits erupt from the center of the field.]
[Gojo and Geto aren't treating this like a competition. They're racing to see who hunts faster.]
[You don't follow. Instead, you slip alone into the tree line on the flank.]
[Your goal is clear: avoid the main battlefield, find a few isolated opponents, and put yourself through your paces.]
[The rustle of leaves is almost imperceptible, but you stop anyway.]
[From behind an old-growth tree ahead, two Kyoto students step out.]
[One is broad and heavy-set, fists sheathed in talisman-wrapped cursed gauntlets. The other is lean, a handful of paper talismans pinched between his fingers.]
["Well, aren't we lucky."]
[The big one grins, rolling his wrist, eyes locked on you.]
["Didn't think Tokyo's precious little 'healer' would wander off alone. Take you out of the picture and even if those two freaks win, Tokyo still loses face, right?"]
[Completely underestimated. Not that you can blame them. The Cursed Energy radiating off you reads as "average" next to those two monsters, and everything about you, the glasses, the quiet demeanor, screams non-combatant.]
[This simulation, you'd poured yourself into Cursed Corpse research rather than racking up flashy mission results.]
[The outside world hasn't caught wind of your transformation. Their mental model of you is still stuck on "healer."]
["Could you, um... maybe go easy on me?"]
[You take half a step back, letting a hint of timidity show.]
["Too late!"]
[No more talk. The big student stomps forward and launches like a cannonball, Cursed Energy screaming off his fist as it rockets toward your face.]
[Fast!]
[Your pupils contract.]
[He's still a step below the speed you'd seen from Toji Fushiguro in the last simulation, but with your current physical stats and Phantom Night Parade running Puppet Manipulation, a reinforcement-type sorcerer like this is a genuine handful.]
[You throw yourself into a desperate sideways roll. The fist grazes your cheek, leaving a hot sting.]
["All you can do is run? How about this!"]
[The talisman user behind you flicks two wind-blade charms in quick succession, cutting off your landing zone.]
[Nowhere to dodge.]
[Right as both Kyoto students think they've sealed the deal.]
["Wukong."]
[A golden blur rockets from where you'd been standing a moment before.]
[The fifty-centimeter Monkey launches skyward. The black iron rod in its hand, surges with Cursed Energy and extends in a flash.]
[The big student, still sneering about "where'd that mascot come from," sees a flicker in his vision.]
[The black staff shoots out three meters long, and hammers into his kneecap.]
["Ahh!"]
[A sharp crack. A scream. His forward momentum converts into a helpless tumble.]
[Riding the recoil, Wukong spins mid-air, contracts the staff to slip past the wind blades, then extends it again and pole-vaults itself into the treetops.]
["What the hell is that thing?!"]
[The two Kyoto students stare up at the doll perched on a branch, staff slung over its shoulder.]
[A Cursed Corpse? But that kind of agility, that bizarre weapon...]
[What follows is a nightmare for both of them.]
[The doll doesn't hit hard enough to end it in one blow. That isn't the problem. The problem is that it's maddening.]
[Every time they move to attack your real body, the staff lashes in from some impossible angle.]
[A trip at the ankles. A jab to the ribs. Sometimes it uses the staff's elasticity to slingshot itself over and crack someone on the back of the skull.]
[Fighting it feels like sparring against a ghost wielding an infinitely telescoping cane.]
[Ten minutes later, you lean against a tree, breathing hard. A wind blade has torn a gash in your left sleeve, and blood seeps through the fabric.]
[A few meters away, both Kyoto students lie face-down, foam at the corners of their mouths, covered head to toe in overlapping welts from the staff.]
[Wukong hops back onto your shoulder, gives the staff an almost human twirl, and goes still.]
[You switch Phantom Night Parade's technique from Puppet Manipulation to Reverse Cursed Technique. White smoke curls from the wound on your arm, and the gash closes in seconds.]
[A two-on-one victory. But looking down at your hands, still faintly trembling, your brow knots tight.]
["Too slow."]
[In that fight, if the big one's fist had been a second faster, or the talisman user's aim a touch sharper, your real body would have taken serious damage.]
[Against a pair of Grade 2 Jujutsu Sorcerers, you'd needed the element of surprise and careful tactical stalling from a Cursed Corpse they'd never seen before just to win.]
[What happens when the opponent is Toji Fushiguro?]
[How many times faster than these students is that man?]
[Against violence on that scale, Wukong's little tricks, attacks that amount to scratching an itch, won't buy a single second.]
[It doesn't matter how fast the staff extends. He'd sprint along its length the moment it shoots out and twist your head clean off.]
["This path's a dead end."]