Through the bite of winter and the heat of summer, through the turning of the seasons, the routine remained the same.
Steady the breath. Clasp the hands in prayer. Offer a sincere heart. Assume the stance. Punch.
Two and a half years in, Hasegumo noticed a new shift. He looked up at the sky; for the first time, he saw the sun beginning to set immediately after finishing his ten thousand punches.
His clothes had long since shredded under the sheer force of his repeated strikes. Standing bare-chested, he let the warmth of the setting sun wash over him.
"Truly beautiful..."
"Again."
Year Five.
"Has this kid really done it?" Gen Ijichi stood at a distance, pushing the wheelchair of an elderly Yuta Kamo. He watched Hasegumo's movements with a mix of awe and disbelief. "Though, thanks to him, the dojo has seen quite a few promising youngsters lately."
"I haven't seen it with my own eyes until now, but if you ask me... Gumo might actually surpass the Ancestor."
The speed was almost impossible to track—a blur of motion followed by a near-perfect prayer stance. With a single punch, the lake before him was cleaved in two, revealing the muddy floor hidden deep beneath the surface.
"I've seen this scene in my dreams countless times." Tears welled in old man Kamo's eyes. The regret of being unable to pursue his own martial arts dreams in his youth had haunted him for decades, ever since Rikka Ijichi's story was first buried in his heart.
Watching this young man step toward the pinnacle, about to tread upon the ground he had only ever dreamed of, he whispered, "I'm staying here. I'm not going anywhere. I want to witness this perfection manifest with my own eyes."
"Hey, stop pushing—"
Gen Ijichi, worried the old man might have a stroke from the excitement, ignored him. If the old man died here, who would take the blame? He spun the wheelchair around and sped away from the Jujutsu High campus.
"You'll have plenty of chances to see him later. Just focus on staying alive for now."
A gentle breeze brushed across the earth. Buds were just beginning to sprout on the branches, and nearby, a butterfly that had just emerged from its cocoon flapped its wings, gradually gaining the strength to fly into the distance.
Year Eight.
Like that butterfly, Hasegumo had completed his metamorphosis. Throwing ten thousand gratitude-filled straight punches now took him less than an hour.
"Body and spirit... synchronized."
He felt the speed of his strikes finally catch up to the speed of his thoughts. His physical strength had reached a true, objective peak.
"Next... Cursed Energy."
There was still vast room for improvement in his jujutsu. Consequently, his punching was replaced by longer periods of meditation.
Sitting cross-legged, hands forming a seal with arms extended, the peaceful and warm Reverse Cursed Energy began to seep slowly from his body. It shifted and flowed according to his will, spreading outward...
His presence became so harmonious with nature that birds began to land and perch on his fingertips.
"Whew."
A plume of white mist escaped his lips. As the final strike of today's ten thousand gratitude punches landed, Hasegumo finally concluded his long cultivation.
Ten years had passed since he threw that first punch.
A true monster had been born.
Unbeknownst to anyone, the invisible force that guided the balance of the jujutsu world had been tipped once again. Unlike a thousand years ago, the advantage had shifted from the curses to the sorcerers.
"I wonder how long it's been..." He rubbed his head and looked at his reflection in the lake. Aside from his hair reaching down to his lower back, his face looked exactly as it did when he first started. "I guess I really don't age."
He felt his chin; it was still perfectly smooth. "No beard either, huh..."
"Whatever. Time to go back and see everyone. And find something good to eat." He folded his arms behind his head and walked toward the main campus, leaving behind a deep crater in the earth—a silent testament to the devastation this patch of ground had endured for a decade.
...
Ten years had passed, but Jujutsu High remained largely unchanged. Everything felt familiar, though the faces within the walls had rotated through several generations.
"Yo." Hasegumo spotted two people sparring in the training field and raised a hand in greeting. "How are you guys doing?"
On the left was a girl with dark teal hair tied in a ponytail, wearing glasses and wielding a polearm as tall as she was. She was sparring with a white-haired boy in a custom high school uniform with a high collar covering his mouth.
"Hm?" Both stopped their assault and turned to look at the newcomer.
Hasegumo's muscles were perfectly streamlined, gleaming slightly in the sunlight. He thought he looked quite cool.
In their eyes, however, he was a wild man from the mountains—waist-length hair tied in a messy ponytail, barefoot, shirtless, and wearing a pair of shorts that were little more than rags.
"Who are you?" Maki asked.
"Bonito flakes?" Inumaki added.
It's Maki Zen'in and Toge Inumaki, Hasegumo thought. Their features were much more distinct than Principal Yaga's. He began to walk toward them.
In the blink of an eye, the space where he had been standing was empty.
"Are you guys using unsharpened weapons for sparring now?" Driven by a sudden masculine instinct to show off, Hasegumo found himself wanting to mimic a certain famous monkey king upon seeing the long polearm.
He snatched the weapon and began twirling it into a blur, showing off some flashy staff work.
"I can't see any Cursed Energy coming off him through my glasses... he's not a civilian." Suddenly realizing the weapon in his hands felt very familiar, Maki looked down at her own empty palms. When did he...?!
"Who the hell are you? An intruder? Or another one of Gojo-sensei's new recruits?" Seeing his young face despite the wild appearance, Maki assumed he was a new student Satoru had scouted.
Despite her confusion, her body moved. She dashed to the side, snatched up a nearby cursed tool, and pointed the tip toward the ground, assuming a combat stance.
"Tuna!" Seeing the intruder acting so nonchalantly, Toge Inumaki pulled down his collar, ready to activate his technique.
"Huh?" Hasegumo blinked. So Satoru really did become a teacher?
"I see." He tossed the polearm aside and smacked his right fist into his left palm. He finally remembered—not just these two, but Yuji Itadori and Megumi Fushiguro's teacher was indeed Gojo, not Yaga.
A mischievous glint entered his eyes. He decided to test their strength to see what kind of teacher Satoru had turned out to be. He crooked a finger at them. "Want to know? Beat me and I'll tell you."
Ten years of uninterrupted gratitude punches had subtly shifted his mindset. In the past, he viewed himself as a protector of life out of duty, but without sufficient power, "protection" was just a desperate effort.
Now, he felt he possessed the strength to have it all and protect it all. He was more relaxed, showing a more genuine side of himself. To him, sparring with different people was now a form of leisure.
Meeting two "cute" juniors—characters he had actually liked in his previous life—he couldn't resist the urge to tease them a bit and show them the "harshness" of the jujutsu world.
"Hah?" Maki Zen'in didn't realize this "young man" was actually a thirty-year-old man. She just felt disrespected. "Big talk."
"Mustard!"
She swung her naginata toward him. Uncertain if he was an ally or a foe, she used the blunt back of the blade and aimed for his arm—a non-lethal strike.
"Don't move!" Toge Inumaki triggered his Cursed Speech at the same moment.
The guy didn't look that strong. Whether he was an intruder or a classmate, they needed to teach him that being a sorcerer wasn't a game.
Hasegumo, however, was completely unaffected by the Cursed Speech. Prayer had become his instinct. Naturally, his hands clasped together, and he punched.
A crater erupted beneath his feet. He didn't even use Cursed Energy; it was pure physical force.
Maki gripped her weapon, but the naginata's blade shattered the instant his fist made contact. Only then did the sonic boom reach her ears.
I couldn't see it... I'm only hearing it now... Cold sweat trickled down her back. Did this guy's fist break the sound barrier?
"Pfft—!" Beside her, Toge Inumaki dropped to his knees, clutching his mouth as blood began to pour between his fingers.
Calculation error. This man... is terrifyingly strong.
"Sorry, sorry!" Hasegumo had only intended to play around, but his opponents seemed to break at a touch. Even the cursed tool was as flimsy as paper. It seemed he really needed to find someone more substantial to fight.
He turned and placed his right hand on Toge's shoulder. Fearing he meant further harm, Maki ignored the power gap and lunged at his back, throwing a full-power punch.
Without looking back, Hasegumo's left fist beat her to the punch. The back of his hand tapped her abdomen, and he retracted it instantly.
Maki felt a force carry her backward. She lost all control of her body, only to land gently on the grass a few meters away.
Strange... I'm not hurt? Looking up, she saw Toge had already stood up, and the blood had stopped flowing from his mouth.
"For the cursed tool, just ask Satoru for a new one." Having healed Toge with his Reverse Cursed Technique, Hasegumo looked at Maki with an apologetic smile. "I don't have any money to pay you back."
"Calling Gojo-sensei by his first name..." Maki realized he definitely wasn't an enemy. Recalling that punch—pure physical strength—she asked, "So, who the hell are you, really?"
"Bonito flakes?" (Inumaki's question: Who are you?)
"He's Hasegumo-senpai, isn't he?"
Before Hasegumo could answer, a mature, masculine voice called out from nearby. A "National Treasure" appeared, carrying a variety of snacks.
As the only sentient, evolving Cursed Corpse created by Masamichi Yaga, Panda had seen Hasegumo and Satoru's group messing around when he was just a "cub." He knew Hasegumo had been training in the corner of the campus for years.
Because Panda's own fighting style revolved around close-quarters brawling, he had even secretly observed Hasegumo's gratitude punches for a while. He recognized him instantly.
"He's Gojo-sensei's classmate—the Grade 1 sorcerer known as the 'Strongest Martial Artist,'" Panda explained. Seeing their blank stares, he added, "The one who's been punching by the lake for ten years."
"For real?" Maki stared.
"Salmon!" Toge's eyes widened.
They watched as Hasegumo clasped his hands in a quick prayer, then, with zero regard for his "senior" image, snatched a bag of potato chips from Panda. He ripped it open and tilted his head back, pouring them into his mouth.
Crunch, crunch.
"It's really him," Maki muttered.
"Salmon roe," Toge agreed.
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