More Like a Beatdown 17: Chapter 17: Special Training?
More Like a Beatdown The Next Day.
It was a rare, sun-drenched morning.
In the month leading up to Japan’s rainy season, there are only a few precious weeks of clear sunlight left to enjoy.
Gojo Satoru, as hyperactive as ever, appeared once again clutching his specially-purchased gong.
However, today, he had miscalculated.
He had charged into the dorms intending to give his dear students a “surprise,” only to find they were already wide awake and deep into their morning routines.
Taira no Minamoto, dressed only in workout clothes, was in the middle of handstand push-ups, strengthening the shoulder and arm muscles crucial for a swordsman.
Nobody should assume that because I act like an ADC, I actually am one, he thought.
When the time comes, I’ll project a blade and carve two massive gashes into them.
Visualizing the look on an opponent’s face when they realized they’d been baited made the workout even more intoxicating.
Nearby, Panda and Maki were sparring.
Panda’s JoJo-esque “Ora-Ora” barrages had earned him several stiff kicks from Maki, who complained he was being too noisy.
Inumaki Toge was out for a run.
Rarely seen out of uniform, he was wearing a high-collared tracksuits.
Honestly, where did he even find athletic gear with collars that high?
The guy clearly had iron lungs.
None of the four seemed to notice their “Great Teacher” (a nod to GTO) Gojo-sensei standing there, holding his gong and looking like he’d lost his purpose.
In the next heartbeat, Gojo appeared behind Minamoto and delivered a swift kick to his rear, sending him face-planting into the dirt.
Gojo then proceeded to strike the gong as if nothing had happened.
“Over here, over here!
Line up, everyone!” Minamoto stood up, rubbing his backside.
Gojo-sensei is so petty.
Doesn’t he have anything better to do?
He’s a twenty-seven-year-old man; how does he have the energy to wake us up every single morning?
Recalling what Ijichi had said, Minamoto wondered if Gojo was just dumping all his actual missions on the upperclassmen.
No wonder they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of their seniors since enrollment.
The quartet stood before Gojo, waiting in silence to hear what nonsense would tumble out of his mouth next.
“Now then!
It’s time to settle the rewards from the First Annual Jujutsu High Tenkaichi Budokai!” Gojo offered a beaming smile, saying something that sent a surge of dread through Minamoto.
Trust Gojo Satoru to shatter a protagonist’s composure with a single sentence.
“No way!
Gojo-sensei, I’m not mentally prepared!
I’m still just a child!” Minamoto cried in mock horror.
Gojo reached out and gripped the top of Minamoto’s head.
His smile remained, but the aura behind it had turned decidedly predatory.
“Since you aren’t ready for the pin-up shoot yet, Minamoto-kun, we’ll start the other reward—the special training—right now!” Mimicking words Minamoto had used before, Gojo added, “Don’t go dying on me, Minamoto.” He then began dragging Minamoto toward the training grounds by his head.
Minamoto thrashed and struggled in his grip.
“Let go, Gojo-sensei!
Gently, gently!
My skull’s gonna crack!
Something weird is gonna leak out!
Aaaagh!” High up in the pagoda, Principal Yaga sipped his first cup of morning tea.
Looking out at the rising sun, he mused aloud, “The April sun is a bit chilly.
Watching the hot-blooded youth of the younger generation…
it’s just right.” He took a slow, deliberate sip.
It was hard to tell if he was savoring the tea or the distant screams of the boy who had beaten his “son.” While Toge, Panda, and Maki watched with varying degrees of schadenfreude, Minamoto was dragged onto the training field.
“To be honest, even though I’m a teacher, I’m not really cut out for ‘teaching’ in the traditional sense,” Gojo said, his smile radiating power.
“So, fight me, everyone.
Try to hit me.
If you can land a blow on me—the Strongest—the whole world will acknowledge your strength.
Though, obviously, that’s impossible.” Gojo beckoned Minamoto forward.
“Come on, Minamoto.
Try to hit me!” The playful smirk vanished from Minamoto’s face.
He turned dead serious.
It had been fifteen years since he arrived in this world; ever since he gained his “cheat” ability, he’d had a dream: to one day give Gojo Satoru a proper, legitimate beatdown.
The day might be further off than he’d hoped, but today, he was going to put everything he had into striking that punchable face.
Cursed Energy flared violently around Minamoto.
Many sorcerers consciously increase the speed at which they channel energy, but he felt his entire reserve suddenly snap into a pressurized stasis.
The next second, he slammed his foot down.
The impact sent gravel flying as Minamoto vanished.
He reappeared instantly in front of Gojo, unleashing one of the ultimate secrets of Bajiquan: Mouko Kouhazhan (Ferocious Tiger Climbs the Mountain).
Gojo, sensing his sincerity, didn’t bother dodging.
Minamoto’s kick connected with Gojo’s side, followed by a punch to the chest and a final strike aimed straight at his face—which Gojo caught with a casual hand.
Minamoto knew the truth.
Those strikes looked like they had landed, but in reality, they were still miles away from Gojo Satoru.
He was merely hitting the Infinity.
Gojo was supremely confident; he knew that even a secret technique couldn’t bypass the space between them.
“Not bad, Minamoto.
No wonder you took down Panda with that move.
It’s enough to threaten a Grade 1 Curse.” Gojo released Minamoto’s fist and promptly kicked him across the field.
“It’s not enough, Minamoto.
Not even close.
Since you’re choosing not to use your technique—arrogantly thinking you can take me down with just martial arts—then you can go ahead and ‘think in pain’.” In a blur, Gojo appeared behind the mid-air Minamoto.
He brought his leg up in a high-kick that slammed into Minamoto’s stomach, the force of the impact cratering the ground beneath them.
“I told you, I’m not great at teaching.
I’m an incomparable genius, after all; getting stronger is as natural as breathing to me.
Hey, Minamoto—one more hit like that and you’re going to the infirmary.
I bet Shoko is going to be busy today; I’ve already reserved VIP beds for all of you, so don’t waste time!” Gojo slammed his foot toward the ground.
If this strike landed, Minamoto’s internal organs would surely be shredded.
Suddenly, Minamoto felt the world around him enter a “revolving lantern” state—life flashing before his eyes.
Time slowed down until it was almost like he’d entered The World.
His memories flickered through his mind in a blur.
He asked himself: Taira no Minamoto, what the hell were you thinking, trying to fight Gojo-sensei without your technique?
Nonsense.
He wasn’t so delusional that he thought he could hit Gojo with pure physical stats.
So why did I come here to get beaten up?
To get stronger!
His Cursed Energy and physique were already formidable, but he could push them further.
The secrets of true power only reveal themselves in the threshold between life and death.
A one-minute mental theater played out in the span of a real-world second.
Gojo’s foot came down, carrying massive force and trailing a visible slipstream of air.
It was a lightning-fast strike aimed directly at Minamoto’s chest.
The kick was relentless, sharp, and cruel.
A massive boom echoed.
Dust billowed into the air.
Gojo didn’t pick Minamoto up to take him to Shoko.
Smoke means no damage—that was the law.
Minamoto had dodged.