The April sun beat down, its rays so direct and warm they practically begged a person to stretch out like a cat.
A boy, a girl, and a panda sat together, their foreheads drenched in sweat.
It wasn’t the heat—a sorcerer’s constitution wouldn’t flag so easily from a bit of sun.
No, they were sweating from pure, unadulterated terror.
In front of them sat a massive crater.
The trio sat bolt upright, desperately trying not to attract even a flicker of Gojo Satoru’s attention, terrified that one of them would be his next “training partner.” In this moment, their poor, panicked brains had completely forgotten that “special training” was mandatory for everyone.
Their only coherent thought was: Please, just let it be anyone but me.
“Look at you…
you actually did it, Minamoto,” Gojo said, stepping out of the giant hole he had just stomped into the earth.
He looked toward the teenager standing opposite him.
The boy’s face was a map of scrapes and bruises, but his eyes were filled with a fierce, unwavering resolve.
Minamoto’s Cursed Energy flow had reached a sudden, strange stasis.
Most sorcerers spent their lives trying to make their energy flow faster, more violently.
But Cursed Energy belonged to the self—it should manifest exactly when and where its master willed it.
Minamoto didn’t feel like his reserves had grown.
Rather, his control had become more organic, more effortless.
The delay between his physical strike and the surge of energy was shrinking toward zero.
“Is it time, Minamoto?” Gojo asked.
Seeing the boy seemingly melting into the natural world around him, Gojo knew what was coming.
It was the pinnacle of physical jujutsu: Black Flash.
A tiny theater played out in Gojo’s mind.
For him, Black Flash was something he could land whenever he felt like it, so he didn’t have much of a “feeling” for the technique.
He didn’t need to.
For Gojo Satoru, everything was “easy as breathing.” He was born to be the strongest.
While other sorcerers spent lifetimes exhausting themselves to master a technique or refine their martial arts, for Gojo, it was simply part of his existence.
Come on, Minamoto!
Minamoto’s foot slammed into the ground.
He transformed into a blur of light, lunging forward with the speed of a lightning strike.
Gojo didn’t dodge.
Instead, he opened his arms wide, looking for all the world like he was simply enjoying a nice tan.
Minamoto had stopped “observing” Gojo.
Time slowed to a crawl—a sensation nearly like he had entered The World.
Sound died away.
He could only hear the thrum of his own footsteps and the roar of blood through his veins, loud as an incoming tide.
The world spun around him.
Space twisted and warped, eventually converging into a single, infinitesimal point.
The Cursed Energy didn’t “flow” to his fist; it was simply there, as if it had always existed in that space.
Minamoto was alone in the universe.
In the microsecond before the punch landed, only one thought flickered through his mind: Ah.
Here comes the Black Flash.
That single point felt like a black hole, pulling his fist in with an irresistible gravity.
A flash of black lightning erupted across Gojo Satoru.
A direct hit.
The black spark that flashes when Cursed Energy is applied within 0.000001 seconds of a physical hit—Black Flash.
Watching the dark electricity dance, Panda, Maki, and Toge all leapt to their feet.
Whether they had only heard of it in legends or read about it in archives, they knew: from this moment on, Taira no Minamoto was in a different league.
The distance between those who have experienced Black Flash and those who haven’t is a chasm that cannot be crossed by mere effort.
To land one is to touch the very core of Cursed Energy.
It is a promotion to another dimension of understanding.
While others are still struggling with steam power, the one who has landed a Black Flash is already master of the electric grid.
A smile finally broke across Minamoto’s bruised face.
Even though he hadn’t felt his fist actually touch Gojo’s skin—thwarted as always by the Infinity—he knew he was one step closer to the man.
He stood there, his legs threatening to give out.
He forced his eyes to stay open, desperate to see Gojo’s reaction, even as the weight of his injuries began to pull him down.
The smoke cleared, and Gojo Satoru strolled out, humming a little tune.
He looked like he was in a fantastic moved.
He reached out, pressing his middle and index fingers against Minamoto’s forehead.
“My foolish student,” Gojo teased.
“If you want to take me down, don’t you dare forget this feeling.
Though…
you’ve still got a long way to go.” Minamoto collapsed.
Gojo hadn’t used any strength; a gentle poke was all it took to topple him.
The boy had used every ounce of his will just to remain upright this long.
As darkness swirled in his vision, the last thing Minamoto heard was Gojo’s voice: “Keep at it, Minamoto.
I’m looking forward to the day you can truly stand by my side.” Gojo slung the boy over his shoulder and whistled a tune as he headed toward Shoko Ieiri’s office.
Minamoto’s eyes fluttered open.
It was pitch black outside the window, save for the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain against the glass.
The sound of an annoying argument nearby made it impossible to drift back to sleep.
It was 7:30 PM.
Time always seemed to fly on rainy days.
The infirmary lights were off, and Minamoto lay still on the bed, lacking even the slightest desire to move.
Gojo’s “special training” was the most dangerous battle he’d ever faced—or rather, the most dangerous beatdown.
He had given everything.
Even if dinner was served, he was planning to eat it lying down.
The bickering outside grew louder.
It sounded like Gojo, Principal Yaga, and Dr.
Ieiri.
It was less of a “debate” and more of a one-sided scolding of Gojo, punctuated by his stubborn, flippant excuses.
Yaga’s gruff voice boomed through the door.
“Satoru!
You idiot!
You absolutely trashed the training grounds during ‘training’!
You’re the one who broke it, so you’re the one who’s going to fix it!” “Ehhh?” Gojo’s lighthearted voice replied.
“It was an accident!
Force majeure, Yaga-san, force majeure!
Can’t we just hire someone to fix it tomorrow?
Why do I have to do it?” “You still have the nerve to talk back?!
You’ve been breaking things on a whim since you were a student!
Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to clean up your mess?!” Yaga put Gojo in a cross-arm lock.
It was super effective!
“Ow, ow, ow!
Let go!
I surrender!
I’ll go do it right now!” Gojo tapped Yaga’s shoulder in submission.
For all his arrogance, he still held a deep-seated respect for his former homeroom teacher.
“Today was supposed to be my day off,” Shoko Ieiri chimed in, her voice flat and exhausted.
“I finally get a night without a shift, and you drop three ‘critically injured’ students on my lap.
You really outdid yourself this time, Satoru.
Beating your own students into the dirt…” Shoko stood with her arms crossed, eyeing the teacher-student pair.
“It was an accident!
Completely accidental!
Shoko, help me out, I can’t breathe!
Teacher…
did you only bulk up so you could physically restrain me?!” Unwilling to use his actual power to break free, Gojo could only plead with his former classmate.
Shoko, hearing movement from the ward, realized the patient was awake.
Her shift was officially over.
She turned on her heel, leaving Gojo to deal with the aftermath.
“Your student is awake.
Go deal with him yourself.
I’m clocking out.” Gojo quickly used his students as an escape goat.
“The kids are awake!
Let me go, Yaga-san!
I need to go check on Panda!” A burst of laughter from within the ward made Minamoto realize that all four of them were in the same room.
They looked at each other, their eyes meeting in the dim light, and the laughter only grew louder.
When the new leaves sprout and spring arrives—that is the peak of youth, the moment when life burns the brightest!