“Don’t move.”
The moment the words left his lips, the world fell into a deafening silence.
Suguru Geto’s foot froze mid-air, barely an inch from the ground, yet unable to descend.
Satoru Gojo had intended to seize the opportunity to capture Geto, but a second later, a look of genuine shock flickered within those cerulean eyes beneath the white bandages.
He realized that *he* couldn’t move either.
It wasn’t just him—everyone present had been snared by the authority of that single command.
Every sorcerer on the field, excluding Panda, Toge, and Maki, was at least Semi-Grade 1, not to mention the presence of three Special Grades: Gojo, Geto, and Yuta.
To cover such a massive range with a command like “Don’t move” should have triggered a lethal backlash, yet Arata walked toward Geto as if nothing had happened.
Geto’s eyes rolled slowly in their sockets, finally settling on Arata.
Earlier, he had called this boy the only decent student Satoru had.
He realized now he was wrong.
This wasn’t just “decent”—this was terrifying.
Arata came to a halt in front of Geto.
His expression was hollow, his eyes as calm and dark as a bottomless pool of stagnant water.
He looked at Geto and spoke slowly.
“What did you just say?”
His voice wasn’t loud, and his tone wasn’t heavy; it sounded like a perfectly ordinary question.
At that moment, Geto realized he could move again.
He didn’t act rashly; instead, he extended an invitation.
“It’s a waste of talent for you to stay in a place like this.
You need a bigger stage.
How about becoming my ‘family’?”
“Don’t answer a question with a question,” Arata spoke again, his voice now laced with a trace of simmering rage.
“I’m asking you, damn it—what did you just say about Maki?”
Geto looked at him and suddenly laughed.
“I see.
Satoru, you’ve taken in a very interesting student.” Geto’s voice was soft, yet it reached every ear clearly.
“Since you’re so persistent, I’ll say it again: I said she is the failure of the Zenin clan, a monkey with no cursed energy.
Am I wrong?
No cursed energy, can’t see curses, yet insists on squeezing into the world of sorcerers…
what’s the difference between her and a monkey?”
Arata went silent.
Just as Geto prepared to push further, a fist coated in cursed energy slammed directly into his face.
The curse let out a shrill shriek as its massive body buckled and dented under the impact.
Geto staggered as he steadied himself, wiping a streak of blood from the corner of his mouth.
The gentle smile was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp astonishment.
“Master Geto!” Nanako reacted first, aiming her phone at Arata.
“How dare you do that to—”
“SHUT UP!” Arata turned and roared at the two girls.
“One more word and I’ll kill you both first!”
Arata’s sudden outburst paralyzed Nanako with fear.
Beside her, Mimiko froze as well, her doll slipping from her hands and hitting the ground with a soft thud.
The two girls stared with wide eyes, tears welling up, but they were too terrified to even cry.
“Arata-kun.” Gojo’s voice came from behind, his tone stripped of its usual playfulness.
“That’s enough.”
Arata didn’t look back.
He continued walking toward Geto, muttering as if to himself: “You compare non-sorcerers to monkeys, planning a paradise for sorcerers and resolving to wipe out the rest.
You think they don’t deserve to coexist, yet you spend the money non-sorcerers provide.
Your parents were non-sorcerers too, weren’t they?
They must have been proud of you.
But you killed them for your bullshit ‘righteousness.’ Hypocrite.
You act without thinking of consequences and love to overgeneralize.
Suguru Geto…
did that kick to the head from Toji Fushiguro ten years ago actually scramble your brains?”
“Oh, right.
If I remember correctly, the term ‘monkey’ came from Toji Fushiguro as well.
Let me think…
it was: ‘You sorcerers, losing to a monkey like me who can’t even use jujutsu,’ right?” Arata leaned down, grabbed Geto by the collar, and hauled him up.
“Tell me, Suguru…
what do you call someone who can’t even beat a monkey?”
With those words, another cursed-energy-reinforced fist smashed into Geto’s face.
The dull thud of the punch echoed through the silent campus.
Arata’s fingers gripped Geto’s collar so hard his knuckles turned white, his eyes swirling with an unprecedented, violent malice.
“You were talking so much during your declaration of war.
Why are you a mute now?
Answer me!
What do you call it!” Arata threw another punch.
By the third punch, Geto’s body was slammed into the concrete, cracks spreading like a spiderweb across the ground.
“You think I’m wrong,” Geto said, slowly lifting his head to meet Arata’s gaze.
then tell me.
Besides this path, what other way is there to end all of this?”
Arata didn’t answer.
He simply raised his other hand and pressed his palms together.
Blood erupted from his body, swirling around his palms and behind him.
The volume was staggering—ten times more than he had ever used with Blood Manipulation, and it was still increasing.
“You dodged the last gift, right?” Arata’s voice was low, but it carried to everyone.
“Convergence.”
The blood droplets began to rotate at high speeds, the compressed liquid emitting a piercing scream—the omen of Piercing Blood.
Arata wasn’t just aiming at Geto; every curse user who came with him was within the kill zone.
Gojo’s pupils contracted sharply.
If this attack fired, they would be obliterated.
But the scale of this blood was far beyond the normal limit.
The amount of blood being used…
no, that wasn’t an amount a human body could survive losing.
“Arata-kun, stop!” Gojo’s voice finally carried a note of urgency.
“You’ll die!”
Arata ignored the Gojo who was already running toward him.
He stared at Geto, his palms growing hotter, the blood flow accelerating.
The crimson bead had expanded to its limit, ready to be unleashed at any second.
*Kill this man.*
*Kill him, and there will be no Night Parade.*
*Blow his head off, and the Shibuya Incident and Culling Game will never happen.*
*As long as I kill this man…*
*As long as…*
Arata’s consciousness began to blur.
He blinked, and the image of Geto in his vision began to ripple like a reflection in water.
He heard people calling his name—many voices, very noisy—but he couldn’t make out the words.
Arata tried to fire the Piercing Blood, but his hands refused to obey.
His joined palms began to tremble, then slowly slipped apart.
The blood beads, which contained nearly every drop of his life force, shattered and collapsed.
The moment the blood dispersed, Arata’s body felt as though it had been drained of all essence.
He fell straight backward.