“Hey, that didn’t even hurt!”
Naoya’s smile froze on his face.
He pulled back his fist, staring at Arata Hoshino as if he were some kind of freak.
Although he hadn’t put his full strength into that punch, it should have been enough to keep a normal sorcerer on the ground for half a day.
Yet, the guy in front of him wasn’t just standing–he had a “Was that supposed to be a tickle?” expression on his face.
“You…”
“Me what?” Arata tilted his head, his tone carrying a sense of genuine confusion.
“Was that punch meant to be serious?
I thought a Special Grade 1 would be much more impressive.
Did you skip breakfast or something?”
Naoya’s face flushed red with visible speed, and the veins on his forehead throbbed.
He vanished from the spot once more.
Arata could feel Naoya attacking from all directions, but he didn’t move.
He let the punches rain down on him like hail–chest, stomach, shoulders, back.
“Ha…” Arata let out a yawn.
He found it strange.
During the Shibuya Incident, old man Naobito’s Projection Sorcery had been so powerful against Dagon; why did it feel like a massage coming from his son?
*Could it be because I copied Maki’s Heavenly Restriction?*
The thought made Arata pause.
His technique copied *Cursed Techniques*, not physical constitutions.
If he could actually copy constitutions, he wouldn’t even need to bother with Blood Manipulation.
*Then what’s the deal here?
Is Naoya really just that mediocre?*
“Are you done yet?”
Arata reached out and snatched Naoya’s fist out of the air as it swung toward him again.
Naoya’s pupils contracted sharply.
He tried to yank his hand back, but it was held in a grip like a steel vice, immovable.
“Who the hell are you?!”
For the first time, a slight tremor crept into Naoya’s voice.
“Me?” Arata tilted his head, sounding innocent.
“I’m just a passing-through Sem…
Semi-Grade 1 sorcerer.
Remember that.”
“Let go,” Naoya hissed, his voice low and threatening.
“How about we move this elsewhere?” Arata released his grip and took a step back, pointing toward the window.
“There’s more space outside.
You can go all out, and I can get a bit more serious.
I can’t afford to pay for the furniture if I break anything in here.”
Naoya’s face was ashen.
He glared at Arata with eyes that wanted to skin him alive.
The two walked out of the drawing room and into the courtyard.
The Zenin estate’s courtyard was massive, though the design felt odd.
None of that mattered now, as other members of the Zenin clan had already gathered to watch the commotion.
Arata ignored the whispers, rolling his shoulders before turning to face Naoya.
Naoya stood five meters away, arms crossed and chin held high, acting as if he were too superior to strike first.
“Don’t say I’m bullying you.
I’ll let you have the first move.”
Arata blinked.
“Are you sure?”
“Stop talking.”
“Alright then.” Arata nodded.
“Since you’re insisting I go first, I won’t hold back.”
The moment the words left his lips, Arata’s figure vanished instantly.
Naoya’s pupils shrank.
“Projection Sorcery!Impossible!”
It was one of the ancestral techniques of the Zenin family.
And now, an outsider–a stranger in a Jujutsu High uniform–was using the technique that was supposed to be inherited only by Zenin blood.
Only now did Naoya remember that his father, Naobito, had mentioned a “Copycat Sorcerer,” but he had no time for further thought because Arata was already in his face.
It was too fast.
Just as the punch was about to land, the entire world went quiet.
Arata’s body froze in place like a statue.
His consciousness was still functioning, clearly perceiving everything around him, but his body wouldn’t budge.
“Hahahaha!
And here I was actually worried for a second.” Naoya erupted into a triumphant laugh.
“You dared to use Projection Sorcery without any practice?
How pathetic!”
He strolled leisurely up to Arata and patted the frozen face.
“I’ll give you credit for being able to copy it.” Naoya leaned into Arata’s ear, his voice dripping with mockery.
“But what a shame.
Copied things are just copies in the end.”
He straightened up, stepped back, and cracked his knuckles.
“Guess how many times I can hit you before you can move again?”
Punches began to rain down on Arata.
Seeing this, the surrounding Zenin clansmen wore expressions of spiteful glee.
When Maki rushed out of the drawing room, this was the sight that met her.
Arata was standing there like a human punching bag while Naoya wailed on him.
“Hey!”
Maki’s voice was like ice, and she charged forward.
At that moment, a weathered but powerful hand pressed down on her shoulder.
The old man’s hair and beard were white, but he radiated vitality.
He kept his hand on her shoulder, his gaze fixed on Arata in the center of the courtyard.
“Don’t be in such a hurry,” the old man said calmly, as if watching an amusing play.
“But–!”
“Just watch.”
Maki bit her lip but stayed her ground.
In the courtyard, Naoya continued his assault, punch after punch landing squarely on Arata.
But as he kept hitting, Naoya’s expression began to shift.
Arata didn’t look like he was in pain at all.
In fact, he was smiling.
“What are you laughing at?!”
“Nothing.” Arata’s voice came from his frozen body; while he couldn’t move, speaking seemed unaffected.
“I just suddenly remembered something.”
“What?”
“The principle of Projection Sorcery is dividing one second into twenty-four frames, right?
The user must strictly follow a pre-determined sequence of those twenty-four frames and complete them within that second.
If you mess up a single step, you’re forcibly frozen for one second.” Arata’s tone was as calm as if he were answering a question in class.
“So, the reason I can’t move right now is because I messed up one of my frames.”
Naoya frowned.
“What’s your point?”
“My point is…” Arata paused, his smirk widening.
“That one second…
is almost up.”
Naoya’s pupils contracted.
In the next instant, Arata’s fist smashed into Naoya’s abdomen with a thunderous crack.
The massive impact sent Naoya flying through the air.
*Boom!*
Naoya slammed into a decorative rock in the center of the courtyard, sending fragments flying as the rock split down the middle and collapsed.
The entire courtyard fell into a deathly silence.
The watching Zenin members stared with wide eyes, their jaws practically hitting the floor.
Naoya struggled to crawl out from the rubble.
For the first time, genuine fear flickered in his eyes–the same fear he had felt as a child when he first saw Toji.
“You…”
“To be honest, that was the longest second of my life.
Felt more like a minute.” Arata rolled his wrist, strolling leisurely toward the fallen man.
He stopped in front of Naoya, looking down at the humiliated heir of the Zenin clan.
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