"But that only accounts for three tasks," Geto Suguru pointed out, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "What about the fourth person?"
All eyes turned to Ieiri Shoko. She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Don't look at me like that. I know my role. I'll be the referee, medic, and… strategic reserve." A small, sharp smile touched her lips. "Someone has to make sure you three don't accidentally level the forest or start an interschool war. And if your little contests go sideways, you'll be glad I'm there to put you back together."
Gojo Satoru's grin widened. "Perfect! Alright, let's pick. I call dibs on the Kyoto students." His voice was full of predatory glee. "Beating up stuffy upperclassmen sounds way more fun than chasing down curses."
"Then I'll take the Grade 3 curses," Geto said, already running calculations. A swarm of weaker curses would be an efficient way to expand his collection with minimal risk. "Their numbers will be an advantage for my technique."
Kamo Itsuki nodded. "That leaves the Grade 2 for me. Locating it efficiently will be the real challenge." His mind was already mapping strategies—deploying low-energy blood clones for wide-area reconnaissance, perhaps using environmental cues a normal sorcerer might miss.
"This is completely disrespectful to the rules and the other school," Yaga Masamichi grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. But he didn't forbid it. A part of him was morbidly curious to see how this arrogant, impromptu plan would play out—and what it would reveal about his students' capabilities under pressure.
The signal to begin echoed through the forest—a deep, resonant gong. The ten Kyoto students immediately scattered into the trees with practiced coordination.
The Tokyo team didn't move.
Gojo cracked his knuckles. "Alright. Remember, it's a race. But try not to break them too badly. We don't want Yaga-sensei's report to be a novel." With a wave, he strolled into the forest after the Kyoto team, his presence seeming to warp the light around him.
Geto Suguru closed his eyes, focusing. A wave of malignant energy pulsed from him as he summoned a small flock of winged, insectoid curses. "Scout and herd," he commanded softly. They shot off in all directions, seeking the weaker spiritual signatures. He followed at a leisurely pace.
Kamo Itsuki knelt, placing a hand on the damp earth. A single drop of blood fell from his fingertrip, seeping into the soil. Dozens of tiny, crimson beetles—no larger than grains of rice—burrowed out and scurried away in a silent, expanding wave. His network of seekers was deployed.
Ieiri Shoko found a relatively clear, elevated rock to sit on, Yuki Mai settling protectively at her feet. She took out a small notebook, ready to observe and, if necessary, intervene. She watched the three disappear into the dense foliage, three very different kinds of hunters embarking on their chosen games.
The forest, a designated training ground saturated with residual cursed energy, fell into an eerie quiet. The real competition—the one within the competition—had begun.
Kamo Itsuki didn't move. He simply closed his eyes, his senses extending through the network of microscopic blood beetles he had already dispersed into the jungle. To the observers on the screens, it looked like he was hesitating or conserving energy.
Ieiri Shoko stood beside him, Yuki Mai a silent sentinel at her side. She watched Geto soar away on his pelican and Gojo vanish into the foliage with a speed that blurred. "Aren't you going?" she asked, though her tone suggested she already expected his unconventional approach.
"In a moment," Kamo replied, his voice barely a whisper. His consciousness was a spider at the center of a vast, crimson web. Each beetle was a sensor, feeding back traces of cursed energy—the faint, flickering candles of Grade 3 spirits, the denser, colder knot of the Grade 2, and the distinct, moving signatures of human sorcerers.
In the conference room, Gakuganji's brow furrowed. "What is the Kamo boy waiting for? Is he forfeiting his portion of the challenge?"
Yaga Masamichi said nothing, but a flicker of understanding crossed his face. Reconnaissance. The boy wasn't hunting; he was mapping the entire battlefield first.
***
Gojo Satoru met the four-person vanguard team in a small clearing less than a minute in. They were spread in a loose diamond formation, hands already forming seals or gripping weapons.
"Tokyo! You're outnumbered. Stand down and we'll make it quick," their leader, a third-year with a spiked tonfa crackling with weak electricity, called out.
Gojo didn't break stride. A lazy smile played on his lips. "Outnumbered? Nah. You're just saving me the trouble of finding you all." He raised a single hand. "*Ceiling.*"
An invisible, crushing force slammed down from above, not on the students themselves, but on the air and earth around them. The ground at their feet compacted instantly, and the very atmosphere grew dense and heavy, pinning them in place like insects in amber. It wasn't an attack on their bodies—a direct strike might risk disqualification—but on the space they occupied. They strained, cursed energy flaring, but moving a limb felt like wading through solid rock.
"One," Gojo counted cheerfully, already turning. "Now, where are the other six…?" He shot off again, leaving the immobilized vanguard struggling helplessly in his wake.
***
High above, Geto Suguru's keen eyes scanned the canopy. His flying curse banked sharply. There. A concentration of negative energy, cleverly concealed near a foul-smelling bog. The Grade 2. It was a twisted, many-legged thing made of shadow and rot, lurking half-submerged. A perfect ambush predator. Geto didn't descend. He simply raised a hand, and from the swirling mass around him, a different curse—a serpentine beast with a gaping maw of light—streaked downward. It wasn't a direct attack; it plunged into the bog waters near the shadow spirit. The water instantly flashed-boiled into a geyser of purifying energy. The Grade 2 spirit shrieked, its form destabilizing as it was violently exorcised by the environmental manipulation.
"Two," Geto murmured to himself, a satisfied smirk on his face. The pelican wheeled, now seeking the next cluster of energy signatures—the remaining Kyoto teams.
***
Back at the starting point, Kamo Itsuki's eyes snapped open. The complete map was laid out in his mind. Every Grade 3 spirit—thirty-seven in total—was marked. Every Kyoto student's position was tracked. He knew Gojo had already neutralized four. He knew Geto had just finished the main objective.
"It's time," he said to Shoko.
He didn't run into the jungle. Instead, he knelt again, pressing both palms to the earth. The ground around him darkened, then liquefied into a spreading pool of shimmering, controlled blood. From it, dozens of forms began to rise—not beetles this time, but sleek, canine-like constructs with blade-like limbs and no discernible features save for a single, glowing red sensor where an eye would be.
"Seek and exorcize. Targets are marked," he commanded silently through his technique.
The pack of blood hounds shot off in perfect, silent coordination, streaking into the undergrowth along thirty-seven distinct, pre-planned paths. They moved with unnerving speed and precision, bypassing terrain obstacles as if they weren't there.
Kamo remained kneeling, his eyes closed again, monitoring each construct simultaneously. On the screens, the observers saw flashes of crimson movement deep in the jungle feed, followed by the swift, efficient dissolution of Grade 3 cursed spirits—a puppet beheaded here, a slime pierced and evaporated there. It was a systematic, simultaneous purge.
In the conference room, Gakuganji was stone silent, his hands clenched on the table. Yaga Masamichi's earlier prediction was utterly shattered. The efficiency was terrifying. Kamo Itsuki wasn't just participating; he was demonstrating a paradigm of area control and multi-target engagement that belonged on a battlefield, not a school competition.
Ieiri Shoko watched Kamo's focused face, then looked at the screens showing Gojo casually rounding up the second Kyoto team with more spatial trickery, and Geto descending upon the last group from above with a swirling vortex of captured curses. She patted Yuki Mai's head.
"Cheering and healing, huh?" she muttered to herself, a wry smile finally breaking through. "Looks like my job today is just going to be… watching a masterpiece."