A surge of competitive fire ignited within Geto. He would not be outdone in efficiency. With a thought, the pelican dove, and a new curse—a massive, serpentine creature with a gaping maw—materialized beside him. It shot toward the remaining Grade 2 spirit like a living spear.
The spirit, a hulking amalgamation of stone and shadow, barely had time to raise a defensive limb before the serpent-curse engulfed it, its body flashing with crackling energy. There was a sound like shattering pottery, and the Grade 2 spirit dissolved into wisps of smoke, absorbed instantly into a dark orb that flew back to Geto's waiting hand.
Two.
Simultaneously, across the scarred battlefield, Gojo Satoru stood amidst the seven remaining, utterly bewildered Kyoto students. The last three had just been 'collected,' immobilized by his spatial manipulation in a neat, frustrated row alongside their earlier comrades. The meteoric rain of blood had stopped just meters from their position, a perfect boundary of destruction that highlighted their utter helplessness.
Gojo glanced at the sky, then at the ravaged forest, a wide, impressed grin splitting his face. "Show-off," he chuckled, though there was clear appreciation in his tone. He turned back to the immobilized Kyoto team. "Well, looks like the party's over. You guys okay? Not too shaken up?" His question was glib, but he kept a careful eye on them—Kamo's attack had been precise, but the sheer scale was intimidating.
Back at the starting point, the crimson glow around Kamo Itsuki faded. He let out a controlled breath, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. The simultaneous, large-scale exorcism had been a significant output, even for him. Ieiri Shoko was at his side in an instant, her hand glowing with the cool green light of Reverse Cursed Technique, checking him for any backlash or strain.
"I'm fine, Shoko. Just a large-scale dispersal," he assured her, his voice steady.
In the monitoring room, the silence was absolute for a full ten seconds.
Then, chaos.
"That was a pre-emptive, large-area exorcism ritual!" one of the visiting elite sorcerers exclaimed, his voice hushed with awe. "He mapped the entire terrain and neutralized all minor threats in one move… with Blood Manipulation? Since when could it be used for wide-area purification?!"
"The control… he didn't harm a single student, not even the vegetation beyond the spirit signatures," another murmured, pointing at a screen showing a pristine patch of flowers right next to a crater where a curse had been.
Principal Gakuganji's face was a mask of stormy conflict. He had just witnessed a display of power, precision, and tactical thinking that redefined the potential of a student. It was magnificent. It was also terrifying. This was not just strength; it was a statement. The Kamo heir was not merely powerful; he was a strategist who operated on a different conceptual plane.
Yaga Masamichi finally released the breath he'd been holding. His initial assessment had been completely wrong. Kamo hadn't been at a disadvantage due to numbers; he had turned the entire venue into his own domain and cleared his objective in the opening move. The 'race' had been a farce. It was a coordinated demonstration.
He spoke into the communicator, his voice echoing through the now-silent venue. "The team event is concluded. All designated cursed spirits have been exorcised. Tokyo Jujutsu High is the victor."
The words were formal, but they did nothing to dispel the stunned atmosphere.
On the field, Gojo released the Kyoto students from their spatial bindings. They stumbled, looking around at the devastated landscape with dazed expressions, their competitive spirit utterly crushed not by defeat, but by the manner of it.
Geto Suguru landed softly beside Kamo and Gojo, the orb containing the Grade 2 spirit already stored away. He looked at Kamo, a new layer of respect in his gaze. "You left me one," he said.
"A contest should have a finish line for everyone," Kamo replied simply, his expression unreadable once more. "And it was your designated target."
Ieiri Shoko joined them, Yuki Mai at her heels. She looked at the three of them—Gojo, casually victorious; Geto, efficiently lethal; and Kamo, the architect of the entire scene. "So," she said, her voice dry. "Who won the little race within the race?"
Gojo Satoru laughed, a bright, clear sound that cut through the tension. "Who cares? We all won. More importantly," his blue eyes, uncovered, gleamed with intense interest as he slung an arm around Kamo's shoulders, "Itsuki, you've been holding out on us. 'Dragon Star Cluster,' huh? We need to talk about your definition of a 'personal hobby.'"
As they walked out of the scarred arena, the Kyoto students watching them go, the first day of the exchange event was over. But the real impact was just beginning. Kamo Itsuki had not just won a competition; he had redrawn the map of what their generation was capable of, and in doing so, had sent a silent, seismic shock through the entire watching Jujutsu world.
The scene was surreal. The scarred, smoldering battlefield, the unconscious Kyoto students scattered like felled trees, and the four figures from Tokyo standing untouched at its center. Into this tableau, Ieiri Shoko moved with a calm, purposeful grace. The pale green aura of her Reverse Cursed Technique was a gentle counterpoint to the violent energies that had just ravaged the grounds.
As the healing light washed over them, the Kyoto students began to stir, groans shifting to sounds of confusion and then to stunned silence as they realized they were not only conscious but whole, their aches and exhaustion replaced by a strange, borrowed vitality. They looked up at Shoko with dazed eyes, then past her to the trio who had dismantled their school's strategy and pride in a handful of minutes.
Gojo Satoru watched Shoko work, his earlier irritation fading into a look of bored satisfaction. The fight had been too easy, a fleeting distraction. His true focus was now entirely on the implications of Kamo's display.
Geto Suguru stood quietly, observing the reactions—the shock on the Kyoto students' faces, the calculating look in Principal Gakuganji's eyes as he approached from the edge of the field. He understood the message had been received, and it was louder than any of them had intended.
Kamo Itsuki remained the still point. He acknowledged the healed Kyoto students with a slight, polite nod, his expression unreadable. The "Dragon Star Cluster" had been a risk—a calculated unveiling of a fraction of his developed capabilities. It was meant to test his own limits in a controlled environment, but he knew it would be perceived as a declaration of power. The Jujutsu world, he thought, was built on such perceptions.
Principal Gakuganji reached the center of the field, his face a rigid mask. He looked from the recovered but demoralized Kyoto students to the unnervingly composed Tokyo four. "The team event is concluded," he announced, his voice tight. "Tokyo Jujutsu High is the victor. The individual matches will proceed as scheduled tomorrow."
His gaze lingered on Kamo. "Such... comprehensive techniques are rare. The Higher-ups will no doubt be interested in a full report."
It was not a compliment. It was a warning, and a promise of scrutiny.
Yaga Masamichi joined them, his own expression grim. He placed a heavy hand on Kamo's shoulder, a gesture that was both protective and restraining. "A demonstration of power is one thing," he said quietly, for their ears only. "Controlling the aftermath is another. Be ready."
As the Kyoto students were helped to their feet, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension. The exchange event was no longer a simple competition between schools. It had become a stage, and Kamo Itsuki had just stepped into a spotlight he could not easily step out of. The individual matches tomorrow would now be viewed through a different lens—not just as bouts, but as further chapters in a story that was rapidly escalating beyond anyone's control.
Gojo Satoru's lips curled into a sharp smile, his eyes alight with anticipation. "Tomorrow should be more interesting, at least," he said, his voice cutting through the heavy air. The game, it seemed, was finally becoming worth playing.
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