Wasuke, in annoyance says for the evolution of Jujutsu, just what the hell are you talking about Iori-san. You are confusing me.
Iori says you see Wasuke-kun. Scocerors of today have gotten considerably weaker compared to back then. And what pisses me off the most is that today's Scocerors are content with just staying mediocre.
Wasuke says Iori-san, the whole reason you feel Scocerors have gotten weaker is because there are no longer any threats that require Scocerors to grow stronger. Is that not a good thing tho, is that not what my Grandfather, your father Grandpa Yuta and many other Scocerors 68 years ago fought for. Is peace really that bad for you.
Iori says thats exactly why I don't like you and your grandfather Wasuke. Your ideals of peace and understanding each other. How do you make peace and understand those who are evil. But anyway, it doesn't matter now. The age for Cursed Energy evolution is upon us. And unfortunately you and your grandfather will only hold everyone back. So you must be taken out of the equation. As Iori gets into battle stance.
Wasuke also gets into battle stance and he thinks The person i want to someday call father-in-law just openly said he doesn't like me. That's not good now is it. But still, I really don't want to fight Iori-san. I have to restrain him, he might be under the control of someone because this is not the Iori-san I met 5 years ago.
Wasuke then says Iori-san, I don't mean to seem egotistical and cocky. But you don't stand a chance of winning against me. Iori laughs and says well we will see about that.
---
The first clash happened before either of them finished breathing.
Concrete screamed as Wasuke's heel skidded across the street, friction carving a pale arc through asphalt. Iori was already there, too close, too fast, Samehada flashing low, its edge sliding in with surgical intent. Wasuke twisted on instinct, forearm snapping down to redirect the blade, cursed energy reinforcing bone just in time to keep his arm intact.
The impact rang through him.
Heavy.
Real heavy. The kind of weight that came from a body sharpened past human limits.
Wasuke countered with a knee aimed for the ribs. Iori vanished beneath it, shoulder dipping, sword coming back up in a clean, merciless line. Wasuke barely leaned away, steel kissed flesh.
Blood sprayed.
Wasuke felt it then. The lag.
His reaction was late. His movement dull. The timing he'd refined over years slipped.
Iori pressed the advantage immediately.
The street collapsed beneath them as he drove forward, feet barely touching the ground, each step exploding with raw physical force. Samehada carved arcs through the air, every swing stripping cursed energy from Wasuke's guard. Wasuke blocked with forearms, elbows, palms jujutsu martial arts drilled into muscle memory but every impact pushed him back.
'Why… am I slow?'
Wasuke slipped under a horizontal cut and answered with a palm strike to Iori's chest. The blow should have sent him flying.
It didn't.
Iori slid back half a step, boots grinding concrete, eyes sharp and irritated.
So Wasuke adjusted.
Clearly he couldn't overwhelm Iori with physical strength for some reason, so he would have to outsmart him.
He closed distance, hands flowing into a chained sequence: elbow, backfist, low sweep. Cursed energy threaded through each strike, precise, controlled. Iori was forced to retreat now, blade turning sideways to parry instead of attack.
For three seconds, they were equal.
Then Samehada bit.
The katana scraped deep across Wasuke's side. His cursed energy thinned instantly where the blade passed, like something had taken a bite out of it.
Iori clicked his tongue.
"Tch."
Wasuke felt the drain.
They burst through the front of a convenience store, glass detonating outward. Shelves toppled as they rolled across tile. Wasuke kicked off a refrigerator, flipping midair, landing as Iori came in low again.
This time, Wasuke didn't meet him head-on.
He swiped his fingers forward.
A Dismantle sliced sideways. The cut traced along Iori's shoulder, tearing fabric and skin in a clean line. Blood followed a heartbeat later.
Iori leapt back, teeth bared.
So that's how it was.
Wasuke exhaled slowly.
He used Dismantle around his movements now, thin, precise slashes layered into his taijutsu.
Wasuke was showing a lot of restraint.
Iori charged again, faster this time, sword screaming as it cut through air and cursed energy alike. Wasuke ducked, slid, struck Cleave activating on contact. Cutting Iori multiple times in an instance.
Still not enough.
His output fell short.
A flash of steel.
Samehada tore across his abdomen.
Wasuke staggered back, blood pouring freely now. The pain finally registered.
That would've been fatal.
His hands moved automatically.
Reverse cursed technique surged, flesh knitting together in a wet, uncomfortable sensation. The wound sealed just as Iori lunged again, eyes widening briefly at the speed of recovery.
They exploded back into the street.
The special grade curse chose that moment to intervene.
It dropped from above, body grotesque and swollen, cursed energy howling. Wasuke didn't even look at it.
"Die."
The command slammed into it.
The curse convulsed, but didn't collapse.
Wasuke clicked his tongue.
Of course.
For some reason his techniques were weak today.
Iori didn't wait.
Samehada slammed into Wasuke's shoulder, cutting deep. The cursed energy drain was stronger this time. Wasuke felt it like a cold vacuum ripping outward.
He gritted his teeth, reversed the damage, and kicked away.
The curse roared.
Wasuke raised a hand.
Dismantle activated.
The curse came apart in sections. Limbs separated. Torso split. Head severed cleanly.
Then—
"Explode."
Each piece detonated in sequence.
The street vanished in fire.
Iori shielded himself with crossed arms, boots digging trenches into the road as the blast swallowed everything. When the smoke cleared, the curse was gone. Nothing remained but scorched stone.
Wasuke stood at the center, chest rising steadily.
Iori stared.
"…I've been cutting you nonstop," he said, irritation leaking through. "Samehada should've drained you dry by now."
Wasuke wiped blood from his mouth.
"Samehada. The Special Grade cursed tool that eats away at cursed energy. I'm afraid it's not going to work that easily on me."
He took a step forward.
"My cursed energy volume is abnormal."
Iori scowled.
"Abnormal how."
Wasuke didn't raise his voice.
"Since grandfather Yuka's death… I have the highest cursed energy reserves among living sorcerers."
Silence.
Then Iori laughed, sharp and disbelieving.
"You're kidding."
Wasuke released his cursed energy.
The air warped. Dust lifted. Windows shattered down the street.
Iori's smile faded.
He couldn't see it, but he could feel it.
A vast, unending pressure.
"…So that's why," he muttered. "Then I guess"
He raised Samehada.
"this really is a battle of attrition."
They collided again.
This time, Iori pushed harder. Heavenly Restriction on full display. His body moved without hesitation, every strike lethal, every cut precise. He leapt between buildings, rebounding off walls, sword always aimed for arteries, joints, organs.
Wasuke answered with discipline.
He parried barehanded. Redirected with shoulders. Trapped the blade between palms and shattered the ground beneath Iori's feet. Cleave triggered mid-grapple, slicing through reinforcement and flesh alike.
Still, he was losing ground.
Another cut. Thigh. Deep.
Reverse cursed technique flared again.
Too many.
The city block was collapsing around them, buildings fractured, streets torn open, steel exposed like bone. This couldn't continue.
Wasuke stepped back.
Iori followed.
Then stopped.
Wasuke raised both hands.
Index and middle fingers extended. The rest folded inward. Hands mirrored. Close. Precise.
Recognition hit.
"…You've got to be kidding me," Iori said.
Wasuke's voice was calm.
"Domain Expansion."
The world began to fold.
"Court of the Living Shrine."
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