In the courtyard, a tree as thick as a person's arms stood alone. Withered flowers and dead grass lay scattered at its base, and the strong wind occasionally bent its branches.
Sōjun Minamoto and Shiko Mishima were sparring.
Or rather, Shiko Mishima was attacking, and Sōjun Minamoto was simply evading.
Her strikes were fierce, trapping him in the center of a swirling blade aura. Sōjun Minamoto lifted his head, closed his eyes, and spread his arms as if embracing the sky. His body tilted as he spun on his heels or toes, letting the blade aura pass around him without even ruffling the corner of his robe.
He never moved from his spot. Every time the blade swept by, it missed him by a hair's breadth.
After a while, Sōjun Minamoto remained relaxed and at ease, while Shiko Mishima was already gasping for breath.
"No more, I'm done!"
She waved a hand, calling it off.
Lately, whenever she made progress, she'd come to Sōjun Minamoto to spar. Though she lost again and again, each match brought small gains—painful, but rewarding.
Sōjun Minamoto stopped. The wild edge in his expression gradually faded, replaced once more by his usual calm and courteous demeanor.
Too bad—my progress still outpaces yours.
He looked at her and nodded. "You need to learn to control your power. Every swing should carry just the right amount of force. A bit too much, and it's excessive. A bit too little, and it's not enough. And that balance shifts depending on the opponent… You need to find that point."
As they walked back to the living room...
Shiko Mishima listened intently, occasionally discussing the properties and shifts in various techniques. Out of the corner of her eye, she suddenly spotted a familiar cursed spirit—it was that locust-headed one, sitting quietly in the corner.
She paused. "That's… the cursed womb from last time?!"
Approaching the corner, her voice wavered with uncertainty. Why did its shape seem so familiar? It looked… a lot like Sōjun Minamoto?
She stared for a moment, then suddenly reached out and pinched the locust head.
"Don't touch me."
It was Sōjun Minamoto's voice.
She blinked. Then—ah! It clicked. As she turned to leave the corner, the drooping corners of her mouth suddenly lifted into a wicked grin. She spun around and threw a punch at the locust head's chest.
The instant her fist made contact, the locust head twisted—and she felt like she'd struck thin air. Staring at her arm in surprise, she quickly realized: this cursed womb's technique must involve space.
In that split second, it had slipped into the void and relocated—then returned to its original spot just as she pulled her arm back?!
The movement was so fast that visually, it looked like she had simply missed—her punch swung out, the locust head flickered, and the blow went through nothing.
Deflated, she silently dropped back onto the sofa and hugged her knees.
Sōjun Minamoto looked at her, surprised. Her face gradually twisted, her teeth grinding with frustration.
Every time she sparred with Sōjun Minamoto, she couldn't help but feel powerless.
If her strength couldn't keep up, and she couldn't provide proper support, he would definitely leave her behind and go off alone.
She couldn't allow herself to be dead weight—to hold anyone back.
If that happened, she'd have no choice but to leave.
With a different sorcerer, she'd probably just return to her original job as a support Window. Back to the way things were?
She had really been enjoying herself lately—fighting cursed spirits, coming to understand more clearly what it meant to be a jujutsu sorcerer.
Her expression was conflicted.
She was happy. And because she was happy, she couldn't bear to give it up.
After a while, a soft murmur came from beneath her bowed head.
"What exactly is a Cursed Technique?"
Sōjun Minamoto seemed to sense her mood. After a brief pause, he pointed at the large tree in the courtyard.
"A Cursed Technique is like a seed. When it awakens, it breaks through the soil. With each use, it slowly takes root and sprouts, growing into a sapling. As the sorcerer gains experience and continues to develop it, that sapling gets the nourishment it needs to grow. When it matures into a tree, the trunk represents the natural flow of the technique, and the branches are its expansions. If the sorcerer has enough aptitude and masters Cursed Technique Lapse, it's possible for a new root to break through and grow into another tree. When a single tree becomes a forest—that 'forest' is the Cursed Technique Lapse. From there, the technique's power grows exponentially..."
Sōjun Minamoto walked up to Shiko Mishima, cupped her face, and with a flicker of bloodlight at his fingertips, formed a star-shaped eye.
He pressed it into the center of her brow. The star eye blinked twice, then a tear trickled down.
He quickly wiped it away—this was his first time performing the procedure, and he was still unfamiliar with it.
He placed one hand on her temple, keeping the star eye in place.
"Close your eyes," he said softly.
Still confused, Shiko Mishima obeyed.
A strange vision immediately unfolded in her mind.
First was a sharp sense of clarity—the world seemed sharper, more vivid. More colors filled her sight, and even the smallest details stood out. She could see the breeze outside, the drifting clouds in the sky, and even the delicate fluttering of a butterfly's wings on a flower.
Next came a sense of vastness. The sky felt higher, the land broader. With herself as the center, her vision stretched forward without obstruction—she could clearly see all of Jujutsu High and the surrounding mountains.
Then came the feeling of time slowing down. Everything in the world moved more slowly, except her.
...
...
The flood of sensory input was overwhelming. Her brain struggled to process it all, and a wave of dizziness hit her. Her final glance landed on Sōjun Minamoto. Even in this hyper-detailed vision, the man looked flawless—not a single pore on his face.
She felt a pang of envy.
Then her head tipped forward and slammed into the coffee table.
Sōjun Minamoto caught her. With a gentle touch to her brow, the bloodlight flickered once more. The star eye closed and slowly vanished, leaving behind a faint red mark that quickly faded.
It felt to Shiko Mishima like being a nearsighted person with a 4000-degree prescription suddenly having her glasses ripped off.
She needed some time to adjust before her senses returned to normal.
So that's what a Cursed Technique is?
"In comparison, martial arts, sword techniques, weapons—they're just leaves or branches. Even with Cursed Energy, they're no more than weeds growing under the tree."
Sōjun Minamoto knew how to comfort people.
It might sound elaborate, but really, it's simple. A Cursed Technique is just a kind of talent, an ability. It all depends on how you use it.
His view was starkly different from most sorcerers. He never bought into the idea that "80% of a Jujutsu Sorcerer's strength comes from innate talent."
Most people hadn't even reached the level where talent mattered.
So what if someone didn't have a Cursed Technique? They could still become top-tier Grade 1.
He might not be the best person to say it—but the principle stood.
There are hundreds of thousands of so-called geniuses, and even a handful among them who are one in a million. Even if you're the best, there's no guarantee someone even stronger won't rise later and overtake you.
Comparison is human nature, but getting caught up in always needing to be the best is meaningless. Isn't it more practical to focus on improving yourself instead of obsessing over comparisons?
When you hit a true limit—then break it.
You're already a Jujutsu Sorcerer, and you still believe your fate is set in stone?
Sōjun Minamoto's expression turned faintly scornful.
"What kind of look is that?"
Shiko Mishima's moods shifted quickly. She shot to her feet and called out, energized, "One more round!"
She led the way toward the courtyard. Just before stepping outside, she turned with a bright smile.
"You didn't actually think I was discouraged, did you?"
"That'd be underestimating me."
She stepped out under the tree, placing a hand lightly against its trunk.
She didn't care much for techniques or not. Even weeds, when there are enough of them, can choke a tree.
"And seriously—if your eyes look that weird, find a way to cover them."
Shiko Mishima drew her blade.
"They're triggering my trypophobia."
Sōjun Minamoto didn't mind.
She had nearly witnessed the entire evolution and refinement of the compound eye firsthand.
He rarely bothered to squint or conceal it. Whether other sorcerers noticed—what did that matter to him?
Watching Shiko Mishima radiating energy again, Sōjun Minamoto smiled and followed her out.
He'd never really seen her shaken. She always radiated a sort of forward momentum… well, unless she was drinking.
In truth, while Cursed Techniques couldn't be created, similar results could be achieved through the right methods.
Like Puppet Manipulation.
Mrs. Minamoto and Masamichi Yaga's techniques were textbook examples. Techniques couldn't be learned, sure, but after all this time, Sōjun Minamoto had developed a deep understanding of Puppet Manipulation.
Change the way you think: his crimson hair acted like puppet strings. Using assimilated cursed spirits as external body parts—it was no different from manipulating perfect puppets.
Wasn't that a form of Puppet Manipulation unique to him—Sōjun Minamoto?
...
He stepped into the courtyard. This time, he was the one attacking while Shiko Mishima defended.
Though struggling, she stood firm. If Sōjun Minamoto wanted to win, he'd have to work for it.
They always went all out when sparring. As long as no one died, any injury was a minor one.
Truthfully, Shiko Mishima was strong. With Semi-Grade 1 strength, she already stood at the peak of the jujutsu world.
Sōjun Minamoto struck with a powerful blow, breaking her guard and launching into a fierce assault.
Shiko Mishima retreated, barely holding on.
Once caught in Sōjun Minamoto's rhythm, the outcome was nearly sealed.
Soon, she had nowhere left to run. One kick sent her sprawling. She collapsed to the ground.
Using her sword for support, she smiled faintly. Calming herself, she stumbled to her feet. Her grin warped with effort as she lifted the blade overhead. Her arms formed a wide angle, eyes locked onto Sōjun Minamoto from below her left wrist—a stance for launching an all-out attack.
"Ahhh—!"
She let out a shout and lunged forward, building force with every step. The blade grew heavier and heavier. As she neared him, the blade's aura blew his hair back. She brought it down—
Sōjun Minamoto sidestepped. The blade changed course, sweeping horizontally. He leaned back just enough—the aura only ruffled the hem of his clothes. With one palm, he struck her wrist. The tachi spun out of her grip and drove into the ground.
"Hah… hah…"
"I lost."
Meeting Sōjun Minamoto—it was both a stroke of misfortune… and a blessing.
He looked at her, and a thought quietly surfaced.
If she truly wanted a Cursed Technique, maybe… there was a way he could give her one.
One of his eyes drifted toward the locust head in the corner...
Cursed Techniques couldn't be created.
But they could be borrowed. Or transferred.