Early the next morning, Kashimo sat by the stream, clutching a barrier technique scroll he'd pinched from the Zenin vault. His brow was knitted into a tight knot.
He couldn't understand a word of it.
The combat-oriented techniques like Falling Blossom Emotion were simple enough. He'd flipped through those once and grasped the chanics. But this was different. The pages were filled with abstract nonsense: structural foundations of barriers, seven variations of cursed energy vectors, theoretical basis for spatial fixation. Every individual word made sense, but together, they were a foreign language.
He stared at the scroll for a long ti before tossing it aside in frustration.
If he couldn't understand barrier techniques, he couldn't grasp the logic of a Domain. Without a Domain, he couldn't kill the current users of the Six Eyes or the Ten Shadows. If he couldn't kill them, Kenjaku wouldn't teach him the deeper secrets of sorcery. And if Kenjaku didn't teach him...
He stood no chance against Sukuna.
Kashimo felt himself growing hollow, like a sheet of paper that might blow away with the next breeze.
"How am I supposed to get past Limitless and Mahoraga?"
He ran his hands through his hair, realizing only afterward that he'd worked his pale blue locks into a tangled ss. He sighed, leaning down to splash so creek water onto his face.
The skin on his cheeks began to tingle.
He cupped another handful of water, focusing on the sensation. It was definitely there—a faint, prickly numbness, like tiny needles of current crawling over his skin.
Right. His cursed energy was leaking. When he stayed in the water, his electrical properties bled into the stream.
Kashimo stared at the flowing water, a sudden, erratic thought striking him.
Electrolysis.
He'd paid enough attention in high school chemistry to rember the basics. Pass an electric current through water, and it breaks down into hydrogen and oxygen. Do it in salt water, and you get chlorine gas. Chlorine was toxic. Hydrogen was explosive.
What if he could poison Mahoraga? Or blow it up?
He stood there for a few seconds, a slow, manic grin spreading across his face. But then he rembered the other problem.
How do I hit Gojo through the Infinity?
The invincible Kashimo slumped back down onto his rock.
***
At the Gojo estate.
"What do you an, Sawara announced the Zenin are going into seclusion?"
Arashi Gojo sat in his usual place, staring at the ssenger with an expression of pure disbelief. His mouth hung open slightly, his eyes wide. He looked like he'd just been told the sun was rising in the west.
"That is his official statent, Lord Arashi," the ssenger replied, his head bowed. There was a hint of suppressed amusent in his voice. "The head of the Zenin clan personally declared that they will be devoting themselves to rigorous self-discipline and the refinent of their techniques. Apparently, they require a period of quiet isolation, far from the distractions of the world, to better themselves."
Arashi was silent for a few long seconds.
"Are you kidding ?" he finally snapped. "We're jujutsu sorcerers, not monks in a mountaintop monastery. Seclusion? Has the man finally lost his mind?"
He waved a dismissive hand. "Get out."
Once the ssenger was gone, Arashi leaned back and pulled a pipe from his sleeve, lighting it with a flick of his finger. He took a long drag and let out a heavy sigh.
He couldn't rember exactly when he'd started smoking. Probably around the ti the headaches beca constant. The political pressure was mounting. Most of the minor factions had sided with the Zenin at the banquet, and the imperial court had remained pointedly neutral. The Gojo were isolated, supported only by the New Shadow School and the perpetually absent Master Tengen.
He watched a ring of smoke drift toward the ceiling and dissipate.
He needed to start recruiting. If the established clans wouldn't help, he'd have to look to the rogue sorcerers. There were plenty of them—n who lived by their own rules but possessed significant power. There was Sandai in Edo, who was making a na for himself, and that old swordsman near Yoshiwara. Though, the old man had been quiet lately. He might have finally finally passed on.
But the one that concerned him most was the newcor from Mutsu.
Kashimo. The rumors called him the strongest of this era.
According to the latest reports, he had already arrived in the outskirts of Kyoto. Arashi took another drag of his pipe and stared out the window at the empty sky.
***
The sound of snapping timber echoed through the woods like a string of firecrackers. Trees fell like dominoes, sending clouds of dust and startled birds into the air.
Kashimo stepped out of the haze, his staff propped on his shoulder. He tilted his head as he looked at the man in front of him.
"You've realized it by now, haven't you? My hand-to-hand is miles ahead of yours."
Hisashige Juro used a jagged stump of a tree to pull himself upright. His breathing was labored, a ragged whistle in the silence of the forest. This boy had attacked without a word, and Juro had barely been able to keep up. He'd nearly been killed in the opening exchange.
Reverse Cursed Technique was working overti to knit his internal injuries back together, but Kashimo was already closing the distance.
Kashimo swung the erald staff. It caught Juro in the midsection, folding him in half like a piece of parchnt. Before the old man could recover his breath, Kashimo followed up with a brutal rising strike aid at his jaw.
Juro barely managed to bring his arms up to block. The impact sent a shudder through his entire fra, his forearms going numb. He used the montum to throw himself backward, creating a desperate gap between them.
"I have no quarrel with you, boy," Juro rasped, his eyes fixed on Kashimo's refined, mocking face. "Why are you trying to kill ?"
Kashimo paused to scratch his ear with his pinky. "Aren't you supposed to be Kyoto's greatest martial arts master?" He flicked away a speck of dust, his tone casual. "I wanted to see if the title was earned. Turns out..."
He shrugged. "You're just okay."
Juro's expression hardened.
Kashimo gripped the staff in one hand and took two slow steps forward. "So, you might as well just die here."
"If that's how it is…"
Juro lowered his center of gravity, his feet rooting into the earth. He didn't take a standard fighting stance. His palms were open, one leading and one trailing, his weight perfectly balanced. It was a posture born of decades of discipline, a weightiness that couldn't be faked.
"Co then."
Kashimo arched an eyebrow. He'd fought hundreds of n, but few stood their ground once they realized how wide the gap truly was.
He jamd the staff into the dirt beside him and mirrored the man's stance. He had no formal school, no inherited style. His movents were the product of seventeen years of lethal brawls, paid for in blood and instinct.
"Try not to bore ."
Kashimo lunged. The ground beneath his feet cracked as he launched himself like a projectile. There was no wasted motion, no flare of cursed energy—just raw, explosive physical power.
He threw a straight punch. Juro's pupils constricted.
The old master could see the trajectory. He saw the angle of Kashimo's shoulder, the twist of his hip, the terrifying velocity of the fist. He saw it all, but he couldn't move fast enough to evade.
He had to parry.
He caught the punch between his palms, redirecting the force just enough to keep his ribs from shattering. Even then, the impact made his teeth rattle. Strength, speed, precision—the boy outclassed him in every category.
But Juro had sothing else.
He had a lifeti of patterns etched into his bones. It wasn't just a technique; it was a reflex for every possible variable. He didn't fight the montum of Kashimo's strike. Instead, he flowed with it, pivoting his entire body like a spinning top. He used Kashimo's own power to whip himself around, driving an elbow toward the boy's temple.
The blow landed with a dull thud.
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