The training field at Jujutsu High was as wide as the eye could see. A broad stretch of grass with smooth stone paths around it, a few old wooden dummies lined up at one end, and wide boulders scattered at the other. It wasn't fancy, but it had a certain calmness, a place where silence mixed with tension. A perfect ground for Gojo's idea of "lesson one."
Arata stood across from Gojo, his baggy black shirt sticking lightly to his skin from the morning workout he had already done on his own. His dark hair fell slightly into his eyes, but he brushed it back with a hand, eyes sharp and calm. He wasn't nervous—he was ready.
Gojo, blindfold still covering his eyes, bounced on his feet like a man about to have fun at an arcade rather than train someone in deadly combat.
"Alright, Arataaa," he stretched the name, his voice casual, "welcome to your official training under yours truly, the strongest. First things first—we start with the basics. Hand-to-hand combat. No cursed energy reinforcement yet. Just your body. You good with that?"
Arata gave a simple nod.
"Fine by me."
Gojo clapped his hands once. "Good answer! Raw combat is essential for sorcerers to learn. Doesn't matter how flashy your technique is—if you can't move, punch, and react, you're screwed." He grinned wide, though his eyes were hidden. "So, come at me."
Arata moved without hesitation. His steps were light but measured, closing the distance with a speed that surprised even Gojo. His right hand shot forward, palm aimed at Gojo's chest.
Gojo tilted his body, letting the strike pass him by, then flicked his own palm against Arata's shoulder.
"Not bad," Gojo said, playful. "But you're stiff in your follow-through."
Arata spun, tried a left hook. Gojo ducked. Then Gojo's leg came up, sweeping toward Arata's ankle. Arata jumped, landing lightly, and countered with a knee aimed at Gojo's midsection. Gojo caught it with his forearm and pushed him back.
The air carried only the sound of shoes sliding over grass and the thud of blows landing against guards. Gojo wasn't using Infinity—just pure martial skill. And Arata was meeting him head-on.
After a minute of rapid exchanges, Gojo chuckled. "Sharp instincts. You adjust quick."
Arata rolled his shoulders, eyes focused. "You said to fight. So I fight."
"Serious guy," Gojo teased, then rushed in again.
The first two days were nothing but drills. Stances. Footwork. Repetition. Gojo drilled Arata until sweat soaked through his shirt, until his arms and legs felt heavy. Jab-cross combinations, low kicks, sweeps, grappling escapes, throws.
Gojo barked orders with a smile.
"Loosen your hips."
"Don't overextend."
"Again."
Every mistake was caught instantly, but every improvement was noticed too.
By the third day, Arata's movements had smoothed out. His blocks came tighter, his counters sharper. Gojo tested him harder, adding feints, adding pressure. Still, Arata adapted. His breathing stayed calm, his gaze locked.
On the fourth day, Gojo finally reinforced his strikes with cursed energy.
A single light tap to a boulder shattered it. Dust filled the air.
"Your turn," Gojo said.
Arata clenched his fists, focused cursed energy into his arm, and struck another boulder. It cracked but didn't explode like Gojo's. Gojo smirked.
"Not bad. Keep at it."
By the sixth day, Arata could split stone clean with a reinforced strike. By the seventh, he could shatter it completely. Gojo grinned with genuine satisfaction.
"You're a natural genius," he said simply, for once without a hint of joking.
Arata only nodded, wiping sweat from his chin. "I'll take that as a compliment."
The second week began with weapons. Gojo led him into the small armory within the school. Swords lined one wall, spears another, staffs stacked neatly, and even bows hung in racks.
Gojo spread his arms. "Alright! Today's fun. Pick one."
Arata's eyes scanned the racks before settling on a simple katana. He drew it slowly, the steel reflecting the morning sun. Gojo gave him a wooden practice blade first, though.
They started with basic swings. Proper grip, controlled slashes. Step in, cut. Step out, defend. Gojo corrected his stance whenever needed, but soon Arata was flowing through the drills smoothly.
Then came the sparring. Gojo with a staff, Arata with his blade. Gojo's strikes were fast, almost unpredictable, but Arata adapted again, blocking, countering, learning each exchange.
Day by day, they cycled through weapons. Sword, staff, spear, even bow. Each time, Arata picked up the basics almost unnaturally fast.
Gojo laughed out loud during one spar.
"You've gotta be kidding me. You're good at everything. Sword, staff, spear—you even shoot arrows like you've done it for years. What are you, Arata, some kind of weapon savant?"
Arata caught his breath, resting his blade against his shoulder. "Or maybe you're just bad at teaching."
Gojo froze for a second, then burst into laughter.
"Ah, I like that. You've got bite under all that seriousness."
But truthfully, Gojo was impressed. Each weapon suited Arata differently, but none looked awkward in his hands. He moved with balance, intuition guiding him.
By the end of the week, Gojo stood with arms crossed, tone finally serious.
"You can use them all, but to really push your limits, you'll need a weapon crafted just for you. A special grade weapon. Custom."
Arata nodded silently. The idea felt heavy, but right.
On the final day of combat training, Gojo and Arata stood across from each other again in the field. Sweat, bruises, and fatigue marked the week's effort.
Gojo tilted his head, grinning. "You've grown fast, Arata. Faster than I expected. You've got natural talent, no doubt about it."
Arata exhaled slowly, wiping sweat from his jawline. "Still a long way to go."
"Yeah," Gojo agreed, unusually earnest. "But I'll say it: you're one of the fastest learners I've ever seen. Makes this job fun for me, y'know?"
Arata gave a faint smile at that.
Gojo clapped his hands suddenly, tone flipping back to playful. "Alright, that's enough for today. Time to cool down. We're going to meet someone important."
Arata raised a brow. "Who?"
Gojo smirked. "Shoko. Our school doctor. You'll like her—she's got… a way with words."
And just like that, the first stage of training ended, but Arata felt it in his bones—the foundation had been laid, and a path of strength had opened before him.