Jay exploded forward, claws cutting through the air in a vicious arc aimed straight at Sota's chest. The sound of slicing wind echoed across the arena.
But Sota had already stepped aside.
Jay's claws passed inches from his face.
Before Jay could recover, Sota slid in close and slapped Jay's back with a flat palm. The impact wasn't devastating—but it was precise. It sent a shock through Jay's spine and forced him to stumble forward.
"Damn it," Jay muttered.
He spun and attacked again—faster this time.
Right slash.Left slash.Downward cleave.
Each one missed.
Sota moved like water, dodging just enough to avoid the attacks while never straying too far. Every time Jay overextended, Sota punished him with a palm strike—his shoulder, his ribs, his back.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
Jay gritted his teeth.
He's reading me.
Jay leapt back, claws digging into the stone beneath his feet as he skidded to a halt. He crouched low, eyes locked on Sota.
Sota exhaled calmly.
"You're strong," he said. "But your attacks are loud."
Jay growled and charged again.
This time, Jay pushed harder.
He threw wide, brutal swings meant to overwhelm—attacks that could tear through stone and flesh alike. The ground cracked beneath them as the sheer force of his blows shook the ring.
Still, Sota dodged.
Still, he slapped Jay's back, shoulders, sides—each strike landing exactly where Jay couldn't defend himself.
The crowd murmured.
"He can't touch him…"
"Sota's future vision is insane."
Jay's breathing grew heavier.
No…This isn't impossible.
Jay slowed.
He stopped attacking blindly and began watching.
Sota's movements were efficient—too efficient. He wasn't reacting; he was moving before the attacks landed.
Jay smirked.
So you're not seeing the attack…You're seeing the outcome.
Jay lunged again.
A right-arm slash—fast and deadly.
Sota dodged left, just as predicted.
But Jay stopped mid-swing.
His muscles screamed as he forced his arm to halt unnaturally. In the same instant, he twisted his body and swung his left arm instead.
Sota's eyes widened.
Too late.
Jay's claws scraped across Sota's upper arm, tearing fabric and skin.
Blood splattered onto the stone.
The crowd gasped.
Sota stumbled back, clutching his arm.
"…What?" he whispered.
Jay didn't stop.
He attacked again.
Right arm slash—halt.Left arm swing.
Another hit.
Again.
A third time.
Each strike shallow—but undeniable.
Sota's future vision flickered.
He could see the attack… but it wasn't happening the way it should.
"You're faking," Sota said, voice tight.
Jay grinned, sharp teeth flashing. "You can't predict something I don't finish."
Sota's breathing quickened.
He's adapting…
Jay pressed the advantage.
He attacked relentlessly now—not with brute force, but with intent. Feints, half-swings, sudden shifts in momentum. His movements became erratic, unpredictable.
Sota dodged most of them—but the slaps stopped landing.
His rhythm was broken.
Sota clenched his fists.
Focus.
Sota charged.
For the first time in the match, he went on the offensive.
He swung a powerful punch aimed at Jay's jaw.
Jay stepped aside.
Sota swung again.
Jay ducked.
Before Sota could recover, Jay grabbed his arm, twisted his body, and used Sota's momentum against him.
In one smooth motion, Jay flipped Sota over his shoulder.
Sota hit the ground hard.
Jay stood over him, claws pointed straight at Sota's chest—one strike away from ending it.
The entire arena froze.
Sota stared up at Jay.
Time slowed.
In that moment, Sota finally understood.
He wasn't scared.
He wasn't angry.
He was… relieved.
Sota laughed softly.
Jay blinked. "What's funny?"
Sota sat up slowly, raising one hand.
"I forfeit."
The barrier dropped.
The crowd erupted.
"What?"
"He forfeited?!"
Jay lowered his arms, stunned. "What are you doing?"
Sota stood and dusted himself off, smiling genuinely.
"I finally get it," he said. "I was never meant to be a fighter."
Jay frowned.
Sota looked around at the shrine, the arena, the other exorcists watching.
"My strength isn't my body," Sota continued. "It's my vision. I exist to guide—to support. That's how I've always helped everyone."
He looked back at Jay.
"And you… you fight forward. You adapt. You don't rely on certainty."
Jay clenched his fists.
"You could've kept fighting."
Sota shook his head. "I would've lost anyway. You figured me out."
Sota stepped closer and placed a hand on Jay's shoulder.
"You're the only Southern member left," he said quietly. "Win this tournament."
Jay swallowed.
The weight hit him all at once.
The expectations.The pressure.The responsibility.
Sota smiled warmly. "No pressure."
Itsuki-sensei stepped forward, clearing his throat.
"The winner of this match is Jay!"
The cheers were deafening.
But Jay barely heard them.
He watched Sota walk away, calm and content, as if he had already won something far more important than the match.
Jay looked down at his claws.
I'll win, he thought.For all of us.