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Chapter Thirty-Three: The Spar & The Seed
The car journey passed in a silent, luxurious blur, and finally, the black sedan deposited Obito at the gates of Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. The vehicle pulled away with a whisper, leaving him standing there like a parcel that had been delivered and promptly forgotten.
He didn't waste time. He pushed through the familiar gates, the heavy wood groaning a welcome—or a warning—and entered the premises. His eyes scanned the grounds, landing on the empty training field. It was quiet, peaceful. The sand was raked into perfect, Zen-like lines, untouched. He felt a slight, irrational surprise.
—It's so… calm. Shouldn't there be more screaming? More property damage?—
But his mind, now a tangled knot of paranoia and mission parameters, quickly abandoned the scenery. It latched onto the big, looming question.
—Why Yuta Okkotsu now? Something's off, isn't it? Let me think about the timeline from the original story. Scratch that, the 'manga' from my previous life. My life is a manga now. How meta. How depressing.—
He paced slowly on the gravel path, the stones crunching under his shoes. His internal monologue was a frantic, scrolling ticker tape.
—At a time like this, Yuta should be a walking disaster zone. A sad boy haunted by the spectral girlfriend from hell, Rika, who protects him with the subtlety of a volcanic eruption. Maybe the higher-ups already know about his cursed chaperone. Maybe Gojo has already swooped in, the world's most overpowered social worker, and 'apprehended' him. Therefore, Naobito, with his network of creepy informants, was able to learn of Yuta's existence. And he finally chose me to be his spy… simply because Gojo was good enough to make him worry. And because I know the New Shadow Style: Simple Domain. I'm a walking counter-measure. How flattering.—
A quick, if somewhat chaotic, analysis clicked into place in Obito's mind. Cause and effect, jujutsu-style: paranoia begets spies begets him standing here feeling like an idiot.
But there was something else. A darker, colder thought that slithered to the surface, making the already simmering anger in his gut boil over.
—This means that lunatic Geto Suguru is already out there. He exists. He's not a tragic backstory in a book; he's a real, walking calamity planning to harvest Yuta's curse. That fanatic will start a war that could set the whole world on fire. He'll expose all sorcerers and jujutsu society to the mundane world. That means everyone will know about cursed energy. Foreign governments, scientists, conspiracy theorists… Japan would become a giant, glowing target. A nation of mobile cursed energy banks. That bastard… he only values his insane, genocidal plan, not the lives of other sorcerers, not the chaos he'll unleash.—
Lost in this vortex of apocalyptic foreknowledge and personal fury, Obito didn't notice the approach. He was too busy mentally cursing a man he'd never met, his fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms.
The first sign was not a sound, but a shift in the atmosphere. A lightness, a presence that seemed to bend the very sunlight.
Then, a voice, cheerful and utterly familiar, cut through his dark reverie like a razor through gloom.
"Obito? Is that you? You've been gone for a while. Did you finally snap and join a cult? The Zenin clan doesn't count, that's a given."
Obito's head snapped up. He turned, his body moving on autopilot, the anger draining away to be replaced by a more immediate, practical tension.
There was Gojo Satoru, leaning against a tree as if he'd been teleported there by the gods of casualness. His blindfold was on, but Obito could feel the weight of his gaze. And beside him, looking like a lost puppy who had accidentally followed a hurricane home, was a young man.
White shirt. Dark pants. Messy black hair. Calm, dark eyes that held oceans of shy anxiety. He was clasping his hands together in front of him, a picture of pure, unassuming nervousness. Yuta Okkotsu. In the flesh.
Yuta had been standing under the shade of another tree, seeming to be contemplating his own existence—or perhaps just wishing the ground would swallow him whole. At Gojo's voice, he turned towards them, his eyes widening like a deer spotting headlights. For a second, he looked like he was calculating the distance to the nearest exit. Then he sighed, a soft, resigned sound, and shuffled forward. His footsteps on the gravel were barely audible. Shiff… shiff…
"Hello, Gojo-san," Obito said, bowing slightly. The movement was stiff, a piece of theater he was getting too good at. Moreover, he didn't forget to let his eyes—his normal, non-glowing eyes—slide over to the shy young man. Yuta was looking at Obito with an intensity that was half curiosity, half sheer social terror.
Gojo, the master of awkward social orchestration, noticed the look. His trademark grin widened. He pointed a languid finger at Obito, as if presenting a mildly interesting specimen.
"Yuta! Let me introduce you to a student from Kyoto Tech. You know, our esteemed rival academy. The place with worse uniforms, objectively. This is Obito Zenin."
Yuta's eyes widened further. A flicker of recognition, then confusion. He remembered the stern, glasses-wearing girl who had looked at him with such intense, judgmental scrutiny.
"Zenin…?" Yuta's voice was soft, hesitant. "Are you… related to Maki-san?"
Obito's face darkened a shade. It was a subtle shift, but it felt like a cloud passing over the sun. He really, really wanted to say something sarcastic. To shut down this line of questioning with extreme prejudice.
—She and I are relatives. It's a miracle she hasn't tried to dissect me yet to see if my incompetence is contagious.—
But he couldn't say that. The spy must be affable. The spy must be normal. He swallowed the comment, which tasted like bitter almonds.
"Yes," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "We are from the same clan."
He paused, then decided to steer the conversation with the blunt force of a simple question. "Anyway, who are you?"
Of course, he knew. He knew more about Yuta Okkotsu than Yuta probably knew about himself. He knew about the sadness, the love, the curse, the future power. It was like holding a spoiler-filled biography of the person standing in front of you. It felt deeply, profoundly weird.
On the other hand, Gojo, ever the helpful commentator, replied for the flustered Yuta.
"He's the new student! Fresh meat! And he's gonna be very strong in the future. Like his teacher!"
Gojo started laughing then, a loud, unrestrained sound that seemed to bounce off the trees and startle a few birds into flight. Caw! It was a laugh that sounded completely unhinged to the two young men looking at him.
After the echo of maniacal glee faded, Obito found his voice. "That's good," he said, aiming for polite interest. "Does that mean you joined recently? I did that too, a month ago."
"Really?" Yuta's face lit up with a genuine, fragile hope. "That's wonderful. That means you're experienced now, right?"
The question hung in the air. Obito didn't know how to answer. Was he experienced? He had a sudden, vivid montage of getting knocked unconscious in various locations, being beaten up by a clan elder, and running from curses. Yes, he was experienced. Experienced in failure and pain. But also… stronger. He had to cling to that.
"You could say that," Obito finally said, choosing vagueness as his shield. "If you need any help, I'll be happy to assist. Tokyo Tech has helped me a lot. Moreover, I'll be happy to help its members."
It was a line. A perfect, spy-friendly line. Offer help. Build rapport. It felt oily coming out of his mouth.
"That's good. I wasn't wrong about you, Obito. You're a good kid."
Gojo reached out and put his hand on Obito's shoulder. Pat, pat. The gestures were friendly, but the weight of that hand felt like a benediction from a god who might smite you on a whim. Obito forced himself not to flinch.
After that, the unlikely trio began a slow amble across the school grounds. The conversation was stilted, a three-legged race of dialogue. Gojo carried most of it with outrageous comments and questions. Obito listened, inserting a few careful sentences here and there. He was trying, with the subtlety of a brick, to be friendly. Funny, even. He wasn't the best actor—his emotional range was currently stuck between 'wary' and 'exhausted'—but he knew these characters. Or at least, he knew their archetypes. He wanted to see the real people beneath.
Over time, the stiffness eased minutely. Yuta, starved for any interaction that wasn't freighted with pity or terror, seemed to relax incrementally. He was clearly affected by the fact that Obito was talking to him normally, asking about mundane things, not staring at him like he was a bomb about to go off. What Yuta didn't know was that Obito was, in fact, deliberately trying to get close. To plant himself like a listening device. Gojo watched it all, his hidden smile knowing, but he didn't seem to mind. Or perhaps he minded in ways Obito couldn't even comprehend.
But after a short while, their meandering walk brought them back to the training field—the same empty, serene field Obito had been staring at earlier.
Then, suddenly, the strongest sorcerer in the world clapped his hands together. The sound was sharp, final, like a starting pistol.
CLAP!
"How about a short training session?" Gojo announced, his voice brimming with childish enthusiasm.
Both Obito and Yuta were surprised in unison. They looked at each other, then back at Gojo, their expressions a perfect mirror of 'what now?'
"A short training? What is it?" Obito asked, his internal alarm bells giving a gentle ding.
And so, Obito found himself looking at Yuta, who was doing the same thing—a mutual assessment of bewildered prey. They stood facing each other in the center of the field while Gojo, the eternal spectator, fished a handful of colorful candies from his pocket. He unwrapped one with theatrical flair.
Crinkle. Pop.
He tossed it into his mouth and began speaking, his words slightly muffled by the sugary cargo.
Munch, munch.
"Alright, let it begin now. This fight. I want to see if Yuta can use cursed energy well. Obito, you're the measuring stick! Don't break him~"
Obito looked at the man. If he were just an ordinary person in this world, a normal student, he would have been furious. Sending someone who had only known cursed energy for a matter of days to fight someone with even his meager experience? It was irresponsible. Cruel, even.
But he wasn't ordinary. He had read the manga. He knew the punchline.
The young man before him was a natural disaster in a shy boy's body. Immensely, obscenely talented. One of those few people who possessed an ease of development that defied all known laws of jujutsu physics. A person like Yuta only needed a few minutes of actual combat to level up. A few days and he'd be rewriting power scales.
Obito noticed, without even needing to activate the Sharingan, the sheer weight of Yuta's cursed energy. It wasn't active or flashy; it was just… there. A deep, still ocean contained in a nervous cup. But that wasn't the only thing Obito focused on. He also focused on not activating the Sharingan. He was sure the moment he did, his vision would be flooded with the horrifying, beautiful specter of the Special Grade curse, Rika, permanently chained to Yuta's soul. Seeing that might make him tense up, give something away. He'd already nearly short-circuited just sensing Gojo's energy; a direct look at a manifested love-curse might be too much.
No, for now, he just wanted to understand his own capabilities. To test his new skills—the Cursed Acceleration, the Simple Domain—against a live opponent who wasn't trying to turn him into paste. It was a good opportunity. A safe-ish one.
A dark, petty thought wormed its way to the front of his mind.
—Finally. There is someone who will be weaker than me. At least for now. For this beautiful, fleeting moment. Let me have this.—
Yuta raised his hands, adopting a stance that was completely, charmingly untrained. His feet were too close together, his guard was too low. The young man was clearly aware of his own clumsiness, a blush creeping up his neck. He noticed that Obito hadn't taken an offensive stance either, just standing there, watching.
"Your job is to feel the cursed energy," Obito said, his voice taking on a strange, almost instructive tone. He wasn't sure where it came from. "That's the first thing you must learn. Let it flow with your intent. Don't force it. Trust me, you will become strong quickly."
It was clear from Obito's voice that he genuinely, unshakably believed his own words. Because he'd seen the future volumes.
Yuta Okkotsu didn't know where this strange confidence in him came from. This near-stranger believed in a strength Yuta couldn't feel. It was unsettling, but also… warm. He managed a small, wobbly smile.
"I'll do my best," he said, his voice firmer than before.
In the next second, Obito disappeared from his vision.
It wasn't the flawless shwip of Naobito. It was messier, a burst of speed that kicked up a small puff of sand. Fwoosh.
And at the same moment, Yuta felt it. Not saw, but felt—a bad feeling, a pressure at the back of his neck. His body moved before his brain could process it. He threw himself forward in an ungainly dive.
Whoosh. Thud.
He hit the sand, rolled, and came up facing where Obito now stood, having appeared exactly where Yuta's back had been.
Obito didn't seem surprised. If anything, he looked faintly impressed.
"You can really use cursed energy naturally," Obito observed, his head tilting. "As if it's just an extension of you. You have an immense amount, or you're just unbelievably talented. Maybe both."
Yuta Okkotsu stood, brushing sand from his clothes. He didn't know what to think.
—Am I talented? If I am, why do I live this way? Why am I cursed? Why do I feel like everyone is looking at me as if I'm about to attack them? I didn't want to be talented in this way. I just wanted…—
The thought was cut off as Obito moved again. The 'spar' continued. Obito was a constant, testing pressure. He attacked Yuta's blind spots, his flanks, always from angles that required instinct, not training, to block. His attacks were fast but pulled, lacking lethal intent. They were prods. Pokes. Annoyances designed to provoke a reaction.
And Yuta reacted. Every time he managed to twist, to block a strike coming from behind, his cursed energy moved in clumsy, desperate harmony with his thoughts. It was like watching a baby bird discover it has wings—flailing, awkward, but unmistakably flight. His speed, his defensive intuition, improved with every passing exchange. This was glaringly, painfully obvious to Obito, who was looking at this meteoric rise with a mixture of professional interest and intense, gut-churning envy.
—Damn it. This monstrous talent. This cheat code. If I had even 50% of this intuitive grasp, this boundless energy pool… I would be so much stronger. What am I without the Sharingan? A mediocre sorcerer with decent control. I would never be able to master moving cursed energy at this instinctual level. I have to think about every micro-adjustment. He just… does it.—
Obito's vision was unaided by the Sharingan, relying only on his honed senses to track cursed energy. He could feel the difference. The speed of improvement wasn't linear; it was exponential. And that was also thanks to the sheer volume of cursed energy Yuta possessed. He didn't need to be economical. He could waste it, spread it recklessly to any part of his body like a billionaire lighting cigars with hundred-dollar bills, without ever worrying about running out. That was the privilege of the spiritually wealthy. It was something that stoked a quiet, resentful fire in Obito's chest.
So, without fully realizing it, he raised the stakes. He pushed a little more cursed energy into his limbs, his movements becoming sharper, less forgiving. He abandoned the purely rear attacks and came at Yuta from the front, a testing jab that carried real speed.
Swish-CRACK!
The sound of fist meeting hastily reinforced forearm was sharp in the quiet field.
Yuta grunted, skidding back a step. He was surprised by the directness, the increase in power. He adopted a beginner's combat stance, his reactions still astonishingly fast but untrained. But before he could process the change in tempo, Obito was gone again, using a burst of Cursed Acceleration to vanish from his direct line of sight.
Fwip.
On the other hand, Gojo was a statue of casual observation. He was busy methodically working through his candy stash, but his attention was laser-focused on the spar. He was surprised, in his own detached way, because he noticed several things.
Obito's speed was much faster than when he had last seen him. His footwork had a new, efficient sharpness to it.
—They trained him well there at the Zenin clan in this short period. Three days? Impressive. Or terrifying.—
Of course, Gojo knew Obito had left for the Zenin estate. He knew most things. But he hadn't expected it to be for intensive, result-oriented training. The moment he saw the young man return, he noted the increased density of his cursed energy control, the more refined understanding in his movements. He was even sure, with his Six Eyes, that Obito had solidified the New Shadow Style's Simple Domain to a usable level. The boy's spiritual 'frame' was sturdier.
But that wasn't all. When Obito disappeared for the umpteenth time, directing a stronger, more focused punch towards Yuta's head, Gojo's perception caught the subtle flare of cursed energy at the sole of Obito's foot. A tiny, controlled detonation.
[Cursed Acceleration Technique]
Gojo recognized the signature instantly. It was a high-level mobility technique, a hallmark of a certain clan head's style. The fact that Obito was using it, however crudely, spoke volumes about the nature of his 'visit.'
And in the next moment, Obito used the momentum not to strike the head, but to shift. He appeared at Yuta's side, his hand shooting out not with a punch, but to grab Yuta's shoulder. Using his own momentum and a clever twist, he leveraged Yuta's off-balance posture and slammed him to the ground with a controlled but decisive thud.
THUMP.
The impact sent another puff of sand into the air.
Obito stood over him, breathing slightly harder now. He looked down at Yuta, who was winded but unhurt, and said in a calm, almost flat voice, "You're improving terrifically. But you're still a beginner compared to me."
The words were factual. But Gojo, with his preternatural sensitivity, had felt the tiny, sharp spike of negative emotion in that last sentence. A flicker of resentment, of competitive bitterness. He didn't mind, of course. It was human. Anyone would feel a twinge watching a raw novice absorb lessons at the speed of light while they'd had to grind for every scrap.
But for Satoru Gojo, Obito was a fascinating parallel. In terms of learning speed, they were oddly similar. The New Shadow Style and the Cursed Acceleration technique each required weeks, maybe months of dedicated practice for ordinary sorcerers. The truly talented might grasp them in days. Obito had not just grasped them but integrated them to a combat-functional level in a handful of days. That showed a frightening adaptive talent.
Of course, Gojo was acutely aware that the engine of this rapid learning was Obito's mysterious visual cursed technique. He had discreetly used his family's extensive resources to check if the Zenin clan had any historical record of such an ability. The answer had been a frustrating blank. It intrigued him. The technique shared eerie similarities with his own Six Eyes: perceiving cursed energy in extreme detail, processing information at insane speeds. And then there was the copying…
Copying styles or techniques was something Gojo could do with laughable ease. But that didn't come from the Six Eyes; it came from his own monstrous, innate talent for comprehension and analysis. The Six Eyes just gave him the data. For Obito, it seemed the eye itself was granting him that mimetic ability, plus a suite of others. It was as if Obito possessed a budget, specialized version of the Six Eyes package. A Gojo-lite, if you will, but with its own unique quirks.
This realization made Gojo's hidden smile deepen. He could see the potential. With the right guidance and enough time—and enough survival—Obito could be forged into a Grade 1, perhaps even touch the fringes of Special Grade. He was a raw, uncut gem with a very sharp edge.
And Yuta was a dormant volcano. Put them together? It was an experiment worth running.
Gojo didn't care if there was some Zenin clan plot, if Obito was reporting back to that fossil Naobito. He had sensed from their first meeting that this Obito wasn't someone who could be owned. He was too angry, too inwardly defiant, too focused on his own survival and strength. He was a stray cat that might eat from your hand but would never wear a collar.
So, Gojo would give him time. Give him challenges. Give him a rival. It would be good for Obito's development. And it would be perfect for Yuta. As long as Yuta had strong, evolving opponents to pressure him, his own terrifying potential would unfurl faster.
Both of them were good seeds. Strange, troubled, powerful seeds. And Satoru Gojo, the world's most overpowered gardener, was more than happy to provide the soil, the water, and the occasional bolt of lightning to help them grow.
The candy wrapper crinkled again in his hand as he watched Obito, his earlier harshness gone, offer a hand to help a winded but genuinely smiling Yuta off the ground.
Crinkle.
Yuta took the hand, pulled himself up, and brushed the sand off his pants. He was tired, but his eyes were brighter, alight with a new kind of focus.
"Thank you," Yuta said, and he meant it.
Obito just nodded, a curt, awkward gesture. The envy was still there, a cold stone in his gut, but it was now mixed with something else—a spark of competitive drive, and the first, faint stirrings of a plan that was entirely his own.
Gojo popped another candy into his mouth.
Pop. Munch.
This was going to be interesting.
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End of Chapter.
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