NOVEL NEXT Chapter 3: Again
Three years passed quickly.
In that time, Naoya's reputation spread beyond the Jujutsu society. Whispers of a Zenin Clan genius reached even those outside their inner circles. Many claimed he was the most talented Zenin of this era—a prodigy destined for greatness.
Naoya had never treated training as a joke. The moment he fully grasped his cursed technique, he immediately sought out Naobito as a mentor.
Naobito, though initially uninterested, agreed—on one condition. Their training sessions would only be once a week. He was too busy to commit to more.
Naoya suspected otherwise. He's probably just want's to get drunk.
Despite the limited training, Naobito couldn't hide his surprise. Naoya's rapid mastery of his technique was unnatural. His ability to control and manipulate cursed energy exceeded expectations. More importantly, his sheer cursed energy reserves were staggering.
Naoya had his own theory.
Because my soul merged with Naoya Zenin's, my spiritual level is higher. That means I have two to three times the cursed energy the original Naoya had.
And he welcomed it.
But he wasn't foolish. He knew raw cursed energy wasn't everything.
He didn't neglect physical training either. Cursed energy could enhance strength and defense, but there were limits. Unless someone possessed an absurd amount—like Ryomen Sukuna, who could overpower Heavenly Restriction users through sheer cursed energy alone—physical ability still mattered.
And so, Naoya trained both body and mind.
…
The Zenin clan's training grounds were eerily quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. Naoya stood across from Naobito, his breathing steady but his muscles tense. The old man looked as relaxed as ever, a half-empty bottle of sake in one hand and a bored expression on his face.
"Don't tell me you're already tired," Naobito said, his voice slurred but laced with mockery. He took a swig from his ever-present sake bottle, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement. "I haven't even broken a sweat yet."
Naoya didn't respond. Instead, he focused, his cursed energy flaring as he activated his technique. But his mind wandered for a moment, reflecting on the stark contrast between his past life and the one he now lived.
In his past life, Naoya had never forced himself to work hard. There had been no need. His family had already planned everything for him—his education, his career, his future. He had lived comfortably, but aimlessly, drifting through life without any real purpose or drive. Back then, he hadn't cared about pushing his limits or achieving greatness. Why would he? Everything had been handed to him on a silver platter.
But now, everything was different. In this world of curses and sorcery, Naoya had a goal—a burning desire to rise above the rest. He remembered the existence of Gojo Satoru, the man who would one day become the strongest sorcerer of the modern era. The thought of someone like Gojo, someone so inherently powerful, was both infuriating and motivating. Naoya refused to be overshadowed. He refused to settle for mediocrity.
Projection Sorcery: Twenty-Four Frames.
The world around him seemed to slow, each movement broken down into precise, calculable steps. He dashed forward, his fist aimed squarely at Naobito's chest.
But the old man was faster.
"Too slow," Naobito muttered, sidestepping the attack with ease. Before Naoya could react, a sharp pain exploded in his side as Naobito's elbow connected with his ribs, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Naoya gritted his teeth, pushing himself back to his feet. His ribs ached, but he refused to show it. "Again," he said, his voice firm.
Naobito raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Stubborn brat," he said, taking a swig from his bottle. "Fine. Let's see how long you can keep this up."
This time, Naoya didn't rush in. He studied Naobito's movements, his eyes narrowing as he looked for an opening. The old man was fast—ridiculously fast—but he wasn't infallible.
Naoya feinted left, then darted right, his movements sharp and deliberate. He aimed a low kick at Naobito's legs, but the old man simply stepped over it, his expression unimpressed.
"Predictable," Naobito said, his voice dripping with disdain. He countered with a swift jab, but Naoya managed to block it this time, the impact reverberating through his arms.
Naoya's mind raced. He needed to think outside the box. Projection Sorcery wasn't just about speed—it was about precision, about breaking down movements into frames and exploiting the gaps.
He activated his technique again, the world slowing around him. This time, he didn't go for a direct attack. Instead, he circled Naobito, his movements fluid and calculated.
Naobito watched him with mild interest, his sake bottle still in hand. "What's the matter? Scared to come at me?"
Naoya didn't take the bait. He waited, his patience razor-thin but his focus unwavering. Then, he saw it—a slight shift in Naobito's stance, a momentary lapse in his guard.
He struck.
His fist shot forward, aimed at Naobito's shoulder. For a split second, it looked like it would connect.
But Naobito was faster.
The old man twisted out of the way, his movements almost too quick to follow. Before Naoya could react, a sharp pain exploded in his back as Naobito's foot connected with his spine, sending him crashing to the ground.
Naoya groaned, his body screaming in protest as he pushed himself back to his feet. His vision blurred for a moment, but he shook it off, his determination unwavering.
"Again," he said, his voice steady despite the pain.
Naobito let out a dry laugh, setting his sake bottle down on the ground. "You've got guts, I'll give you that," he said, his tone almost approving. "But guts alone won't cut it in this world. You need more than just raw talent to survive."
Naoya didn't respond. He simply reset his stance, his eyes locked on Naobito.
The old man smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Alright, brat. Let's see what you've got."