The sun cast a warm, golden glow across the rooftop of the high school, bathing everything in a serene light. Hiro and Yamada, two friends in the midst of their youth, sat side by side, skipping class in favor of a moment of quiet companionship.
"Hey, Yamada, if we keep skipping classes like this, you're going to fail the third year," Hiro teased, taking a sip from his juice.
Yamada, with a look of mock indignation, responded, "Me? What about you? Aren't you going to fail too?"
Hiro tilted his head back, letting out a relaxed sigh. "Me? I'm a genius, remember? I always score the highest on exams," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.
Yamada chuckled and sat down beside Hiro. "Tell me, Hiro, what are you going to do after high school?"
Hiro pondered for a moment, his gaze drifting towards the distant horizon. "Well, the orphanage still insists we continue our studies. So, if I don't become a famous boxer next year, I guess I'll be heading to prep school. How about you?"
Yamada shrugged, his expression turning thoughtful. "Like you said, the only option I really have is to continue with prep school too."
The rooftop, bathed in the gentle warmth of the sun, became a sanctuary for the two friends, a place where they could speak openly and reflect on their lives.
"You know, I wish it could stay like this forever," Yamada mused, his voice tinged with a mix of contentment and wistfulness.
Hiro, slightly taken aback, teased, "What are you talking about, man? I thought you hated high school."
Yamada laughed, shaking his head. "Not school, you idiot. I meant us, like this."
Hiro, feigning shock, joked, "What? Are you gay or something?"
Yamada lightly punched Hiro's shoulder, his expression growing serious. "Hiro, I heard they're going to adopt me and Yina. The woman who's adopting us is kind of creepy, with a scar on her forehead."
Hiro couldn't help but laugh, "You really do attract the strangest people."
A brief silence fell between them. Hiro then spoke earnestly, "I'm happy for you, Yamada, that you and Yina are getting adopted."
Yamada's voice carried a note of melancholy, "You know, I don't want to leave you alone... But Yina... Yina deserves a chance."
Hiro placed a comforting hand on Yamada's shoulder, understanding and supportive. "I know, man. You don't have to make excuses. She deserves the best, and so do you."
Yamada's words hung in the air, charged with the uncertainty and hope of the future. He extended his fist towards Hiro, a gesture laden with meaning, a symbol of their bond.
"You know... I don't know what the future holds, but can we promise that we'll always be friends?" Yamada asked, his voice earnest, revealing the depth of his feelings.
Hiro's response was immediate and heartfelt. A smile spread across his face, one that spoke of years of camaraderie and the countless trials they had faced together. He bumped his fist against Yamada's, sealing their pact with a simple yet profound gesture.
"We'll be the best... the best of friends, Yamada," Hiro affirmed, his voice resonant with conviction and loyalty.
The simple act of fists meeting encapsulated years of shared experiences and unspoken understanding. It was a promise that went beyond words, a commitment that they would stand by each other, regardless of what the future might bring.
As their fists separated, a sense of resolution settled over them. They were two friends, connected by an unbreakable bond, ready to face whatever life threw their way, together. The sun continued to shine above them, a witness to their vow, as they savored the remaining moments of their carefree youth on the rooftop, under the endless sky.
The battle between Hiro and Yamada escalated to new heights, marked by a ferocity that mirrored the deep-seated emotions and history shared between the two.
Yamada, with a swift and powerful motion, landed a heavy blow on Hiro. The impact resonated through Hiro's body, causing him to cough up blood, but he remained undeterred. Seizing the moment, Hiro retaliated with a vicious uppercut. The knuckledusters, imbued with the power to harm even the soul, made contact with Yamada's jaw, unleashing a wave of excruciating pain.
Yamada staggered back, his face contorted in agony as the impact reverberated through his being. The soul-damaging force of the knuckledusters was evident, a testament to their lethal capability.
Unwilling to yield, Yamada lunged forward, his fists blazing with dark energy, aiming for Hiro's head and torso. Hiro, his resolve unshaken, parried and dodged, countering with his own series of brutal strikes. Each connection of fist to flesh was accompanied by splatters of blood, adding to the visceral intensity of their duel.
Their movements were a blur, a dance of destruction under the night sky of Shibuya. Hiro's knuckledusters crackled with each hit, leaving trails of light in their wake, while Yamada's dark energy swirled ominously around his fists.
The sounds of their battle echoed through the desolate streets – the thud of punches, the sharp exhalations of breath, and the guttural grunts of pain. Both fighters bore the marks of their ferocious exchange, their faces and bodies smeared with blood, yet neither showed any signs of backing down.
As the intense battle raged on, a sudden shift occurred. The sound of an orchestra playing in the background filled the air, its melodious tunes weaving through the chaos of the fight. This music, a part of Yazu's domain, granted him the ability to predict the movements of their adversary, Yamada.
The fight took on a new rhythm, synchronized with the orchestral music. Hiro and Yazu moved in tandem, their actions almost choreographed to the symphonic score. Every strike they delivered was precise and impactful, gradually wearing down Yamada's defenses.
Yazu, using his unique ability, anticipated Yamada's attacks and positioned Hiro accordingly. With a quick tug or a firm push, he guided Hiro out of harm's way, allowing him to evade Yamada's increasingly desperate assaults. Their coordination was impeccable, showcasing not only their individual skills but also their ability to work seamlessly as a team.
Yamada, pushed to his limits, unleashed a barrage of dark orbes and pixellated reality-erasing spheres. The orbs, pulsating with malevolent energy, were aimed with deadly intent. However, thanks to Yazu's foresight and Hiro's swift reflexes, they managed to dodge each attack. The orbes exploded upon impact with the ground and surrounding structures, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.
The music crescendoed, mirroring the intensity of the battle. Hiro and Yazu danced through the storm of attacks, their movements fluid and graceful yet charged with lethal intent. Every time they struck Yamada, it was with a combination of power and precision, further tipping the scales in their favor.
Yamada, despite his immense power and cunning, found himself struggling against the coordinated assault of Hiro and Yazu. The musical cues provided by Yazu's domain, combined with Hiro's combat expertise, created a formidable force that even Yamada couldn't easily overcome.
The fight was no longer just an exchange of blows; it had become a ballet of battle, a symphony of strikes and dodges, all playing out to the haunting melody of the orchestra. The fate of Shibuya, and the resolution of a deep-rooted conflict between old friends, hung in the balance as the music played on.
__________
The desolate streets of Shibuya bore silent witness to a grim scene. Mahito, once a formidable and fearsome curse, now found himself reduced to a state of desperation. He crawled through the rubble and debris, the aftermath of the fierce battles that had rocked the city. His movements were frantic, a stark contrast to the composed, almost methodical pursuit by Itadori.
Itadori's approach was calm yet unrelenting, like a hunter closing in on his prey. The culmination of all Mahito's misdeeds was imminent, and the air was thick with the inevitability of retribution.
Cornered and realizing he could no longer flee, Mahito resorted to hurling balls of mud, a futile attempt to halt Itadori's advance. But Itadori, embodying a coldness and resolve that he had never shown before, spoke with an eerie tranquility that belied the gravity of his words.
"You were right, Mahito. I am you, and I didn't want to admit it... But now..."
Mahito's reaction was immediate and visceral. Tears of desperation began to stream down his face, the realization of his impending fate hitting him with full force. The roles had reversed – the predator had become the prey, and the hunter was now delivering justice.
Itadori's statement signified a profound acceptance of his own nature and the darkness that resided within him, a darkness he had been reluctant to acknowledge. This acceptance had transformed him, granting him a terrifying clarity of purpose.
Mahito's tears, born out of fear and the loss of control, marked the end of his reign of terror. His cries echoed in the empty streets, a stark reminder of the consequences of one's actions and the inexorable approach of justice.
In this moment, Shibuya stood as a silent testament to the clash of ideologies and the inexorable march of fate. The showdown between Itadori and Mahito was more than just a physical battle; it was the culmination of a profound and tumultuous journey, both for the hunter and the hunted.
In the midst of the desolation and despair, a new figure made a sudden and unexpected entrance onto the scene. The arrival halted the impending confrontation between Mahito and Itadori, casting a new layer of uncertainty over the already tense atmosphere.
"Tell me, Mahito, should I save you?" The voice, familiar yet laced with an ominous undertone, echoed through the shattered streets of Shibuya.
Mahito, recognizing the voice, turned with a mixture of hope and fear. His eyes widened as he uttered a single word, a name that carried weight and history: "Geto."
The figure that stood before them was none other than the person who had once been Suguru Geto, now inhabited by the consciousness of the ancient sorcerer Kenjaku. This enigmatic and powerful being had orchestrated much of the chaos that had engulfed Shibuya and the jujutsu world.
Mahito's expression, a mix of relief and desperation, reflected his understanding of the situation. In Kenjaku, he saw a potential savior, his last chance to escape the fate that Itadori was set to deliver.
Itadori, meanwhile, remained poised and ready, his resolve unwavering despite the new development. The arrival of Kenjaku, a figure shrouded in mystery and malice, added a complex layer to the confrontation.
The air was thick with tension, the outcomes uncertain. Kenjaku's intentions were unknown, his allegiances ambiguous. In this moment of chaos and ruin, the fates of Mahito, Itadori, and the broader conflict hinged on the whims of a figure who had proved to be both formidable and unpredictable.
____________
The battle between Hiro, Yamada, and Yazu had reached a critical juncture. With Yazu thrown aside, Hiro unleashed a barrage of brutal strikes on Yamada. Each punch was delivered with a blend of fury and precision, an outpouring of emotion and strength that Hiro had been holding back.
Hiro's fists connected with Yamada's face and body with relentless force. The sound of each impact was sickening, a symphony of violence that echoed through the shattered streets of Shibuya. Blood sprayed with each hit, painting the ground in a grim tableau.
Yamada's once formidable defense began to crumble under Hiro's onslaught. Blow after blow, Hiro's fists found their mark, battering Yamada's face into an unrecognizable mess. Blood, sweat, and spit mingled in the air, as Yamada's features became distorted with the accumulation of injuries.
With Yamada finally collapsing to the ground, Hiro was far from done. He knelt beside his fallen adversary, driven by a mixture of anger, grief, and a desperate need for resolution. His fists continued to rain down on Yamada, each strike a manifestation of the turbulent history they shared.
Yamada's face, once the face of Hiro's closest friend, was now a grotesque canvas of violence. The skin was split open in multiple places, blood pooled and dripped from his broken nose and swollen lips, and one eye was swollen shut, almost disappearing into the surrounding flesh. The physical transformation was a stark representation of the tragic unraveling of their friendship.
In these moments, the line between justice and vengeance blurred. Hiro, consumed by his emotions and the intensity of the fight, was relentless. The scene was a harrowing testament to the cost of their conflict, a cost paid in pain, blood, and the shattering of a bond that had once been unbreakable.
Exhausted and battered, Hiro and Yamada sat beside each other, their heavy breathing the only sound piercing the silence of the aftermath. The intensity of their battle had given way to a surreal calm, a moment of respite filled with a mixture of pain and reminiscence.
Breaking the silence, Yamada's voice, weak yet tinged with a familiar playfulness, asked, "Hey, Hiro, what did you do on your birthday?"
Hiro, slowly removing his battered nudilleras, replied with a hint of a smile, "Went out with Maki, and they threw a party for me."
Yamada's response was a weary smile. "Sounds nice," he said. "All I got was a jar of hair gel."
The conversation, oddly mundane in the context of their brutal confrontation, continued with the kind of banter that once defined their friendship. Hiro retorted, "Well, with that ridiculous hairstyle of yours, you're gonna need all the gel you can get."
"And what about your hair?" countered Yamada, a spark of his old self shining through despite the pain. "You spend hours on it."
Hiro laughed softly, a sound almost out of place amid the destruction around them. "It's different, idiot. I use hair cream, and don't compare your hair attempt to mine."
In this brief exchange, there was a fleeting glimpse of the bond they once shared – a bond that, despite everything, still lingered in their shared memories and in their familiar teasing. It was a poignant reminder of what had been lost in the chaos of their diverging paths, a reminder of a friendship that once existed unburdened by the weight of fate and conflict.
Yamada's voice, heavy with the weight of regret and sorrow, revealed a vulnerability that had been long hidden beneath layers of anger and conflict. "I wish I had stayed at the jujutsu school... with you, Panda, Inumaki, Maki, Yuta, Professor Gojo, Professor Nanami..." His voice cracked, breaking the hardened facade he had maintained for so long.
Hiro remained silent, allowing Yamada to continue, his own heart heavy with the sadness of their shared past now marred by tragedy.
Tears began to stream down Yamada's face, each one a testament to his profound grief. "Yina... Yina is dead... I killed her..." The words came out choked and pained, as if each syllable was a struggle to utter. Yamada's body shook with sobs, the reality of his actions crashing down upon him with merciless force.
The man who once stood as a formidable and feared figure was now reduced to a state of utter despair. "I killed my own sister," he confessed, his voice laden with a remorse that seemed to consume him from within. The regret in his voice was palpable, a haunting echo of a choice that could never be undone.
In this moment, Yamada was no longer the fearsome adversary or the prophesied bringer of change. He was a broken man, confronted with the irrevocable consequences of his actions, grappling with the loss of not only his sister but also the life he could have had - a life with friends, mentors, and a place where he belonged.
The tears, the broken voice, and the overwhelming sense of loss painted a picture of a man who, despite his power and his role in the grand scheme of things, was ultimately human - vulnerable to the same pain and regret that afflicts us all. Yamada's breakdown was a poignant reminder of the human cost of their journey, a cost that was far too high and far too painful.
In the midst of the devastation, the conversation between Hiro and Yamada took a deeper, more emotional turn. Yamada's admission of his unwillingness to embrace the path of darkness revealed a layer of complexity to his character.
"I never wanted any of this," Yamada confessed, his voice filled with despair. "My soul, my destiny, they were tainted with darkness."
Hiro's response was one of understanding and compassion, as tears began to well up in his eyes. "It's not your fault," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "It's clear you were influenced by someone else."
Yamada nodded, a look of resignation in his eyes. "Kenjaku... the person who adopted me under the name Kaori, turned out to be an ancient sorcerer, constantly changing bodies. He's the one who orchestrated the Shibuya incident. Hiro, you have to stop him."
The revelation of Kenjaku's true identity and his role in the chaos that had unfolded added another layer to the complexity of the situation. Yamada's words were not just a plea for Hiro to take action; they were an acknowledgment of the larger forces at play, forces that had manipulated and used him for their own ends.
In this moment, the lines between friend and foe blurred. The conversation highlighted the tragedy of Yamada's life - a life marred by manipulation and deception, leading him down a path of darkness he never truly wanted to walk. It was a stark reminder of the power of influence and destiny, and the pain that comes when one's life is steered by forces beyond their control.
Hiro, now aware of the true enemy, felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Kenjaku, the puppet master behind the scenes, loomed as a threat not just to them but to the entire jujutsu world. It was a battle that Hiro knew he had to face, a battle to right the wrongs that had been set in motion and to bring an end to the cycle of manipulation and sorrow.
In the somber aftermath of their battle, amidst the ruins of Shibuya, Hiro and Yamada shared a moment of profound understanding and reconciliation. The chaos of their conflict had given way to a poignant stillness, a space where old friends could say their final goodbyes.
Hiro, his eyes still brimming with tears, knelt beside Yamada. The harshness of the battle faded into the background as he took Yamada's hand, gripping it with a mix of strength and gentleness. "No matter what has happened, no matter the paths we've taken, you'll always be my friend, Yamada," Hiro said softly, his voice thick with emotion.
Yamada, weakened and on the brink of his final breath, managed a faint smile. "Hiro... I'm sorry for everything. I wish... I wish things could have been different for us." His voice was a mere whisper, each word a struggle, but filled with sincerity.
"You don't have to apologize," Hiro replied, his tears flowing freely. "We were friends once, and that's how I'll always remember you. You're not alone in this, Yamada. I'm here with you, till the end."
Yamada's eyes, once filled with the turmoil of his inner conflict, now reflected a sense of peace. "Thank you, Hiro... for being my friend, for being here... now." He took a deep, labored breath. "I wish we could go back to those days... just once more."
Hiro nodded, a sad smile on his face. "I'll carry those memories with me, always. You'll always be a part of who I am."
As the final moments approached, Yamada's grip on Hiro's hand weakened. "Promise me... you'll keep fighting... for a better world," Yamada murmured, his eyes slowly closing.
"I promise," Hiro replied, his voice a solemn vow.
With those last words, Yamada's breath stilled, his body relaxed in a final release from the pain and struggles of his life. In the quiet of the night, under the stars that witnessed their journey from friends to foes and back to friends, Yamada passed away, finding peace in the presence of the one person who had always understood him.
Hiro sat there for a long time, holding the hand of his friend, lost in memories of a friendship that had once been a source of joy and strength. In this moment of farewell, Hiro and Yamada's story came to a close, a story of friendship, conflict, and ultimately, redemption.
Amidst the echoes of distant battles and the fading light of Shibuya, Hiro wiped his tears, a renewed sense of determination steeling his resolve. Standing tall despite the weariness that weighed on his body, he faced Yazu, who had been a steadfast ally through the chaos.
"There's still work to be done," Hiro said, his voice firm, though tinged with the fatigue of their relentless struggle.
Yazu, standing vigilantly nearby, looked at Hiro with concern. "Senpai, you're exhausted. Let me go and help; you should stay here and rest."
Hiro shook his head resolutely. "I have to fight, Yazu, to the very end." Summoning the last vestiges of his energy, Hiro conjured a sansetsukon, its presence symbolizing his unwavering spirit. "Let's go, Yazu!"
Yazu nodded, inspired by Hiro's unyielding courage. "Yes, Senpai!" he replied, ready to follow Hiro into the fray.
Together, they moved towards the heart of the battle, their steps echoing through the streets of Shibuya. The sansetsukon in Hiro's grasp was not just a weapon; it was a testament to his resolve, a beacon of hope in the darkness that had enveloped the city.
As they advanced, the sounds of conflict grew louder, a cacophony of clashing powers and cries of determination. Hiro and Yazu, united by a common purpose, were ready to face whatever awaited them, to stand against the tide of darkness and fight for a brighter future.
The scene was one of desperate tension under the icy grip of Uraume. Kusakabe, Itadori, Utahime, Miwa, Panda, Choso, and Kamo were all immobilized, encased in ice, at the mercy of their captor. Kenjaku, with calculated intent, had commanded Uraume not to kill them - they were to be messengers, pawns in his larger game.
Uraume, fueled by a deep-seated anger, focused her wrath upon Choso. Her hand, now healed by the ritual of inverse, prepared to unleash a volley of razor-sharp icicles aimed directly at him. The air grew tense as the fate of Choso hung in the balance.
Suddenly, in a dramatic turn of events, Hiro burst onto the scene, shattering the icy projectiles with his sansetsukon. His arrival was like a ray of hope piercing through the despair. With a confident smile and his weapon in hand, he announced his presence, "Sorry for the delay, but the traffic was terrible."
Itadori's face lit up with joy and relief at the sight of his senior. "Senpai!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing the sentiment of everyone trapped in the ice.
Kenjaku's eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze upon Hiro. "Hiro Takashi," he uttered, his voice dripping with annoyance and disdain. The sudden shift in the atmosphere was palpable.
Hiro stood there, an embodiment of defiance and strength, his sansetsukon at the ready. He was not just another obstacle in Kenjaku's path; he was a formidable adversary who had come to upset the carefully laid plans of a scheming antagonist.
Kenjaku, observing Hiro's defiant gesture, couldn't help but laugh. "So, you've defeated Yamada," he noted with a hint of amusement in his voice. "That's quite an accomplishment."
Hiro, unphased by Kenjaku's demeanor, raised his middle finger in a bold and unapologetic response. His voice was laced with contempt and challenge as he retorted, "Of course I defeated him. Why? Because I'm strong. Or have you forgotten who killed this body when it was Suguru Geto? Or should I say, Kenjaku?"
Kenjaku's laughter grew at Hiro's audacity, his eyes reflecting a mix of respect and disdain. "Indeed, you are strong, Hiro Takashi. But I can see that the battle with Yamada has left you weakened," he said, his tone carrying a sinister edge.
In a moment charged with tension, Hiro unleashed a cry, "EXPANSION DE DOMINIO!" The words echoed through the air, startling Kenjaku. For a moment, he believed Hiro still possessed enough strength to perform a domain expansion, an impressive feat considering their earlier battle.
Kenjaku, caught off guard, braced himself for what he thought was an imminent attack. However, it was all a ruse, a clever distraction orchestrated by Hiro. With Kenjaku momentarily thrown off balance, Hiro seized the opportunity and lunged at him with his sansetsukon, aiming to land a decisive blow.
But as Hiro closed in, his movements were abruptly halted. Uraume, ever watchful and loyal to Kenjaku, intervened at the critical moment. With a swift motion, she unleashed her icy power, encasing Hiro in a block of ice, effectively stopping him in his tracks.
Kenjaku, realizing what had just transpired, let out a chuckle. "Clever, Hiro Takashi, but not clever enough," he taunted, looking at the frozen form of Hiro. "Did you really think you could catch me off guard so easily?"
Hiro, immobilized within the ice, struggled to break free, his frustration evident in his eyes. "You icy witch!" he growled, his voice muffled by his icy prison.
Uraume, standing beside Kenjaku, remained expressionless, her eyes cold and unwavering. "You should have known better than to underestimate us," she said calmly.
Kenjaku stepped closer to the ice-encased Hiro, his eyes gleaming with a mix of admiration and contempt. "You are a worthy opponent, Hiro. It's a shame we are on opposing sides. But this is where your journey ends."
The standoff, now tilted in Kenjaku's favor, left Hiro in a precarious situation, his plan foiled and his movements restricted. The balance of power had shifted, and Hiro's fate hung in the balance as Kenjaku and Uraume prepared to capitalize on their advantage.
Hiro, despite his predicament, retained his defiant spirit. Trapped in the ice, he turned his attention to Uraume, a smirk crossing his face. "Hey, you with the ice tricks," he called out mockingly, "are you a man or a woman? I can't quite tell."
Uraume's expression remained impassive, unaffected by Hiro's taunt. "Such trivial concerns are beneath me," she responded coolly. "Your focus should be on your imminent defeat, not on my gender."
Hiro chuckled, the ice around him cracking slightly with his movement. "Oh, come on, lighten up! It's just a question. But I guess when you're as cold as ice, humor is a foreign concept."
Kenjaku, observing the exchange, couldn't help but laugh. "Hiro Takashi, even at the brink of defeat, you find ways to amuse yourself. It's quite a talent."
Hiro, still trying to find a way out of his icy confinement, retorted, "Well, Kenjaku, or should I say 'Not-Geto,' when you're as good looking as I am, you've got to keep things interesting."
"Since you're here, Hiro Takashi, I might as well enlighten you about my vision," Kenjaku started, pacing around the frozen figure of Hiro. "My plan, you see, is to elevate the world of jujutsu sorcerers to its rightful place, to harness the true potential of cursed energy and reshape the world as we know it."
Hiro, with his eyes closed, let out a fake snore, adding a dramatic flair to his act of disinterest. "Zzz... Huh, what? Oh, sorry, your plan is just so incredibly boring," he quipped sarcastically without opening his eyes.
Kenjaku, undeterred by Hiro's feigned disinterest, continued, "We are on the cusp of a new era, Hiro. One where sorcerers are not mere tools but the rightful rulers. With the powers of the cursed spirits and the manipulation of cursed energy, we can break the shackles of the current world order."
Hiro interrupted with a yawn, "Yeah, yeah, world domination, breaking shackles... heard it all before. Do you have anything original in your evil villain handbook, or is it just clichés all the way down?"
Kenjaku smirked, "Mock all you want, Hiro, but you won't be around to see the fruition of my work. It's a shame, really. You could have been a valuable asset."
Hiro, still pretending to be half-asleep, mumbled, "An asset, huh? I think I prefer being a thorn in your side."
In a swift and unexpected turn of events, Yazu burst onto the scene with a powerful, determined kick, shattering the icy prison that held Hiro captive. "Senpai!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the battleground.
With a swift motion, Yazu tossed the pair of glowing nudilleras towards Hiro. Catching them mid-air, Hiro quickly strapped them on, his fingers moving with practiced ease. The energy radiating from the nudilleras filled the air with an electrifying tension.
Kenjaku, momentarily caught off guard by Yazu's sudden appearance, barely had time to react. Hiro, now freed and empowered, wasted no time. He lunged forward, his fist connecting squarely with Kenjaku's face. The impact was so forceful that Kenjaku stumbled backwards, a trail of blood escaping his lips.
As Kenjaku struggled to regain his composure, Hiro taunted him, "If you're just a twisted brain, then I guess I just need to keep hitting your head until you're exorcised, right?"
Kenjaku, wiping the blood from his mouth, glared at Hiro with a mix of surprise and fury. Hiro stood ready, his fists clenched and glowing with cursed energy, prepared for whatever move Kenjaku would make next. Yazu stood by Hiro's side, equally ready to continue the fight. The air was thick with tension, as the decisive moment of the battle was about to unfold.
The intense standoff was suddenly interrupted by the unexpected arrival of a striking blonde woman. Her presence seemed to change the atmosphere instantly, bringing with it a sense of unpredictability. She walked with a confident gait, her eyes fixed on Kenjaku.
"Well, well, it's been quite some time, Geto," she said with a smirk. Her voice carried a mix of familiarity and challenge. "Are you ready to answer the question I asked you long ago?" she continued, her tone playful yet piercing.
With a theatrical flourish, she leaned forward and blew a kiss in Kenjaku's direction, adding with a teasing lilt, "So, tell me, what's your type of woman?"
Kenjaku, clearly caught off guard by her sudden appearance and directness, managed a smile tinged with frustration. "Yuki Tsukumo," he acknowledged, his voice betraying a hint of respect and annoyance.
Yuki stood tall, her presence commanding attention. She glanced briefly at Hiro and Yazu, giving them a nod of acknowledgment before turning her full attention back to Kenjaku. The dynamic of the battle had shifted dramatically with her arrival, and the air was thick with anticipation of what would unfold next.