The dense trees cast shifting shadows across the uneven ground. Naoya and Yuki moved steadily along a narrow, winding trail, their footsteps muffled by fallen leaves and damp earth.
Having left Kyoto behind, they now traveled through a nearby forest, the veil between worlds quietly lowered.
Naoya walked with his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, as if this were just another routine errand. Beside him, Yuki strolled with her arms folded behind her head, her eyes calmly scanning the moonlit path, unfazed and at ease.
"So," Naoya said suddenly, his voice casual. "What's your type in men, Yuki?"
Yuki glanced sideways at him, not breaking stride. "You think you fit the list or something?"
Naoya smirked. "I've been known to exceed expectations."
Yuki rolled her eyes. "You didn't even answer when I asked about your type earlier. Why would I bother?"
"Because I'm charming, obviously," Naoya replied smoothly. "Let's be real. You've been single so long, your type is probably just: alive and doesn't interrupt your speeches."
Yuki snorted. "Says the guy who can't shut up about women being beneath him."
"That's not true," Naoya said. "I'm perfectly capable of silence—especially when watching someone dig their own grave."
She tilted her head slightly, amused. "That supposed to intimidate me?"
"No," Naoya said, stepping over a thick tree root. "You're not important enough to intimidate."
"If a special grade sorcerer isn't important enough," Yuki muttered, already sounding bored, "then what is?"
Naoya gave her an innocent look, tilting his head slightly. "You're a special grade? That's adorable. Did they run out of men that day?"
Yuki blinked once. Then laughed, low and genuinely amused. "You're ridiculous."
She stopped walking, turning to face him. "Fine. You want to know my type? I like men who work with their hands. Scarred knuckles. Mud on their boots. The kind who've actually suffered. The tough ones"
She gave him a once-over—dispassionate, unimpressed. "You? You don't even look like you've ever sweat before."
Naoya paused, then gave a small, mirthless laugh.
"Oh? So I reached special grade status just by standing around and looking pretty?"
Yuki's eyes narrowed. "You reached it because of your last name. I'd put you at high Grade 1, maybe—on a generous day. The special grade title was just the Zen'in clan scrambling to save face after Satoru Gojo was born."
The disdain in her eyes was sharp.
Naoya's smirk vanished. His bangs shadowed his eyes.
"I see," he said quietly.
"I'll end this quickly," Yuki said "This buffoonery's already testing my patience."
A beat.
Then Naoya spoke again, voice low.
"Someone once told me," he began, "that nobody hears a tree when it grows…"
He looked up, slowly.
"But everyone hears it when it falls."
Yuki's expression shifted slightly—Just the faintest note of curiosity.
"Hm?"
"I hope God forgives me," Naoya said coldly, lifting his head.
"For what I'm about to do to this woman"
Leaves rustled underfoot as silence fell between them.
Yuki exhaled once through her nose. "What a dramatic line."
She didn't wait for a signal.
The ground cracked beneath her feet as she launched forward—fast. A blur of motion. Her fist crashed toward Naoya's face, wind howling in its wake.
He was gone.
???
Yuki's punch struck a tree behind him—exploding it into splinters.
Her eyes widened.
A blur flickered at her side.
Naoya appeared to her left, half-turned, fist already mid-swing.
Crack!
His punch connected squarely with her cheek—sharp, clean, fast enough to rattle bone. Yuki's head snapped to the side, spit and blood flying from her lips.
But he didn't stop.
Naoya surged forward again—a phantom in motion. She barely had time to react before a savage blow slammed into her ribs, then another to her gut, another to her shoulder, then a hook to her jaw.
Four hits. Less than a second.
Yuki stumbled, body reeling—but her core stayed grounded.
Naoya twisted low and swept her legs out from under her.
Yuki hit the ground hard, but the second she touched dirt, she twisted and planted her heel into his stomach, knocking him back a step. A single clean hit.
He grimaced slightly, more annoyed than hurt.
Then he vanished again.
Yuki rolled backward just as his heel sliced down through the air where her head had been—splitting the ground open in a clean diagonal cut.
"What's wrong with his speed?" Yuki thought, blood already seeping from her mouth. In the next few moments, she would realize just how wrong she had been about Naoya.
But she was Yuki Tsukumo.
She wasn't going down from a few hits.
Cursed energy bloomed through her body. Reverse Cursed Technique flared beneath her skin, snapping bones back into place, flushing the swelling from her jaw.
Steam hissed from her lips.
She stood, bruises vanishing mid-motion.
Naoya didn't even let her finish healing.
He closed the distance again—a blur of flickering frames—and elbowed her in the throat before driving his knee into her sternum.
Crack.
Yuki bent forward, choking—but caught his wrist before the next blow. She pivoted hard, yanking him forward and twisting his arm for a brutal shoulder lock—
But he was already behind her.
Naoya moved through space like it was water—untouchable.
He slammed both fists into her back, launching her forward. Yuki crashed through a tree, coughing blood mid-air before flipping and landing on one knee.
She wiped her mouth again.
"What's wrong with this guy…?" she thought, heart pounding. "Am I getting outmatched?"
The question hit her harder than his strikes.
Yuki's eyes narrowed, heart hammering in her chest as Naoya shed his jacket with a lazy grace that belied the storm building beneath his calm exterior.
"Today," he said, voice low and cutting, "I'll demonstrate exactly why women deserve less."
................................. .........
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