Megumi didn't move.
Across from him, Tetsuya stood with a relaxed posture, as if this weren't a duel but a casual conversation. But Megumi knew better than to trust that illusion.
He observed, searching for an opening.
Tetsuya's technique wasn't something to be taken lightly. It attacked the brain directly, disrupting neural signals, planting distortions into a person's nervous system. This wasn't a physical assault that could simply be dodged—this was a battle against one's own mind.
And Megumi knew that if he lost inside his own head, his body would follow.
The wind drifted between them, carrying the scent of dust and warm earth. Above, the sky darkened, the orange hues of dusk fading into deep shadows.
There was no signal to start. No warning. Only Tetsuya—suddenly vanishing from where he stood. Megumi had expected it—
His hand moved. The shadows beneath him surged outward with brutal speed, launching an attack from every direction. Tendrils of darkness shot up, attempting to seize Tetsuya before he could close the distance.
But Tetsuya wasn't just fast. He had anticipated this. Mid-air, his body twisted effortlessly, evading the shadows with a subtle step—
Their eyes met. That was enough.
A sudden wave of dizziness struck Megumi, hammering into his skull like a sledgehammer. The next second, the world around him shifted—not physically, but inside his mind.
He recognized this. This was the start of Tetsuya's technique taking hold.
Invisible waves scrambling his brain's signals, making everything feel wrong even though nothing had changed.
But Megumi was ready.
He immediately locked down his thoughts, reinforcing his mental defenses. This wasn't his first time dealing with this kind of technique.
The shadows beneath him pulsed, reshaping into a second wave of attacks—sharper, deadlier.
But—Tetsuya smiled. A smile that sent alarms blaring in Megumi's head.
"I wonder..." Tetsuya's voice was eerily steady now, as if he was no longer the fearful student Megumi once knew.
"...just how far your limits go, sensei?" Before Megumi could counter, something shifted. A sharp pulse shot through his skull.
No—more than that. The entire world changed. Not just an illusion. Not just a mental trick. This was something more.
The once-solid shadows wavered, their forms breaking apart, losing cohesion. His own body felt strange—like there was a delay between his thoughts and his movements, a disconnect between his brain's commands and his body's response.
Tetsuya... He wasn't just using his technique the way he had before. He had evolved.
"Did you really think I'd always be that cowardly student you knew?" Tetsuya's voice whispered—not into Megumi's ears, but inside his head.
And as Megumi struggled to break free from the mental distortion—The world tilted again. And again. And this time, he wasn't sure if he could find his way out.
Reality flickered.
Megumi took a step back, his breath sharp and uneven. Something horrifying was happening—not just to his body, but to his mind.
The world trembled, like a broken film reel skipping frames. In front of him, Tetsuya stood motionless, expressionless.
But that wasn't what made Megumi's blood freeze. What made his stomach churn was how Tetsuya moved. No hesitation.
No awkwardness, no confusion—none of the fear and uncertainty that once defined the timid boy. His movements were sharp, precise, honed to perfection like a machine fine-tuned to its purpose.
Perfect. This wasn't Tetsuya. Megumi knew it, but knowing wasn't enough. Awareness didn't save people from nightmares.
And this wasn't just a nightmare—this was systematic destruction. The shadows beneath him pulsed, ready to strike. But before he could react—
"Why are you attacking yourself, sensei?" Tetsuya's voice cut through the air. Megumi blinked—and realized his own fist was clenched, poised to slam into his own face.
Blood dripped from his lips. He hadn't even noticed he'd already hit himself.
Shit.
Tetsuya's technique didn't just distort his mental balance. It went beyond that. It made him forget who the real enemy was.
It made him believe he himself was the threat. If he didn't break free—If he didn't destroy this technique—he would die by his own hands.
Tetsuya didn't stop.
His steps were slow, deliberate, closing the distance with the patience of a predator who knew its prey had nowhere to run.
His eyes were empty. Not empty with fear—Empty like something missing. There was no Tetsuya behind them.
Megumi tried to speak, to reach him, but his own voice was a whisper drowned beneath a storm.
No response. Because this wasn't him. The boy who once trembled in the face of danger—
—was gone.
Or rather, he had already been consumed. And Megumi was the only one left to witness it happen.
Darkness.
No sound. No scent. No taste. Megumi was falling. Or was he floating?
Gravity had lost its meaning, and his body felt weightless, hollow—like a sheet of paper drifting aimlessly in the wind.
Then—Tetsuya smiled. There was no mercy in it. No panic, no fear, no hesitation—none of the usual emotions that once clung to him.
Only pleasure. A twisted expression that should not belong to Tetsuya.
"Did you know..." His voice was quiet, almost gentle. "It only takes a slight push for the human brain to break?"
Megumi didn't answer. He couldn't. His feet sank into a dark pool, the ink-like substance swallowing him whole.
It was cold. Too real. And when he looked down—It wasn't water. It was flesh. Writhing, pulsing, screaming without a voice. Megumi tried to pull away, but something dragged him deeper.
In the distance, he heard voices— Not Tetsuya. Not Ryou. Not Himari. Voices that should not exist. Satoru Gojo. Nobara Kugisaki. Nanami Kento. Toji Fushiguro.
They whispered, clawing at his mind with words that should never be spoken. "You failed, Megumi."
"Look at what your choices have done."
"You shouldn't be here."
A hand latched onto his ankle. Not Tetsuya's. Not human. Megumi turned—And saw himself. Smiling with hollow eyes, mouth stained with blood.
"There is no way out," the shadow whispered. "You belong here. With us." A sharp, freezing pain shot through his entire body.
He had to fight this. He had to break free. But how—when reality itself could no longer be trusted?
Soundwaves crashed into his skull, pulsating in a chaotic rhythm—Not like a beating heart, but like something dying,
thrashing, resisting the certainty of destruction.
Megumi screamed. But his voice was swallowed whole. Because inside his mind, his scream drowned beneath another sound—
Laughter. Not one. Not two. Millions.
Laughter that resonated, echoing inside his skull, hammering against the walls of his consciousness until they cracked.
His eyes widened, red veins spreading across the whites. The false Tetsuya stood a few steps away, tilting his head—observing, analyzing, as if watching an experiment unfold.
"I wonder," he mused casually, his voice barely above a murmur. "How long until your brain completely melts?"
The world twisted.
The training field peeled away, flaking off like old paint on a rotting canvas—revealing something fouler, more twisted, more wrong.
Megumi now stood in the center of a moving graveyard. Faceless corpses crawled from the ground, their bodies bloated like flesh left to rot in water for too long.
Arms outstretched. Reaching. And Megumi recognized them. Satoru Gojo. Tsumiki Fushiguro. Nobara Kugisaki. Toji Fushiguro. Yuuji Itadori.
They did not speak. But they laughed. Laughter that should not come from the dead. Laughter that was too cheerful, too loud, too real.
Megumi stepped back, but the world shrank around him, forcing him closer—
toward the sea of living flesh.
His hands trembled. He tried to summon his cursed energy. Tried to call upon his shadows. Tried to fight. But instead, his fingers wrapped around something else.
Something cold. Something familiar. Something heavy. A knife. And in the blade's reflection, he saw his own face—But it wasn't him.
It was the version of himself that had given up. The version that had shattered. The version that had lost his mind.
And as Megumi stared at the knife, the false Tetsuya's voice whispered in his ear. "Come on, Megumi. You know what to do." His fingers tightened around the hilt.
His hand moved on its own. And before he could stop it—The knife began to rise, aiming straight for his own throat.