Chapter 9: Terrible Ideas
2018, September 30th
"Gawain, this is a terrible idea." Choso's voice was flat, yet there was an unmistakable edge of warning beneath it.
"Trust me, it'll be fine," Gawain responded with unshakable confidence, flashing a reassuring grin. Choso shot him a skeptical look from behind, but continued following regardless.
Reaching their destination, Gawain double-checked his phone, smiling as he typed out a quick message before pocketing it. "Remind me to thank Berserker when I see him next. Their advice has proven useful once again."
"Sure."
Following a brief exchange, staff guided them to a private room. Gawain strode forward with natural curiosity, casting glances at the decor as they walked. Choso, ever the contrast to his brother, moved with quiet caution, opening the door first as he moved ahead.
Inside, Hakari and Kirara sat comfortably together, sharing a bowl of snacks. At the sight of their new guests, Hakari grinned.
"Took you long enough." He motioned toward them with his free hand, the other holding a can of soda. "These are the brothers I was telling you about."
Kirara gave them both a once-over, eyes sharp in assessment, before their expression softened into something more welcoming. "Kin's been talking about you. It's nice to see the people behind the stories."
Gawain's amiable smile deepened as he stepped forward. "And I must confess, I, too, have heard many tales of you." His voice was naturally warm, with an undeniable charm to it as everyone listened in to his words. "Though I fear they pale compared to seeing you myself."
With the practiced grace that Choso envied, Gawain reached out and clasped forearms with Hakari in greeting. The two exchanged a firm squeeze before laughing together, already falling into an easy camaraderie.
Choso followed suit, athough more reserved. "It's a pleasure to meet you." He gave a short, respectful bow.
Out of habit, Kirara returned the gesture. "Likewise."
Gawain took a seat beside his brother, offering Kirara a small nod before surveying the room once more. "It is quite comfortable here," he said, musing to himself. "Very different from back home, but I find it refreshing. Food and drink while one drink is quite memorable." Gawain said with a fond smile, lost in memories.
Choso gestured for permission before sampling some snacks. When Kirara waved him on, he took a bite, expression shifting to one of genuine curiosity.
"For a foreigner, you speak Japanese quite well," Kirara noted to Gawain, tilting their head.
Gawain paused, as if surprised by the observation. "Ah. Thank you," he said. "It has proven invaluable during my time here."
Choso, uncertain how to respond, only nodded. "So… this is a place for dates, right?" He said, trying to change the subject.
Regret was immediate.
All eyes turned to him.
Hakari's grin widened as he clapped his hands together, leaning forward. "That's right." His amusement was clear as he gestured to the table. "Been scouting out places for dates myself, so I figured I'd help you out. This one's a solid pick—friendly atmosphere, decent privacy, nice amenities. But that's just a bonus."
Choso frowned. "Bonus to what?"
Hakari kept his gaze steady. "When I first saw you two, I knew there was something different about you." He took a sip of his drink, letting his words settle. "So I took a risk. And so far? You've proven to be what I've been looking for."
Choso's posture stiffened. "And what's that?" He spoke in a measured, cautious tone.
"People who can help me change the minds and hearts of other Jujutsu sorcerers." Hakari leaned back, his confidence unshaken. "You're looking for your siblings, right?"
At their nods, he smirked. "And for whatever reason, you didn't go to the higher-ups. Not that I care why."
His fingers laced together as he gave them both an appraising look. "What that means is that we can work together. I can offer you both a job, and in the meantime, I can help find your siblings."
Choso's eyes narrowed. "For your fight club, right?"
Both brothers exchanged a silent conversation—brief, but full of understanding.
Gawain placed a reassuring hand on Choso's shoulder before turning to Hakari and Kirara. "We would be honored to accept such a duel. However, I prefer to test our strengths before forming any partnership. A proper spar, if you will."
Hakari chuckled. "I can work with that."
Kirara, watching the interaction unfold, shared an amused glance with Hakari before they both grinned.
"But before that," Hakari said, standing up and stretching, "we sing."
The tension eased.
Laughter, music, and occasional bickering filled the night as Gawain, much to Choso's dismay, insisted on finding him a fair maiden.
2018, September 30th
"I didn't take you for one to meditate," Archer remarked, his tone friendly, yet his sharp gaze betrayed his wariness. His footsteps were light against the rooftop of the student dorms, approaching where Ruler had settled.
Seated in a lotus position, legs crossed, hands resting in his lap, Ruler had remained still, his eyes closed as if lost in thought. At Archer's words, he cracked one eye open, glancing at the horizon before exhaling slowly.
"You wouldn't be the first to think that," Ruler said, voice measured. His nostrils flared at the scent wafting from Archer's direction—cooked meat.
"Life's always full of surprises like that," Archer replied with an easygoing shrug, his usual relaxed demeanor in place. "We never got the chance to talk before you disappeared off. You seem… different from that other Sukuna." He gestured in Ruler's direction. "There's a lot of conflicting information about you, you know. Thought I'd clear some of that up."
He placed a plate beside Ruler, the rich scent of grilled meat stronger now.
"I know," Ruler said, lowering his gaze to examine the food. A mix of barbecued meats, glistening. He picked up a piece with his fingers, inspecting it with a blank stare.
Archer plopped down nearby, resting an arm on his knee. "Just something I threw together. Gojo's off trying to find you a proper cook, so I figured I'd entertain you for a bit. Or try to, anyway."
Ruler let out a noncommittal hum as he took a bite, chewing. The taste lingered—flavorful, well-cooked, though different from what he once knew. Between bites, he cut Archer a sharp, annoyed look.
"If you insist on lingering, ask what you wish to ask," he said, voice carrying the weight of impatience.
Caught, Archer scratched the back of his head, letting out a sheepish chuckle before his expression shifted into something more thoughtful. "So... you killed a dragon before? What was that like?" His curiosity was genuine, eyes glinting with interest.
Ruler took his time finishing a rib, gnawing the last of the meat off the bone before considering his answer. When he spoke, something almost nostalgic laced his voice.
"Exhilarating." The word carried a weight, an old fire rekindled. "I don't recall the finer details, but the rush? That, I remember." He leaned back, a satisfied grin curling at the edge of his lips. "It was simply the beast's misfortune to face a foe that could resist its poison. A shame." His tongue flicked over his lips, savoring the thought. "If only I could taste such a feast again."
For the briefest moment, Archer's smile faltered, his gaze studying Ruler. Then, shaking his head, he let out a short laugh.
"That must've been a hell of a fight," he said, voice lighter, though his sharpness never faded. "People must have hailed you as a hero after that."
"In some ways," Ruler admitted, his tone unreadable. He took another bite, this time slower, as if weighing the conversation itself. Once he finished, he lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Archer in a way that made even a warrior like him pause.
"I have had enough," Ruler stated. "Begone and cease your incessant probing."
Archer exhaled, standing with a stretch. "Well, hope you enjoyed the meal, then," he said, giving a small nod before stepping away. Within seconds, he had vanished from sight, leaving only the quiet hum of the night air behind.
Ruler watched the spot where Archer had been, unreadable as ever. Then, without a word, he returned to his meal.
Ruler remained still, gnawing on the last piece of meat, eyes half-lidded as he gazed at the city below. The silence stretched, the night air thick with something unsaid. The taste of charred flesh lingered on his tongue—not quite like the feasts of his time, but acceptable.
And yet, something irked him.
That man.
Archer's presence, his mannerisms, the way he weaved through conversation with disarming ease. How he asked questions that were simple on the surface but always led to something deeper. How he lingered just long enough to test Ruler's patience.
It reminded him of past conversations. Of those who once sought to decipher him, to place meaning where there was only the will of a ruler and the nature of the strong.
With a slow breath, he leaned back on one arm, staring at the sky. "Tch. Hero, huh?" he said, muttering to himself.
It was not the first time he had been called such.
It would not be the last.
2018, September 30th
"Kenjaku, are you going to be okay?" Kuramoto asked, his voice tinged with concern as he cast a worried glance at his companion. He wrung his hands, glancing ahead toward the dojo they were approaching. "I really don't think the captain likes you."
Walking beside him, Kenjaku—Caster in truth, though the name hardly mattered—chuckled, ruffling Kuramoto's hair. "Oh, my dear Kuramoto, I shall be fine," he said, his voice light, and upbeat. "It's merely a lack of understanding. Nothing time cannot remedy."
However, Caster sighed internally. It was, if nothing else, exhausting to play this game. He had so many other projects that demanded his attention—far more interesting, far more intricate than the petty tensions of a militant family. And yet, this, too, had its purpose. He would endure.
They entered the dojo, and as expected, all eyes turned toward Kenjaku. A smattering of nods and polite smiles came his way—acknowledgment, admiration. The veneer of acceptance. But the only gaze that mattered was Nobuaki Zenin's. The captain's glare was sharp, resentful, yet disciplined. He did not speak, instead he refocused on the weapon in his hands instead of paying more attention to Caster.
Kuramoto made a faint sound of dismay.
"Trust me," Caster said, his voice lowered to a whisper but still far more amused than concerned. "Results will speak for themselves. I'd be a poor student if I didn't strive to surpass others."
Kuramoto didn't seem convinced, but he watched as Kenjaku moved effortlessly through the gathered warriors, weaving between them with ease, exchanging brief pleasantries and quick conversation. Charming, but never insincere.
Kuramoto had known him for only a short while, yet his presence had brightened his days in ways he hadn't expected. There was something about Kenjaku—something compelling, something enthralling. His knowledge was limitless, an ocean of insights that never seemed to run dry. Before he knew it, Kuramoto had followed him everywhere.
And he wasn't the only one.
Kenjaku's popularity was growing among the Kukuru. Whether it was admiration, curiosity, or something else entirely, people gravitated toward him.
That, too, served a purpose.
"Now that everyone is here, we can begin our training." Nobuaki's voice cut through the indistinct murmurs, his tone cold, impersonal. "Form into pairs. I'll oversee and intervene where necessary."
"Oh, oh! Kenjaku, can you team up with me?" Kuramoto piped up, bouncing on his heels.
Caster let out a small, knowing laugh. "Of course."
"How are you so good at this?" Kuramoto said, dismayed, as he watched the training weapon press lightly against his throat—again. Kenjaku had dismantled him in seconds.
"Knowledge." Kenjaku's voice was serious, the light amusement in his features not quite matching the weight of his words. "It is the foundation for everything. Knowing how to move, how to breathe, how to expect—understanding the smallest details that shift the tide of battle."
He leaned forward, pressing a single finger against Kuramoto's forehead—a friendly yet chiding gesture. "It also helps to recognize that you cannot expect to win against someone much older and larger without some sort of plan."
Kuramoto looked away, sheepish.
Kenjaku withdrew his hand, placing it on Kuramoto's shoulder instead. "Failure is its own teacher," he said. "And this exercise is not about victory or defeat. It is about learning."
"Kenjaku."
Caster turned his head as Nobuaki approached, his steps slow, deliberate.
"It would be a shame for you to learn nothing from today's training. Why don't you spar with Saiki? I'll take the young one—he could use some variety in his opponents."
Ah. A test, then. A small smirk twitched at Caster's lips instead of the sigh he wanted to release.
"Of course, Captain." He dipped into a respectful bow.
Kuramoto stiffened under Nobuaki's scrutiny, but the captain only motioned for him to follow. There was a short pause before Kuramoto reluctantly did as he was told.
Just before turning away, Nobuaki's gaze flickered back toward Kenjaku.
"Your head injury—will it be a problem?"
Kenjaku's smile widened—too bright, too casual. "Oh, not at all," he said. "The stitches came out yesterday. It's healing well, thankfully. I appreciate the concern."
Nobuaki's lips barely twitched, something between amusement and disdain flashing across his expression. "Good. You can start more rigorous training, then."
And with that, they went their separate ways.
Kenjaku walked toward Saiki, exchanging polite words with those he passed. Observing. Calculating.
His new opponent was already standing in place, watching him with thinly veiled contempt. The grudge from their first spar still simmered beneath the surface.
Kenjaku exhaled, shaking his head. Petty men and their petty grudges.
He knew why his master had set him on this path. But oh, how vexing it was to waste time on this.
Still.
This, too, provided instructive lessons.
And so, with effortless grace, he stepped forward and bowed, expression calm, as if none of it mattered at all.
2018, September 30th
"Great victory!" Sakura cheered, her voice light and cheerful as the last of the fallen curses dissolved into nothingness. She spun her blade once, admiring the way the lingering cursed remains scattered like dust before fading into the wind.
Nanami, standing beside her, stared blankly.
"We're quite efficient at this. That's good," he said, rolling his shoulders as he scanned the area for any remaining threats.
"A little too good," Sakura huffed, crossing her arms. "I was hoping we could train together from this, but the curses keep dying way too quickly..." She glanced at her Katana again, fascinated by how cleanly it cut through everything in its path. "At least they're easier to deal with than people. Much less mess!" Her mood brightened, and she flashed him a pleased smile.
Nanami remained unimpressed. "No amount of training would allow me to keep up with you." He pulled out his phone and began typing a report, deliberately ignoring the way she turned her full attention to him.
"But, Master!" Sakura protested, earnest as ever. She stepped in front of him, waving her hands as if sheer enthusiasm could break through his indifference. "With the right effort, I'm sure we could reach even greater heights!" She planted her hands on her hips and pouted. "You just need to rouse your fighting spirit!"
Nanami let out a long, suffering sigh. "Unlikely."
Sakura deflated, shoulders slumping. Something in the sheer dejection of her reaction almost—almost—roused something akin to pity in Nanami.
"But," he added, seeing the way her head perked up, "we can try anyway. If it means protecting lives, then we should give it our all."
"That's the spirit, Master~!"
Nanami ignored the small, reluctant smile that threatened to betray his exhaustion, even as he resigned himself to what this meant: unpaid overtime.
"That should be it for now," he said abruptly, suppressing the madness that had taken hold. "Let's head home."
Sakura perked up. "Ah! While we're on the way, can we grab some sweets again?"
"We can."
She grinned, pumping her fist in the air in triumphant victory.
Sakura sat at Nanami's table, kicking her feet idly under the chair as she happily worked through her latest assortment of sweets. Across from her, Nanami placed his own plate down—a reheated meal, simple but filling.
"So, Master," Sakura started, eyes glinting with curiosity, "what do you think about the other servants so far?"
Nanami paused, collecting his thoughts as he picked up his utensils. "Dangerous."
He took a bite, chewing slowly in thought.
"I've spoken with Yuji about his interactions with them. Even with the limited information we have, they're clearly competent." His expression deepened in thought, brows furrowing. "Our spars only reinforce how vast the gap is."
Sakura hummed, taking a delicate bite of her sweets. "Good thing they're so competent, at least. This entire war… I can't shake the feeling that something else is at play."
Nanami didn't respond, his face troubled. They both took a quiet moment to offer gratitude for their meals..
"Still," Sakura said, after a thoughtful pause, "I was surprised to meet someone who was alive when I was."
Nanami arched a brow. "Who?"
"Rider." Sakura frowned at the mention of the name, her expression turning pensive. She glanced down at her sweet, momentarily uninterested. "Back when I was alive, he was infamous. He always seemed to slip away before anyone could catch him. Sakamoto Ryouma."
Nanami's chewing stilled.
"That's… quite the person to have on our side," he said, raising an eyebrow.
"I know, right?" Sakura sighed, resting her chin on her palm. "I already feel a little strange and powerful being summoned here in Japan, but I imagine it must be even stronger for him." Her eyes unfocused, staring at the table as if lost in thought. "Although… I do not know who that girl is with him. And why is he a Rider? I don't remember any stories about him having a famous steed or ship…"
Nanami wordlessly poured himself some water, offering a glass to Sakura, who waved it off.
"I doubt you'll get much out of him, even if you ask," he said finally. "He seems like the type to keep things close to the chest."
Sakura pouted. "I guess…"
But then, in a blink, she brightened again, a familiar energy returning to her voice.
"Ah! But no matter what happens, we can still focus on training together. Let's spar tomorrow—maybe see if the others are up for it, too!"
Nanami closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself for the inevitable. "I'll go."
He lamented the complete and utter loss of his free time.
A sigh is hidden between bites as he accepted his fate. He was going to be sore for the foreseeable future, and he knew it.
Nanami dreaded it.
2018, September 30th
"Huh."
Archer—no, Nobu now—flipped the fresh ID over between her fingers, scrutinizing it with an unreadable expression. It was perfect. If she had a real one for comparison, she wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.
"When I said I wanted your help, I didn't expect this much!" she barked out a hearty laugh, stuffing the card into her pocket before glancing around the building her companion had secured.
Across from her, Berserker—who had chosen the form of a redheaded teenager—smiled modestly, though their eyes flickered with something sharp. "It was no problem."
Then, with a disarming tilt of their head, they asked, "Do you mind if I just start calling you Nobu from now on?"
"Of course!" Nobu threw an arm around their shoulders, ignoring how Jack barely reacted to the contact. That Berserker was walking around in a kid's skin was nowhere near the top of her list of concerns.
Her grin widened. "But tell me—how the hell did you get this much money?"
Jack's smile stretched, but it never quite reached their eyes. "I'm a person of many talents," they said playfully before tapping their own chest. "But just call me Jack whenever we aren't acting as Servants. Wouldn't want to invite any weird questions from my friend."
Nobu huffed, releasing them as she wagged a mock-scolding finger. "Hey, I promised I wouldn't go blabbing about anything. You don't need to remind me."
Her teasing faltered as she gave them a once-over. "Still… you seem different. More cheerful, even. Kinda weird for a Berserker to be so easy to talk to."
Jack shrugged, thoughtful. "I just have a lot more to look forward to, I guess." Their grin returned, unsettlingly bright. "You'll understand if you meet her."
Something about the way they said it made Nobu's instincts prickle.
For a moment, her smirk flickered into something more calculating—but only for a moment.
"Well, I'll be looking forward to it, then!"
Jack reached into their pocket, fishing out a small, sleek phone, then flipped it over, holding it out towards her.
"Here, like you asked."
Nobu took it, flicking it open, messing with the buttons absentmindedly before scrunching their face in exasperation. "Hey, be a pal, and show me how this thing works."
Jack tilted their head slightly, then nodded. "I can. I'll set up the data plan and add my number in case you ever need me."
As Jack worked, Nobu leaned back against the counter, staring at the ceiling with a hum. "Humanity shot forward with technology, huh?"
Then, as if the thought had struck her like a bolt of lightning, her entire expression lit up with excitement.
"Do you think guns have gotten even cooler since I've been dead?"
Jack blinked, completely missing the shift in energy. "Probably?"
Nobu grimaced. "Tch, you don't get it." She leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Next time we're in Dagon's domain, I'll let you fire some of mine—you'll understand then. These things were invaluable back in the day."
Jack offered a polite smile, but it had the distinct quality of someone humoring another. "I'll look forward to it."
"You better," Nobu muttered as Jack slid in next to her, swiftly setting up her phone with the uncanny ease of someone who had done this far too many times.
"I wasn't sure how much you wanted to set up yourself, so I left it untouched," Jack explained.
"I appreciate it."
Later that night, Nobu sat by the window, phone in hand, watching as Jack stepped out of the house.
She raised a brow as Jack's entire demeanor changed the second their phone rang—their expression softening, their body relaxing into something different. They barely spared her a second glance before stepping out with a spring in their step, tossing a hasty goodbye over their shoulder.
And they were wearing the form of a businessman now.
"That's crazy," Nobu said to herself.
She flicked her gaze down, her fingers scrolling through the phone Jack had set up for her.
It hadn't taken her long to get the hang of it. Berserker had been surprisingly good at explaining things, which meant she had no excuse for how long she'd gotten distracted.
Somewhere along the line, after hours of going down the rabbit hole of modern weapons, she had somehow ended up on videos about bows.
That was the weird part.
Because she couldn't stop watching.
The mechanics, the form, the sheer precision—there was something intoxicating about the smooth pull of the bowstring, the seamless flight of an arrow through the air.
It felt familiar. Comforting.
Before she realized it, her eyes were burning from the screen's glow, the time well past midnight.
She groaned, rolling onto her side, pressing her face into the pillow.
"I was supposed to be productive today..."
Yet, as if acting on its own, her hand found her phone again, unlocking it to stare at the online store page she had left open.
A bow.
A discounted bow, at that.
She flicked to the bank account Jack had set up for her, then back to the screen.
She hovered over the purchase button, scowling.
"This is so stupid," she muttered—then pressed buy.
As the confirmation flashed across the screen, she exhaled, a strange sense of satisfaction settling in.
It was only then that she let herself admit it.
She had missed Kyūdō more than she thought of all things.
2018, September 30th
Ryouma twirled the borrowed polearm in his hand, adjusting his grip before extending his other hand toward Megumi, who lay sprawled on the ground, battered and panting.
Megumi eyed the hand for a moment before taking it, allowing Ryouma to pull him back to his feet. They stood at equal height, but the gap between them felt as wide as ever.
Ryouma smiled, his tone light. "You're getting better at predicting me."
Megumi scoffed, rubbing his sore ribs. "I'd take that more seriously if I actually hit you."
"That'll come in time." Ryouma's reassurance was easy, but not dismissive. He turned, casting a reproachful glance at Oryou, who floated nearby, waving a small flag with 'Ryouma Win' scribbled across it.
"You're at a disadvantage in a weapon spar like this," Ryouma said. "But it's less about the fight itself and more about how you adapt to a losing situation. Training isn't just about winning—it's about learning how not to lose."
Megumi rolled his shoulder with a wince. "I get it. Doesn't mean it's not frustrating to keep getting knocked around."
Oryou perked up, her grin wild. "Oryou can switch in if you want a different opponent!"
Megumi exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment to reset his patience before answering. "Maybe not yet, Oryou. I need a break first."
Oryou pouted but floated closer regardless, still invested.
Ryouma's expression softened as he tilted his head. "Did the spar satisfy your curiosity?"
Megumi took one of the water bottles Oryou graciously offered into his hands, muttering a quiet thanks as he draped a wet towel around his neck. He took a long sip before answering.
"Somewhat."
The lingering frustration in his tone was subtle, but it was there. His mind flickered back to each Servant he had sparred against—the gap was always the same. Whether it was brute strength, speed, or sheer instinct, they all outclassed him from the start.
"Even if the styles are different, it always feels like I'm fighting from behind. Like I've already lost before the match even starts."
A memory surfaced—the brief encounter with Sukuna.
His fingers tightened around the water bottle.
"I sparred with Archer once," he added, pausing, searching for the right words. "It puts things into perspective—just how strong you all are."
Oryou nodded solemnly. "Oryou is the strongest."
Megumi let out a tired breath. "Right. Of course."
Ryouma chuckled, not denying it. Instead, his expression turned thoughtful as he crossed his arms. "In some ways, yes—you should consider all Servants strong. But…" his gaze sharpened, "don't fit them too neatly into categories. A Servant's strength isn't just their raw power—it's in how they use it. Be prepared for deception."
Megumi exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Easier said than done."
Ryouma's grin widened. "Most things worth learning are."
Then, mid-thought, something seemed to click in his mind. He straightened, eyes gleaming with a new idea.
"Actually—let's change the approach."
Megumi arched a brow. "Oh?"
"Instead of sparring normally, we set a time limit. You just have to survive until the countdown runs out. Use any means necessary—dodging, evading, even running if you have to."
Megumi's expression shifted, uncertain.
Survive? Against Oryou?
Still, he grimaced and nodded. "That sounds like a start. Give me five minutes and we'll do it."
He began stretching, groaning at the stiffness in his limbs.
Oryou lit up with excitement, already bouncing midair. "Ryouma will count! Oryou's turn now!"
She threw a few rapid punches into the air, shadowboxing in preparation. "If you do well, I'll even give you some frogs!"
Megumi, exhausted beyond words, sighed. "Thanks..."
All were heedless to the gaze, watching them from afar.
2018, September 30th
Rider stared down at the collection of weapons, then back up at Bazett, then back at the weapons again. His brain short-circuited.
"H-how? Where did you even get all this?"
Bazett crossed her arms, nodding toward the pile of armaments laid out before them. "I asked Geto if he had anything that might help with your problem. He has…" she hesitated, brow furrowing as she considered the sheer variety of what had arrived. "A pretty wide selection, if I had to guess."
Rider blinked. "That's…" He paused, struggling to find the words. "Good for us?"
"You could say that." Bazett said, maintinging an even tone as she spoke, though she scrutinized the cursed tools. "I have had little experience with sorcerers or cursed energy myself, so my help is limited."
Her expression shifted, a flicker of regret crossing her features.
"That's okay!" Rider waved both hands, as if trying to dispel any concerns she had. "You've already done so much—I appreciate it."
A sheepish grin tugged at his lips.
Bazett sighed, exasperated but amused. "You say that like I'm stopping here." She crouched down, scanning the assortment of weapons. "Let's go through what we've got and see what works for you. No swords, right?"
Rider rubbed his arm, nodding. "Right."
"Unfortunately," Bazett said, bemoaning as she reached for a pair of caestus—well-worn but sturdy. "Geto didn't have any of these lying around, so I had to bring my own. They aren't anything special—I just reinforced them myself."
Rider eyed the weapons cautiously. "Wow. I, uh… I don't know if I'll be any good with them, but I'll try my best."
"You'll be fine." Bazett's confidence in him was unsettling. "Almost every other Servant I've seen picks up on things fast. You didn't seem that different when you sparred with Caster."
Rider grimaced, laughing nervously. "You saw that, huh? Not my best showing…"
Bazett clicked her tongue. "Stop that. You put yourself down too often."
Rider opened his mouth, then shut it, thinking better of whatever he was about to say.
She shook her head before continuing. "These cursed tools are reinforced weapons—nothing with any real special properties." So, aside from your sword, you can pick whichever you like."
Rider stared at the pile, indecisive.
Seconds passed. Then minutes. He hadn't moved.
Bazett pinched the bridge of her nose. "If you can't decide now, we'll figure it out later. Let's spar first. Test out the caestus, iron out any flaws."
Rider winced at his own hesitation, but nodded.
"If perhaps you don't mind."
Both of them startled at the voice.
"I'd like to see that spar myself."
Caster revealed himself with an easy, deliberate stride, glancing over the pile of weapons as if studying an art collection.
"Ah, I see you've gained some cursed tools." He tilted his head, expression both intrigued and faintly disappointed. "Fascinating concept, though I wish the craftsmanship were more… inspired."
Bazett frowned, scanning the area. She hadn't even sensed him coming.
"Ah, Caster." She gave him a half-hearted wave. "I take it you've returned from your trip?"
"Indeed," Caster nodded, expression unreadable. "A most enlightening experience—that should prove useful in the days to come."
Rider, still thrown off, scratched the back of his head. "Ah—hello?"
Caster's gaze settled on him with quiet amusement. "I see you've been studying while I was away. Well done."
Rider ducked his head, awkward but pleased.
"Now that I'm back, there's so much to do," Caster said. groaning theatrically, though his grin was anything but troubled. "Truly, it's exhausting being good at everything."
Bazett would have dismissed the comment as arrogance—but after seeing him work, she knew better. It was arrogance and truth.
"Have you seen the others?" Caster asked casually, voice light but probing.
Rider shrugged. "They don't tell me much."
Bazett shook her head. "Same. We just exchange small talk."
"A shame." Caster sighed dramatically, then turned his gaze back to Rider. "On a different note, I'm curious. How has your Cursed Technique progressed?"
Rider froze, feeling far too exposed.
"I've made some headway," he said hesitantly. "I can use it in combat now, after sparring with Bazett."
Caster's eyes gleamed. "Wonderful. If I might be so bold, would you demonstrate during your spar?"
Rider swallowed, then nodded. "Y-yeah, I can do that."
Bazett elbowed his side lightly before stepping toward the beach. "We'll be fine. Let's show him how much you've improved."
Bazett and Rider stood across from each other, feet digging into the sand as the tide rolled in the distance.
Caster watched from a safe distance, arms crossed, expression eager.
"Let's start light and work our way up, okay?" Bazett called.
"Right."
They closed the gap instantly. They measured and tested with the first few blows. Rider adjusted quickly, recalibrating with each movement, his movements sharper, his timing more refined.
Caster observed everything, eyes flickering with understanding.
Rider had an undeniable talent. But he doubted himself too much.
Then, after about a minute, he used it.
A rush of water surged around him, redirecting Bazett's momentum.
Caster winced as Bazett was just brute-forced through it and sent Rider sprawling.
But instead of hesitating, Rider adjusted.
He used the streams of water to soften blows, to increase his own mobility, to shift the terrain itself.
Caster watched with rapt attention.
"Limited only by creativity," he mused to himself, fascinated.
The spar lulled, and Caster seized the moment.
"If I might be so rude as to interrupt," he called, waving them down. "I suggest you spend as much time as you can with your weapons—channeling your cursed energy through them will bring them closer to cursed tools in their own right."
Rider stared at his caestus, something dawning in his mind. "So I just… do it all the time?"
"Essentially."
Bazett rolled her shoulders, glancing down at her now soaked suit with mild annoyance. "It's kind of ridiculous how much water you can generate."
"Indeed," Caster said, unbothered. "Raises many questions about its underlying principles. Quite the conundrum."
Then, with a contented sigh, he straightened. "Alas, my time here is up. I have far too many projects to attend to."
"See you later, Caster," Bazett said.
Rider just waved until Caster was gone before he stared down at his hands.
Even now, he could feel it—how easy it was to pull on his power.
His cursed energy reserves felt overwhelming. Almost unnatural.
Would this be enough? Could he close the gap?
He clenched his fist.
"I think I'll be okay," he said, whispering to himself before offering Bazett a small smile. "Thanks for today."
Bazett nodded. "You should spar with more Servants too. It'll help."
Rider flinched. "Y-yeah. Maybe."
Bazett's dubious stare followed him as she turned to leave.
From the distance, Dagon watched from the ocean, silent and unreadable.
Rider hesitated, then awkwardly waved. "H-Hello, Master…?"
Dagon nodded approvingly.
Rider laughed weakly.
This… talking like this with his master was going to be harder than the spar.
2018, September 30th
By the time Rin and Saber had finally dragged themselves out of bed, there were already signs that Gojo had been up for hours.
The most glaring clue?
Someone had commandeered her whiteboard, the one she typically used for lectures. Now, it stood in the center of the room, covered in a dense, chaotic web of words, diagrams, and symbols—a strange blend of magecraft theory and something else.
Gojo, standing before it, tapped the top of the marker against his lips in thought, his blindfolded gaze flicking between sections as if working through an elaborate puzzle.
Rin, still halfway between sleep and consciousness, stumbled zombie-like into the lounge, collapsing unceremoniously into a chair. She squinted at Gojo, her brain struggling to process reality.
Behind her, Saber followed with a practiced ease, a quiet but steadying presence. She gave Rin a light nudge in the right direction—not the first time she'd guided her half-asleep Master toward something resembling functionality.
Once her duty was complete, Saber wordlessly stepped into the kitchen, beginning the ritualistic preparation of tea, casting a brief, assessing glance at Gojo before focusing on her task.
Oblivious to them all, Gojo grinned to himself and continued writing.
"Gojo…?"
The smell of tea roused Rin from the depths of sleep, her bleary gaze locking onto the intruder in her home. Forcing herself into some semblance of focus, she blinked a few times before managing, "Right. You were here last night. Did you even sleep?"
"No, I slept," Gojo answered absently, still scrawling on the board. "I just don't need that much sleep, anyway."
Saber, unfazed, nodded as though this made perfect sense, setting a steaming cup of tea in front of Rin before turning to Gojo.
"Would you like some tea, Gojo?"
"Sure." He finally looked away from the board, flashing her a pleased smile as he accepted the offer.
Once they were all settled with their drinks, Rin took a slow sip, willing herself into full wakefulness before pinning Gojo with a pointed stare.
"So," she began, "why were you here in the middle of the night again?"
Gojo grinned. "You weren't listening?"
Rin's eyes narrowed, already bracing herself. She opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, he steamrolled ahead—faster than she could cut in.
"Well! It was more of a case that circuits are a lot more versatile than you suggested."
He interlaced his fingers, leaning forward slightly. "At first, I was just curious—could I use cursed energy with my circuits?"
Rin sat up straighter, her exhaustion forgotten. "And?"
Gojo shrugged, relaxed.
"I can't."
A long silence. Rin's eye twitched.
"Then why—"
"But~" Gojo stretched out the word, grinning wider, "I can use my cursed technique with them."
Another pause. Saber took a calm sip of tea, watching with mild interest.
Rin's brow furrowed deeply. "Explain."
Gojo gestured vaguely, as if that alone could sum it up. "I can autopilot my technique through some of my circuits. Like… coding, I think? Had to build it up first, but now it's running."
Rin turned to Saber, her expression somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.
Saber, for her part, looked more amused than surprised.
It seemed Gojo's brand of madness was something she had already come to accept.
"It's not unheard of for a magus to use it to store information. Although..." Rin gives him an incredulous look.
Rin sighs, rubbing her temples as she glares at Gojo's whiteboard. "You're telling me you basically brute-forced a way to automate a cursed technique inside your circuits? That's insane."
Gojo beams, taking it as a compliment. "I know, right? It keeps things running- although I don't know when it'd ever be useful."
Rin groans, rubbing her forehead. "You don't even know how much of a pain it is to manage circuits, and you just—what, made them run in the background for your technique?"
Saber, observing the exchange, sips her tea. "Does such an advanced technique as you claim not require immense precision?" A miscalculation could be dangerous."
Gojo shrugs. "Eh, probably. But I'm Satoru Gojo." He gestures grandly, as if that explained everything.
Rin exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It should not be that simple. Even high rank magi have some struggle with refining something as complex as what you've done within their circuits in such a short time frame. You're treating this like it's a children's puzzle."
Gojo grins. "I mean you said it, not me~,"
Rin nearly chokes on her tea. "You—!"
Saber, still calm, sets her cup down. "This is certainly an unconventional approach. However, if circuits can supplement a cursed technique, could the reverse not also be true?"
That makes Rin pause. She looks at Gojo, wary, before glancing back at Saber. "You mean using cursed energy to support or enhance magecraft?"
Gojo hums, tilting his head. "Now thatis a thought." He leans back, crossing his arms. "Cursed energy is already a pretty self-sustaining system, but if someone can structure it like a spell matrix or whatever they call it—"
Rin winces.
He slaps the whiteboard with excitement, nearly toppling it over. "Oh man, if I can integrate even a fraction of that into Domain Expansion, we might look at a whole new form of sorcery."
Rin pales at the suggestion. "Gojo, no. You do notjust go try creating the foundations of a new magecraft on a whim. You just learnt the basics!"
Gojo shrugs. "Why not? You guys are too rigid. Magecraft's got a lot of history, sure, but it's just another form of manipulating energy, like jujutsu. If something works better, why not use it?"
Rin's glare sharpens. "Because that's how people die. People build magecraft upon stable, repeatable formulas. Do you have any idea how many magus have blown themselves up because they 'experimented' a little too much with something they couldn't handle?"
Gojo smirks, unfazed. "Well, they weren't me."
Saber watches the growing tension with mild amusement before interjecting, "If this knowledge proves useful, would it not be wise to test its applications in a controlled manner?"
Gojo waves a hand dismissively. "Sure, sure. But that's the boring way."
Rin groans. "You are a headache." She throws her hands up, looking off to the side and scowls. "I don't know why I bothered. Go blow yourself up for all I care."
Gojo just winks. "And yet, you still haven't kicked me out."
Rin exhales slowly, pressing her fingers to her temple as if trying to physically suppress the incoming headache. "Alright, fine. If you're so sure about this cursed energy-magecraft nonsense, we'll run a test."
Gojo beams, rocking back on his heels. "See? I knew you'd come around."
"I didn't 'come around.'" Rin glares at him, then jabs a finger at the whiteboard. "I just don't want you blowing up half the city because you got curious."
Gojo waves off her concern. "Relax, I've never blown up half a city."
Saber, standing beside Rin, raises an eyebrow. "That implies you have destroyed a portion of a city before."
Gojo just grins. "Anyway! Where's your test site? We doing this in the backyard?"
Rin sighs, crossing her arms. "I have a bounded field set up near the outskirts. The bounded field should contain whatever disaster you're about to cause.
Gojo claps his hands together. "Great! Give me ten minutes and I'll rewrite the laws of magic."
Rin twitches at his wording, but before she can snap at him, Gojo is already making his way toward the exit.
An Hour Later
The bounded field hums with residual energy, its structure reinforced with layered defenses designed by Rin herself. The early morning sky casts faint light on the isolated clearing, surrounded by trees.
Gojo stands in the center of the field, rolling his shoulders. "Alright, let's do this. What's first?"
Rin adjusts her gloves, already preparing a backup spell in case things go horribly wrong. "Start with something simple. Can you channel cursed energy through a standard magical bounded field you construct?"
Gojo places a hand on the ground, his Limitless technique subtly warping space around his fingers. Initially, he starts with crafting a simple bounded field using his magical energy. Next, his cursed energy flows outward, but the moment it tries to merge with the bounded field, the two forces resist each other violently. The ground cracks as raw power destabilizes, sparks of rejected energy scattering into the air.
Rin jerks forward, ready to stabilize the magic before it explodes, but Gojo laughs.
"Well, that's interesting."
"This isn't a goodthing, Gojo!" Rin said as she checked over the bounded field. "The two forces are rejecting each other outright. You need a basis for the two forces to intersect rather than mashing them together."
She narrows her eyes. "It must be a flaw in execution, since Yuji was already dumb enough to use both at the same time and that seems to work." Rin mutters to herself.
Gojo hums, rubbing his chin. "Maybe, but what if I don't merge them? What if I run them in parallel instead?"
Rin narrows her eyes. "You mean keeping cursed energy and magecraft separate but layered in execution?"
Gojo grins. "Exactly. Like, say, reinforcing a bounded field's structure with cursed energy instead of trying to blend the two."
Rin crosses her arms, skeptical but curious. "Alright. Try it."
Gojo extends his hands, this time keeping his cursed energy separate from the magical framework. Instead of forcing integration, he coatsthe bounded field in his influence, subtly distorting space around it. The effect is immediate—the field doesn't break, nor does it reject the cursed energy. Instead, it reinforcesitself, its structure becoming harder to penetrate.
Rin stares. "That… shouldn't be possible."
"I just needed to adjust it is all, like you mentioned." Gojo said, smug.
Saber steps forward, observing the field with interest. "It appears you have managed to strengthen it without disrupting its foundation. A difficult feat."
Gojo crosses his arms, pleased. "Told you I'm a genius."
Rin clicks her tongue. "Fine. I'll admit there mightbe something to this. But one experiment isn't enough. We need more controlled tests before—"
Gojo claps his hands together, cutting her off. "Nah, let's take this to the next level."
Rin knows that tone. "Gojo. No."
Gojo's grin widens as he points at Saber. "Rin, we're at the 'practical application' stage. And what better way to see if this works than sparring~?"
Saber meets his gaze evenly. "You wish to engage in combat to test this theory?"
Gojo nods eagerly. "I need to see how this holds up in an actual fight. And who better to test it on than one of the strongest types of Heroic Spirits?"
Rin throws her hands up. "This is not how research is done!"
Gojo, ignoring her, winks at Saber. "So? How about it?"
Saber exhales, setting down her thermos with the last of her tea in it with an air of finality. "If you wish to test your theories in combat, I shall oblige." Her presence shifts, the air around her becoming sharp, like the edge of a drawn blade. "However, I will not hold back."
Gojo grins, stepping into a relaxed stance, his own cursed energy subtly flaring. If "I don't break a sweat, I'm calling this a warm-up."
A light of competition enters Sabers eyes at his words, her hands shifting to hold a invisible weapon.
Rin, watching this unfold, groans into her hands.
This was going to end in disaster.
End of Chapter 9:
Kept you waiting, huh?
On all seriousness, sorry about the delay. Had a bunch of real life stuff get in the way, and before I knew it, all my writing fell to the wayside. But regardless, wasn't too sure on this chapter. Felt hella rusty. Hopefully you all enjoy, and feel free to give critiques as always. Take care.