Gojo and Kishimoto stood opposite each other, their swords hanging at their sides, ready to be unsheathed. The warm evening air rustled their hair as tension settled between them like a drawn bowstring. Gojo, wearing his usual blindfold, reached up and removed it—he was going to give his all, though without relying on his devil fruit powers.
For a long heartbeat, neither moved. Then both vanished in a blur, steel flashing as their swords met with a sharp clang that scattered sparks across the ground. The impact echoed through the quiet field before they pushed apart at the same instant, landing lightly on their feet.
Kishimoto's sharp gaze flicked over Gojo, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. "Your physical strength has improved greatly. It's almost equal to mine—only slightly weaker. But your refined fighting style… that more than makes up for it."
He shifted his grip, his lone left hand steady on the hilt. "That first strike was just a test of your physical strength. Now that I've confirmed it, I'll attack you seriously—with my full force."
Gojo simply nodded, his expression calm, unflinching. He's serious now. The air between them seemed to tighten, humming faintly with the weight of intent.
Then Kishimoto moved. With a swift motion, he raised his sword high with his left hand and swung it down, releasing a powerful flying slash that tore through the air toward Gojo with a sharp, cutting roar.
Gojo saw the flying slash tearing through the air toward him and immediately responded in kind, swinging his blade in a powerful downward arc. A shimmering vertical slash burst forth from his sword, cutting through the air to meet Kishimoto's attack head-on.
The two slashes collided with a deafening boom, the impact scattering light and dust in all directions. For an instant, the air itself seemed to warp, and then both slashes dissolved, releasing a shockwave that tore through the ground between them. The training field shook violently—chunks of dirt flew, and cracks snaked outward in every direction.
Gojo and Kishimoto staggered slightly under the pressure, their clothes fluttering as the wind whipped past them. But neither stopped. They lunged again, blades flashing under the dimming sky. Steel clashed again and again, the sound echoing like thunder across the ruined ground. Each swing carved fresh scars into the earth, creating deep craters and jagged potholes across the training ground.
Their fierce exchange continued for nearly half an hour. By the time they finally paused, the sun had vanished beyond the horizon, leaving only faint traces of light streaking the darkening sky. Dust drifted lazily in the fading glow, the air heavy with heat and exertion.
Both swordsmen stood apart, chests rising and falling with ragged breaths. Gojo's lips curled into a faint smile—he was satisfied. Even without my devil fruit… I've matched him. His sword hand trembled slightly, but his spirit burned steady.
Kishimoto, too, recognized the truth. He exhaled, meeting Gojo's gaze. "If we continue to fight like this," he said, his voice calm but firm, "we won't have a winner for a long time. So… let's finish this battle right now."
Gojo, after hearing Kishimoto's words, nodded with a calm resolve. "Yes," he said, voice steady. "Let's do this."
Kishimoto gave a short nod in return. "Here I come."
At once, his body tensed. Muscles coiled beneath his skin, his left hand gripping the sword so tightly that his knuckles whitened. The air around him seemed to hum with pressure as he shifted into his stance, his blade drawn low. Then, in a deep, commanding voice, he declared—
"Ground Scraping Sword!"
His sword flashed in a wide, horizontal arc, slicing through the air with devastating force. A roaring wave of energy burst forth from the swing, a massive flying slash that ripped across the battlefield, tearing up chunks of dirt and stone in its path as it hurtled straight toward Gojo.
Gojo didn't move at first. He could feel the weight of that strike—the seriousness behind it. He's using his full strength this time.
Taking a slow breath, he raised his head, his six eyes gleaming faintly in the fading light. Through them, the world fractured into layers—each molecule, each vibrating thread of energy visible to him. He focused on the slash racing toward him, dissecting it in his mind, searching… until he saw it. A faint disruption—an instability in the flow of energy. The weak point.
His grip on the hilt tightened. "Got it," he murmured.
In one smooth motion, Gojo swung his sword diagonally, the blade whistling as it cut through the air.
"Molecular Slash!"
A brilliant blue sword slash burst from Gojo's blade, surging forward to meet the golden arc released by Kishimoto.
It was a technique he had developed through his mastery of the Six Eyes—born from seeing reality on an atomic level. By identifying the structural weak points within any form of energy or matter, he could strike with absolute precision, destroying it from within. Whether physical or elemental, no attack could remain stable once its molecular balance was broken.
The two attacks collided midair with a thunderous crash, the shockwave splitting the ground beneath them. For an instant, the slashes held each other in perfect balance—then, with a sharp burst of light, Kishimoto's golden slash shattered under the force of Gojo's attack. The blue slash tore through the explosion and continued its relentless path toward Kishimoto.
But Kishimoto was ready. His single hand gripped the sword tightly, his stance firm despite the roaring energy racing toward him. At the last moment, he swung his blade with precise timing, deflecting the incoming slash. The impact howled through the air, sending a violent gust rippling outward.
The redirected energy ripped through the bamboo grove behind him, slicing through dozens of stalks in an instant. The tall, green stems cracked and toppled, crashing one after another with a rustling echo that faded into the still night.
Kishimoto exhaled slowly, the glow from the clash still shimmering in the distance. Then he slid his sword back into its sheath with a single, fluid motion. Turning toward Gojo, his tone was steady but edged with humility.
"To fight you on equal terms," he said, "I'd need both my hands. As I am now, I can't even match you properly. And that's without you using your devil fruit powers." He gave a faint, wry smile. "If you did, I doubt it would take you this many moves to defeat me."
He looked down at his left hand—the only one that remained—and then back at Gojo. "Even after losing my right hand, I didn't lose heart. I kept training for years… and that flying sword slash just now contained eighty percent of my strength." His eyes narrowed, not in bitterness, but in quiet acceptance. "But I doubt that even if I used a hundred percent… I'd be able to harm you in the slightest."
The evening wind swept through the broken bamboo, carrying the scent of earth and the faint hum of lingering energy between them.
Kishimoto looked toward Gojo, his expression calm but curious. "I would like to feel the strength of your devil fruit," he said evenly. "Can you use it this time—while fighting me—to defeat me?"
Gojo's eyes narrowed slightly, a faint smile touching his lips. He gave a slow nod. "Yes," he said softly. "I'll fulfill that wish."
Kishimoto shifted his stance, his left hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. The air between them grew tense again, charged with silent anticipation.
Then, without warning, Gojo vanished.
A rush of wind burst where he had been standing, and in the next instant, he reappeared on Kishimoto's right side, his sword already in motion. The blade whistled through the air, its edge flashing dangerously close to Kishimoto's neck.
Kishimoto's instincts screamed. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second—but his body reacted on its own. Steel clashed against steel with a sharp clang, sparks flying as he intercepted Gojo's strike just in time.
But even as their blades locked, something else caught Kishimoto's attention. A faint, flickering glow on Gojo's left hand.
On the tip of Gojo's index finger, a small blue sphere shimmered into existence—dense, compressed, and swirling with energy. The air around it warped slightly, drawn inward.
Then, with a flick of his finger, Gojo released it.
The sphere shot toward Kishimoto, and instantly, he felt it—an overwhelming pull, as if gravity itself had turned against him. His feet skidded across the ground as he fought to resist. The blue light grew larger, brighter, the pull intensifying until it felt like the air was being torn apart.
What kind of power is this?! Kishimoto gritted his teeth, trying to move, but his body refused to respond. The pressure was immense, crushing, dragging him toward that endless blue.
And then—just as the sphere was about to consume him—it vanished.
The sudden silence was deafening. In that same instant, cold steel touched the side of Kishimoto's neck.
Gojo stood beside him, calm and unruffled, his sword perfectly poised at the winning position.
The fight was over. Kishimoto exhaled, the tension leaving his body as realization dawned.
He had lost.
----
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