A back alley in Kyoto's Kawaramachi district.
On the damp asphalt, untouched by the brilliant glow of neon signs, red blood pooled and began to congeal.
"Another random assault, looks like."
"That's the third one this month. It's getting scary to walk the streets at night..."
"With Yakuza and Hangure thugs running wild like this, I don't know what the police are even doing."
Early morning whispers filled the air as police tape cordoned off the scene.
I was in the middle of a dawn roadwork session, attempting to internalize the acceleration steps of Projection Sorcery into my physical form.
Regulating my shallow breaths, I blended into the crowd and fixed my gaze on the crime scene.
Just before the paramedics could shroud the body in a white sheet, the state of the mangled corpse entered my field of vision.
The skull was caved in to an unrecognizable degree, and the chest was sunken as if struck by a massive sledgehammer.
The police were clutching their radios, seemingly concluding it was either a turf war between nearby Yakuza or a series of fatal assaults involving blunt weapons.
To the eyes of non-sorcerers, it would look like nothing more than a gruesome murder.
But they couldn't deceive my eyes.
Clinging to the body and the alley walls were grey, viscous marks—unpleasantly sticky and violent.
It was the trace of jujutsu: 'Cursed Residue.'
This wasn't a common brawl between drunks or a fight between criminal syndicates.
Jealousy, aggression, and the competitive spirit oozing from the back alleys of Kyoto's entertainment district—this was the work of a Cursed Spirit born from those condensed negative emotions.
"...Things are getting interesting."
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with a towel and quietly turned away.
I had found a target.
That night.
2 AM, when even the stumbling footsteps of the drunks had completely vanished.
I returned to that restricted back alley.
In the thick darkness that even obscured the red lights of the red-light district, a sound like the heavy breathing of a beast echoed.
Emerging from the depths of the alley was a massive figure, well over two meters tall.
Its hands were stained a dark red with blood, and its jaw was twisted into a grotesque shape. It was a Cursed Spirit.
As soon as it spotted me—the intruder—it giggled and slammed its massive fists together.
CRASH—! BOOM—!
The heavy, bursting sound of gloves clashing echoed through the alleyway.
It was a wave of violent Cursed Energy that had shattered concrete and pulverized human skulls.
But instead of fear, a smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth first.
Recalling the first page of the manual my father left behind—the acceleration steps—I lightly began my footwork.
"This is perfect."
Cursed Energy began to boil up from my toes, traveling up through my calves.
"Round 1... Fight."
The Cursed Spirit's movements were different from what I had expected.
This wasn't the brawl of a beast operating purely on instinct and raw power.
The creature tucked its chin, raised its guard, and approached while rhythmically bobbing and weaving its upper body.
Jab, jab, body, and then a high kick to the face.
"Ugh!"
A four-hit combination poured down in an instant.
To someone who had only ever pounded a punching bag, the tempo of actual combat was brutal.
A double left jab forced my guard up to my face; an off-beat body blow forced my head down; and the final high kick savagely whipped my neck to the side.
Born from indiscriminate violence, this was a variant that had somehow refined its nature into a 'fighting technique.'
I balled my fists tight and drew up my Cursed Energy.
'One shot is all I need.'
Channeling Cursed Energy into my ankles, I surged forward in a sudden burst of speed. I unleashed an explosive straight punch.
However—
My fist cut through nothing but air.
The creature instinctively took a quick backstep to dodge the trajectory, then used the reach advantage to launch a fierce front kick at my face.
"Kh—!"
THWACK! CRACK!
I allowed a few more hits to land.
My legs wobbled and my cheek split open, staining my vision red, but a certainty flashed through my mind.
'This thing isn't just hitting hard. There's a beat and a rhythm to its attacks.'
Light attacks to disorient my vision with small, fast strikes.
Then, just as my defensive rhythm grew accustomed to that shallow flow, it broke the meter with a heavy power strike.
A build-up that used feints to bait my guard, only to pile a lethal blow into the resulting opening.
It was like a song being played according to a well-composed score.
'Found it.'
The frequency of its jabs, the twitch of its shoulders, and the microscopic hitch in its breath before a finishing blow.
In musical terms, the point where the time signature shifted.
Whoosh—.
The Cursed Spirit's hook grazed my hair as it sliced through empty air.
It was my first perfectly read evasion.
Recalling the contents of the manual my father had left, I applied acceleration to my toes.
I forcibly wedged my own beat into its rhythm.
In the split-second vacuum where the creature retracted its jab, I lunged into that gap and drove a heavy body shot into its ribs.
THUD—!
The Cursed Spirit looked bewildered, but I had no intention of handing back the initiative I had just seized.
I reproduced the 'Double Jab - Body - High Kick' combination it had shown me earlier.
No, I infused it with my own reinterpretation.
Instead of probing jabs, I slammed two heavy overhead blows onto its guard to deaden its arms. Then, I buried a body shot into its exposed abdomen and launched a high kick at its bowed face.
SMACK! CRACK! THWACK! "I see it. The next measure you're going to play."
Our fists crossed in the air, the sound of bone hitting flesh tearing through the silence of the back alley.
The creature tried for an instinctive counter as if refusing to lose, but my senses were already hovering at the very top of its head.
Even before the adaptation could finish, my combat sense had already shredded its sheet music to pieces.
The creature's final, desperate rear-hand straight.
I read it. I dodged it.
And then—
I planted my strike.
The sensation of its jaw collapsing traveled right through my wrist.