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Of course, awakening the Heavenly Restriction wasn't a one-track path.
There was a more direct method—one that involved erasing the last traces of Cursed Energy within Maki Zen'in's body. Once her Cursed Energy dropped to absolute zero, the Heavenly Restriction would reach completion. But Akiyama Ren wasn't in a hurry.
Now wasn't the time to awaken Maki's full potential.
So long as her Restriction remained incomplete—her body still bound by limits she couldn't surpass—she would be forced to focus on Magic training, which, in Ren's eyes, was the foundation she needed first.
Maki listened carefully, and for the first time, she didn't feel resentment toward her body's unnatural state. For so long, it had made her feel like a defective tool in a cursed clan. Now, it felt like a rare gift—just badly wrapped.
"It's already getting late. Let's grab lunch. When we're back, I'll show you something new," Ren said, glancing at the time displayed on his phone.
"Sounds good. I'm starving," Maki replied, stretching her arms with a yawn.
Magic training, unlike Jujutsu which relied heavily on manipulating cursed energy, was rooted in the channeling of life force. It meant pushing one's body past its limits—burning calories, burning strength. The side effect? A monstrous metabolism.
After stepping out, the two found a quiet, old-fashioned diner just around the corner. Simple rice, grilled mackerel, miso soup—nothing fancy, but satisfying.
Ren watched with some amusement as Maki devoured five full bowls of rice without a second thought, each one disappearing faster than the last. Around them, other customers glanced over, dumbfounded.
Setting her chopsticks down, Maki dabbed the corner of her mouth and said awkwardly, "Uh… Was that too much?"
Ren chuckled. "Not at all. You've got the Heavenly Restriction on you. You're practically a furnace. If anything, five bowls might not be enough."
Inwardly, he found it endearing. Girls with big appetites had their charm—and it reminded him of his younger sister, Adagaki Aki. She had the terrifying metabolism of someone born under a divine sign. No matter how much she ate—deep-fried pork cutlets, sweet parfaits dripping with syrup, even late-night instant noodles—her body never stored an ounce of it. Her energy never ran out.
Ren had always been secretly jealous.
If everyone had that kind of physiology, humanity would've cured obesity, diabetes, and probably a third of all lifestyle diseases.
"No wonder," Maki murmured, "I usually stop at three bowls, but today I felt like I'd faint if I didn't keep going."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "Wait—three bowls is your normal?"
She blinked. "Yeah. Why?"
He just sighed and muttered something under his breath about monsters.
When they were done, Ren stood and stretched. "Alright. Ready to go?"
Maki quickly reached for her wallet. "Wait, let me pay. I still owe you for three meals anyway after all the Magic training."
"You're not counting this as one of those meals, right?"
"This was too cheap. Doesn't count," she replied with a grin.
"…Fair enough," Ren said, satisfied with her response.
But instead of heading back to the apartment, Ren led Maki down a different path—past the usual crowded intersections, through the back streets, until they arrived at an old outdoor basketball court surrounded by rusted fencing and tall, withering trees.
Maki glanced around. "Here? What are we doing?"
Ren held up his fingers in a half-seal. "Teaching you something you can't show anyone."
With a whisper, he invoked a barrier technique. "Born from shadow, darker than dark—defilement, residue—be sealed and banished."
A shimmering dome—like a thin veil of black glass—descended from above, enveloping the entire court in a soundproof barrier. A Curtain. Nothing inside could be seen or heard from the outside.
Now she understood. This wasn't normal training.
Ren summoned his divine energy and conjured two shimmering war blades—each one infused with spiritual steel, forged through the divine blueprint of the War God's blessing. One of them he tossed to Maki.
"Let's spar. You'll use nothing but your martial techniques. I'll do the same. Physical strength only."
Maki caught the blade, eyes narrowing. "You sure?"
"Try me," Ren said, blade held loose at his side.
Maki Zen'in didn't wait for Akiyama Ren to finish his sentence.
A blur—a flash of movement like a sharp gust of wind—was all he saw before she closed the gap between them. The war blade in her hands whistled through the air, aimed squarely at his shoulder.
Sharp… but controlled.
Ren's gaze flicked up in the split second before impact. "Back of the blade? Not even aiming for the head?" he said coolly, raising his fingers. "You holding back on me?"
Clink!
With only two fingers, he caught the flat of her blade mid-swing. No blood. No impact. Just the sound of steel caught in a grip that shouldn't have been possible.
Maki's eyes widened. "What the hell…?"
She instinctively pulled back, but her sword wouldn't budge. His fingers didn't tremble. They didn't even shift. It was like trying to move a blade embedded in a mountain.
Ren finally released his grip, letting the metal ring faintly as it slipped free. "You're strong, Maki," he said, stepping back, "but don't pull your punches. Show me everything."
Maki exhaled slowly and took up a two-handed stance. Her eyes sharpened, her aura shifting. "Fine. You asked for it."
Killing intent flooded the barrier like a pressure wave. Even the still air inside the sealed space grew heavy.
"That's more like it," Ren said, smiling with anticipation. He planted his feet and readied his own blade—not with the ease of a swordsman showing off, but with the weight of someone who lived in combat.
No more words were exchanged.
Maki surged forward, blade-first. This time, she was fast—easily triple her initial speed. Her war blade struck with violent precision, aiming not to test but to overwhelm.
But to Ren, it might as well have been in slow motion.
He could've dodged. He could've parried with a finger again. But that wasn't the point. Today wasn't about winning.
It was about learning.
He moved fluidly, stepping into her strike instead of away from it. Their blades met with a resounding clang, the sound echoing off the barrier. Sparks danced between them.
Maki stumbled back from the collision, the shock running down her arms.
Ren stood tall, unmoving.
She gritted her teeth. "What the hell are you made of?"
But she didn't stop. Blow after blow rained down, each with more force than the last. Her technique was solid—measured, powerful, refined by years of resentment and struggle. But Ren wasn't just defending. He was responding—with form, with rhythm, with intent.
Every counter he gave came from a different sword style. One moment he fought with the precision of a shrine warrior from ancient Kyoto, the next with the sweeping power of an Oni-slaying exorcist. His movements weren't just efficient—they were elegant. As if every strike was part of a dance older than jujutsu itself.
What Maki didn't know was that Ren wasn't just teaching—he was learning.
Within his mind, the sacred blueprint of martial techniques—refined, storied, and drawn from divine memory—continued to unravel. Not from mystical downloads, but from the Authority of War, a divine favor granted by the Noragami system. He wasn't copying from legends—he was becoming one.
This wasn't just about blades. It was about building something beyond the conventional boundaries of the jujutsu world. A synthesis of swordsmanship, spiritual combat, and the unique magic he had begun introducing to Kyoko and Maki. A form of battle that bent old rules and wrote new ones.
He wanted more than strength. He wanted mastery. Total unity of mind, weapon, and soul.
And the battlefield—no matter how small—was his forge.
A half-hour passed like a breath. Blades clashed, bodies weaved, and the sound of training echoed through the sealed domain.
Finally, drenched in sweat and gasping for air, Maki lowered her blade.
"You—hah—you used me as a training dummy," she said between heavy breaths. "You switched styles over a hundred times."
Ren grinned, twirling his sword with casual flair. "A good partner sharpens both blades. Don't worry, I'll teach you those forms too. Patience, Maki-chan."
She glared at him, but there was a flicker of admiration behind the exhaustion. "You're a monster."
Without warning, she lunged forward again.
And once more, the blades danced.