Mai gave him a long look.
He pushed the pistol back into her hand.
"Don't do that again," Ren said flatly. "I'm not interested in apologies like that."
She held his gaze for a second—then smiled, unfazed.
After that, things moved quickly.
Ren was formally enrolled.
Utahime spent the next hour outlining the basics of the jujutsu world—how sorcerers operated, how missions were assigned, how cursed spirits manifested from negative human emotion. It wasn't academic. Nothing here was theoretical.
Power meant survival.
They headed outside to the training grounds.
The air was cooler there. Open sky overhead. Steel racks, reinforced targets, training weapons arranged neatly along the perimeter.
"Fujima," Mai said as they stepped onto the field, drifting close again. "Back there—how did you do it?"
She leaned in, shoulder brushing his arm.
"I didn't even see you move."
Ren shifted half a step away.
"My physical ability is roughly twelve times that of an average person," he said.
It wasn't pride. Just math.
The composite had been formed from twelve merged souls.
Strength. Speed. Reflexes. Processing.
All scaled.
Mai blinked. "Twelve?"
"Is that your Innate Technique?" she asked immediately.
Ren shook his head.
"No."
He didn't elaborate.
She studied him a moment longer, then smirked faintly.
"Interesting."
Utahime clapped once to gather attention.
"Before anything else, you need to understand cursed energy," she said.
She gave a brief explanation—its origin in negative emotion, its flow through the body, its use in reinforcing physical strikes or activating an Innate Technique.
Then she nodded toward Miwa.
"Miwa, you're the most stable when it comes to basic cursed energy control. Guide him."
Miwa straightened instantly.
"Y-Yes!"
She stepped in front of Ren, fingers fidgeting slightly near the hilt of her sword.
"So… cursed energy reinforcement is the foundation," she began carefully. "You channel cursed energy into your body. It strengthens muscle output, reaction speed, durability—everything. But it has to be controlled. If it's uneven, you waste energy or destabilize your balance."
Her explanation was halting, but precise.
Ren listened without interrupting.
He followed her instructions—closed his eyes briefly and drew inward.
There it was.
Cursed energy.
Dense. Cold. Coiled.
He guided it into his right arm.
His skin tingled.
Every muscle fiber tightened and aligned with unnatural clarity. The sensation wasn't explosive—it was focused. Condensed.
He opened his eyes and looked toward the heavy-duty sandbag hanging from a steel frame nearby.
"May I?" he asked.
Utahime nodded. "It's reinforced for sorcerer training. Go ahead."
Ren stepped forward.
He punched.
The impact cracked through the air like a detonation.
The sandbag didn't swing.
It burst.
Reinforced canvas shredded instantly. Sand exploded outward in a violent plume, pelting the field like shrapnel.
Silence followed.
Grains rained down across the ground.
Ren lowered his arm slowly.
He glanced back at Utahime.
"You said it would hold."
Miwa coughed, brushing sand from her sleeve.
Mai stared at the torn steel frame.
Mechamaru's optic whirred audibly as it recalibrated.
"That bag was rated for Grade 2 reinforcement," Mai muttered.
Ren looked at his fist.
"My base strength is already multiplied," he said calmly. "That was before adding cursed energy."
The implication settled heavily in the air.
Utahime exhaled once.
"…I'll request specialized equipment."
Ren scanned the training field.
The metal bars. The wooden dummies. The practice targets.
They all looked fragile now.
"Miwa," Utahime said quickly, regaining control. "Continue."
Miwa nodded, still visibly shaken.
"There are efficiency techniques," she said, trying to steady her voice. "You can reduce cursed energy loss by smoothing the output. Instead of flooding your limbs, you compress it. Direct it. Think of it like layering rather than coating."
She demonstrated briefly, reinforcing her own arm before striking a wooden target cleanly without splintering it.
Ren observed the flow.
Understood it.
He adjusted his output subtly.
The energy became tighter. Sharper.
"Are you following?" Miwa asked carefully after explaining several refinements in succession. "I might have gone too fast."
Ren met her eyes.
"Please continue."
His tone was even.
"My cognitive processing is also enhanced."
Miwa blinked.
"…Enhanced how?"
"Proportionally."
Mai stared at him.
"Twelve times?" she asked.
Ren didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Mechamaru's jaw plates shifted with a metallic click.
Utahime folded her arms, watching him.
She had already known the facts.
Hearing them spoken aloud still felt unreal.
Rare Innate Technique. Extreme physical amplification. Accelerated cognition.
Her thoughts drifted briefly to a tall man with silver hair and an infuriating smile.
Gojo Satoru.
Tokyo had Okkotsu Yuta.
Kyoto now had Fujima Ren.
The next exchange event would not be one-sided.
Utahime allowed herself the faintest smile.
On the field, Ren flexed his fingers once more.
The air around him seemed to tighten subtly, as though space itself adjusted to accommodate him.
He didn't look triumphant.
He looked contained.
Which was far more unsettling.