Chapter 32 – Sensei, You May Begin
Itou Shuuichi's voice echoed from the hallway. Following behind him was none other than Murata Shoichi.
"Good evening, Teacher Shuuichi. So what are you planning to teach me today?"
Tatsuro responded cheerfully.
"Haha, we'll start with the basics. But if you learn quickly, I'll teach you more advanced stuff. Shoichi, take over the patrol—I've got to go train this little monster."
Shuuichi clapped Murata on the shoulder.
Feeling the weight of responsibility settle on him, Shoichi didn't hesitate, speaking with a touch of pride, "Well, Captain, you lost. Leave it to me."
"Good."
With a simple handoff, Tatsuro followed Shuuichi under the envious gazes of the other guards.
After all, this was the Captain's entire martial arts legacy. While in this day and age muscles may not be able to beat lawsuits, to them, this was more valuable than gold.
Winding through the massive estate, they eventually reached the backyard, where a small building stood. Tatsuro couldn't help but marvel again at the sheer size of the compound—it took them five whole minutes just to walk there.
But now wasn't the time to be jealous. Power was what mattered. Once he mastered this, he could exorcise that curse.
Clunk—
The heavy iron door creaked open. Shuuichi turned on the light and said, "Come in already, don't just stand there."
"Yes, sir."
Upon entering, Tatsuro was surprised to see the training setup. An iron dummy stood in the center—its surface covered in dents and scratches, corroded by rust and age.
Did he really punch iron until it warped?
That was the only logical conclusion.
Other than the strange dummy, the rest of the equipment was fairly standard—weights, benches, chairs, and a worn-out sandbag suspended in the middle.
"When did you start working here, Teacher?"
"When?" Shuuichi thought for a moment. "About half a month ago. Signed on for a two-month protection contract. Once that's over, I'll go back overseas to be a mercenary again."
"Mercenary…" Tatsuro picked up a dumbbell. "Aren't mercenaries constantly facing life-or-death situations? You're over thirty already, Sensei. Why not go home and enjoy life?"
"Enjoy life?" Shuuichi chuckled bitterly. "If I die on the battlefield, that's my version of 'enjoying life.' I'm not the kind who can sit still."
His tone was laced with resignation. It made Tatsuro curious about his new master's past.
Shuuichi seemed like the kind of man who expected to die in battle—and maybe even wanted to find someone worthy enough to kill him.
In that sense, he reminded Tatsuro of Gojo-sensei—a powerhouse who'd grown too strong for his own good.
"Alright, put the dumbbell down. You're already a monster in terms of physicality. No need to waste time with weights. I'll demonstrate everything once. How much you learn is up to you."
Tatsuro, struggling just to lift the dumbbell, grumbled inwardly: If I had that much raw strength, I wouldn't even need to train like this…
He put the weight down and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the three flashy gold watches on his wrist. He took them off and set them on the table. Then he put on his sunglasses and crossed his arms coolly, sitting on the chair like a mob boss.
"Alright, Sensei—you may begin."
"…"
"You trying to get smacked?"
Shuuichi stared at the three gold watches. They looked legit.
And the sunglasses? Seriously?
"Don't worry, Sensei. These are special glasses. They help me focus when I'm learning. You can even take a watch if you want—I just, uh, received them from three very generous citizens this morning."
"…Right."
Shuuichi obviously didn't buy the "learning-enhancing sunglasses" bit. But since he only had to demonstrate once, and Tatsuro didn't seem like the type to slack off—he let it go.
Though if you do slack off, I'll break your legs.
"I'm serious! Without the sunglasses, I can't absorb anything," Tatsuro said solemnly as he activated his Sharingan.
"…Fine. But just once."
Shuuichi gave in. If this had been the old days, his own teacher would've broken his ribs for acting like that.
He took a deep breath and began to demonstrate his techniques.
Tatsuro focused with everything he had.
Behind the sunglasses, his red Sharingan spun rapidly. Each movement, each strike, was locked into his mind.
Shuuichi's style was brutal and efficient—close-range combat meant to kill.
First, a dash to break guard.
Then, left punch to the gut.
Right elbow to the neck.
Finish with a rising knee to the groin.
Absolutely savage.
But on a real battlefield, elegance meant nothing. Real martial arts were meant to take down enemies quickly and decisively.
Cursed spirits might not have those weak points, but humans—especially sorcerers—certainly did.
Besides, jujutsu battles aren't always about exorcising spirits. Sometimes, you fight other people.
For Tatsuro, anything his Sharingan could copy, he'd take. No such thing as "too many skills."
Time ticked by.
Sweat soaked Shuuichi's body. Each punch was accompanied by flying droplets, yet every strike was still precise.
Tatsuro wasn't faring much better.
The sunglasses reduced visibility and made using the Sharingan even more taxing. On top of that, the mental load was building.
This was both pain and pleasure.
His mind buzzed from absorbing new knowledge, but the strain was making him nauseous.
His vision spun. His stomach churned. His eyes throbbed in pain.
Can't… keep… going…
Before he knew it, blood trickled from the corners of his eyes, dripping onto the floor.
Shuuichi noticed and instantly stopped.
"You okay!?"