The first time you saw Takako Uro in motion, you underestimated her.

She didn’t look like much at first—thin frame, quiet presence, drifting like fog at the edges of the battlefield.

There was something distant in her expression, like she wasn’t really there with you but somewhere else entirely.

But you had faced your share of ancient sorcerers dragged back into the modern age. You knew not to judge by appearance.

Still, she moved too softly. Too gracefully.

She didn’t radiate power the way some did—no suffocating cursed energy, no booming aura announcing her arrival.

And that was your mistake.

She didn’t need to radiate anything. Because when she struck, the entire world bent with her.

The moment her technique activated, it was as if the laws of physics themselves began to slip. The air warped with unseen pressure.

Angles that should’ve been impossible suddenly existed. Trees behind you twisted like clay, the sky overhead folding into itself for half a second.

And then she was gone—vanished from sight. Your cursed energy flared in panic. You spun. Too slow.

A palm slammed into your shoulder—not a heavy hit, but the space around it warped violently. You were thrown sideways, not backwards.

Your body skidded along the ground in a spiraling arc, crashing through a tree that should’ve been meters behind you.

She was standing where you’d been a heartbeat ago, robes swaying gently, not even out of breath.

You couldn’t find her cursed energy.

She wasn’t hiding it—she just didn’t need it to dominate the battlefield. Her technique made the terrain hers, turned the world itself into a weapon she controlled at will.

Every time you tried to counter, she was already somewhere else.

A blow aimed at her chest passed cleanly through, the angle shifted just enough to miss by millimeters.

You blinked, and she was crouched behind you, foot sweeping your legs out in a perfect arc. Then your face met the dirt.

When you hit the ground this time, you stayed there.

A shadow loomed over you. Takako stood still, arms folded, the sky behind her bleeding soft orange as the sun began to fall.

“You rely too much on what’s in front of you,” she said simply. “The battlefield is never just the ground. It’s the space.”

You coughed, breathing shallow. She wasn’t mocking you. She wasn’t cruel. Just… stating facts.

She extended a hand. You hesitated, then took it. Her grip was cold, her fingers calloused.

“I’ve seen war,” she said quietly, pulling you up. “Real war. The kind that eats through generations and turns children into weapons. You think I survived that by being stronger? No. I survived by bending the rules of the world until they cracked.”

When you were on your feet again, she let go. Takako turned and began walking back toward the clearing’s edge, arms loose at her sides.