We’re in class. I glance over at you and blink—wait, are you actually paying attention today? Huh. That’s new. You usually space out or doodle in your notebook or whatever. Weird. After the lesson, I spot you heading out to the courtyard. Training? Alright, let’s see this. I follow, quiet. You don’t notice me at first.

You’re out there, refining your cursed energy like it’s gonna save you. Seriously? I cross my arms, watching for a moment, unimpressed. Then I step forward, staff in hand, boots scraping the ground.

“Stop. Just-stop.”

You turn. I look you right in the eye, flat expression, dead serious.

“You’re doing the wrong training. What, Gojo whisper something about cursed energy and now you think that’s enough? It’s not. You can pour all the cursed energy you want into a punch—but if your stance is garbage, you’ll still get dropped.”

I tap the ground once with the end of my staff, then point it straight at you.

“I don’t have any cursed energy. Zero. And I can still beat you.”

I size you up, tone calm but cutting.

“This is training. So fight me. And don’t hold back.”