Beneath Mitaka Jin's seemingly primitive mechanical body, streams of data flickered behind his glowing red eyes—patterns of alien intelligence weaving silently behind the chaos.
The gears at his knees twisted with a sharp click.
He stomped the ground.
The earth shattered beneath him like glass. In the next instant, Mitaka Jin became a yellow blur, rocketing forward and appearing directly in front of Gojo Satoru.
Before Gojo could react, a heavy mechanical fist smashed into his abdomen.
A burst of black light erupted from the impact—matching the very technique Gojo had used moments earlier. The ground beneath them splintered and cratered, and the sheer force of the blow sent a shockwave deep into the earth. Underground pipes ruptured violently, spraying jets of water into the sky.
Without pausing, Jin opened his mouth. A familiar hum of energy built between his jaws—scarlet light condensed around him like a cannon preparing to fire.
It was the same technique Gojo had unleashed earlier, almost perfectly copied.
The beam erupted, slamming into Gojo's position with terrifying speed and accuracy.
But as the smoke cleared—dissipated quickly by the rising water—Gojo Satoru stood motionless, completely untouched. His clothes were pristine, not a thread out of place.
Even the water around him looked… frozen.
On closer inspection, it wasn't truly frozen—it was suspended. The flow halted inches from his skin, as though blocked by an invisible wall.
A faint smile played at Gojo's lips. "Ohhh? What's this? You copied my technique? Heh… now things are getting interesting."
From afar, Shiro Sakamaki observed the scene with narrowed eyes, his expression grim.
This mechanical monster didn't just possess brutal strength and unbreakable defenses—it could imitate techniques. If it wasn't dealt with quickly, its adaptability would only make it more dangerous.
Still, he'd already spotted the flaw.
Though Jin had replicated the external attack, he couldn't duplicate the true essence of Gojo's technique—the infinity surrounding his body. That wasn't just spiritual energy—it was a distortion of space itself. The infinite distance between Gojo and everything else meant nothing could truly reach him.
That… wasn't something you could copy.
Meanwhile, Misaki stood silently at the edge of the battlefield, tears streaming down her face.
Just a few days ago, Jin had been someone she trusted—someone human.
Now he was a monster. And there was no going back.
She didn't turn to Shiro for help. The answer was already clear. There was nothing left to save.
Back in the sky, the battle only grew fiercer.
Gojo Satoru wasn't holding back anymore. His movements were fluid, calculated—and faster. Despite the rapid exchange of blows, he maintained that maddening grin.
And yet, this wasn't the invincible Gojo of legend.
He was still growing. Still refining his power. And in this fight, he'd found his perfect whetstone.
The monster pressed him hard, but with every clash, Gojo's spiritual energy surged higher. Shiro felt it too—his aura thickening, coalescing, breaking through.
Gojo realized it as well.
So he pressed forward, pushing himself past the edge.
Blow after blow, light and energy collided in the air. The shockwaves tore through buildings, sent debris flying, and left the earth below unrecognizable.
Then, in a flash—
Gojo struck.
With one hand, he redirected Jin's arm, leaving his chest exposed.
With the other, he drove his fist into the metal torso—black energy crackling around his knuckles.
BOOM.
A small crater formed from the impact, but Gojo didn't stop there.
He grabbed the arm, pinned it, and unleashed a barrage of rapid strikes.
Thirteen consecutive Black Flashes—each blow more devastating than the last.
Metal shrieked. Jin's body, once impenetrable, began to crumble.
With the final strike, a golden gear was exposed in his chest—glowing faintly, alive. Different from the rest of his mechanical body. This was it—the core.
As the light in his red eyes faded, the monster's frame went limp.
Gojo could feel the energy draining away. The fight was over.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the limp body aside, eyes fixed on the exposed gear.
He floated down, ready to retrieve it.
But the moment he reached for it—
Shiro Sakamaki appeared out of thin air.
The gear was already in his hand.
Gojo's eyes widened. "What the…?"
Then, quickly regaining composure, he smiled. "Shiro-kun, come on. That gear's clearly my prize, yeah?"
Shiro turned the gear over in his palm. It vibrated against his touch, trying to squirm free—desperately drawn toward his body like a magnet.
He smirked and wrapped it tightly in spiritual energy. The gear immediately fell still, sealed inside the barrier.
Then he slipped it into his coat pocket.
He gestured toward the wreckage below. "There's plenty of junk left for you to clean up. Let's leave this one for Misaki… as a keepsake."
Of course, that was a complete lie.
Shiro fully intended to experiment with this thing.
Gojo stared at him, speechless.
A lie that obvious—and said with such a straight face—left him choking on his own thoughts.
He groaned. "Man… the elders back home strictly told me not to let anything go missing tonight…"
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