The streets of Osaka were alive with the smell of fried dough, sea breeze, and faint traces of cursed energy that humans ignored. Lanterns swayed gently above the night markets, their light painting the cobblestones in soft orange. Yet beneath the cheerful ambiance, tension ran like an undercurrent—unseen, but deeply felt by those who could sense it.
Yuka adjusted the strap of her satchel, eyes scanning the crowd. She kept close to Yutsumi, who walked slightly ahead but still within her reach. His fingers brushed hers occasionally, and she tensed each time. Brother instinct, protective and unyielding, ran through her veins.
Tsurugi followed at a measured pace, hand resting lightly on his sword hilt, cursed energy pulsing faintly around him. "Don't relax," he muttered, though Yuka knew he wasn't talking to her.
They reached the center of the event—a wide square filled with stalls, chefs, and human families enjoying the Takoyaki festival. Banners celebrating the summit between humans and Simurians fluttered in the breeze. The air was thick with the scent of cooking octopus, sesame oil, and fried batter.
"This is… ridiculous," Yuka whispered. "All the world's tension, and here we are… eating street food?"
Yutsumi smiled faintly. "Even in war, people eat."
Maru stood slightly apart from the crowd, observing from a stall near the river. His posture was calm, eyes constantly flicking toward potential threats, analyzing patterns in the crowd. The third eye remained hidden, but Yutsumi could feel its energy, calm yet vigilant.
Cross, masquerading as Maru for the summit, moved through the crowd with deliberate slowness. His presence was subtle but calculated, reading reactions from humans, noting social behaviors, and cataloging patterns. Every smile, every startled glance, every hesitation—Cross saw it all.
"Why are we letting him roam?" Yuka whispered, low enough that only Yutsumi could hear.
Yutsumi didn't answer immediately. His eyes swept over the festival, the people, the shadows. "Because he's learning," he said finally. "And we need to know what he learns."
Yuka frowned. "We are the ones learning, Yutsumi."
Tsurugi groaned. "She has a point."
The summit had a single rule, enforced subtly by Jujutsu officials: maintain appearances. Humans and Simurians would mingle, exchange culture, and act as though no catastrophe loomed above their heads.
Yet even as they followed the protocol, Yutsumi noticed subtle signs: an older woman stepping aside quickly when a Simurian child brushed past her, a vendor adjusting his stance as a shadow passed overhead, subtle flows of cursed energy shifting in reaction to alien presence.
Yutsumi's fingers flexed unconsciously. Adaptive Perfect Copy hummed in his veins, not copying technique this time, but absorbing patterns—how humans behaved under pressure, how fear mingled with curiosity, how civility masked instinctive caution.
He wasn't just observing. He was learning.
Yuka noticed immediately. "Stop it," she hissed. "You're doing what he does—reading them like objects."
"I'm not," Yutsumi said, keeping his voice low. "I'm… understanding. So we can act safely."
Maru's figure approached them, slow, measured. "You three are unusually… relaxed," he said.
Yuka shot him a sharp glare. "We have to be. Unlike you, we can't just float above the crowd and ignore human panic."
Maru inclined his head slightly. "Observation is easier when the variables aren't panicking."
From a stall nearby, Cross watched in real time, noting every subtle movement. "The humans," he muttered, "they think this is a simple cultural exchange. They don't realize the stakes. Every action, every hesitation, every smile—they reveal their strategy, their weaknesses, their priorities."
Tsurugi muttered under his breath, "He's terrifying."
Yutsumi noticed, more instinct than thought. The way Cross moved, even in borrowed form, his mind cataloging everything—adaptive patterns, social cues, emotional triggers—it wasn't just intelligence. It was war, conducted without a weapon drawn.
The festival continued, oblivious to the undercurrents. Children laughed, lanterns swayed, and steam rose from freshly fried Takoyaki. Yuka's hand remained lightly on Yutsumi's arm, protective, though she tried not to suffocate him.
"You're too calm," she said finally, voice low. "It's unnerving."
Yutsumi met her gaze. "It's necessary."
"You're fifteen," she whispered, tone sharper now, almost a growl. "You shouldn't have to be necessary."
Her words pierced him—not because of what they said, but because of the devotion behind them. Yuka's protective instinct wasn't just sisterly; it was fierce, consuming, and utterly unyielding. It grounded him in a way that no cursed technique, no adaptation, and no observation could.
Maru's voice cut through the tension. "The cultural exchange is proceeding smoothly," he noted. "But Cross's presence—though hidden—is a variable you must account for. He will test humans subtly, provoke reactions, and catalog vulnerabilities."
Yutsumi's fists clenched slightly. "We'll be ready."
"Good," Maru said. "Because the real test is not today's festival. It is what comes next."
From across the square, a Simurian child tripped, almost falling into a display of Takoyaki. Yuka reacted instinctively, catching him before he hit the ground.
Yutsumi's cursed energy flared faintly. "Be careful," he whispered.
"Me?" she said, frowning. "I'm fine."
Yutsumi's eyes softened. "You're always fine… until you're not."
The child looked up, wide-eyed, and smiled. Yuka returned it faintly. Then she looked at Yutsumi. "We survive this together, right?"
He nodded. "Always."
The air shimmered faintly—Maru's third eye scanning, Cross's shadow observing, humans unknowingly acting as instruments of pattern and reaction.
Yutsumi inhaled. This was more than a festival. It was a battlefield of perception, a trial of adaptation, and a subtle clash of cultures.
Every observation, every decision, every movement mattered.
And above all, Yuka's devotion reminded him that some constants couldn't be copied, adapted, or predicted.
They had each other. And for now, that was enough to navigate the most delicate summit they had ever faced.