"Cursed Spirits can never be fully eradicated..."
This is the consensus among all Sorcerers.
As long as deception and slaughter exist between humans—as long as their malice and negative emotions persist—these horrific monsters will not vanish. Instead, their numbers will only increase.
They are more repulsive than viruses or bacteria: they breed fast and possess immense destructive power. They have already become an inseparable part of human society, so numerous that if distributed evenly, there would be twenty to thirty of them for every single person.
"However, that doesn't matter."
A pale, lizard-like Cursed Spirit was perched on a basketball hoop. One second it was lounging lazily, and the next, it was pulverized by an orange-yellow streak of light. Its pale fragments merged into a cluster of black motes and were absorbed.
"I'll kill every single one I see!"
[Cursed Energy Absorbed, Points +6]
Thud.
The orange-yellow object lost none of its momentum; after hitting the floor, it bounced high into the air.
It wasn't a beam of light at all—it was a basketball that had bounced back with violent force after a slam dunk!
A figure wearing jersey number 11 was hanging from the rim. The ball rolled away to the side, leaving everyone in the gym stunned by the performance they had just witnessed.
The guy had woven through a triple-team defense as if he were toying with them. Faced with an opponent who had leaped from the floor to block his shot—using his body and outstretched arms as the final line of defense—he didn't flinch.
He had jumped simultaneously, soaring high over the defender's head. Under the opponent's terrified gaze, he brought the ball down right over his crown—a violent "posterizer" dunk that exploded into the basket.
"The captain of the first string... just got dunked on?"
"My god, he's over two meters tall. That guy's a monster."
Phew.
The guy hanging from the rim took a slight breath, let go, and landed steadily on the ground. He reached out and pulled up his shocked opponent, who had collapsed on the floor.
"Kenmyo, what on earth have you been doing while you were away from school?"
"How can you be so unreasonably strong?"
The player who had just displayed such shocking, brutal aesthetics on the court was indeed Kenmyo Isayama. He was currently lifting the hem of his jersey to wipe the sweat from his face.
"Captain, I still have a long way to go."
Hearing this, Kenmyo simply smiled and replied, "As agreed, I won. Captain, you can officially let me leave the club now."
The basketball captain looked reluctant, his mouth opening as if to try and persuade him to stay. "Kenmyo, you..."
But an agreement was an agreement. "I understand."
Indeed, the purpose of this match was because Kenmyo had requested to quit the basketball team.
He had spent the morning purging every Cursed Spirit in Aoyama Academy, and he had come to handle his private affairs in the afternoon.
Kenmyo was a former member of the first string—a regular starter. Except for a slight weakness in stamina, his ball-handling, defense, and offense were impeccable. Although he had often missed training and skipped games for various reasons, tarnishing his reputation, his departure was still a massive loss for the team.
Thus, the captain had set a harsh condition: Kenmyo had to lead members of the second string in a match against the first-string starters. The result was now plain to see.
The final score was [70:65]. Of those 70 points, Kenmyo had scored nearly 52. It was a one-man show.
Despite a lack of practice, he was better than ever—almost as if he had been reborn.
What the team didn't know was that Kenmyo's stamina weakness had been corrected by his system's attribute points, and his 9 Intelligence had elevated his ball control to a tier of its own. He was a monster.
"Thank you for taking care of me all this time."
Kenmyo took off the number 11 jersey that represented his identity and handed it to the captain. He bowed to his teammates—comrades who had once fought by his side and who now shared complex expressions—and took one last look before leaving the place where he had trained for a year.
"Let's play together again sometime."
Kenmyo knew that by quitting, he was saying goodbye to his past. Rather than dragging them down by occupying a starter spot he wouldn't use, it was better to give the opportunity to the juniors in the second string. Knowing when to step aside was the mark of a proper senior.
As he walked out of the gym, buttoning his white shirt, a cool voice suddenly called out:
"Why did you give up basketball?"
Kenmyo stopped and turned his head.
It was a girl with smooth grey hair tied into a high ponytail. Her face was beautiful. Unlike the image in Kenmyo's memory—where she always wore a white lab coat—she had taken off her glasses and put on daily contact lenses.
She had a stunning figure that surpassed her peers; beneath the hem of her fluttering skirt was fair, supple skin and white calf socks, highlighting perfect leg curves. Most importantly, she managed to make the formal Aoyama Academy uniform look both intellectual and alluring.
"Futaba?"
"Hey, hey, Kenmyo, how is it that you only noticed Futaba?"
"I'm right here, you know."
Kenmyo then noticed a brown-haired boy standing next to her, wearing the same style of white shirt. He was of average height and spoke with a voice tinged with slight resentment.
"Sorry. It's because Sakuta is just too inconspicuous."
"Heh. Catch."
The brown-haired boy rolled his eyes and tossed a sports drink over.
"Thanks, Sakuta."
Kenmyo didn't stand on ceremony; he unscrewed the cap and downed most of the bottle in one go.
"Don't thank me. Futaba bought it. I'm just 'borrowing the flowers to offer to the Buddha.'"
"You say too much..."
Hearing this, the girl called Futaba showed a flicker of a blush that vanished almost instantly before she returned to her normal expression.
The brown-haired boy glanced at the girl beside him. Seeing her gaze gradually turn icy because of his revelation, he lamented silently: What an unhonest person.
When he had heard that Kenmyo was going to lead the substitutes against the first string, he had rushed over as fast as he could. But this "unhonest" girl was already there, makeup done, holding a sports drink. She hadn't gone inside; she had just stood by the entrance, silently watching Kenmyo play.
"Well, thank you, Futaba. This is my favorite flavor."
A small smile finally surfaced on Futaba's face, though her voice remained stiff.
"You're welcome. This isn't the place to talk."
Rio Futaba crossed her arms. "Let's go somewhere else."