Chapter 19 – Place Your Bets
As a breeze swept through the field, Maki Zenin lunged like an arrow, legs exploding with power.
Here she comes!
Tatsuro's instincts screamed. His crimson Sharingan spun rapidly as he gripped his blade tightly and slashed with all his might.
Everything Maki had taught him yesterday was replaying in his mind—drilled in over hundreds of mental repetitions.
When to swing, how to move—it all surfaced automatically.
All he had to do now was follow instinct!
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
A rapid string of blade clashes echoed across the field. The spectators were stunned.
They're even?!
Maki's attacks were sharp, her angles precise. But she hadn't broken through his defense yet. Even she had to admit: this guy was freakishly talented. So many techniques—and he actually pulled them off.
Though to be fair… she was naturally gifted too.
Still, talent alone wasn't enough. Time to crush his ego a bit.
CLANG!
Suddenly, her strikes grew heavier.
Overwhelmed by the pressure, Tatsuro dropped to one knee. He hadn't been using cursed energy to reinforce his body—only the Sharingan. But this was why real combat mattered. Without a strong body, high-level fighting wasn't sustainable. And with his cursed energy reserves being pitifully small… he was already nearly out.
"This all you've got? Your body's way too weak."
Her words stung more than the strike itself. Tatsuro winced.
Sorry for being weak, okay?
Without the system's boosts, he'd probably already be broken. Literally.
But this was just the beginning!
"I haven't lost yet!"
Veins popped along his forehead as he rose under pressure.
Just as he stood, a swift kick sent him flying. Maki snorted.
"Yeah, yeah. Save the declarations. You didn't lose—fine. But don't yell about it."
---
On a dorm balcony overlooking the training ground, Gojo Satoru watched with a smile.
"Looks like everyone's getting along nicely."
"…You seriously dragged me out of bed just to see this?" replied Fushiguro Megumi, glaring daggers at him. "It's only 5:50 in the morning."
He was furious. Gojo had knocked on his door like a maniac, yelling nonstop. If he were stronger, he'd punch his so-called teacher.
"Come on now, early birds catch the worm! Besides, I'm your future mentor."
"I thought you were teaching them?"
"When they hit second year, I'll just send them off to do missions. That'll free me up for you guys. Efficient, right?"
"…If I were in their shoes, I'd totally beat you up."
Megumi looked back at the sparring match, watching Tatsuro and Maki go blow-for-blow. He stayed quiet.
No backing down now. I'm committed to this.
"I'm going back to sleep."
"So soon?" Gojo asked.
"Don't underestimate him, Gojo. If I lose tomorrow, I'll never live it down."
Gojo watched him leave and chuckled to himself. "Tough kid. But this scene feels weirdly familiar…"
Meanwhile, back in his room, Yaga-sensei sneezed and muttered, "Why do I feel like someone's talking crap behind my back...? Whatever. Two months 'til the Kyoto Exchange Event. Time to pick our lineup. This year, we're going all in."
---
Back on the training field—
Tatsuro lay flat on his back, staring at the sky, soul practically evaporated.
This is impossible. I can't beat her.
Without reinforcing his body, he couldn't even get close—he could barely dodge. His eyes could follow her. His body couldn't.
This sucks.
Fine. I'll play dead. But if Megumi pushes me tomorrow, I'm blasting him with fire.
"Get up and keep going!"
As soon as Maki spoke, Tatsuro grabbed his sword and roared, "I'm back!"
He couldn't win, but dammit, he could fight.
Because the most miserable part of all this?
Even while screaming about giving up—he was still grinding harder than anyone else.
As Tatsuro once said:
> "People who cry 'I've given up' out loud…
…are always the last meteor to crush their rivals from behind."
Like a cockroach, he rose again. Each time he fell, he stood up—blade in hand.
Maki didn't go all out. Just enough to knock him down, then yell: "Again."
Meanwhile, on the sidelines, Yuta, Toge, and Panda were making bets on how many times Tatsuro would lose.
The loser would owe the winner one month's worth of customized meals—a 50,000 yen prize.
None of them wanted to lose. Toge even pulled out pen and paper to write down his guess, just in case Panda tried to cheat.
"Salmon," he said, scribbling:
> I bet Tatsuro will lose 35 times.
"Thirty-five?!" Yuta gasped. "That's nuts! He's already been knocked down twelve times and he's gasping for air!"
A month of meals was no joke. If you won, you'd be eating like royalty for two whole months. If you lost, you'd be broke.
Panda added, "Alright, I'll say thirty."
"Your turn, Yuta," he added. "If you don't hurry, the bet's void."
"Give me a sec!" Yuta scratched his head. He looked at the wheezing Tatsuro and then, with steely resolve:
"Twenty-five!"
"Alright! All bets placed!"
Panda stood and yelled toward the training ground, "Tatsuro! Don't lose our dignity as men! Even if you fall—get back up! I'm proud of you!"
"…Huh?"
Tatsuro looked up, totally confused.
What the hell are you yelling about? If you're so proud, why don't YOU come down here and get beat?!
"Focus!"
BAM!
Maki kicked him in the ribs.
"ARGH! DAMN IT, PANDA—JUST YOU WAIT!!"