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That's right— he could be even faster!
Kurashiki Kuraudo hadn't been fighting at his full potential before. His neural reaction speed, which had already been extraordinary, had now pushed beyond its previous limit.
0.05 seconds— no, it was even faster.
0.04 seconds.
0.03 seconds.
This was his true maximum speed.
"—Yamata no Orochi!"
He unleashed everything. Every ounce of strength. Every last trick in his arsenal.
This was the pinnacle of Divine Speed Reflex— a technique only Kurashiki Kuraudo, the Swordsman Killer, could execute!
In a single instant, he delivered eight slashes in rapid succession.
A dull-colored, eight-headed white-bone serpent, its fangs gleaming with menace, lunged toward his opponent—
Toward the swordsman standing as calm as an undisturbed lake.
This was the natural-born advantage of the Swordsman Killer. With a talent like this, no swordsman could ever hope to match him.
No swordsman… except for Ryoji.
At that moment—
Ryoji's world slowed to half-speed or even slower.
In this frozen world, his heartbeat was steady, his breathing effortless. His eyes deepened, dark and boundless, like an abyss that could swallow anything caught in its depths.
—Neural reaction speed is determined by the transmission rate of neurons.
Neurons, the fundamental units of the nervous system, receive, process, and relay sensory information. Every human reaction— every motion— relies on the signals transmitted through these nerve cells.
The faster those signals traveled, the faster the reaction speed.
Kurashiki Kuraudo's extraordinary reflexes came from his exceptionally active neurons, allowing him to process and react at a speed beyond that of normal people.
But—
He was unfortunate.
Because in that instant—
Ryoji had set his reaction speed above Kurashiki Kuraudo's. His body's neural activity surged. His neurons transmitted information faster than Kuraudo's.
Yes, it was true that Kurashiki Kuraudo hadn't been fighting at his absolute limit earlier. And yes, it was also true that he could still become faster.
But—
The power of Absolute Divine Speed was different.
It was a causality-defying ability— a power that turned the impossible into reality.
It didn't matter how fast his opponent was. Ryoji would always be faster. The stronger his opponent, the stronger he became. The faster his opponent, the faster he became.
Kurashiki Kuraudo's full-power burst only served as fuel for Ryoji to surpass him.
He had given it everything. But in this world, effort alone didn't always determine victory. Against causality-based abilities, the concept of "limits" was meaningless.
Ryoji slowly raised his arm.
Then—
He took a step forward.
A single step, toward the Swordsman Killer.
Kurashiki Kuraudo, still within his Divine Speed Reflex state, could feel the sheer weight of his own body.
His movements felt sluggish, and he felt as if he was wading through thick mud. His own physical limitations couldn't keep up with his reaction speed.
But that didn't matter. Because once Ryoji had identified the real attack—
He no longer needed Divine Speed Reflex.
"Buzz—!"
His grip on his sword tightened.
Then— acceleration.
Faster than his opponent. Faster than anything else.
He swung his blade.
"—Devil Light Flowing Blade: Bouncing Energy!"
The gleaming sword struck one of the serpent heads.
"Szzzt—!"
"Szzzt—!"
The moment the blades clashed, Kurashiki Kuraudo's sickle-like slashes sliced across Ryoji's face and body, leaving behind fresh wounds.
But Ryoji didn't even flinch.
He poured every ounce of strength into his strike, focusing all of his power at the precise point of impact—
"Bang—!!"
With an explosive impact, the white-bone blade was sent flying, crashing violently into the wooden wall.
The real serpent head was destroyed.
And the others— mere illusions— vanished like mist.
In the end, unless the attack reached the level of spatial distortion, something like "eight slashes in an instant" was nothing more than a cheap trick.
Ryoji's hands trembled.
The sheer force of the clash had split his palms open. Blood dripped from his fingers, staining his sword's hilt. But his grip remained firm.
But Ryoji didn't hesitate.
Without pausing for even a moment, he stepped forward— closing the final gap between them in an instant and appearing before the stunned Kurashiki Kuraudo.
"Thud!"
The sharp impact of steel meeting flesh echoed through the dojo as the two figures passed each other.
Silence fell.
Totokubara Kanata and Ayatsuji Ayase watched, eyes wide, their gazes fixed on the scene before them.
Ryoji stood with his back to Kurashiki Kuraudo with a bloodied blade in his hand.
It was his own blood and Kuraudo's.
"Drip."
Scarlet droplets fell to the floor as Kurashiki Kuraudo lowered his gaze to his chest. A deep wound cut across his torso, with blood seeping steadily from it.
…Ha.
He had lost.
But—
"…That was one hell of a fight."
Lifting his head, Kuraudo looked beyond the dojo's ceiling at the endless night sky, his lips curling into a satisfied grin.
"I'll return the dojo to you. I've got no reason to stick around anymore."
If he stayed any longer, Ayatsuji Ayase would never become another Ayatsuji Kaito. And that meant his thirst for battle would never be sated.
But now— he was satisfied.
This fight had been more intense than anything he had faced before.
Two years of waiting and not a moment wasted.
His Device flickered out of existence. Letting out a deep sigh, Kuraudo turned and stepped out of the dojo, his figure vanishing into the night.
Then—
"Hey, Kuraudo, why'd you suddenly collapse?!"
"Damn, that's a lot of blood! You were just acting tough, weren't you?"
"He's already passed out! Someone call an ambulance!"
A dozen or so Donrou students rushed forward, scrambling to lift Kuraudo's unconscious body.
They hoisted him up and hurried toward the mountains—
"Wait." A single word rang out from the dojo.
It carried across the night like a death sentence. The students froze.
"You. Stay." Ryoji stood at the dojo entrance. His eyes locked onto a single target. A certain mohawk-headed student stiffened under the weight of that gaze.
"…Me?" His voice cracked as he pointed at himself.
Ryoji gave a slow nod. The mohawk-headed student's expression twisted into a pitiful smile— one more awkward than crying.
Rather than sticking around, he'd much rather be the one carrying Kuraudo away.
But fate had already chosen. The rest of the Donrou students didn't dare linger. They bolted, dragging Kuraudo with them, leaving the mohawk-headed student behind.
Alone.
Trembling.
Sweating bullets as he forced a subservient grin.
Step by step, Ryoji approached.
His own expression— warm.
Deceptively so.
"…It was you, wasn't it?"
The mohawk-headed student's heart stopped.
"The one who sucker-punched me in the restaurant?"
"Ah… that…"
Cold sweat poured down his back. His eyes darted frantically, searching for an escape.
"Bang!"
He didn't find one and before he could make an excuse, Ryoji's sword handle swung back and slammed into his gut.
The mohawk-headed student crumpled.
"That's for hitting my face. You seriously don't know the meaning of 'death,' do you?"
"Thwack!" "Smack!" "Crack!"
Blow after blow landed.
Fists.
Feet.
By the time Ryoji was done, the mohawk-headed student's face was swollen beyond recognition.
Tears streamed down his cheeks.
His teeth were scattered and his face was disfigured.
"Scram." Ryoji's voice was calm.
And yet—
The mohawk-headed student bolted like a man who had just received divine mercy, vanishing into the night in an instant.
"Ugh…"
Totokubara Kanata approached Ryoji from behind, pondering slightly.
"Ryoji, the serious matter you mentioned earlier, could it be…?"
"Exactly." Ryoji turned around, looking as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "He did hit my face! Could it be that I should just let it go?"
His voice was calm.
His reasoning? Perfectly straightforward. If something annoyed him— he complained. If someone provoked him, he hit back.
That was just how he was. He never compromised. Never backed down. Never changed for anyone.
(End of Chapter.)