Jujutsu Kaisen: Cursed Times

Black Flash

A rare phenomenon among Jujutsu Sorcerers. Not a skill — not something you simply learn. It was the result of harmony between body and cursed energy that bordered on the divine.

Cursed Energy usually trails behind a physical blow. That's because sorcerers must think to control it — and thought causes delay. Even first-rate sorcerers suffer from this infinitesimal lag.

But Black Flash was different.

It occurred when a strike and cursed energy connected at an error margin of exactly 0.000001 seconds. In that moment, Cursed Energy distorted reality, and its luminous hue turned black — surging with power 2.5 times greater than normal.

Landing a Black Flash wasn't about precision. It was about entering the extreme focus. A trance-like state where cursed energy flowed as naturally as breath. Where thought disappeared. Where the sorcerer and the world moved as one.

Most never landed one. Few could ever do it more than once.

But for Shingen — it came naturally.

His Technique, Time Wheel, allowed him to manipulate the perception and flow of time around himself. And with it, he could force that impossible window of synchronization to appear.

He could feel when it was coming — see it, even. Everything slowed. Breath. Motion. Light. And in that decelerated world, he could accelerate his cursed energy, guiding it to strike just after his fist made contact.

That was how he landed his first Black Flash.

And now... he could land one in ten strikes or less.

Shingen grinned to himself. "Not perfect… but I'm getting there."

After the cursed spirit in the hospital had been reduced to a smear of ash and shredded rags, Shingen let out a small sigh. He still felt a high humming beneath his skin — energy leftover from the fight.

He wanted to keep going.

But the cursed spirit hadn't lasted long enough. I should've held back a little…

Behind him, Maki stood with her naginata resting against her shoulder, brows slightly raised. "You look disappointed."

"I kind of am," Shingen admitted. "I think the next punch might've been another Black Flash."

"You're saying that like it's something you can just choose to do," Maki muttered.

He scratched his cheek sheepishly.

The second-grade cursed spirit had regenerative abilities, but that had meant nothing once it took two consecutive Black Flashes. Its layers of ragged cursed flesh, its deceptive durability — all gone in a storm of compressed cursed energy and impact.

Even Maki had paused, eyes narrowing. She wasn't one to lavish praise, but the raw force of those strikes wasn't something she could ignore.

"Tch... let's go finish clearing the stragglers," she said, spinning her naginata back into a ready stance.

They split up.

Low-grade cursed spirits were scattered like mold spores — hiding in patient rooms, crouching behind equipment, clinging to shadows and sorrow. These were weak things, barely threats, but their stealth made them frustrating to track.

Compared to the earlier battle, the cleanup took longer than expected.

•••••

By the time they stepped out of the hospital, the sun had sunk below the horizon. A nondescript black car waited by the curb, and beside it stood a man in a plain black suit, his figure stiff and formal like the world's most exhausted salaryman.

"Ijichi-san!" Shingen called, waving.

Ijichi Kiyotaka, assistant director and all-purpose administrator of Tokyo Jujutsu High. Officially, he was part of the support corps. Unofficially, he was Gojo's glorified secretary — and perpetually stressed about it.

"You've completed the mission?" Ijichi asked, adjusting his black-rimmed glasses. His dull tone didn't hide the relief in his posture.

Shingen gave a lazy thumbs-up. "Exorcised, just need two punches. Maki cleared the rest like a whirlwind."

Maki didn't correct him.

"Understood. No additional assignments. Shall I drive you back to campus?"

"Not yet," Shingen said, stretching with a yawn. "I vote we eat first. I'm starving."

"Sukiyaki," Maki added. "He's buying."

•••••

Dinner was good — hot, savory, and satisfyingly earned.

When they returned to school, the dorms were lit up and the courtyard was alive with late training. Panda spotted them first and immediately waved them over with his large, furry arms.

"Genichi! Took you long enough. We finished our mission hours ago!" he boasted, flexing with an exaggerated pose.

"Salmon," Inumaki said, nodding in agreement.

Before Shingen could respond, Maki casually dropped the truth like a blade: "He one-shot the Cursed Spirit with two Black Flashes. We went for sukiyaki after."

Panda's jaw dropped. "Wait, wait, wait! You ate sukiyaki and didn't bring any back?!"

"Sorry!" Shingen raised both hands defensively. "Didn't know if you guys were done."

"I'm a panda, Genichi! I'm always hungry!" Panda lunged at him, mock-wrestling him to the ground.

"Tuna mayo!" Inumaki cheered, watching the chaos unfold.

The next few days settled into a comfortable rhythm.

Training, sparring, classroom lessons, then missions.

Their preliminary ranks had been updated — Shingen and Inumaki were officially Second Grade, Panda was Semi-Second Grade, and…

Maki: Fourth Grade.

It was an insult, Everyone knew it.

But Maki didn't flinch.

After Gojo told them about the Zen'in Clan's interference, everyone's feelings toward Maki's family soured. Even Panda wanted to march to the Zen'in estate and pick a fight. Shingen, on the other hand, used sarcasm so sharp it could be considered a cursed tool.

"It's okay," Maki said, silencing them all. "I'll prove it myself. Every rank,Every inch."

"Damn right you will," Panda said.

"Mustard," added Inumaki.

Shingen gave her a grin. "We believe in you, Maki."

She smiled at them, just a little — and then clapped her hands together.

"Alright, since you all care so much, today we're doing cursed tool sparring and physical combat. No Cursed Energy allowed."

Silence and Horror envelope everyone.

"Traitor!" Panda shouted.

"I take it back!" Shingen tried to bolt.

But it was too late.

•••••

The training ground was brutal.

Maki held her wooden staff like a general commanding an army, beating lessons into them one swing at a time. Panda and Shingen bore the brunt of her righteous fury — and her impeccable martial technique.

"WEAPONS," she shouted mid-swing, "are extensions of your body!"

Thwack.

"EVERY movement has intention!"

Smack.

"DON'T just swing wildly, Genichi, use your goddam brain!"

Shingen blocked, parried, then had his sword slapped clean out of his hands and was sent skidding across the sand.

Maki pointed the tip of her staff at his chest. "You dead, Again."

Shingen groaned. "Can't we at least use cursed energy to soften the blows…?"

"Nope."

"I'm filing a harassment report…"

"I encourage it."

But even amidst the bruises and aches, something real was taking shape.

Their teamwork sharpened. They understood each other's fighting styles. Where Panda tanked, Inumaki supported, Maki carved through lines, and Shingen — he stood at the eye of the battlefield, unleashing surgical long-range fire… or diving in with a black-flash punch that changed everything.

They bickered and sparred.

But they were becoming something dangerous.

A real team.

And somewhere, Gojo Satoru stood on a rooftop, watching the training ground below with a grin tugging at his lips.

"Not bad," he said to no one in particular. "Not bad at all."

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Word Count:1,186