You were perched on the flat, gravel-strewn roof of the main campus building, three stories up. Your right arm, transformed from the elbow down into a sleek, matte-black rifle barrel, rested on the parapet. A single strand of your hair, solidified into a long, needle-like round, was chambered and ready.

Below, in the fenced-off sparring ring, Yuji Itadori was a blur of motion. He was sparring with a second-year student, a whirlwind of pink hair and flying kicks. He was laughing.

From your vantage point, you could track the flow of cursed energy in the ring like heat signatures. You could see the second-year’s next move forming—a feint low, a strike high. Yuji wouldn't see it in time.