Chapter 14 – Copy and Paste?
After dinner—
Tatsuro lay in bed, gazing at the starry sky beyond the window. A red-white meteor streaked across the night, becoming the brightest thing in the heavens.
For him right now, Fire Style: Great Fire Annihilation was basically a trump card—after all, one blast of it drained almost a third of his cursed energy, and that was just the minimum cost. There was no upper limit.
The Sharingan wasn't much better. It was also a high-consumption ability. If he activated both at the same time, he'd basically become the "Out of Mana" poster child, just like Kakashi.
Ten minutes of activation = One day of weakness.
So in real combat, unless necessary, he'd better not use both at once. The cost wasn't worth it for minor skirmishes.
That meant for now, his focus should be on two things: physical training and copying Maki's taijutsu with the Sharingan.
When it came to raw martial ability at Jujutsu High, Maki was clearly the strongest—she could literally kick a curse into the wall with zero cursed energy. Tatsuro couldn't do that. Yet.
So, for the time being, his plan was:
Train his body,
Use the Sharingan to replicate Maki's taijutsu,
Learn jujutsu directly from Gojo.
Because, frankly, Great Fire Annihilation drained way too much energy. If he was sent on high-intensity exorcism missions, he'd pass out halfway through.
Having made up his mind, he gradually felt the pull of sleep and drifted off, dreaming about future greatness.
---
The next morning.
The sound of his alarm echoed in his ears.
"Riiing—"
A faithful morning companion, his bedside alarm clock was still chugging away like always.
Tatsuro opened his eyes and turned toward the faint morning light spilling through the window. It was 5:30 a.m.
The sun hadn't fully risen yet—only a sliver showed on the horizon. But this was the time he had set for himself. Early bird gets the worm, after all. Morning was perfect for jogging and light workouts.
He got dressed quickly, splashed his face with water, and headed out to the training field.
But he wasn't the only one up this early.
There stood Maki Zenin, already soaked in sweat, wielding her naginata.
Each swing looked casual, but none of them were. Every blow stirred the scattered leaves on the ground. Her toned arms flexed with power—she was the picture of strength and grace.
Tatsuro stood nearby, watching. He instinctively activated his Sharingan, hoping to memorize her moves.
Maki noticed him out of the corner of her eye but didn't stop. She just smiled faintly and kept swinging.
Without speaking, the two entered a silent lesson.
Tatsuro carefully observed her form and footwork, letting the Sharingan feed him every detail. His mind entered a blank, almost meditative state.
The sheer flood of data overwhelmed him—like watching it all again in a mental training realm. He could even track how sweat slid off her skin.
But this kind of mental load came at a price.
After barely ten minutes, Tatsuro collapsed, gasping for air. He vomited his half-digested dinner on the grass.
"Blaaaargh!"
His head felt like it was splitting open. You've got to be kidding me—just mimicking a movement causes this much pain?
"Uuugh!"
He groaned, trying not to black out.
This Sharingan is garbage… There's no way it's my brain's fault.
A voice rang out.
"Done already? Not copying with those fancy eyes of yours anymore?"
It was Maki—and she sounded rather proud of herself.
"You did that on purpose?" Tatsuro retched again.
"Of course I did. I sped up my swings a little just to mess with you."
She planted her naginata in the ground, picked up her water bottle, took a long drink, and sat on a bench.
"I've suspected your eyes were different since jujutsu training ten days ago. If you've got that kind of visual processing ability, I figured I'd give you a real test."
She smiled devilishly.
Tatsuro wiped his mouth and forced himself to stand. Cold sweat ran down his face. His breathing was erratic. He was clearly still shaken.
No surprise—she was a Zenin. Her insight and composure were top-tier. But then again, what student chosen by Gojo Satoru wasn't sharp?
Yaga's creation, Panda.
Toge Inumaki from the cursed speech clan.
Yuta Okkotsu, rumored to be Gojo's relative.
Maki Zenin, from one of the Big Three clans.
All of them could be protagonists in their own right. No wonder they were so ridiculously competent.
And she figured out my eye power just by watching me once…
Am I the idiot here?
"…You're right. My eyes do have strong observational and replication abilities. But that's not all. Actually—"
Tatsuro straightened up and said proudly, "I'm also… a ninja."
"…"
Maki looked at him like she was staring at a lunatic fresh out of the psych ward.
She opened her mouth as if to say something… then stopped.
The expression in her eyes screamed:
You okay? Still concussed from that coma?
"Ten thousand yen," Tatsuro blurted. "And I'll shoot fire from my mouth."
Maki rolled her eyes, picked up her naginata, and started practicing again.
"Don't believe me, fine," Tatsuro mumbled, then sat on a bench and closed his eyes, replaying the copied movements in his mind.
It was like he was watching a virtual training replay. In this mental dojo, he could slow down moves, rewind, or zoom in. The Sharingan was insane for this.
He could even feel the chill of each blade swing in this space.
Time passed.
When he opened his eyes again, Maki was jogging on the track nearby. Her naginata rested in the grass.
Almost without thinking, Tatsuro picked it up and started mimicking the swings.
Though his early movements were clumsy, the Sharingan automatically helped him adjust. His rhythm gradually synced.
Even so, his body wasn't the same as hers. Maki could do splits. If he tried, he'd snap something.
The gap in physical fitness was obvious. He'd need to enhance his body with cursed energy just to keep up.
"Wait a second… Did he just copy my moves already?!"
Maki, mid-jog, turned in disbelief.
His swings weren't perfect, but they were unmistakably hers.
She'd spent years mastering those strikes—and he mimicked them in minutes.
As someone who had clawed her way up with no cursed energy, Maki prided herself on strength and discipline.
And now… her moves had been stolen right in front of her.
There was only one response.
Beat. Him. Up.