"Yūsei: Carnival World!"
Both voices rang out simultaneously.
[Carnival World: The 100 Girlfriends Who Really, Really, Really, Really, Really Love You (Uncensored)]
[Theme: Fight and Ultra-Ultra-Ultra]
[Rule: The loser must be completely drained by everyone present before passing out!]
[Note: Even the weak have the right to be drained!]
Fujimiya and the shabby sword charged at each other at the same time—their speed, angles, footwork, even the sand kicked up by their steps were identical.
This was a battle between oneself and one's own sword.
The struggle between Shinigami and Zanpakutō was always thus.
Yet, there were differences.
Fujimiya narrowed his eyes, observing the shabby sword's short stature and tiny limbs. A gleam flashed in his eyes.
"Clang—!"
Their blades collided with a heavy, dull clang.
The shockwave of spiritual pressure sent sand exploding outward in two distinct plumes behind them, scattering in radial bursts.
The moment their swords met, Fujimiya's expression stiffened.
Why is she so strong?!
"Heya!"
The shabby sword twisted her blade, the edge flashing upward and forcing Fujimiya back. He barely dodged the tricky slash, only for her to immediately follow up with a strike aimed at his thigh.
"Screech—!"
Fujimiya reversed his grip, attempting to deflect the slash, but her force was overwhelming. Their blades ground together, sparks flying in a screeching shower of embers, nearly wrenching the sword from his grasp.
In the midst of their deadlock, the shabby sword suddenly lashed out with a kick. Her slender, pale leg whipped forward, trailing a white gust of wind.
"One Foot!"
Her childish voice rang out.
Fujimiya's eyes widened as he swiftly retreated.
His evasion left the shabby sword's tiny foot to slam into the sand.
"BOOM—!"
The seemingly soft kick struck the ground like a meteor, sending a massive dust plume billowing dozens of meters into the air. The shockwave rippled outward, carving a massive crater into the beach as if a sea monster had taken a bite out of it.
Using the dust as cover, Fujimiya Flash Stepped behind her at high speed, swinging his sword toward her back.
Yet, without even looking, she twisted her wrist and blocked the strike with her own blade.
Pivoting on her heel, she slashed in a fluid, whip-like motion, the blade humming faintly as it cut through the air.
"First Form, Revised: Arc Strike!"
As she spoke, a thin film of spiritual light coated her blade. The slash traced a graceful arc around her, like a calligrapher's flourish, forming a ribbon of light that encircled her body.
Fujimiya barely had time to react, raising his sword in a desperate block.
The moment their blades clashed, sparks erupted in midair—and Fujimiya's sword was violently knocked aside. The shabby sword closed the distance in an instant.
"Sshink—!"
A flash of steel sliced through the air.
Fujimiya stood frozen in a defensive stance, his chest heaving.
A long, bloody gash now ran down his torso, his clothes split open.
Half an inch deeper, and he would have been bisected.
Too close.
But...
Why is she so much stronger? Faster?
And what's with those techniques?
Fujimiya shared her memories, so he knew he'd never developed a kick-based bone-breaking strike or a circular steel-cutting slash.
"Dummy~"
Before he could even voice the question, the shabby sword smugly tilted her head, her adorable appearance making her pride all the more charming.
(Assuming, of course, she wasn't holding a sword.)
"If you've never seen it before, obviously I made it up myself!"
"You already know this, right, Fujimiya Fujimiya?"
"The king and the steed."
The little brat hefted a sword nearly as tall as herself, the tassel at its pommel swaying gently.
A sweet smile spread across her face as she echoed his own words:
"—Between two identical beings, who dominates the battle, and who is forced to submit?"
"What exactly is the difference?"
"Fujimiya Fujimiya."
"Do you really understand?"
Hearing this, Fujimiya's expression froze.
Before he could process it, the shabby sword was already charging at him—even faster than before, giving him no time to think.
Her strikes were heavy, relentless, impossibly quick.
Under this onslaught, Fujimiya's mind went blank, his sword barely managing to parry.
The shabby sword's face was alight with joy, as if she'd lost herself entirely in their duel. Her slashes were wild and unrestrained, reminding Fujimiya of his early days in the Zaraki district, when he'd fought purely by instinct.
Each strike landed like a hammer on an anvil, the metallic clangs exploding in his ears.
The little brat continued shouting gleefully:
"Slow! Lazy! Indecisive!"
"I hate all these things about Fujimiya Fujimiya!"
"You're the kind of guy who can look at a girl like you want to lick her all over, make her shiver with just a glance!"
"You've got that creepy, leering stare—like a fly rubbing its hands on a toilet seat, or a crow eyeing rotting meat!"
"If you just unleashed that unchained horny energy, Fujimiya Fujimiya could defeat anything!"
"But—"
Her voice suddenly drew out as she raised her sword high—
And brought it down in a devastating arc.
"BOOM!"
A geyser of sand erupted, the sheer force of the slash carving a trench through the beach and splitting the ocean beyond in a towering wave.
The shabby sword turned, hefting her oversized blade with one hand, her brow furrowing in displeasure:
"The current Fujimiya Fujimiya..."
"Is utterly lacking in purity!"
"Completely!"
Fujimiya, having barely dodged, flushed with indignation.
"W-What kind of description is that?!"
"Who even is that guy?!"
No way!
Absolutely no way!
Fujimiya refused to accept that was his image.
"Still don't get it?" The shabby sword sighed, hands on her hips like a disappointed teacher. "Even though we're the same, why am I stronger, faster, more creative than you?"
"Isn't the answer obvious?"
The moment she finished speaking, she vanished from Fujimiya's sight.
A sharp gust of wind whistled behind him.
"WHAM—!"
Fujimiya tumbled across the sand, scrambling to his feet as he stared at the shabby sword in disbelief.
She's even faster now?! Stronger?!
Is this allowed under the [Script] rules?!
How?!
As he frantically pondered, his peripheral vision caught the crowd of "girlfriends" standing at the periphery.
Their expressions had completely changed from before—now, they all looked at him with worry, tension written across their faces.
What's... this?
The shabby sword explained softly: "The rules were clear from the start, weren't they?—Every [Script] is based on Fujimiya Fujimiya's heart."
"In other words, these are all worlds you 'desire.'"
"At their core..."
"They're the manifestation of your ugliest desires."
"The crystallization of your lust."
Her childish voice was at odds with her words as she tilted her head. "Did you really think there'd be 'fair' rules in a place like this?"
Hearing this, Fujimiya suddenly remembered something.
The [Host] had privileges.
1. Before the game begins, establish one 'Pact' as an additional rule for ending the game.
2. Has the authority to assign 'roles' to both parties.
3. Can request to change the [Script] once.
These 'rules' had been etched into his mind from the very beginning.
That's right.
His [Script] was never fair to begin with.
Fujimiya's eyes snapped back to the shabby sword standing before him, realization dawning.
If the rules were unfair...
Then was it possible...
His greatest advantage had never been openly stated?
Was this why the shabby sword was stronger than him?
"Finally figured it out?"
The little brat's face broke into a delighted grin as she giggled:
"Our greatest strength is 'desire'!"
"The more pure, profound, and overwhelming that desire..."
"The stronger we become, the faster we grow!"
Her words came faster and faster: "Your first fight with Unohana-sensei, your first duel with Saitou-chan, the first time you shook off the Reishi-suppressing cuffs in front of Katori-chan, the first time Kiri-chan taught you Kidō, the first time you fought Shihōin Senju and couldn't stop imagining Yoruichi as a catgirl—every single explosive leap in strength!"
"The desire for lust! The desire to win! The desire to live! The desire to show off in front of cute girls—"
"All of it fuels growth that's temporarily amplified tenfold, a hundredfold in the [Script]!"
With that, the shabby sword raised her blade, pointing it straight at Fujimiya.
As if finally venting all her pent-up frustration:
"I!"
"Am resisting the urge to drown in a hedonistic paradise with [The 100 Girlfriends Who Really, Really, Really, Really, Really Love Me] to fight you seriously!"
"Do you have any idea how much I'm—"
Her tirade cut off abruptly.
She turned to Fujimiya, who had slowly risen to his feet, and a sudden sense of dread washed over her.
Fujimiya swept his bangs aside, his face relaxed as he let out a low chuckle:
"So... that's how it is."
"It's that simple."
He shook his head, as if mocking himself.
Seeing his calm demeanor, the shabby sword's unease only grew.
This isn't good.
Before she could react, Fujimiya adjusted his pants and smirked at her.
"Honestly, I've been meaning to tell you."
His handsome face split into a benevolent grin:
"Even though you're usually so talkative..."
"You're kinda cute in here."
The shabby sword froze.
To her, Fujimiya's smile was like a demon's rose—her heart pounded with terror as she felt the tsunami of desire surging from him.
Oh no.
I-I'm gonna get wrecked?!