"Black

FLASH"

The thunderous impact reverberated through the empty streets in a shockwave, leaving asphalt and concrete shattered into pulverized dust in the wake of a high speed projectile smashing into yet another faceless battle-scarred building. A trail of curse energy leaked from the clenched fist responsible for the destruction, trickling out and dissipating in flickering waves as the hand slowly unfurled and reached back to run through well-kept jet-black hair, revealing a face of contempt and disappointment.

"...I really thought I had it this time."

He sighed, brushing off concrete dust from his black pressed suit and carefully stepping around glass shards as he made his way to the freshly created opening in the wall. With one small hop he jumped down, floors flying by, his landing cracking the ground in a jagged spiderweb pattern. He straightened up, and flicked his wrist in a circular motion as a familiar weight settled into his palms, a long-handled gavel forming from nothingness. It felt good in his hands as he gave it a few idle test swings through the air, but it did nothing to ease his frustrations.

It wasn't clicking.

He was missing something.

"Tch."

He clicked his tongue, the taste of failure still lingering bitterly. How many days has it been, how many sorcerers has he gone through, and still nothing to show for it. He could feel the raw power of curse energy brimming beneath his skin, filling his muscles, running through his blood, settling in his bones... yet his usage of it is no more impressive than a brute's. There was certainly the aspect of luck behind the spatial distortion blow, but even so it felt like something he should've been able to perform at this point. His jaw clenched as his wrist flicked faster in irritation, swinging the gavel in a barely restrained manner as he let its handle loosen and lengthen until it resembled more of a whip, or sentient serpentine creature as it thrashed about, letting out the deep rooted annoyance he felt.

He was Higuruma, wasn't he? Sure, he wasn't THE Higuruma... but he took his talent and his body. For all intents and purposes, he was the man himself, the prodigy with talent on par with Satoru Gojo's. Was there something wrong with how he decided to go about all of this? Was it because he didn't choose to truly live as Hiromi Higuruma and was only a facsimile of the man himself? Hell, was the real Higuruma out there and the reason he couldn't be the same talent, an imposter who couldn't replace the original as long as they still remained?

He didn't realize that he started biting his nails until he tasted blood. He spat out on the ground in disgust and wiped his mouth. Old habits die hard, even in a different world and body. His face looked up to the sky, those overcast skies that seemed to never truly match with the day as it passed, shifting between sunset and noon when it pleased. He closed his eyes and let the light soak through his eyelids.

He wasn't Hiromi Higuruma. No, he was just some stranger who thought he could wear his shoes, fit in his suit, talk in his voice, and wield his power as if it were his own. Even taking his last name. Harry Higuruma. Who was he fooling, if it wasn't only seeking to fool himself. No, he should've thought more before casting his old self behind and attempting to reinvent himself through some simple declaration.

The gavel in his hand steadied and slowly receded until the handle fit snugly back into his hand. He gave it a small toss upwards, watching it lazily spin in the air before he let it fall back into his grasp. That was the real issue, wasn't it? Trying to be something he's not. A Lawyer, a Prodigy, a Fighter, a Champion. To win a game that would be impossible for anyone else.

He shook his head.

He wasn't him.

As he stood in contemplation, the debris from the building across from him started shifting. Rebar groaned as it was bent and tossed away, freeing the figure from the wreckage. Bleeding, yet still unbowed, a overweight middle-aged man stretched out his arm and pointed at Harry.

"HEY! Are you going to keep talking to yourself or what?! We're still fighting over here!"

Harry stared, an incredulous expression plastered on his face. He didn't manage to land a Black Flash, but that still was one of his more powerful blows, critical hits be damned. He slowly straightened his posture and addressed the man.

"Apologies. I didn't think you'd still be standing." Harry said dryly, adjusting his tie.

"You mean after you punched me through a building like a cannonball? Well, it's going to take a lot more than that to put me down!"

He felt a twinge of embarrassment, it wasn't like him to get distracted and start muttering, but it faded as the initial surprise was replaced with focus. It took the original Higuruma about 20 sorcerers to reach his level of expertise. Harry had hit 12 in three days. He may not be the man himself, but he can still certainly try to live up to expectations.

He flipped his gavel and felt as the handle extended and the head grew larger for a size more optimal for crushing rather than mere bludgeoning, and approached to meet the other man's challenge. It's funny how accustomed he's become to these life-or-death battles in just a matter of days. He adapted quickly to this pattern of conflict. Maybe there is a bit of Higuruma's talent still in him.

As the man clasped his hands and summoned strange pink spherical shikigami, Harry reared up his now warhammer sized gavel to cut them right down. With the shrieking sound of splitting air, their clash was interrupted as a wave of pressurized cutting force cleaved through the street between them.

No, cleaved was the wrong way to describe it.

It was Dismantled.

Harry leapt back, the impact barely catching and glancing off his gavel, sending him tumbling to the ground and sliding a few feet as he quickly recovered, bracing his legs with curse energy to kneel into a crouching stance and stop his momentum. The other man had reacted in the nick of time to avoid the blow, sacrificing several shikigami to knock himself out of harm's way in a wild tackle as they ruptured in confetti-like chunks. The man sputtered and quickly climbed to his feet, yelling out.

"Aw man, I didn't come here to get third partied. I'm out! Let's settle this elsewhere!"

Harry watched as the man shuffled away back into the concrete jungles of the city, and attempted to steady his breathing, turning to face where the attack had originated from. In the distance between the rooftops and shimmering ever-shifting Domain spaces, he could see structures serrating and crumbling into pieces as they were cut from an unseen force. Catching his breath, he heaved himself back to his feet.

That type of power could only come from two people. The Heian Era Monster himself... or someone borrowing his power. So far he felt like he was the only one here who was able to emulate a figure like that, but now he had some decent evidence that they were right in the same zone alongside him. Lucky, he thought he'd have to go out of his way to find his so-called teammates. Another day and he might've thought about breaking away to get rid of that growth rate debuff if he couldn't succeed on a breakthrough.

He brushed off the small pieces of rubble on his pants and adjusted his collar. Time to make new friends or maybe new enemies. Either way, he'll see them at his sharpest. No need to let them know of his struggles. After all, the entire city knows his name at this point and wants a piece of him.

He's Harry Higuruma.

The prodigy beyond even that of Satoru Gojo.