In the summer of their second year at Jujutsu High, Gojou Satoru notices something wrong with his best friend. Getou Suguru is absorbing cursed spirits alone, coming back hollowed out and sick, wearing a smile that's thinner every time Satoru sees it. The strongest sorcerer in Japan can see everything through the Six Eyes—except how to put into words what's slipping away between them. In the neon-lit alleys and quiet dorm halls, between shared daifuku and unspoken worries, Satoru keeps reaching
Until the Strongest Choose Each Other Again - Beside the Strongest, the Night You Spat Out
There was an unnatural presence in the alley.
A night in early July. The heat of the entertainment district rose from the asphalt, and as the building's exhaust vents breathed out lukewarm air, Gojou Satoru came to a stop. Behind his sunglasses, the Six Eyes caught the residue of cursed energy seeping from the shadows of a mixed-tenant building. The smell of gutter and garbage stung his nose. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the laughter of drunks.
(This feeling... Getou?)
Satoru stepped into the alley without a sound. His tall frame—black high-neck shirt collar loosened, the technical school uniform worn sloppily—melted into the gaps between streetlights. His silver-white hair swayed faintly in the passing wind.
What he saw there was far worse than he'd expected.
Getou Suguru was bracing himself against the wall, vomiting. His long black hair clung to his cheeks with sweat, and behind his asymmetrical bangs, his narrow eyes were squeezed shut in pain. The black gauge earrings at his ears caught a faint glint of light.
His back was trembling.
Getou's cursed energy, as seen through the Six Eyes, was terribly clouded. Normally it was a clear black—the deep, quiet color of a Curse Manipulation user who had tamed the cursed spirits he'd absorbed into himself. Now it was rough, like muddy water stirred up. Satoru could see the cursed spirits Getou had just absorbed still rampaging inside him.
(...How many did you take in?)
Satoru thought it. He didn't say it. Instead, he called out in his usual light tone.
"You okay there, Getou? Puking in an alley like this—did a cursed spirit get a bite out of you?"
Getou's shoulders gave a small jump.
He turned around slowly. Wiped his mouth, straightened his back. The movement was astonishingly natural. So neatly composed you'd never guess this was a man who'd been throwing up moments ago.
"Satoru. What are you doing out at this hour?"
His voice was calm. Polite, composed, the usual Getou Suguru.
But that smile—it was thin.
It used to have more... substance. Mischievous, with room to spare, the kind that made you laugh too. What floated on Getou's lips now was just a thin membrane of a smile, shaped correctly and nothing more.
"I was passing through on my way back from a mission, and my best friend's puking in an alley. Course I'm gonna say something."
Satoru shrugged. He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. About two meters of distance. Not too close, not too far.
"It's nothing. I just let the heat get to me a little."
Getou said that, and smiled again.
(Nothing, huh.)
Satoru narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses. The Six Eyes showed him the cloudiness of Getou's cursed energy all too clearly. It wasn't the heat. That was the backlash from just absorbing cursed spirits. Curse Manipulation—a technique that compresses subdued cursed spirits into spheres, takes them into the body, and controls them freely. As compensation, the user directly tastes the cursed spirits' negative emotions. Nausea was only natural.
Getou was absorbing cursed spirits in bulk on his missions.
And doing it alone.
"Hey, Getou."
Satoru called out.
"What is it?"
"...Nah, never mind."
He started to say something, then stopped.
He didn't know what to say. Asking "are you okay" again would be tactless. But pointing out "you're absorbing too many cursed spirits" felt somehow off, too.
Silence filled the alley.
From the distant entertainment district, drunken laughter rang out again. An ambulance siren wailed somewhere. A lukewarm wind passed between them.
"What about you, Satoru? Is your mission finished?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, done, done. Nothing but small fry—it was boring."
"That's good to hear. Must have been unsatisfying for the strongest."
"Right? They didn't even need me there."
They traded light banter.
The usual rhythm between them. A back-and-forth they'd repeated countless times since becoming second-years at the technical school.
And yet, something was off.
Getou's laughter came a beat late. His gaze wandered not to Satoru's face but somewhere slightly below it.
(Wishful thinking?)
No, it wasn't.
The Six Eyes kept catching the disturbance in Getou's cursed energy. Even if the surface pretended calm, the inside was a mess. The lingering traces of the absorbed cursed spirits clung to Getou's cursed energy like black stains.
Something pricked at the depths of Satoru's chest.
(How much are you forcing yourself right now?)
The moment he thought it, Getou moved.
"Well then, I'll be going. I have a mission tomorrow too."
He pushed off the wall and headed for the alley's exit. Satoru called after his back.
"Hey, Getou."
Getou stopped. Didn't turn around.
"...What is it?"
"I'll walk you. Let's go back to the school together."
Getou finally turned around.
His face was wearing that thin smile again.
"You worry too much, Satoru. I'm fine."
"I'm not worried. I just feel like taking the train."
Satoru caught up with a few long strides and fell in beside him. From a vantage point about two inches taller than Getou, he glanced at his profile.
Getou looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end said nothing and started walking.
Together, they passed through the night's entertainment district.
Neon light swayed in the lukewarm wind. None of the people passing by looked at them. People who didn't know sorcerers existed. Who didn't know about cursed spirits.
Satoru found himself thinking.
(These people don't know a thing.)
Cursed spirits born from negative emotions. Sorcerers who exist to exorcise them. About four thousand across all of Japan. Against a population of a hundred and twenty million—roughly one in thirty thousand. A rare breed.
The school that trains those sorcerers is the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College—Jujutsu High, for short.
Located in the mountains of western Tama, with grounds of about a hundred and twenty thousand square meters. Protected by a barrier, outwardly a technical school on the verge of closing. A handful of students per grade. Satoru and Getou were second-years there.
Both of them, special-grade sorcerers.
Sorcerer grades run from fourth to special, and special-grade is judged by whether one could overthrow the nation. Only four such sorcerers exist in Japan—the highest tier. Two of them were high school second-years.
"Hey, Getou. We're special-grade, aren't we."
Satoru said it quietly.
"We are. What of it?"
"Special-grade's kind of insane, right? Means we've got nation-toppling power. Aren't we just terrifying?"
"What are you saying at this point? What's terrifying about you isn't just your power."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. Your personality's pretty terrifying too."
"Says the guy who's one to talk."
They laughed together.
It was a little more natural than before.
They walked the road to the station side by side. The night wind blew lukewarm.
—And still, the unease in Satoru's chest didn't fade.
That flimsy smile. The clouded cursed energy. Getou, absorbing cursed spirits alone and throwing up in an alley.
(Something's wrong.)
He thought so.
But he still didn't know how to put it into words.
The next day.
The school dorms. Satoru left his room and gave a light knock on the door next to his.
"Getou—you in there? Open up!"
After a moment, the door opened.
Getou stood there in his loungewear. His long black hair was loosely tied back, earrings removed. His narrow eyes looked at Satoru, still a little sleepy.
"...Good morning, Satoru. You're noisy first thing in the morning."
"Look at this. Souvenir from my Sendai trip."
Satoru thrust out the paper bag he was holding.
What came out was a white box. When he opened the lid, zunda-colored daifuku were lined up neatly inside.
"Kikufuku. Zunda fresh cream flavor. These are insanely good. Figured I'd let you try one."
Getou gazed at the daifuku in the box for a while.
Then he gave a soft laugh.
—Different from that thin smile. A way of laughing that resembled the old Getou, just a little.
"Thank you. But something sweet first thing in the morning is a bit much."
"There's always room for sweets. Come on, just try one. They're good."
Satoru took one of the daifuku and held it up to Getou's mouth.
"Hey, stop that."
Getou smiled wryly and took the daifuku.
He bit into the white daifuku, and the sweetness of the zunda spread through his mouth.
"...This is delicious."
"Right? You should become a sweet tooth too, Getou. Then the battle for Kikufuku begins."
"A battle? We're not children."
Getou laughed.
This time, he was really laughing. The corners of his eyes softened slightly, and the corners of his mouth rose naturally.
Seeing that smile, Satoru felt just a little relieved.
(Good. He can still laugh properly.)
That's what he thought.
"Hey, let's go get zaru soba for lunch. I want the tempura at that place too."
"That's sudden. What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing. I just feel like eating soba. You like zaru soba, don't you?"
"Well, yes, I do."
"Then it's settled. I'll come by your room at noon."
Satoru said only that, then promptly returned to his own room.
Just before the door closed, he thought he heard Getou say something quietly.
He didn't catch it.
Noon.
A small soba shop near the school.
Satoru and Getou sat side by side at the counter.
The scent of dashi drifted through the shop. Old wooden pillars. A bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. A handwritten menu pasted on the wall.
The zaru soba arrived.
Getou picked up the soba with his chopsticks, dipped it in the sauce, and brought it to his mouth.
"The soba here really is delicious."
"Right? I picked this place."
"You didn't pick it—I brought you here before."
"Don't sweat the details. It's good, so it's fine."
Satoru bit into his tempura and looked at Getou's profile beside him.
His long black hair flowed from his shoulders down his back. His asymmetrical bangs cast a shadow over his narrow eyes. The black gauge earrings reflected the light of the bare bulb.
(This guy really does have a good face.)
The thought crossed Satoru's mind.
Well, that was nothing new. He'd known Getou was good-looking since they entered the school.
But lately, that face looked awfully tired.
There were faint dark circles under his eyes. His cheeks were a little hollow.
(He was throwing up yesterday. Guess that's expected.)
Satoru swallowed his tempura and spoke in an offhand tone.
"Hey, Getou. Have your missions increased lately?"
Getou's chopsticks stopped for an instant.
"Have they? It's the same as always."
"I mean, we haven't been teamed up lately. We used to go on missions together."
Getou took a bite of soba.
He chewed thoroughly, swallowed, then opened his mouth.
"You can handle things fine on your own, Satoru. I'll just do what I can do, in my own way."
Something about the way he said it stuck with Satoru.
"It's not like I don't want to go with you because I can handle it alone. I don't mind being teamed up with you, you know."
Getou smiled, just slightly.
"...That's rare. Hearing you say something like that."
"Even I say it once in a while."
Silence.
The sound of the soba shop owner cutting something in the kitchen.
Satoru slurped the last bite of his zaru soba and searched for words inside his heart.
(We're the strongest, right?)
That's what he wanted to say.
The words they'd said every time they went on a mission together back in their first year.
We're the strongest, so we can do anything. We can exorcise any cursed spirit. We can handle any mission.
Back then, he'd believed it for real.
"Hey, Getou. We're the strongest, right?"
Satoru said it as lightly as he could.
Like a joke. But in earnest.
Getou set down his chopsticks.
And looked straight at Satoru's face.
His narrow black eyes peered into the depths behind Satoru's sunglasses.
"You are the strongest, Satoru."
Those words pricked at Satoru's chest.
(I'm the strongest.
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