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 - Zaru soba and a passing kindness
The mission was over in a flash.
What came down from the higher-ups was an exorcism—a Grade 2 curse festering in an abandoned building in the city. For Gojou Satoru, it was a job that ended in the space of a blink. The moment the assistant manager lowered the curtain, Satoru stepped inside, nullified the curse's attacks with Limitless, and crushed its cursed-energy core in his grip.
Total time: about three minutes.
" Seriously, don't drag me out for trash like this."
Satoru pushed up his sunglasses as he descended the building's emergency stairs. A July afternoon. The sunlight was merciless, heat shimmering off the asphalt. The collar of his black high-neck shirt was damp with sweat.
*(Akeshiboshi Village, huh.)*
The place Getou had departed for yesterday morning. A small mountain village in the northern Kanto region, population around three hundred. Reports of a string of curse attacks had come in, and the higher-ups dispatched Getou alone. Satoru had offered to go with him, but he'd been assigned a different mission.
Deliberate.
Those old men are trying to pull him and Getou apart. Just last night's meeting had made it clear the higher-ups see Getou as dangerous. *Getou Suguru is a risk factor. His influence is too great to leave at Gojou Satoru's side.* That's the calculation.
" ...Like hell I'll let that slide."
Satoru clicked his tongue.
The assistant manager came running over, asking for a signature on the report. Satoru scrawled his name roughly and got into the car.
"Gojou-san, will you be returning to the school now?"
"No. Take me to the station."
"The station, sir?"
"Yeah. Tokyo Station. Hurry."
The assistant manager, bewildered, pulled the car out. Satoru closed his eyes in the back seat.
*(I've got a bad feeling.)*
Something had been churning in his chest since last night. The murk in Getou's cursed energy wouldn't leave his head. That black sediment, gritty as muddy water. Getou, a practitioner of Cursed Spirit Manipulation, should have had clear, pure cursed energy. And yet, ever since that night in the alley, the murk had only grown thicker.
*(Something happened in that village.)*
No basis for it. But Satoru's intuition had never been wrong. The Six Eyes were picking up on something.
It was past four in the afternoon when he reached Tokyo Station.
A weekday before summer break. The station was packed. Office workers in suits, housewives with shopping bags, clusters of students who looked like they were on a school trip. The chaotic din echoed off the vast domed ceiling.
Satoru stood in the shadow of a pillar near the ticket gates. His tall frame and silver-white hair stood out absurdly in the crowd. Passersby kept glancing back at him. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, yet the air he gave off was unmistakably different from anyone else's.
*(Getou's train gets in at five-thirty, if I remember right.)*
He recalled the information from the assistant manager. The return from Akeshiboshi Village was supposed to involve transferring between local lines to get back to Tokyo Station. Satoru leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and waited.
Time crawled by.
As the evening rush approached, the station grew even more frantic. Announcements called out destinations, and each arriving train disgorged a wave of people. Satoru searched the crowd for Getou's cursed energy.
The Six Eyes found a point of light deep in the throng.
*(There he is.)*
Satoru straightened.
A man with long black hair walked toward him, parting the crowd. He wore the school uniform properly, back straight—a posture carefully maintained to hide his exhaustion. But the Six Eyes couldn't be fooled.
Getou's cursed energy was badly clouded.
Thicker than when Satoru had seen it in the alley. Not muddy water—sludge. The bottom had settled into pitch-black, and black thorns seemed to jut from it.
*(...What the hell is that.)*
Satoru frowned.
Within the murk of the cursed energy was something pure and undiluted: *hatred*. Not the lingering trace of a curse. Something rawer—a human's negative emotion. It was eating away at Getou's clear cursed energy from the inside.
" Satoru? What are you doing here?"
Getou stopped in his tracks. His narrow black eyes widened slightly. The black gauge earrings at his ears caught the station lights.
" My mission wrapped up early, so I came to pick you up. You're welcome."
Satoru shrugged and spoke lightly.
For a moment, Getou studied Satoru's face as if searching for something. Then his mouth softened.
" Well, thank you. But you didn't have to come all this way."
That smile was thin.
Far thinner than before. Paper-thin, a smile that looked like it would tear in the wind. Something ached deep in Satoru's chest.
" What, your best friend comes to meet you and you're not happy?"
" I am happy. I was just surprised."
Getou said it and smiled again.
But his eyes weren't smiling.
Behind his sunglasses, Satoru studied Getou's complexion. Pale. His lips had no color. Faint shadows under his eyes. He looked unmistakably more worn down than when he'd left the school yesterday morning.
*(What happened in one night?)*
The churning in Satoru's chest was turning into dread.
" Let's go eat. You're starving, right?"
"I'm fine, really—"
" I'm treating you to zaru soba. There's a good place by the station."
Satoru pushed Getou's back without waiting for an answer.
" ...All right. I'll take you up on it."
Getou gave a small sigh, as if resigned.
The soba shop by the station was a small place on the second floor of a mixed-use building. Eight counter seats and two four-person tables. An old wooden sign read *Soba Dokoro Miyoshi*. Ducking through the noren curtain, the faint smell of dashi drifted out.
"Welcome."
The elderly owner in a white apron called out from behind the counter. Satoru chose the table in the back without hesitation. They sat facing each other at a two-person table.
" Two large zaru soba. And an assorted tempura platter."
Satoru ordered without looking at the menu.
"Right away."
The owner retreated to the kitchen. Inside, there was only the sound of an old fan turning and the steam of boiling soba. The only other customer was a single person at the counter.
Getou wiped his hands with the wet towel in silence. His movements were neat, economical. But somehow mechanical. His mind was elsewhere—his gaze drifting out the window now and then.
*(How do I bring this up?)*
Satoru agonized over it.
The words Shouko had said last night came back to him.
*If you don't notice, who will?*
That's right. The one closest to Getou is me. And yet I don't understand what's hurting him, why he's pushing himself so hard. None of it.
" Hey, Getou."
" What is it?"
"How was the village mission? Were the curses strong?"
Satoru asked as casually as he could.
Getou's hand paused for a moment on his chopsticks. Then he answered quietly.
" Nothing serious. A few Grade 4 and Grade 3. I exorcised them right away."
"I see. Good, then."
*(Liar.)*
Satoru knew it in his gut.
The Six Eyes were watching. The murk in Getou's cursed energy wasn't something that came from exorcising a few Grade 4 or Grade 3 curses. It was proof he'd come into contact with something far stronger, far more vile.
" What was the village like? Deep in the mountains, right? Anything interesting?"
Satoru changed the subject.
" It was a quiet village. Rice paddies and fields stretching out, the sound of a river. A peaceful place."
"Huh. Sounds nice."
" Yes. But—"
Getou cut himself off.
"But?"
" ...No. It's nothing."
Getou smiled faintly and took a sip of tea. Looking at his profile, Satoru felt an indefinable unease.
*(What are you hiding?)*
"Sorry to keep you waiting."
The owner brought two zaru soba and the tempura platter. On bamboo trays, the soba was arranged beautifully, chilled in cold water. Green onions and wasabi on the side, along with a dark, rich dipping sauce. The tempura—shrimp, eggplant, pumpkin, shishito peppers. The smell of freshly fried oil stirred the appetite.
"Looks amazing."
Satoru picked up his chopsticks.
Getou quietly took his as well. He dipped a mouthful of soba in the sauce and brought it to his lips. The gesture was elegant—it spoke of good upbringing.
" ...This is delicious."
"Right? The soba here has the best bite."
Satoru said it proudly, his mouth full of tempura.
A silence fell between them. Only the sound of slurping soba filled the shop.
*(It's now or never.)*
Satoru made up his mind.
" Hey, Getou."
" What?"
"There's something bothering you, isn't there."
Satoru looked Getou straight in the eye.
Getou's chopsticks stopped dead.
" ...What makes you think that?"
"I can see it with the Six Eyes. Your cursed energy's been murky for a while now. Since before. Ever since that night you were throwing up in the alley."
Satoru said it without holding back.
Getou was silent for a while. He dropped his gaze to the soba. His black bangs hid his expression.
" You're kind, Satoru."
Getou smiled quietly.
"But you don't need to worry about me. You're the strongest, after all."
Those words stabbed through Satoru's chest.
*(That again.)*
Satoru bit his lip.
Getou always did this. He called Satoru "the strongest" and pushed himself away. *Because you're the strongest, don't bother with me. Because you're the strongest, you'll be fine on your own.*
" Being the strongest has nothing to do with it."
Satoru lowered his voice.
"I'm worried about you. My best friend is suffering—how am I supposed to just leave that alone?"
Getou slowly raised his head. His eyes seemed to be looking somewhere far away.
" ...Thank you, Satoru. But it really is nothing. I'm just a little tired."
"Don't lie to me."
Satoru pressed harder.
"Someone who's just tired doesn't cloud their cursed energy like that. Something happened in that village. What was it, Getou?"
Getou didn't answer.
Instead, he set down his chopsticks. A small clink.
" ...Satoru."
Getou's voice dropped, just slightly.
"You care about me. That makes me genuinely happy. But, you know—"
Getou looked away from Satoru.
" Those words are a little heavy right now."
Something cold spread through Satoru's chest.
*(Heavy, he says.)*
My words are a burden to Getou.
My worry for my best friend is cornering him.
" ...I see."
That was all Satoru could say.
Getou stood up.
" Thank you for the meal. The soba was wonderful."
"Getou—"
" I'll head back first. Don't stay out too late yourself, Satoru."
Getou turned his back on Satoru.
He passed through the noren and left the shop. His back was straight as always—and yet, somehow distant.
Satoru was left alone in the soba shop.
The oil on the tempura was going cold.
" ...What the hell was that."
Satoru murmured, his strength gone.
I just wanted to help you. That's all.
It was about thirty minutes later that he left the shop.
The sky was dyed madder red. Thin clouds trailed across the western sky. The evening wind blew through, lukewarm.
Walking the road toward the station, Satoru searched for Getou's cursed energy with the Six Eyes.
*(He's still close.)*
Getou seemed to be on the platform. Maybe waiting for a train.
Satoru followed at a distance.
Through the ticket gates, up the stairs. When he reached the platform, there was Getou, his back to the setting sun. His long black hair swayed in the wind.
*(That murk in his cursed energy—)*
Satoru caught his breath.
In the sunset light, Getou's cursed energy was clearly visible.
A blackness settled like mud. And within it, countless sharp thorns jutted out.
*(Hatred—toward non-sorcerers.)*
Satoru felt it.
Not directed at curses. Something rawer—negative emotion aimed at people. Deep in Getou's heart, something was beginning to change irrevocably.
*(What happened in that village?)*
Satoru clenched his fist.
His nails dug into his palm.
Then, a scene flashed through his mind.
—W
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