Kaoru stormed a few paces off, bokken in hand, and settled into her stance. Meanwhile, Satoru stood with his hands shoved in his uniform pockets, still upright, stance relaxed. That sheer pettiness. Too much alike, too—
She narrowed her eyes; the beginnings of something disturbingly like anticipation crawled up her spine. Not many could bring it out of her anymore, but damn if he didn't manage it just by existing.
Let's see how long it takes you to take your hands out.
The others had fallen completely into the silence of people who knew something deeply stupid—and deeply entertaining—was about to happen. Shoko was back on the veranda, patting a now-recovered Hisanobu with less sympathy than one might afford a damp umbrella. Uzuya, still holding her phone, had frozen mid-call. "One second, Takeru," she whispered. "Mama needs to watch something real quick." Haibara crouched low, biting his knuckle with eyes wide.
Kaoru adjusted her grip on the bokken, then she moved fast. Her first Sandanzuki slashed through the air like lightning.
Satoru dodged with a tilt of his neck, hands still buried in his pockets; his breath didn't even hitch, and that was annoying. "Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "Faster than the one you used on 'Nobu."
Kaoru spun on her heel. She hadn't expected it to land, really. "Obviously. I wasn't trying to really kill 'Nobu."
"So I get the real you?" he bounced a little on his heels.
She groaned. "Oh, for—"
Her body moved before the curse finished forming. Second Sandanzuki; this one wasn't polite. She blitzed forward with her full weight behind it, feet exploding across the frozen soil, bokken driving upward at a speed that blurred the edge.
Satoru's eyes widened, a blink of surprise, maybe even something like glee, shifting mid-dodge; Kaoru heard the thud echo in his bones as he yanked his hands out of his pockets just in time and deflected the strike with a raised forearm reinforced with cursed energy. He chuckled. "Okay. You're fast."
"And you," she said coolly, "took your hands out."
"Only 'cause you made me."
Third strike; this time, she let her cursed energy settle in the bokken, reinforcing her momentum. She moved fast—and he moved faster, not the lazy dodge from before; his body Blue-blinked out of reach, scattered the ground in the aftershock.
Kaoru skidded to a stop, spitting in indignation. "You cheated."
"So did you," he shot back.
She didn't bother with an answer, just slammed a heel into her own shadow, and her body sank into it. She emerged again behind him in a vertical flash, bokken aimed at the base of his spine. Satoru pivoted with delight as he turned to meet her just as she was behind his guard. His hand snapped back, and he caught her wrist with it, then pivoted smoothly.
The next thing she knew, she was slammed into the ground with a thud, pinned flat beneath his weight. Satoru's knees framed her hips, his hand still pinning her wrist.
"Well, well," he murmured, leaning in just enough to be unbearable.
She scowled. "You cheated."
He blinked slowly. "We said no cursed energy. You started it."
"We said no techniques," she snapped.
"Ten Shadows is a technique, Ka-o-ru," he sing-songed. "Kind of a big one too."
"Only because you—!" She glared up at him. "You Blue-blinked across the garden!"
"Sure, but you shadow-jumped behind my guard," he pouted, mock-innocent. "We're both little rule-breakers, huh?"
"Ugh—"
"Look, the point is you're on the ground. And I'm not."
Oh hell no, this again.
The unfairness of it, the injustice; once, four hundred years ago, she'd been his equal, his rival, and this exact position had been reversed. More times than she could count, she'd had him flat on his back, smugness wiped clean off his face. What divine joke had decided to reincarnate him taller, stronger, smugger, with better bone density, probably, while she was stuck in a body that refused to age or grow another damn centimeter?
Fine.
He was basking because she was under him in a humiliatingly literal sense? Then, she twisted her hips, flipped behind his knees like a monkey, and rolled them both. He let her, and maybe that was the final insult. His back hit the ground, and she perched on top of him like an offended cat, stabbing the bokken into the dirt beside his irritatingly pretty face with unnecessary force.
Cosmic balance: restored.
"Oh," he said, a little breathless, blinking up at her, sprawled beneath her in the grass. He burst into a grin as his gaze followed down her legs in a deliberately exaggerated sweep. "Damn. Strong legs."
Kaoru froze. So many times, he'd grin up at her, eyes soft and stupid, and say something equally foolish. Her stomach twisted, and not entirely with rage. How dare he say it the same way? How dare he not know? How dare he be so him and yet not him at the same time?
For one second, she forgot herself. "Ah," she said, smirking coolly. "Looks like you're the one on the ground now, Pretty Boy."
That wiped the grin off his face. Satoru stared up at her, and a beat of confusion passed; then he lowered his lids and relaxed beneath her entirely.
Kaoru frowned. The silence around them was deafening, the kind of silence where you knew people were watching. Something was wrong. Wait. Why is he looking at me like that? Why is everyone so quiet? "…What?" she asked.
Satoru tilted his head with that dangerous little grin returning. "Oh. So you do think I'm pretty."
Kaoru's mind stalled. "What?"
"You're flirting with me," he declared, unreasonably proud of himself. "Didn't think you had it in you, Archivist."
"No." Her voice rose in pitch, mortified. "No—I didn't—"
"You called me pretty," he pointed out, blue eyes glowing. "And then straddled me to the ground. That's flirting."
Kaoru flushed; her hands clenched against the fabric of his jacket. "No—I was insulting you."
"In what universe is 'pretty' an insult?" he laughed, chest shaking under her palm. "Hate to break it to you, Grandma, but if someone calls you Pretty Boy, they're into you."
As if on cue, he tucked his arms behind his head, smug and still pinned, that look that said: yes, I like this position very much, please stay right there.
From the veranda, a groan. She turned her head and—oh no. Haibara's face was crimson, both hands over his eyes; Kusakabe had turned completely around; Uzuya was shaking with laughter; Shoko… was watching with all the enjoyment of someone who had absolutely called this outcome, while Hisanobu—poor Hisanobu—looked about to have a stroke.
Kaoru's brain imploded. "It meant you were—fragile and decorative—!" she panicked, red to the ears. "I—he—used to call me that to mock me! It meant delicate! Weak! Like a—like a—" she trailed off, realizing nothing she said would help.
Satoru hummed, absolutely not helping. "You sound very defensive—"
"I am not defensive!"
"Oh?" he said, utterly unfazed. "Then why are you still on top of me?"
That's when Kaoru realized—with horror—how this looked: she was still on top of him, actually, her knees planted awkwardly at his side, hand braced against his chest, and he was grinning up at her like this was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
"Now, now. Don't worry," he declared, perfectly at ease beneath her legs. "It's okay. I also think I'm very pretty."
Kaoru stared at how he looked obscenely comfortable pinned under her, and that alone nearly drove her to drive the bokken through his skull. Instead, she stood abruptly, more flustered than she'd like but still dignified like the clan head she had once been. She fixed her long skirt, composed her face, pretending nothing happened, and avoided every eye in existence. Especially Hisanobu's.
Behind her, Satoru rolled lazily onto one elbow. "Thanks for the lesson, Kaoru-sensei. This Pretty Boy learned so much!"
Kaoru marched up the veranda, refusing to acknowledge him. "Okay—you!" she pointed randomly at Haibara, who squeaked. "Training! Resume formation! Pair off! Practice blocking Sandanzuki—'Nobu, demonstrate again. I—I need—"
A beat.
"Ojousama," Hisanobu cut in with all the grace of a man rescuing his warlord, "it may be… time for your afternoon rest."
Kaoru turned to him as if he'd just kicked her dog. "I do not take afternoon rests."
"Yet," he said, beggingly, "you look very…rest-deprived."
Her dignity—what remained of it—curled up and died for her. "…Right," she said stiffly. "Yes. That's… right. Rest. I'll… go do that."
She dared one last glance toward the garden. Satoru dusted his pants and caught her eye, waved, and smiled. Kaoru turned on her heel so fast she nearly tripped on herself.
"Good training, everyone," she mumbled, and disappeared into the house like she was trying to walk into another century. She did not look back; she did, however, briefly consider setting him on fire. And just like that…
Kaoru, who could not die, very much wished she could as she sank deeper into the couch.
"Too many people, Pretty Boy. This isn't a secret anymore—"
Kaoru startled awake, heart thudding against her ribs. The dream dissolved fast, leaving only its aftertaste, as her fingers twitched. She blinked up at the low-lit ceiling, taking in the shift of shadows. So, she'd fallen asleep, it was now evening, and...
That dream again.
She groaned softly as the familiar words clawed their way up from her subconscious once again, and her uniform creased as she curled tighter, sleeves bunched around her knees. Mame's teeth tugged lightly on a strand of her black hair as if scolding her for sleeping in public. Her spine ached, her eyes burned, and somehow she felt more tired than before. She blinked at the fabric pressed against her cheek, a ridiculous woolen throw someone had surely tucked over her while she slept. Probably Satoru or Hisanobu.
Kaoru filed that thought away. This place is going to kill me, she thought flatly. Ever since she'd moved into his house, she hadn't slept well or much. Between training Megumi—against his will, of course—strategizing against Scarlet Mist, and cohabiting with a man who thought walls were optional and night hours were a myth, Kaoru's sleep came in short, restless bursts. When it came, it was always with that voice from the past bleeding in, always with that low tone tinged with too much foresight. She exhaled through her nose, pressed her forehead against her knees, maybe about to shift, maybe get up, maybe retreat to her temporary room, when voices filtered in from the hallway.
Haibara and Uzuya.
Kaoru didn't move; she could pretend to be asleep for a little longer. It wasn't cowardice, it was strategic avoidance; her social meter had flatlined sometime around "you called me pretty."
"—so if you and your brother take the east stairwell, we can get to the second-floor surgical wing in under thirty seconds," Haibara was saying, hushed and fervent. "That corridor splits left and right and overlooks three key routes, and it's open enough that if something goes wrong—"
"We can react without delay both ways," Uzuya finished for him. "Mmh. That's good. You're good at reading a battlefield, Yu-kun. I'll mention it to my brother too, but you should tell that to Gojo-san."
A beat; then a small, awkward laugh. "Ahaha—n-no, I mean," Haibara chuckled, with his usual, blinding optimism, "I'm sure Gojo-senpai already thought of that. Probably has better plans anyway, y'know? I was just… thinking out loud. Not like it matters, and if something goes wrong, he'll handle it. I mean, he's the strongest, right?" He finished with a boyish laugh, the same way children did when they were trying not to admit fear. Not cruelty, just... Haibara.
There was a silence after that, a brittle one, and Kaoru frowned, eyes still half-lidded. Ah. I've just heard something unpleasant.
"Still," Uzuya said kindly, all maternal, "you should tell him. It's a good intuition, don't downplay it."
Footsteps padded into the room, followed by the rustle of bags being gathered, Haibara animatedly grabbing his jacket, Uzuya humming softly. Kaoru stayed still, head down, and cheek pressed against her knees.
Then—
"Oh no," Uzuya's bright voice called from somewhere near the door. "Did we wake you, Kaoru-san?"
Ugh. Great. Kaoru, still curled, resisted the urge to groan aloud as she cracked an eye open, then slowly dragged herself upright, hair sticking out in rebellious tufts. "No," she mumbled, rubbing one eye with the heel of her palm. "Already awake."
A lie, but she said it with conviction, which counted. Mame huffed and flopped into her lap, unimpressed. She curled back in on herself, chin tucked against her knees, still visibly half-asleep. The light was too bright, the world too loud, and her mind still full of memories, of that half-dream half-warning, of him. The last thing she needed was correcting Haibara's assumptions.
They began gathering their things in silence, almost, because Haibara whistled, clearly still buzzing from some nervous energy.
Kaoru stared blankly for a moment. She should keep out of it. Don't get involved. It's not your problem. But her mouth moved anyway. "Why don't you just tell him?" she asked suddenly.
Haibara jumped, halfway into his jacket. "Tell who what?"
Kaoru looked up at him properly. Her voice, as always, was too direct to be comforting; not her fault, just an unfortunate family trait. "Your idea," she clarified. "It's good. Satoru would agree. So why not tell him yourself?"
Uzuya glanced over, lips quirking, while Haibara shifted from foot to foot, scratching at his cheek. "Ah, well, you know… he's Gojo-senpai. He always knows everything already, so…" he said, with a half-laugh. "You know he's... He's the strongest and—He probably already thought of it and—"
Kaoru blinked, as if genuinely trying to understand his point. "And he doesn't read your mind?"
Haibara flinched. "N-no! I mean… I'm just me. He's him. I don't want to waste his time when he... He always got it together," he admitted. "Like he doesn't need anyone else to say things out loud."
A low, unimpressed grunt came from the hallway entrance. "Gojo is Gojo," Kusakabe muttered, stepping into view. "Always been like that, everyone just tags along after him. He could probably solo this mission if he really wanted. Don't blame the kid for feeling like a sidekick."
Kaoru's gaze dropped to her knees. Of course that's what people thought: that he didn't need anyone, that nothing they offered could matter. She'd seen this pattern before; he had been the same even in the past, sometimes, not out of real arrogance, but out of inevitability. The unconscious pulling away from others, not because you were better, but because what was the point? No one understood the weight.
Always ten steps ahead, forgetting to look back, forgetting that anyone even followed. Kaoru had been no different. Well. They at least had each other in the past. Now... She sighed, closed her eyes briefly. Another Gojo, another masterclass in unintentional self-sabotage.
"And yet, he called for you," she said with no warmth, no drama. Just the flat cadence of fact, her specialty. "He said you're the ones he'd bet on. Called you his 'dream team.'"
Three pairs of eyes stared at her, surprised, slightly alien, as if she'd just dropped a brick. Then—
Uzuya smiled softly at her, as if they'd just passed some invisible milestone, while Haibara's entire face lit up. He nearly glowed, bounding across the room. "Kaoru-san!" he gasped. "That's—you're right! You're amazing! That's so obvious, I was being such an idiot—thank you—" He dropped to one knee beside her and seized both her hands, as if she'd just handed him the meaning of life.
Kaoru instinctively tried to yank her hands away, leaning back against the couch, alarmed, but Haibara held firm, beaming. "Don't—don't do that—" Bomb of empathy, Kaoru thought, in deep, horrified clarity. His cursed technique made too much sense. He's like a weaponized golden retriever.
Kusakabe, who had just gathered his coat, stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "Oh great," he muttered, trudging toward the exit. "You're just as weird as him."
"Told you you'd love her," Satoru's voice rang out cheerfully, right on cue, as he strolled in like he owned the building, which, arguably, he did. His hair was still damp, curling lazily around his face, and he wore a towel draped over his neck, shirt half-tucked. He paused, taking in the tableau and the silence. "…What," he asked, tilting his head in confusion, "did I miss?"
He stopped in the doorway, eyes sweeping the room: Kaoru curled on the couch, flustered and frowning, Haibara kneeling too close, both hands wrapped around hers like she was about to ascend, Uzuya smiling like she'd orchestrated the entire thing. His eyes fixed on Kaoru. Then on Haibara's hands. One eyebrow arched.
"Yu-kun," he said brightly, wagging a warning finger, "easy with the worship. She's shy."
Kaoru yanked her hands free with a glare. "You'll catch a cold with your hair still wet in winter."
"Duh. Noted, Grandma."
Kusakabe passed him with a grunt, thumbing toward the couch. "She's weird."
"I know, right?" Satoru beamed proudly. "Isn't it great?"
Haibara, still buzzing with joy, darted up, reaching him. "Gojo-senpai! I'm gonna give it my all against Scarlet Mist."
He held up a fist for a brofist. Satoru stared at it. "You do that," he said eventually, bumping knuckles with the younger sorcerer, baffled.
Haibara grinned and bolted for the hallway, dragging him along. "I have a new idea!"
Satoru followed after him. "Wait—what idea?"
Uzuya was the last to remain; she watched them go, then dropped unceremoniously beside Kaoru on the couch.
Kaoru startled at the sudden weight. "You're heavy."
"And you, Kaoru-san," Uzuya said, looping her scarf around her neck, "aren't half as heartless as you like to pretend."
"I'm not pretending. It's just my face. Blame my father's eyes."
"Sure, sure."
Uzuya bumped her shoulder into Kaoru's, or tried. Mame flared subtly, and the pressure stopped Uzuya's shoulder mid-motion, hovering just short of contact. The air between them had grown dense and impassable.
Infinity.
Kaoru flinched, raised a finger, and flicked Mame, who had extended Infinity on reflex from her disheveled hair like a moody cat. Behave. Not now, she thought tersely at the cursed comb. Mame retracted its reach with an indignant pulse. Her eyes flicked to Uzuya's face. Had she noticed? Had she realized that—?
Uzuya had noticed. Her gaze drifted from Kaoru's expression to the wooden comb; for a moment, Kaoru saw the calculation happen. Oh no. She's putting it together. Kaoru braced for the inevitable question, but the woman only smiled, a slow, secret smile that said: I see you. But also: I'll keep your secret for now.
Crisis averted.
She exhaled, deeply grateful. That woman was strange; she didn't dislike her, but she still didn't know what to make of Kusakabe Uzuya. Warm, controlled, dangerous. The kind of woman who could read emotions the way other people read weather, and beneath it, strength that came from protecting someone who gave you reason to become dangerous. Kaoru had known women like that. Mothers: terrifying creatures. Someone who would rip a curse apart with their bare hands if it so much as looked at their children wrong. She respected them.
Uzuya reached into her coat and pulled out her phone. After a moment of scrolling, she turned it around proudly, and a photo lit up the screen: a boy grinning like the sun, two fingers raised in victory, blond hair sticking in every direction, a missing tooth, and a Hello Kitty bandage on one cheek.
"Takeru. My pride and joy."
Kaoru blinked at the image, then at her. "He's got your eyes. And he's missing a tooth."
"Battle wound," Uzuya said, solemn. "From a toast."
Kaoru considered that, then gave a quiet, barely-there smile. "A worthy adversary. Cute."
Uzuya beamed as if she'd just won something, then touched the screen briefly with her thumb as if it were a treasure. "He thinks I'm a superhero, you know?" she added, tucking the phone back into her coat. "None of his classmates believe him, obviously; they just think he's got an overactive imagination. But he always tells them anyway—'My mama fights monsters for me.'"
Kaoru nodded, and a smile tugged at her lips, uninvited. She leaned her chin against her knees again and let her eyes fall half-lidded. "'Nobu was like that, at six," she murmured, without thinking. "He used to idolize me like I was some kind of heroine." A pause. "Children are... Intense and absurdly sincere." She sighed, gently touching Mame, like patting a child's head. "Looking at him now… Ugh. I wonder what went wrong—"
Oops.
That might've been another misstep; her cover was already wearing thin in front of Uzuya, and she could feel it. It was a universal law, older than any Binding Vow: you couldn't lie to a mother for long.
Uzuya, to her credit, just smiled wider and with delight, clearly pleased by the shared sentiment. "Exactly! Takeru and his father are non-sorcerers, but even if he can't see the curses, he knows. He knows I'm out there, doing everything I can to make the world safer for him. That gives me the strength to do this work when the job gets ugly."
Kaoru squinted slightly at her. "Ah. So that's where one of Japan's strongest Grade 1 gets her strength."
Uzuya lifted her chin. "Motherhood is a cursed technique all its own. They keep trying to get me to quit this job, my husband, and my brother. 'It's not worth it,' they say. 'Too dangerous.'"
Kaoru hummed drily. "They're wrong."
"They are," Uzuya agreed. "But they're not wrong to worry. Atsuya especially. He talks big, but really, he's soft under that Yakuza front."
"Like… a chocolate soufflé?" Kaoru offered.
"Yes," Uzuya said seriously. "Exactly like a chocolate soufflé but underbaked."
Kaoru made a small, surprised noise, a chuckle that startled even her. Dangerous. Uzuya was dangerous. Warm people always were. Then, as if it had waited patiently, the silence returned, more comfortable this time.
Uzuya leaned back, glancing toward the ceiling, and her voice lowered. "What you said before… about fighting for someone you love. It's not really a choice, was it? You just do it."
Kaoru's smile flattened. Ah, there it was, of course; the trap. Emotional vulnerability disguised as idle chatter. She bristled on instinct. This was a trained ambush; every mother she'd ever met was a psychological marksman, and this one had lined up the shot.
"In that," Uzuya said gently, "I think we're very alike, Kaoru-san."
"No," Her guard was back up. "We're not."
"Mmm," Uzuya considered it with a mildly dangerous smile. "We've all seen the way you look at him."
Kaoru stared at her, expression immovable. Inside, however, she wanted to die. "I look at everyone the same."
Mame twitched in her hair as if it knew better.
Uzuya let her stew in silence a few seconds longer, the smile on her lips growing infinitesimally smug, the kind of smile women wore when they'd already imagined your wedding reception, your child's name, and what flower arrangement would suit the ceremony. They held the silence in a standoff neither intended to lose: two grown women locked in a staring contest over an unspeakable topic. Kaoru could feel Mame curling tighter into her hair, as if it too wished to disappear. The standoff might have lasted hours, if not for the timely arrival of salvation.
Hisanobu entered, followed by Shoko, who moved elegantly in the most disinterested way possible, as though the world owed her nothing and she owed it even less. Without looking, she presented her arms, and Hisanobu—stoic, proper, three-piece suit immaculate—held her coat aloft without question.
"Mr. Bodyguard," Shoko said around the pocky in her mouth. "Don't show up so doom-and-gloom on the day of the first snow, alright? Scarlet Mist might not manifest out of sheer secondhand depression."
Hisanobu didn't rise to the bait. "I am not gloomy. I am professional. Ojousama taught me that."
Kaoru made an involuntary sound in her throat, and Shoko gave a long-suffering sigh as she slipped her arms through the sleeves. "You say that like it's a good thing." She turned on her heel and headed for the exit without another word.
The standoff between Kaoru and Uzuya finally broke. Uzuya rose, tugging her hat further down over her face like a soldier saluting a general, giving her that infuriating mother-knows-everything look. "It's time to go," she said, stretching her arms behind her back. "Rest well, Kaoru-san. The first snow is almost here. We've prepared enough."
Kaoru nodded. "I'll see you at the hospital."
"Mm. I'll bring something warm," Uzuya echoed, already following Shoko out. From the hallway, she called, "Haibara! You sure you don't want a ride? It's freezing and dark."
"Nope!" chirped Haibara, voice muffled by his scarf. "I gotta stop by Asakusa first."
And just like that, the house emptied out again, and Kaoru and Hisanobu were left alone. She studied him from her place on the couch; he was still staring at the doorway Shoko had just exited through.
Kaoru tilted her head at him. "'Nobu," she started gently. "Not used to having this many people around, huh?"
He said nothing at first. Then, after a pause: "No."
She approached him, steps light. A flicker of memory old passed through her chest; six years old, clinging to her sleeve, legs too short to keep up, calling her a superhero. The boy who used to hold her hand, terrified of losing her in a crowd, the one who used to cry when she left for eighteen years and say he'd grow up to fight beside her. The guilt was a slow, predictable burn. Looking at him now, Kaoru couldn't help but think: That's my fault.
"If it weren't for me, you'd probably have a much quieter life. Your grandfather, too. And his." She exhaled. "You all would've had easier lives."
Hisanobu didn't turn to her, but he nodded once, solemnly. "Perhaps. But…It's not unpleasant. Just… loud."
Kaoru huffed. "That woman," she said with a jerk of her chin, "seems to like you."
He stiffened instantly, then came the glare. "Ieiri-san is just a refined lady."
"Oh, now she's Ieiri-san." She stood on tiptoe and ruffled his hair as she had done since he was a boy, though now it took more effort. He pretended not to flinch. Taller; older. Time was not fair.
Kaoru smiled faintly, drawing her hand back. It was… nice, actually, to see him exposed to the chaos of normal life beyond loyalty, to people with no idea what his bloodline really was or what they were trained to do, to let him become part of a world that didn't orbit around her. Kaoru laughed, truly glad.
"Ojousama."
"Hm?"
"…You were really pathetic earlier."
Kaoru sighed. "Thank you, 'Nobu."
Hisanobu inclined his head. "You're welcome."
.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
Haibara moved quickly through the streets of old Asakusa, weaving past shuttered stalls and darkened windows out of habit. His breath left white ghosts in the air. It wasn't late, not really, but winter had that effect; darkness fell early, making the world feel secretive. He clutched the small box of mochi tighter to his chest. One corner turn; then another; no footsteps behind him, no suspicious, cursed energy signatures as he sneaked inside the Sensō-Ji.
Perfect.
He'd done this often enough to know the path by heart now; the side engawa, the wall with the chipped tile, the space just wide enough to squeeze through without catching your coat. Past the empty ablution basin, past the statue of Jizō. His sneakers barely made a sound on the worn stone.
It wasn't wrong, he told himself again. He wasn't doing anything illegal; he was just visiting an old friend, a deeply misunderstood one.
"Tonight might be it," he muttered under his breath, rallying his optimism. "I might actually get through to him."
The idea alone made him smile.
He followed past the sleeping halls and guardian statues until he reached the ceremonial graveyard behind the oldest hall of the temple. And there, leaning casually against a timeworn gravestone, was a familiar silhouette.
"Geto-senpai!" Haibara waved cheerfully, bounding forward with a grin too wide for the place.
The figure straightened, long black hair catching the lamplight. Suguru raised one hand lazily in return, still dressed like a wandering bonze, expression caught somewhere between gentle irony and patient detachment. The same as ever.
Haibara still thought the get-up was a bit much, but Suguru insisted it was the easiest way to move unseen by the higher-ups. No one questioned a monk in a cemetery either way; Haibara hadn't, at least.
"Yu-kun," Suguru said, soft and playful. "Do lower your voice, will you? You'll wake the temple guards."
Haibara chuckled, unbothered. "Your fault, Geto-senpai. You always pick the most cursed places to meet." He approached, scarf trailing behind him, cheeks red with cold. "Look! I brought mochi," he said brightly, holding up the box like an offering. "Got them from that old shop by the Nakamise street. The same you used to like."
"Mmm." Suguru hummed, accepting the box with both hands as if it were some sacred ritual between them. "You really spoil me, Yu-kun."
Haibara plopped down on a low stone near the gravemarker, huffing. "Ugh. These past few weeks have been intense. I've barely slept. We're running simulations every day, and Kusakabe-san keeps calling it 'an academic exercise in trauma conditioning.'"
"Oh?" Suguru chuckled, opened the box, and his eyes flicked over the contents of sugar. "Sounds like him. Is something bad happening?" A black cat with blood-red eyes appeared from the shadows, weaving around his feet before rubbing against his leg with a soft meow. Suguru didn't look down at the cat; instead, he picked up a mochi and took a bite with exaggerated delight.
Haibara leaned back, exhaling toward the sky. "You could say that." He crossed his arms. "They put us on the Scarlet Mist case."
Suguru's chewing slowed, but his expression stayed warm. His tone dropped in concern. "A special-grade Vengeful Spirit... Tough case."
Haibara nodded earnestly. "Yup! But this time, it's different. This time… Gojo-senpai asked for me. Specifically." His voice filled with a strange, defiant pride. "I'm part of the team handling it, and he trusts me to help stop it. We've been training for weeks, there's this specialist helping us who knows everything about that vengeful spirit. She even predicted when and where it's going to manifest again."
Suguru went still. Very, very still. "How impressive."
"I know, right?" He raised a fist near his face, proud. "I really think we can end it for good. After a hundred years, we'll be the ones."
The black cat jumped onto the gravestone beside him, tail curling. Suguru stroked it once, absently. "And this specialist," he said carefully. "She's working with Satoru on this case?"
"Kind of," Haibara replied, thinking. "She's strong, and smart, and… weird. But in a good way."
Suguru smiled softly. He looked at the mochi in his hand, then bit into it again without any real interest. "I hope you're right. But don't underestimate Scarlet Mist. It didn't survive for over a century by being careless, and I'd hate for you to get dragged into that mess again, after the last time."
"I won't," Haibara promised. "And with Gojo-senpai leading us, we can't lose."
Suguru's eyes flicked upward to the sky. "If you say so."
Haibara's enthusiasm dimmed slightly as he looked back at his senpai, eyes softening. "You should've seen us, Geto-senpai. Working together. You would've fit right in."
A pause.
"…Hey." His voice dropped. "You should really come back."
Suguru didn't move, didn't blink.
"You could, you know," Haibara added quickly. "Whatever happened, it's not too late to fix it. I know Gojo-senpai, and after he exorcises Scarlet Mist, if you turned yourself in, he'd make the higher-ups listen and reconsider. They'll have no choice, you know him—"
"Satoru would kill me where I stand," Suguru said flatly. Haibara flinched, but then, almost instantly, his friend turned to him with a soft smile. "You know what he's like. Don't take it personally."
"But…" Haibara murmured. "He's not like that. You just… You just don't know anymore. He's—" He swallowed hard. What could he say? What would change anything? He wanted to say more, wanted to find the right words to pierce whatever fog was wrapped around Suguru's mind. Instead, he stood, fists clenched. "After we stop Scarlet Mist… just promise me you'll think about it. Please? Once it's over, I'll talk to Gojo-senpai. I'll make him see reason."
Suguru looked at him for a long time, then smiled fondly. "Thank you. I mean it, you're too good to me, Yu-kun," he said gently. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
The cat meowed again.
Haibara smiled, already stepping back toward the path. "Okay! I'll let you go before someone spots us. See you soon, Geto-senpai! Don't eat all the mochi or you'll get a stomachache!" His scarf fluttered in the wind as he jogged back toward the gate.
Leaving Suguru alone. Well. Not really alone.
His expression didn't change until the boy had vanished; then the smile slid off his face like water. He spat out the piece of mochi and flicked the rest behind him like garbage. "Tch," he muttered, brushing his fingers. "Disgusting. I hate mochi by the way."
The cat trotted ahead a few steps and sat, tail flicking. It tilted its head and slowly deformed, began to change; its limbs twisted, its black fur rippled, shadows peeled away as its form stretched upward into something humanoid. He looked like a boy no older than twenty, but nothing in his bearing was truly human. His eyes—still red—locked on Suguru, playful and lethal from beneath a curtain of tousled brown hair pulled into a loose short ponytail. He wore a dark kosode and hakama, with a blue haori whose wide sleeves were patterned with white mountain ridges. Around his neck, a bright red scarf.
"You should really move off my grave now," said Scarlet Mist cheerfully, almost childishly, cracking his neck to one side with a soft pop. "Bad manners, even for someone like you."
Suguru didn't move. He only looked at him, lips curling into a smile just as poisonous. "Why? What's a grave to something like you, Scarlet Mist?"
"Still—" The vengeful spirit didn't blink his crimson eyes; he simply stepped forward with bratty nonchalance, as the wooden clack of his geta echoed once on the stone.
Suguru smiled back, just as lethal, but still stepped aside.
Scarlet Mist reached the stone marker with reverence, kneeling before it in a messy squat, elbows resting lazily on his knees. He blew the veil of dust with one long exhale and brushed it aside with the sleeve of his haori, playful, idle, like a boy cleaning his own toy sword.
His fingers lingered on the etched name:
沖田 総司
Okita Sōji
"Next time you disrespect my family," he said, sing-song as his fingers tightened on the stone. "I'll make sure you choke on your own blood for good."
Suguru watched him with a sly grin. "Careful, Scarlet Mist. You say that like I couldn't exorcise you if I felt like it."
"I'd love to see you try, monk," came the smug reply, followed by a bratty tongue stuck out over one shoulder. He leaned forward and cradled his chin in his palms, still perched on his haunches. A pose too casual for someone whose name once ended battles by its mere mention. He swung his body idly back and forth. "Don't forget I agreed to help you only as long as you help me. Mutual benefit. Don't mess it up now."
Suguru chuckled, more out of habit than humor. His gaze wandered, thoughtful, to where Haibara had vanished beyond the stone torii. That hopeful little idiot. "You heard him?"
"Hnnn," Scarlet Mist mused distractedly, drawing idle circles in the gravel with his finger. "I heard you manipulating him like the heartless bastard you are, if that's what you mean."
"You're exaggerating," the sorcerer said, unbothered.
"And you're disgusting." Scarlet Mist said it like a compliment, resting his cheek on his knee, voice muffled. "You should let me kill him and save you the effort. It'd be cleaner. He's too soft, not like that woman."
Suguru's eyes narrowed. Scarlet Mist hadn't moved, still crouched, still turned away, but Suguru could feel the deliberate lack of fear, the disdain. It was almost insulting. "No," he replied, voice clipped. "Informations. He's useful, in his foolishness."
Scarlet Mist tilted his head just enough to glance back at him. "You really are the worst," he drawled with mock-disgust. "Anyway, what now?"
Suguru tucked his arms inside the folds of his robes, one foot shifting against the frost-glazed gravel. He tapped a finger once, thoughtfully, against his bicep. "That specialist Haibara mentioned, the one who predicted our target… is that the woman you told me about?"
"Mhm." Scarlet Mist sat up straighter, eyes glittering. "The annoying Zenin, the Archivist. You'd like her, I think. Thinks too much, kicks like a mule. She's been on my tail for over a century." His grin came smug, but even he didn't really laugh this time at the memory. "Came this close to exorcising me in Kyoto once. And again at the Itabashi Execution Grounds. Ugh, she's relentless."
Suguru whistled, low. "So it's her. Then we'll have to be cleverer than her, won't we?" He tilted his head toward the moonlight. "I've got just the perfect curse for her. Let's see if Gojo's little Archivist foresaw this."
Scarlet mist exhaled a long-suffered sigh. "Ugh, not the creepy kitsune again. You know," he offered with exaggerated patience, raising a hand like a schoolboy volunteering. "You could just let me attack on schedule, full force. Stop scheming and just let me stick to the original plan. Let your idiot boy lead them straight to me. A Gojo and a Zenin in one place? You know I'd love nothing more than to off them both at once."
"You'd get exorcised the moment Satoru Gojo shows up with his Zenin backup. You can't stand a chance against them both, and I do so enjoy your company," Suguru said plainly, already turning toward the exit gates.
"Pfft." Scarlet Mist tossed a pebble at his back. "Not with the new ability my naginata recently unlocked."
"Maybe." Suguru turned away, starting back toward the path that led through the rear of the cemetery. "But if you start improvising, you can forget my help in finding the third heirloom. You want that weapon's full power back, don't you? For your brilliant master plan to end the three big clans?"
The spirit's face fell just slightly, the childish expression slipping at the edges. "Yes, I remember."
"I know where it is," Suguru added, glancing over his shoulder. "And unless you want another repeat of twenty years ago, when you tried to attack the Gojo estate but couldn't even break the kekkai around the estate... You'll stick to the plan. First, the monkeys, then you can do what you please with the big three." He didn't wait for a reply; he knew the answer either way. He gave a two-fingered wave, then he was gone.
For a long moment, Scarlet Mist said nothing, still watching the stone in front of him. Slowly, his fingers reached forward again, brushing over the kanji once more. He tapped his name gently; then his fingers drifted downward, brushing another name carved beside his own.
沖田 光
Okita Mitsu
The last surviving thread of what had once been his heart.
The playful smirk faded as his hands clenched around his knees. "Zenin," he murmured softly. "Gojo." And then the last name, spat like poison: "Kamo." His fingers curled into fists. "…They'll all pay," he whispered.
After a long time, a small smile came back on his lips, but the childishness was gone, and all that remained was blood.
"They'll all pay in their blood for what they did to us, sister."