The guardian barrier in Kobe shimmered near Ikuta Shrine—the city's oldest sanctuary, dedicated to the Goddess of the Sun. Ancient trees framed the sacred grounds, their leaves rustling softly in the evening breeze. It was a place of peace, of prayer, of lovers seeking blessings.
Kokichi Muta was acutely aware of this last fact.
"I heard Ikuta Shrine is especially effective for marriage blessings," Miwa Kasumi said, sitting beside him on the shrine steps. "Lots of couples come here."
"Is that so?" Kokichi's voice came out higher than intended. "What a coincidence."
Miwa tilted her head. "Why is it a coincidence?"
"Nothing! Nothing at all." He busied himself with the puppet controls, face burning. A dozen Ultimate Mechamaru units stood at attention around the barrier, their metal forms gleaming in the sun. If anyone attacked, they would be ready.
But right now, Kokichi wished the ground would open up and swallow him.
"Your real body is quite handsome," Miwa said casually.
Kokichi's brain short-circuited. "Th-thank you. Miwa is also very cute." He immediately wanted to kick himself. 'Is that all you can say? She just complimented you! Say something! Anything!'
He said nothing. The silence stretched between them like a physical thing.
In the shadows of a nearby building, Kamo Itsuki's clone watched with mounting exasperation.
'This is painful. This is genuinely painful to witness.'
He had given them space. He had moved far enough away to be discreet but close enough to intervene if needed. He had not expected to be subjected to the slowest confession attempt in human history.
'You literally told me you wanted to confess the moment you had a real body. She's right there. She just called you handsome. What more do you want? A written invitation?'
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Kokichi Muta had survived a lifetime of confinement, mastered a Cursed Technique that spanned Japan, and endured experimental procedures to gain a new body. And he couldn't say "I like you" to a girl who was clearly waiting to hear it.
'I didn't even heal the scars on his face for this. Wasted effort.'
Kamo forced himself to look away. It was none of his business. If Kokichi wanted to be an idiot, that was his right. So long as it didn't affect the mission.
He looked up.
Above the shrine, a figure floated in the sky.
Golden curls spilled over her shoulders in a cascade of light. A halo hovered above her head, casting soft radiance across her features. Angelic wings spread behind her, pure white and impossibly vast, holding her aloft as easily as breathing.
Kurusu Hana. The incarnated vessel of Angel, the ancient Cursed Technique user who had made a pact with Kenjaku. Unlike most of the resurrected, she was not possessed. She and Angel existed in harmony, two souls sharing one body, united by a single purpose.
She had been watching for some time now. Watching the boy struggle to confess. Watching the girl wait. Watching the whole scene unfold with the fascination of someone who had not seen young love in a thousand years.
"Oh, this is painful," she murmured, her voice carrying in the still air. "Why won't he just say it?"
"Fear," Angel's voice answered, emerging from a small mouth that had opened on Kurusu Hana's cheek. "The more you love, the more you fear loss. He would rather have her friendship than risk losing her entirely."
"But if he waits too long, she'll fall for someone else!"
"Then perhaps we should give him a reason to act." Angel's voice was gentle, but there was steel beneath it. "We made a pact with Kenjaku. We should fulfill it. And once we do..."
The unspoken implication hung in the air.
Kurusu Hana understood. They would fulfill their obligation to Kenjaku—a single act of opposition against the modern sorcerers. Then, when Sukuna revealed himself, they would be free to pursue their true purpose.
She closed her eyes. When she opened them, her voice rang across the shrine grounds, clear and terrible:
"Oh light, light that purifies all, please eliminate evil, wrongdoing, sorrow—and guide that person."
Golden light gathered around her hands. The air grew heavy with power. Below, Kokichi Muta looked up, his romantic anxiety forgotten.
The angel had descended.
The horn sounded. Light descended.
Kurusu Hana stood at the center of the purifying radiance, her wings spread wide, her halo glowing with celestial fire. The pillar of light that erupted from the sky was blinding—a cleansing flame that swept across the battlefield with terrible beauty.
When it faded, the Cursed Spirits were gone. Every last one.
And so were Kokichi Muta's puppets.
Dozens of Ultimate Mechamaru units stood frozen in place, their joints locked, their systems silent. Kokichi reached for them through his Cursed Technique and found nothing. No connection. No response. Just empty silence.
He felt naked. Exposed. The puppeteer without his puppets.
Beside him, Miwa Kasumi drew her sword, her stance defensive, her eyes fixed on the winged figure descending toward them. She was brave. She was loyal. She was also, Kokichi knew, far outmatched.
The angel walked forward, step by deliberate step, her golden curls swaying, her gaze fixed on them with an intensity that made Kokichi's blood run cold.
'Unit Zero. If I had brought Unit Zero...'
But he hadn't. He had wanted to protect Miwa's pride, to avoid overshadowing her with overwhelming force. Now that caution might cost them everything.
"Miwa." His voice was low, urgent. "Run. Get to Teacher Kamo. I'll hold her off."
He drew the dagger hidden at his belt—a small thing, almost laughable against an angel's power, but it was all he had.
Miwa's response was immediate. "No. You go. I'll stay."
"Your speed is better than mine. If you run—"
"I'm not leaving you." Her hand found his, gripping tight. "If we die, we die together."
Frustration warred with something warmer in his chest. She was too stubborn. Too loyal. Too good.
The angel kept walking. Soon there would be no time left.
Kokichi took a breath. The words he had held for so long suddenly seemed less frightening than the thought of never speaking them at all.
"Kasumi. I..." His voice cracked. He steadied it. "I've always liked you. From the first time I saw you, I was... I was drawn to your strength. Your courage. You never gave up, even when everything was against you. And I—"
The angel was ten paces away. Five.
"I can't let you face this alone." His grip on the dagger tightened. "Even if I have to sacrifice myself, I'll protect you. I swear it."
Miwa's eyes glistened. But she was smiling—that warm, gentle smile that made his heart clench.
"You idiot." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. "You wait until now to say that?"
She squeezed his hand.
"I'm happy. So happy." She stepped forward, putting herself between him and the angel. "But I'm not leaving. We fight together. We live together. That's how this ends."
The angel was close enough to touch.
Kokichi raised his dagger.
The angel stopped. Looked at them. And smiled.
Then she vanished.
Light. Displacement. And then nothing. The battlefield was empty save for the frozen puppets, the silent shrine, and two young sorcerers standing closer than they had ever been before.
Kokichi blinked. His mind, still racing from the confession, struggled to process the sudden absence of threat.
"Where..." He looked around. "Where did she go?"
Silence.
Then the weight of what he had said crashed down on him.
'I've always liked you.'
His face burned. His hands went cold. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to hide, to pretend this had never happened.
He took a step back.
Miwa moved faster.
She launched herself at him with a speed he hadn't known she possessed, her arms looping around his neck, her body pressing close. He stumbled, caught off balance, and then—
Her lips met his.
The world stopped.
Kokichi's mind, so sharp with his puppets, so precise with his calculations, went utterly blank. There was only warmth. Softness. The faint scent of flowers in her hair.
When she pulled back, her face was flushed, her smile trembling.
"There," she said, her voice barely audible. "Now you can't take it back."
Kokichi stared at her. The girl he had admired from across crowded rooms, from behind puppet eyes, from the distant safety of a body that was never truly his.
She was here. She was real. She was his.
His arms came up, slowly, as if moving through water, and wrapped around her. He pulled her close and buried his face in her hair.
"I don't want to," he whispered. "I don't want to take it back."
Across the shrine grounds, hidden in the shadows of the ancient trees, Kamo Itsuki's clone watched with an expression caught between amusement and exasperation.
'Finally.'
He looked up at the sky where the angel had vanished. She had done them a favor, whether she intended it or not. The Cursed Spirits were gone. The puppets could be repaired. And two young sorcerers had found something worth fighting for.
He turned away, leaving them to their moment.
Some things were more important than guarding barriers.