After visiting Jujutsu High by teleporting right inside the protective wards and triggering some security measures, you exchanged a few words with the principal.
Apparently, word of your injury has reached Tokyo, as well as the fact that Satoru has been MIA for a week afterward. Your return was hardly a surprise for anyone who knew how badly he wanted you back here.
The principal seemed glad to see you, you were the best at keeping Satoru in check after all, but you warned him that you weren't going to linger.
"Make yourself comfortable," he told you and firmly put a hand on your shoulder. "You're always welcome here."
Seeing Shoko again after a year has lifted your mood considerably. You messaged each other over the months every now and then, but standing in front of her and letting her heal your injuries almost made you teary-eyed.
On the other hand, being back in the common room hit you like a boulder being dropped on your chest. There are too many memories with Suguru in this place, and you can't look anywhere without being reminded that he's not here anymore. You are never going to hang out together after a mission, play stupid games, or see him purposely lose in rock-paper-scissors because he knows that Satoru and you hate paperwork.
But seeing Satoru sprawled on his chair in the way he always does as if taking up as much space as possible is his life's purpose, makes you feel safe. You lean over, the top of your head almost touching his chin to take a closer look at his phone.
"You have a kid?"
You can't quite believe your eyes when he proudly shows you a picture of a small boy with dark, spiky hair and a frown on his face that makes him look older than he probably is.
"His name is Megumi," he chirps and swipes right on his screen to show you more photos. There is one with a slightly taller girl standing next to Megumi, one where they look at something behind the camera, and a selfie he took with them, although it seems like he was the only one who wanted to be in the picture.
"And that's Tsumiki, his older sister," he answers your unspoken question.
"So you what? Adopted them?" You can't help the tone of disbelief drenching your voice. You lean back and look at him fully, trying to imagine him playing family with two children.
He tilts his head in thought . "I'd say I'm more of a distant uncle, or the cooler older brother."
His answer doesn't ease the worries in your mind, nor does it reveal any of his deeper motivations.
"And why are you doing this?"
"Out of the goodness of my pure heart, of course!"
One flat look has him holding a hand over his heart in fake shock. "You don't think I would take in children so they don't have to live on the streets?"
"I'm not just thinkingit, I knowit. Are they powerful sorcerers? Do they have special curse techniques?"
Satoru puts his phone on standby mode and shoves it back into his pocket. "Yes and no. Megumi is a Zen'in and Toji Fushiguro's son who inherited the Ten Shadow Technique."
"Toji Fu- As in the guy who almost killed you?"
You have read the report on the failed Star Plasma Vessel protection mission, but you have never asked them about it. Both of them came back different, as if the death of Amanai and the fight against the Sorcerer Killer had changed something fundamental inside them. Everything that has happened since then seemed to be connected to that mission.
Sometimes, you ask yourself if anything that has happened could have been prevented if you had insisted on coming along.
"The guy I killed, yeah."
"Did you tell Megumi that you're the reason his father is dead?"
He shrugs. "Didn't seem too attached to his daddy. Only asked about his sister."
"He seems sweet. I want to meet him. " You look at him with a fond look on your face. Ulterior motive or not, you adore him for feeling responsible for a child that would have otherwise been exploited by the Zen'in clan.
He stares at you for a second and then reaches over to pinch your cheek.
"Ow," you whimper but don't move as he pulls on your cheek.
"I missed you," he admits and the look in his eyes makes your heart jolt.
"Careful," you say and rub your reddened cheek when he pulls back, "I might get all sappy if you keep acting like that."
The door opens behind you, and a man in a familiar black suit enters. He formally introduces himself as Takashi and places a file on the table in front of you.
"That's the mission you mentioned?" you ask curiously.
Satoru nods, leaning back into his chair. "The Oracle Curse. Figured it would be a fun challenge to ease you back into work."
"A time curse?" you guess and Takashi nods.
"I heard you were injured," he looks at you, doubt etched into his features. "It's a rather tricky curse. I apologize if I overstep, but I wouldn't want you to overexert yourself."
You dismissively wave a hand at him. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine. Peachy, even."
And it's the truth. Admittedly, you are still a bit sore, but you haven't felt that good in a long while, at least omit the fact that your lungs rattle a tiny bit when you breathe in too deeply or that your ribs hurt when you bend over too far. It's nothing you can't handle and you have had far worse injuries in your life.
"Alright," he nods and opens the file, pulling out papers and photographs .
"This is the Oracle Curse. It mainly stays in one hospital, and we suspect that it feeds off of the desperate desire of dying humans who wish to have more time in their life. It has been running rampant for the last decade, but we haven't had the resources to exorcise it, yet."
"The last decade?" you ask, eyebrows furrowed. "What changed? And why are only hearing about it now?"
"Well, it is a relatively harmless curse," he scratches the back of his head. "A few deaths here and there, but nothing that wouldn't normally occur in a hospital, so we left it alone. It's quite difficult to exorcise, and the higher-ups deemed it a waste of resources. But now we have a first-year who could be the key to getting rid of it."
Your hand balls into a fist underneath the table. It isn't the first time that the higher-ups dismiss the loss of human lives. Rationally, you know that there aren't nearly enough sorcerers to deal with every curse that appears in Japan, but the reminder that they are aware of it and still haven't sent even one person to investigate still has you seething.
"And there is also a new urgency that requires the exorcism of the curse," Takashi adds, and he suddenly looks very uncomfortable.
A glance at Satoru confirms your suspicions.
"You think that Suguru might want to claim it," you conclude, trying to sound unaffected.
Every conversation about Suguru or even the mention of him feels like a fresh wave of grief. You see the newspaper and the reports of another incident, another mass murder, and your heart sinks when you know it's him. It makes you experience pain like nothing you have ever felt before.
You need logic. Crystal clear, cold rationality so you can cope with the reality that nothing can ever make you forgive him.
Death is the only solution, the only option you can think of. Maybe you're going to have to be the one to do it. But your soul can't quite accept this.
"Recent reports tell us that one of his followers has been spotted investigating the hospital. If we act now, we might be able to stay one step ahead of him." Satoru speaks for the first time since Takeshi came in, probably because he didn't want to be the one to break the news to you regarding Suguru.
You nod, shuffling through the papers and noticing that the information is newly-acquired. It's a grade-one curse, not because it is particularly deadly or powerful, but because of its exceptional ability to evade a fight. Time curses are indeed a tricky thing since it's hard to predict what kind of powers they have.
In this case, it looks like one of its abilities is being able to see into the future for up to half a minute. There is little to no information on anything else , courtesy of the higher-ups for never bothering to find out more, you're sure.
You lift your head and look at Satoru, who is already staring at you with a serene expression.
"We've had worse," you shrug and the edge of his mouth quirks up at your nonchalance. "When are we leaving?"
"Whenever you feel ready." He lifts his sunglasses and you gaze right back into his unnervingly blue eyes.
"Two days," you slowly say, mentally cataloguing your remaining injuries and feeling the steady hum of cursed energy flow through your veins. "Give me two days, and then we go kill this thing."