Year: 2007

Suguru Getou has done something horrible.

It wasn't the coffee incident from a few weeks ago, but it was related to it. That Sunday, the vending machine at the corner of Jujutsu High froze right after swallowing a hundred yen. Frustrated, Suguru punched the empty coin return slot, somehow launching a few cans straight into the pick-up box. Curious, he hit it again, harder. The cans started flooding the vending machine, falling onto the ground by his feet. He took a few home.

Probably illegal.

It also wasn't the fact that he had killed a hundred people five days ago.

Definitely illegal.

But that's not the horrible event that's been haunting him for weeks. It's the fact that he never told his friend, Satoru Gojo, about the vending machine glitch.

Satoru's sweet tooth couldn't handle black coffee, but he could definitely handle the most stupid shenanigans. He would have poured all of the cans into the school's water cistern or handed them straight to the youngsters, and then watched them bounce off the walls, all high on caffeine.

He would have done it just to make Suguru laugh—the blue light in Satoru's eyes was always the brightest when Suguru laughed. However, for quite a while now, Suguru couldn't do it. Even a smile was painfully challenging. And he didn't want to fake it anymore. So, he never told him.

He also didn't tell his friend about the killings, nor his plans to leave Jujutsu High. He didn't know how he would have done it, but he wished he had.

Maybe, just maybe, if he found the right words, Satoru would listen? Maybe he'd realize how toxic the teachings of Jujutsu High were, and how wonderful the world would be if the filthy non-sorcerers didn't exist... maybe they could start somewhere else. Together.

But that was improbable. So he never faced him after the killings either. Satoru had to learn it from someone else, Shoko most likely. And while Shoko was the level-headed one, even she couldn't grasp the substance of Suguru's plan. Nobody could. And now, it was too late.

Suguru was not going back.


Without Suguru noticing, evening had been dawning in, and the pale blue sky was beginning to slowly darken. He was supposed to be on his way home—his new home—but he'd been walking in circles for over an hour, turning right each time he passed a street corner.

Things weren't right. He should have been happy, excited. Content at least. He was about to begin his new life, the one that he had chosenhimself. It was the first independent decision he had made in years. Maybe even ever.

But his somber face, marked with purple eye-bags and two deep-set frown lines, told a different story. The crushing weight on his chest never dwindled. Yes, he felt much lighter at first, maybe even hopeful. But each thought of Satoru now weighed so much, he felt like his body was about to crumble.

And he couldn't stop thinking about him.

He would have probably kept pondering over it until his body gave up. But, a sudden forceful collision snapped him back into the present moment.

Suguru was disgusted as much as he was confused—the collision made him lose his footing, but it was just a tiny old man who had bumped into him. Just a dirty non-sorcerer dressed in scrawny rags, dragging a beat-up cart bag. Homeless probably. Filthy.
A repulsive shiver ran through Suguru's spine as he watched the old man expose his gummy smile and then stroll away. He didn't even should kill him, here and now. He deserved it for staining him with his old-man stench, for being so fucking rude. For being a filthy monkey.

But then he'd have to get rid of the entire crowd too, and it would get even messier. All that he wanted now, desperately, was to take a shower. Wash off the filth. Scrub and scrub his skin until his blood ran foamy.

A deep sigh escaped Suguru's lips. He turned back to where he was headed, slowly, squinting his eyes to dodge the sharp rays of the evening sun. And then, froze.
A familiar figure stood motionless amidst the flowing crowd.

It couldn't behim, Suguru kept telling himself. But it was definitelyhim.
"What the hell?" Satoru shouted, his eyes beaming with fury.

A sharp dagger of regret pierced Suguru's heart, but his face remained unchanged. He had never seen his friend so enraged, not even when Haibara died. Not even when that assassin killed Riko...

"I need you to listen to me. Please." Suguru wanted to plead. But by the time he opened his mouth, the weight of Satoru's rage was unbearable. So, instead, he bowed his head slightly and said, his tone low, helpless, "looks like Shoko had already laid it out for you."

"So, you're just gonna kill every non-sorcerer!?" Satoru roared, this time loud enough to attract glimpses of a few passers-by, "even your parents!?"

"Can't make any exceptions."

"The fuck? What about all the meaningless deaths?" Satoru spat. His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists, fingertips digging into his palm.

"They're not meaningless."

"They are! You can't just fuckin kill everyone! It's impossible!"

A mixture of hurt and despair began bubbling in Suguru's guts. It crept up his esophagus and now was rising up his throat. He tried to swallow it, the same way he would do it to a curse, but he wasn't quick enough. It came out in the shape of his own words, painful and poisonous. "That's arrogant of you."

"What?!"

"It might be impossible for me, but," he briefly paused, "but it's possible for you, Satoru."

It was confusing. It felt good to finally say it out loud, but it pained him to see Satoru like this. He was trembling, a bloody torrent dripping from his clenched fists where his nails were digging. "The fuck?! Your plan doesn't make any sense. Nothing—nothing you say makes any fucking sense!"

"You know, if I could become you," Suguru's voice cracked, "then even the most ludicrous plans would make sense." He licked the bitter residue off his , say something, his mind begged,don't let me leave.I'm sorry.

But Satoru never answered. The man the world has deemed the strongest stood quiet, defeated.

"I won't waste my time defending monkeys. I've decided how I want to live." Suguru broke the silence, but it didn't help. The conversation was over.
Suguru was about to turn away, his left shoulder already in motion, right foot already bent. When suddenly, fate rewrote itself.

It wasn't Satoru who spoke. At least not the Satoru everybody was so familiar with. It was the Satoru only Suguru got to know: selfish, needy and always concerned about himself and himself only. "You? What about me? What about—", he paused, a forlorn grin framing his face, "what about us?"

Suguru would have loved to return his gaze, to answer, to run after him. But his body couldn't handle it anymore. Suddenly, it all was too much: the sun was too bright, the crowd was too loud, and his feelings—so overbearing, so entangled it was impossible to decipher any of them.

All he could do was to turn his back, and hope Satoru didn't see the pathetic panic that had taken over his body and soul. It was over.


Suguru only came to a halt when his lungs could finally draw a modest breath. It was rather shallow, but deep enough to slightly slow his racing heart. Alone, at last, he was standing under the familiar bridge; the same place where the three of them—Suguru, Satoru and Shoko—would hang out most Sundays.

Suguru's head was still buzzing and his chest remained tight, but the worst part was over. He'll sit there until his heart slows down, until his hands stop shaking. And then he'll go home. And he'll never look back.

He drew another breath, a bit deeper, as he locked his eyes on the cracked pavement, littered with month-old Shoko's cigarette butts. He would have taken a third breath, maybe even a satisfying one, but an unexpected loud splash ruined his concentration.
Suguru frowned, his eyes igniting with fury. In the shallow river bank below, was the same filthy old man who had previously bumped into him. He was down on all fours, half of his body submerged, as if looking for something in the water below. Suguru didn't know how he could have missed him.
"Get out." Suguru commanded, his voice piercing the silence like a sharp blade.
The old man smiled, but didn't answer.
It made Suguru's blood boil. "You fucking disrespectful piece of shit. Get out or you'll regret this."
This time the old man didn't even look at him, he continued splashing the water like a pathetic toddler.
"You've called this upon yourself, you filthy monkey," Suguru snapped and was ready to call out one of his curses.
But before he could move a muscle, an unexplained thing happened: something moved from underneath the old man's rags, swiftly climbing up his back, and getting out through one of his oversized sleeves.
The creature was as blinding as the sun, and as fast as the light too—by the time Suguru realized what was happening, it was already flying his way.

Suguru's eyes widened in disbelief. The creature resembled a… monkey?
In a split second, the luminous monkey landed straight on his face, blinding him completely. Suguru tried grabbing it with both of his hands, but the creature appeared to be weightless, transparent. Yet he couldn't feel an ounce of cursed energy.

Could this man be related to the assassin who nearly killed him…

Suguru couldn't describe what happened next. All he remembered was the monkey somehow getting into his head. He felt its uncanny presence deep within his temples, paralyzing his body, splitting his head in two, like it was nothing more but a coconut.

He couldn't explain how, but he could swear he felt the creature moving down his oesophagus, right into his stomach.
The next thing he remembered was the imminent sense of dread as he fell on all fours. And a sudden, excruciating surge of nausea. His body began violently convulsing, and thick, black bile came pouring out of his mouth, filling in the cracks of the pavement.

As he continued puking uncontrollably, he felt warm drops of blood running down his face, from his split head perhaps. However, when he looked down, he saw that the drops were nothing more but his own tears.