Tokyo doesn 't sleep, and Suguru stays up with it.

There has to be a meaning

, he thinks again and again. There

has

to be meaning in what his counterpart has done. There has to be purpose in the raw hurt of Gojo 's upset and death of so many.

Night stretches longs, dark sky tilting on its axis, stars traveling through their fixed patterns in the sky, moon bright. It clears his head, somewhat, watching the time tick mindlessly by and aimlessly wandering Tokyo like a ghost. It 's a relief, to be away from the college, like cold water after a long summer day. The frustrations and anxieties don 't leave, but they become more orderly, less panic inducing.

It 's enough; it has to be.

Midnight finds Suguru in Harajuku, buying crepes from a small, near-empty shop outside Takeshita Street. He isn 't hungry, much less for sugar, but it 's a shop that Satoru mentioned newly opening a couple weeks back. He 'd wanted to go together, but they had no time. Maybe, when he returns to Jujutsu Tech in the morning, he can tell Satoru he went without him, and the crepes were good. Satoru would gasp, outraged and dramatic, say:

you went without me!? No fair! C 'mon c 'mon you have to go again right now but this time with me!

So here he is, getting serves a crepe by a nonshaman worker that looks dead on their feet. The paper crinkles under Suguru 's fingers, and he pays in change, opens his mouth to say

thank you '

'Who are you!? '

The voice breaks across the shop 's late-night quiet, loud and feminine and completely out of place. Suguru startles, whipping around to see the commotion 's source. Only to find '

the source is glaring right at

him

, eyes fixed with an angry intensity. She 's a girl, a teenager maybe a couple years younger than him, with white hair tied in a bun on the back of her head. Half a step behind her, another girl 'this one with short black hair 'stares at him with wide eyes.

Suguru shifts uncomfortably. '...Excuse me? '

'

Who. Are. You.

' The words pry from White-Hair 's mouth in a tight, almost dangerous tone.

Black-Hair glances around uneasily, eyes flicking between the few staring customers and Suguru himself. She shrivels somewhat, pressing closer to White-Hair.

Suguru shifts both crepes to one hand. The concealed curse-imbued paper around his wrist itches. He smiles, thin. 'Who wants to know? '

'You 're not a curse because all these

monkeys

can see you, ' White-Hair hisses, and Suguru just barely manages not to flinch, 'but you 're not 'you can 't be 'stop impersonating Master Geto! What 's even the point!? That 's not even what he looks 'looked like! '

Master Geto.

Oh.

They ' these girls '

'You knew my counterpart, ' he says, shifting his expression into something softer and more understanding. Unease pools in his stomach, pricking up his spine. He gives the worker at the desk and apologetic expression, and swiftly makes his way across the shop to the girls. Black-Hair shrinks, but White-Hair steps forward, harsh glare on her face. 'Let 's take this outside, ' Suguru says, already heading past them and gesturing them to follow.

White-Hair scowls at him. 'What do you mean your

counterpart?

'

'Outside, ' he says, pressing his hand against the glass door and exiting the shop, glancing over his shoulder. It takes maybe half a moment for White-Hair to give, rushing after him and catching the door just before it would 've closed. Black-Hair follows.

'Wait, you bastard! '

'Sorry, ' he apologizes, easily, slowing in his step. Even in this late-night hour, Harajuku is busy, bustling. Cotton candy and caramel sweetness bloats the air. 'It would have been awkward to talk in there. '

'I don 't care what those monkeys think! ' White-Hair 's steps are angry.

Monkeys

. The word is so unpleasant on his ears. 'Answer the question! Why are you impersonating Master Geto!? '

How to answer that.

'...I 'm not, ' he decides on saying, and before she can protest, 'I 'm not the Geto you know, but I am an authentic version of him. ' How to explain '

'...An authentic version? ' Black-Hair 's voice is quieter, softer. 'What do you mean? Why are you here? '

'I 'm not here

for

a reason, ' Suguru answers, 'there was trouble with a cursed technique and it just happened. It involved space-time manipulation. I belong to another timeline ' ' White-Hair opens her mouth to interrupt, but Black-Hair steps on her shoe, ' 'in simplest terms, I 'm an alternate version of your Geto, from a decade ago. '

'That sounds like bullshit, ' says White-Hair, eyes narrowing. But her left hand is fiddling anxiously with the hem of her shirt. 'How would that even happen? '

'He said it was a technique... ' Black-Hair quietly says.

White-Hair 's steps falter, and her attention momentarily shifts to the other. There 's disbelief on her face. 'Oh come on, Mimiko! You can 't seriously believe this! '

'...I mean, ' says the girl 'Mimiko ' 'there

are

weird techniques. And... ' one of her hands lifts and digs nails into the side of her neck. 'It

feels

like

him

, doesn 't it? Not at all like ' '

That makes White-Hair pause, eyes flicking back to Suguru. Her expression falters. She steps closer to Mimiko, movement some mix of protective and reassurance-seeking. 'It

does

feel like him... '

Suguru holds a small sigh of relief behind his teeth. 'I know it 's hard to believe, and I 'm sorry for the shock. It must be hard to see me. '

'No, ' says White-Hair, 'no it 's ' ' she pauses, swallows. Her eyes briefly wander the crowds and bright pop-colors surrounding Takeshita Street before snapping back to him. 'Let 's say you actually are a version of Master Geto, what kind of cursed technique is that powerful anyway!? '

Suguru hums, thoughts drifting to Satoru. Suguru should...honestly he should start heading back to the college in a few hours, if he wants to be there at sunrise, but these girls... They

knew

him.

Master Geto

, they say; they were on his counterpart 's side. Nothing about the shaman world

seems

to have changed, but Suguru 's perspective has been limited. If his counterpart

did

change things up, then they would know, right?

They

knew

him.

Satoru is going to be so pissed when he wakes up to find Suguru

not even on

campus, but ' There

has

to be meaning, and Suguru has to know it in its entirety. 'It was Satoru 's 'Gojo 's fault, ' Suguru answers, 'his cursed technique got us caught in something. '

White-Hair scowls. 'Gojo Satoru? '

Mimiko looks at him, eyes shyly skirting the edges of his face. 'Master Geto 's 'your former best friend? '

Former

. Right. Of course.

Of course they 'd no longer be friends if Suguru went and became a curse user, but hearing it actually

spoken '

it pinches his chest. The crepe feels heavy in his hand. The paper wrapped just above his wrist burns on his skin.

'Yeah, ' he says, voice a little thicker than he means it. 'Him. '

'Oh, ' says Mimiko.

He looks to the side. 'What were your names, again? I didn 't catch them. '

'That 's 'cause we didn 't tell you, ' White-Hair says, and stares at him a moment before huffing. 'I 'm Nanako and she 's Mimiko! We 're twins and I 'm older. '

'By

seven minutes

, ' Mimiko says, face pinching with familiar annoyance, and she 's less reserved when talking to her sister.

'Seven

important

minutes. '

'Nanako thinks her being older makes it so she 's the protector, ' Mimiko tells him, 'but you 'Master Geto said we should both protect each other equally, however we can. '

'Well, ' says Suguru, and it 's odd, the way she looks at him 'they way they both do, honestly 'all full of familiarity and reverence, 'it 's important, to protect those close to you regardless of age. '

'

See

, ' Mimiko tells Nanako, 'even younger Master Geto agrees. '

Master Geto

. That, again.

Suguru swallows, shifting weight between his feet. Heat pricks on the back of his neck, and he tries to ignore the sensation of it. 'By the way, ' he says, 'you don 't have to call me Master Geto, please. Just Geto is fine. '

'Master Geto didn 't like it at first either, ' Nanako says, frown briefly tugging at her lips. The sun makes her gradient. 'I guess it 's fine to call you just Geto. You 're not ' ' she pauses, and such raw

grief

takes her expression that Suguru feels crushed under the weight of it. 'You 're not quite him, after all. '

Mimiko nods quietly. Her lower lip trembles.

The thick, cotton-candy air outside Takeshita street clots in Suguru 's lungs, curdles on his tongue. Rancid oil. Cursed energy is less thick here than in other parts of Tokyo, but it still hovers, inescapable.

'I 'm not, ' he says, and almost wants to apologize for it.

'Right, ' Mimiko mutters, 'right. '

A beat, two. Tokyo bustles around them, loud and irritating. Someone jostles Suguru on their way. He grimaces and brushes the area with his free hand, even though that won 't do anything to help the small bit of cursed energy they left behind on his shoulder.

'Here, ' he says, 'why don 't we leave this area? There must be more pleasant areas to talk. '

'

Please

, ' says Nanako.

'Master Geto hated Harajuku too, ' Mimiko adds, picking up step down the street. 'Too many monkeys. '

Monkeys

. It sounds so natural and innocuous from her tongue, spoken in her soft manner. Like you 'd say

the sky is blue

or

this grass is soft

. It rings in his head again, bouncing against the walls of his skull and settling unspoken on his own tongue.

They cross out of the area, turning a corner, leaving the cotton-candy sweet and caramel-thick air behind them.

'That word, ' Suguru manages to say, perhaps a few beats too late, 'can you...not use it? '

Mimiko pauses. Nanako glances at Mimiko. Both their expressions become confused.

'What word? '

' 'Monkey ', ' he says, and the shape of it feels gross in his mouth. Like a curse. Too big, pressing against his teeth in all the wrong ways. 'It 's not ' '

moral to say, speaking that word in that way,

it 's so gross

,

' 'polite. Nonshamans is the more correct term. '

Nanako 's expression shifts into something completely incredulous, disbelieving, almost

affronted

. Mimiko, though 'she frowns only briefly before a low noise of realization comes from her throat. 'You 're ' ' she glances at her sister, 'Nanako he 's 'he didn 't know us, so that 's before ' '

'Oh, ' Nanako says, pauses, clicks her tongue. 'Right. '

Suguru frowns. 'Before what? '

'Before you massacred all those mon ' ' Nanako stops, expression souring oddly, something like annoyance, something like grief, 'nonshamans. '

'Master Geto told us that before that he was unsure about the truth, ' Mimiko adds.

'...I see, ' Suguru says. His eyes wander the road as they resume walking, leaving the heart of Harajuku. The girls 'they seem like the chatty type to him, or, at least, Nanako does. But neither of them speak while they walk down the sidewalk, past bright storefronts and disgusting crowds. They keep

glancing

at him, expressions all strange, and it grates on his nerves. Flowering dogwoods dot this street, leaves reflecting bright streetlight. It 's not the right season, not really, but the evening 's sudden downpour must have provoked them into bloom. Suguru rips his eyes away, looking at the girls squarely, face shaping into something lightly curious. 'Is something wrong? You keep staring at me. '

'No it 's ' ' Mimiko looks immediately embarrassed, jerking her gaze away and looking hard at a white bloom that 's been crushed into the concrete. 'You 're just so young, is all. It 's... '

'Really fucking weird? ' Nanako offers.

'Nanako don 't be so

rude

, ' Mimiko hisses, but glances at him and bashfully nods. 'It 's just 'you 're like Master Geto but, not. That 's all. '

Ah.

Their stares prickle on his skin, sticky and uncomfortable, like a thin film of plastic wrap. And it 's 'similar, if not quite the same, to the feeling of Gojo 's eyes on him on the first day here. Similar to Maki 's glare the first time they met, too. The outline of his counterpart casts over him like a shadow, like a curse. But where it had brought caution and anger before, it now brings an unfair amount of 'idolization? Adoration?

Who were you?

'Master Geto didn 't like sweets, ' Nanako says, looking almost accusingly at the crepe in Suguru 's hand.

'I don 't either, ' Suguru admits, after a moment. Laughs a little. 'You two can have it, if you want. '

'Oh, ' says Mimiko. 'Is it okay? '

'It 's fine. '

'Okay, ' says Mimiko, and she smiles but her shoulders hunch, and when she looks back at the crushed sidewalk flowers, her lower lip trembles. One of her hands rubs at her eye, and self consciousness takes her face. 'Sorry it 's just 'Master Geto got us crepes just before ' '

Suguru swallows. It 's a cold night, and chill runs down from his shoulders to his fingertips. The cursed object around his wrist itches.

'Why don 't you tell me about him? '

Mimiko visibly brightens, and Suguru knows the answer before it 's spoken.

They wander Tokyo aimlessly, roads leading into roads, an unending urban labyrinth. Mimiko and Nanako share the crepe. The rain somewhat washed out the typical scent of vomit that clings to the streets left behind by miserable salarymen after late izakaya nights, but it did nothing for the vague smell of industrial grease and chocking omnipresence of yakitori smoke and exhaust fumes. Nor did it have any effect on the stifling taste of cursed energy

everywhere

, putrid and pungent.

It 's the abundance of cursed energy that always made both him and Satoru generally dislike spending excess time in deep urban areas. Curses crawl the edges of Suguru 's vision, peering out from gaps in still-green ginkgo leaves, wrapping around the shoulders of pedestrians that pass Suguru on the street, lazily sprawling themselves over the tops of restaurant entrances.

The whole night, Suguru has disobeyed his deeply ingrained habits, and hasn 't exorcise a single one.

The girls chatter on about his counterpart. Suguru listens.

Being away from the college is a relief, but Tokyo is another sort of intensity. Night shades Tokyo in warm contrasts, makes its popping colors glow bright and neon against the dark. It 's fine, it is, it 's

fine

, but Suguru 's tongue tastes like despair and he 's surrounded on all sides by 'by '

He really, really doesn 't want to think the word 'monkeys '.

'Your Geto seemed very sure of his plan, ' Suguru says.

'Of course he was, ' says Nanako.

Gojo 's voice echoes in his head.

Your amazing, genius, truly brilliant, with no glaring problems at all plan of mass murdering millions of people for the horrible crime of daring to be born?

The sarcastic dips of his tone. Suguru watches a curse flit into an alley. Everything tastes foul on his tongue.

(But there

has

be meaning.)

'In the process of... ' hesitation, 'culling, would there not be a massive amount of curses created from the terror? If the goal is to rid Japan of curses, isn 't that counterproductive? '

Nanako looks at him for a moment, and then laughs. 'We asked the same thing! '

'Master Geto said it was a good question, ' Mimiko dutifully adds, 'he said that the amount of cures created in the process is actually a good thing, because it 'd snowball and they 'd speed everything up. So at the end there 'd just be straggling nonshamans to pick off and a whole bunch of curses to clean up, but that 's all. '

That makes sense.

It

does

, it makes sense. Attempting to kill all nonshamans personally would be ridiculous; even just in Japan, there are too many. Harnessing the system of curse creation is almost the only feasible way it

could

be done. It makes

sense

. But at the same time it 's just so '

grotesque.

Curses don 't kill kindly, can 't be merciful. What Mimiko describes, what his

counterpart

described, was a bloodbath of untold proportions, of immeasurable horrors.

Breathe in, and out. The chemical burn of second hand smoke tickles his throat. 'I see. '

The girls laugh and continue their chattering. Suguru listens. And it 's just so '

jarring. It 's jarring.

They describe his counterpart like a deity, a regal entity with long hair and long robes and a Buddha-smile. A gentle figure, with large hands and warm arms. He smelled like incense, apparently, like jasmine and sandalwood and a hint of blood. (But don 't worry, Mimiko never minded!) They do not call him a fanatic, but Suguru reads it anyway in the casually derogatory way these girls treat nonshamans, in the flippancy that Nanako mentions how many fabrics got discarded because they were were drenched in blood beyond repair. They don 't call him a fanatic, but Mimiko fondly describes the

family

, how easily his counterpart

recruited

people, and Suguru hears it anyway.

But these girls 'they describe him like he hung the stars just for them, like he breathed the moon into the sky and bloomed life into being. They describe him like daylight, like the coming of spring, like the sun itself. There 's love in their voices, their actions, written plainly on their faces.

Devotion, almost.

So of course, it comes up '

'How did you two meet him, anyway? '

The sisters pause at that, step faltering, glancing at each other, then at him. Nanako 's shoulders square and Mimiko draws somewhat into himself, and Suguru worries, then, that he has crossed a line, but '

'He rescued us, ' says Nanako. 'We came from the countryside, you know? We would have died 'or been killed, whatever 'in that fucking cage if he didn 't come. '

Cage

.

' 'He freed us and massacred the whole village, ' Mimiko says, quietly. 'He said we didn 't owe him anything. '

Massacred the whole village

.

Ah.

A hundred and twelve people sounds like it could be a whole village. That must 've 'must 've been when he decided.

Breath catches horribly in Suguru 's throat, and he can see it so

clearly

. Graphic images from books on shaman-nonshaman rural relations overlay with the sisters. Two badly mistreated girls in a cage in some stupid fucking village. His nerves already frayed from having to deal with nonshaman ignorance and being so far in the middle of nowhere. That version of him, something giving, snapping, breaking under pressure. A rubber band pulled too taut. The bloody splatter of it. The thin smile of his counterpart when he decided his true feelings, decided:

I hate monkeys

.

He can see it so clearly, because that is him.

Absently, Suguru raises a thumb to his forehead, and digs a nail into the skin.

'The village, ' he hears himself say, words morbid on his tongue, 'is it still there? '

'I don 't know, ' Nanako says, sounding uncertain. 'I guess? Probably. '

'Can we go there? ' The moment those words leave his mouth, he regrets them. Nanako and Mimiko both freeze, and he stops walking with them. The sky is blacks and grays, light pollution against sparse cloud cover, but the air doesn 't feel like storm. Around them, Tokyo glows. A curse rustles leaves in a nearby ginkgo, its colors splotched a warning red. Suguru finally wrestles his tongue into working. 'Sorry, that was an incredibly inconsiderate request. Please don 't feel pressured at all. Just ' '

'No, ' Nanako interrupts, raising her chin. 'No, it 's okay. Mimiko '? '

'It 's okay, ' Mimiko answers, feet drawing together and shoulders straightening. She nods, and, more clearly: 'It 's fine. We 'll bring you, if you wanna go. '

Guilt eats at the lining of his stomach, thick and nauseating. 'You don 't have to. '

'We know, ' says Mimiko. 'You 'd never make us. '

'But ' '

'We 're fine with it, ' Nanako insists, 'We 'll bring you. '

Suguru hesitates a moment, two, three, before conceding: 'Okay. '

(It 's not quite clear now, but there

has

to be meaning.)

-

The train smells faintly of soy sauce and is dotted by curses. One of which has lazily followed them since they left Tokyo and is perched on the train seat near Mimiko 's shoulder. Attracted to cursed energy, maybe. There 's another curse crawling all over the floor, not strong, but large. Its long, centipede-like body stretches the train 's central aisle. For now, it 's dormant, but Nanako keeps nudging it with the tip of her shoe and then snickering when it writhes in response.

It 's grating Suguru 's nerves.

Outside, the world passes them by in a haze of inky black. Dark forests and moonlit rice fields. This is their second train transfer already, and it should be the last. It 's a small, relatively empty train. By far, the most lively people are the sisters.

The long curse hisses, curls, its many legs making an abrasive scuttling sound on the floor. Suguru twitches. Nanako nudges the thing again. It makes a clicking noise.

That 's

enough

.

Suguru stretches his hand out, impulsively

tugging

on the edge of his ability. The curse instantly melts into weightless liquid, drawing towards his hand and reforming into a perfect sphere. His stomach sinks.

As always, the texture makes him want to grimace. He can feel the curse moving just below the surface of its artificial encasing, writhing like a living thing. Holding these is like cradling a barely contained ball of insects, and swallowing it is worse.

Disgusting

.

Even its color is a horrible thing, this shifting void of darkness held in his palm.

Suguru 's gaze wanders to the other inhabitants of the train. There 's a sleeping old woman and a middle aged man reading a book. Some others. Nonshamans. Suguru is hyperaware of the curse in his hand. His cursed energy is flaring up in anticipation to welcome another curse into it. Nonshamans. Curses. Nonshamans. God, they don 't even know.

Ignorant 'disgusting 'weak '

Ah.

Maki isn 't weak or ignorant of the shaman world, though. And she 's a nonshaman.

His eyes come back to the sphere in his palm. This disgusting thing. Abruptly, he becomes aware of the sisters watching him.

'Hey, ' he says, holding up the sphere, shifting it, balancing it atop his index finger. Strands of loose hair tickle his neck. The train is cold and quiet. He looks at the sisters. Smiles. ' 'You think this is what the human soul looks like? '

Not Satoru 's soul, he thinks. But maybe his own.

His index finger tilts. The sphere falls back into the center of his palm. He doesn 't look at the sisters.

' 'Dunno, ' Nanako 's voice says. 'Maybe m 'nonshaman souls do. '

Suguru hums noncommittally and brings the curse to his lips, slips it past his teeth. Vomit on his tongue. It presses against the walls of his mouth all wrong. He tilts his head back. When it finally presses down into his throat, there 's a familiar half moment where it feels like he 'll choke, but the feeling passes once the curse passes the halfway mark and begins to deform. This is the worst moment, where he can

feel

it coming apart, like a nest of crawling cockroaches made of sludge, a half physical sensation that becomes more psychological when the negative energy finishes melding into his own.

He just barely manages to hold back a full body cringe. Taking curses is like that: uniquely and distinctly disgusting. Like swallowing a thick glob of phlegm.

Ugh.

(Not Satoru 's soul, but maybe his own.)

'Do you want water? ' Mimiko offers a sealed bottle to him.

He eyes it a moment, two, before letting his shoulders slump and taking the bottle. 'Thanks. '

'No problem! '

The cool water soothes his throat, washes out the taste, if only a little. 'Was I that obvious? '

'No, ' she says, 'but Master Geto always drank something after taking in curses. '

'Ah. '

He looks outside again, at the landscape blurring out behind them. Looks at the starry night sky. Looks, too, at the curse still eerily watching them from its perch beside Mimiko 's shoulder, feathers ruffling; irritating. Suguru would exorcise it, but he 's lost all will to do so, after downing the centipede-curse. And all the passengers that are nonethewiser.

Parasites

, he thinks suddenly, and it throws him off. But isn 't that what a parasite is? Something that drains its host of life, sustaining itself off the power of those stronger and more versatile than them? But 'Maki, he reminds himself, does not fit that description. Nothing makes sense. Nothing ever makes sense.

What would his counterpart do if he were here? Long hair and long robes, large hands and warm arms. Incense and Buddha smiles. A hint of blood.

'Hey, ' he says without really meaning to, but both the sisters look at him with full attention, so he continues, 'do you really believe all 'all of what my counterpart believed? '

'Yeah I guess, ' says Nanako. Mimiko nods.

'Oh. '

'I mean, ' says Nanako, after a moment, her brows furrowing just a bit, 'why wouldn 't we? '

There are way too many ways to answer that. Gojo 's words ring in his skull, again. Suguru doesn 't want to answer, not really, so he shrugs.

'Nothing, ' he says, forehead pressing against the cold metal of a grab-bar. A moment, and, 'I just think 'you should make sure to think for yourselves, too. That 's all. '

Neither of the sisters offer much in the way of response. They don 't refute his words, but they don 't affirm them, either, and the implications are left to grow stale in the air. Under the press of his forehead, the metal grows warm. Suguru watches night pass through glass windows, and, blanketed by uneasy quiet, falls into an uneasy drowse.

(There

has

to be meaning.)

-

After the last train, they still have to hike almost forty minutes. Their journey is with exhausted feet. The curse that has been hopping trains with them since Tokyo follows here, too, flitting between branches on their trek up an old dirt road through the mountains, feathers catching dim starlight. When they finally arrive, the night has stretched long, moon well into its descent.

It 's a small village nestled into a small valley, surrounded on all sides by thickly forested mountains. Every plot of what used to be farming land is overrun with weeds. The houses are crumbling in a horrible state of disrepair. The place is utterly silent bar rustling leaves and the occasional scamper of a woodland animal.

It 's a ghost town.

There are no bloodstains 'it 's been eleven years, of course there aren 't 'and there are no whole bodies, but something snaps under Suguru 's shoe. He glances down, and under quiet moonlight, identifies what he 's just stepped on as the bones of a forearm. Stripped bare of flesh and left to the elements.

That 's not the only bone he finds, just the first. They 're easier to spot when he 's looking for them 'little gleams of white reflecting the night 's silvery light. Three hands on the doorstep of a tea-house. Half a rib cage by the center road. A femur half engulfed in weeds. Miscellaneous toe and finger bones strewn all over like spilled marbles.

A hipbone, small enough to have once been that of a young child.

(

There has to be meaning there has to be meaning there has to be meaning '!

)

Suguru breathes in, and out. Clean mountain air. Rotting wood. There 's a slight wind, and it slips cold through the drafty fabric of Suguru 's shirt.

'...They didn 't clean this place up very thoroughly, ' Suguru says.

'No one really cared enough to, ' says Nanako, kicking the hipbone into a bush with unsmiling indifference, and Suguru wants to scream. 'It 's not like most of the people here had relatives that really cared about recovering a full body, and it was written off on public records as a natural disaster. The Jujutsu authorities did bare minimum with collecting and cremating bodies. '

'Oh. I see. '

They leave the main road in favor of a smaller side path to the village 's outskirts. It leads them to a small, traditional house. It 's elevated slightly from the ground, and the front steps creak when Suguru steps onto them. The front door has to be wretched open. They all walk through the genkan without removing their shoes.

The house 's interior is a typical layout of sliding doors and tatami mats. Mildew and dust cling to the air. He wants to cough, but doesn 't.

And finally '

It 's a small room, tucked in a corner to the house. Moonlight spills in through the windowed wall, silvery panels dimly illuminating the tatami mat floor. Casting light, too, on the room 's sole occupant: a large hard-wood cage. It has a small door that 's left hanging open, and by the foot of it there lies a smashed metal lock.

Oh god.

'This is it? '

Neither of the sisters respond vocally, but Mimiko nods her head. There never needed to be an answer at all.

Meaning meaning meaning meaning '

This is what his counterpart saved them from. Suguru feels frozen in place, stomach rebelling against him. The sisters would have died here. They would have died in that cage as mere children if not for his counterpart, he 's sure of it. He should feel happy that Geto saved them from this, and he

is

glad, but he thinks of the overgrown farms and crumbling houses and the

crunch

of a bone under his shoe, and the child-small hip, and instead he just feels '

sick.

That feathery curse flits in through a broken window. It perches on the bars of the cage. He stares at it. It stares back. It really is docile, for a curse. It 's still a curse, though, a gross manifestation of nonshaman rot.

Ah '

But anger won 't muster, either. Nor will hatred. What did he even come to this village for?

Validation?

Of what? That nonshamans deserve what his counterpart has done to them? Or out of a morbid desire to observe the atrocity that fell his counterpart from a shaman to a curse-user? To confirm that his counterpart

does

deserve the hatred that Maki holds of him? Why did Suguru even '

Someone gaps quietly. The tatami mats scruff. The door slides closed with a small clunk. Warm lantern light shades over the room from somewhere behind him. Suguru notices it all tangentially. His heartbeat pulses rhythmically from his neck to his fingertips. There 's blood roaring in his ears, and curses in his blood.

'What are

you

doing here!? ' Nanako 's voice is '

afraid.

Suguru snaps back into the present. Lantern light? The door? There 's

not supposed to be anyone else here '

'When I noticed you two had left Tokyo, I wondered, ' answers a mild voice, a familiar voice, 'why you two were traveling here, of all places. Although I wouldn 't have imagined... ' the feathery, bird-like curse lifts itself from the cage and flutters across the room, out of Suguru 's vision. '...that it would be because you girls found something so

interesting

. '

Suguru turns around and watches the curse land on an outreached hand. It stretches itself, climbing up the sleeve of a long robe and curling around the shoulders of the newcomer.

Suguru lifts his gaze further, and meets his own smiling face.