Morning brings with it a crisp coldness that bites Suguru's skin and doesn't soothe his tired nerves. It's barely daybreak, and the college is still thick with valley fog. It's not quite so dense as it will be later in the year, but the rooftops are obscured in dusty white hues and Suguru can barely see six steps ahead of him. As a first year, this haze of grays and whites that sometimes encases Jujutsu Tech was surreal, novel. Now, it's just irritating.

He gets a smoothie from the vending machines. It settles coldly in his stomach, and unease clicks down his spine. Satoru, Gojo, this future. His dead counterpart. He wants to be calm about it, but every bit of him feels on-edge. He's pacing the outdoor walkways aimlessly, turns a corner, and '

It's plain instinct to sharply kick the figure that would've crashed right into him. Even more so when that individual has black hair and knife-edge eyes, and '

Suguru snaps himself back. Shit.

"Sorry," he immediately apologizes, before Toji's son has even swung back onto his feet. Suguru reaches out a hand. "I should have better control over my reflexes."

Toji's son 'Fushiguro, right 'eyes his hand, but doesn't take it. He stands to his feet, stance blatantly cautious, face guarded.

A beat. Suguru withdraws his hand to his side. Two.

"It's fine," Toji's son Fushiguro says. "It happens."

Suguru rolls his shoulders. Checks over his face again. It doesn't feel like he's let it slip. Hopefully. "I really am sorry about that. I'm not usually this easily startled."

Fushiguro's lips press thin. His weight shifts subtly between his feet. He's so easy to read.

"Just..." Fushiguro clicks his tongue and looks away. "Leave me out of the shit you and Sensei have with my old man."

Suguru feels his face go stiff. He grits his teeth. He's

trying

.

"Of course," he says, relaxing his shoulders and leaning back on his heels. Fushiguro eyes him for a moment before waving and moving past. After a couple seconds, Suguru continues on his way, now with a destination in mind.

The training grounds.

There are several of them, but Suguru is going to his favorite one. It's sized moderately, not small, but not made for training large-scale techniques in. It lays on the college's edge, up a small stone staircase and through a patch of forest. The trees open up to a packed-earth clearing.

Suguru centers himself and begins a simple stretching routine. His muscles burn pleasantly. He steadies his breathing, his pulse, but his mind won't comply. Fluidly, he slips from stretching to several kata routines. It's not

fast

enough, not powerful enough. If Toji were here '

Suguru grits his teeth.

Mist trails his every movement, curling around his ankles and chasing his fingers in dancing wisps. Suguru's blood feels molten, skin bitingly hot against the cold air. His every movement is fluid, art all on its own, painting with momentum and the slope of gravity. It would be enjoyable, maybe, but Suguru has been dancing like this with Toji's memory for almost a year, and he

still

can't take the lead.

His heart pulses in his neck, against his ribs. Riko's blood on the stones. The scar in Satoru's hairline. That sharkish grin. Had Suguru been the one to kill Toji, he would have had him eaten alive. Sharp teeth would've shredded that man's skin, and he would've been consumed in the stomach of Suguru's curses.

Thump, thump, thump

. If, if, if '

"...eto '!"

Suguru pivots on the balls of his feet, momentum carrying his leg towards the sound's source. Although it's lifting, the fog still makes everything a little hazy, but there's pink hair and wide eyes and '

Suguru jerks himself to a halt, the sudden stop almost pulling him off balance. Carefully, he lowers his leg.

That makes twice, today. At least this time it didn't actually hit.

"...Geto?"

"Sorry, reflex." He presses his shoe into the ground. "Do you need me for something?"

Itadori's ears are faintly pink. "I actually got here a couple minutes ago...I figured I should stop just staring like a weirdo. You looked really cool, though!"

Suguru hums. Raises a brow. "You come here often?"

"Well 'I was actually looking for Maki. She's usually here in the mornings."

Another hum. "You could look in the indoor training rooms?"

Itadori's shoulders slump. "Already did."

A beat. The fog has thinned, morning sun burning it away revealing faintly pink hued skies above. Suguru shifts his weight. "I could help you with what you need," he offers, "if it's something I can help with."

"It's okay!" Itadori raises his hands. "You don't have to '"

"So it

is

something I can help with?"

Itadori pauses. "It's just combat pointers. Sensei says I'm a natural 'and it

does

come easily 'but I've never had formal training..."

"I can definitely help there." Suguru smiles reassuringly. Beckons Itadori forward. "I've helped underclassman with their martial arts before, too. Don't worry about it."

"...Okay!" The other finally accepts, smiling. "I'll be in your care, then!"

Suguru nods. "First," he says, "spar with me for a moment."

"Alright!" Itadori stances himself, then visibly hesitates. "But what if '"

"Don't hold back," Suguru cuts. "You'll barely be able to touch me, even without holding back."

That makes Itadori draw back, brows furrowing and lips pouting. His stance is good, relatively. "You're like Sensei after all!"

Suguru raises his brows. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah! You haven't even seen me fight before!" There's no offense in his tone, though.

"I don't need to." The face Suguru puts on is deliberately mocking, a hint of a smirk; confidence. The performance should motivate Itadori well enough. "I'm just that good. Come at me."

So Itadori does. It catches Suguru off guard, how good the first-year actually

is

. He's fast, and he knows how to pack power in his movements. There's an effortlessness in his utilization of momentum and steadiness of stance 'almost the sort that professionals have. But not quite. He makes it work in the haphazard way of a genius given the wrong tools.

"You use to right side of your body too much," Suguru tells Itadori while he struggles to grapple out of Suguru's hold. "It makes you predictable, and if you rely too much on one side, it'll be devastating if that side is injured in the middle of a fight."

And,

"Don't step before you kick," he says, catching Itadori's shoe with one hand and throwing him off-balance. "That small delay will become muscle memory, and it'll be hell to shed the habit."

And,

"Your form is too inconsistent. Learn how to hold yourself and drill it in instead of going by pure instinct. The only reason you haven't broken a wrist mid-fight is because of cursed energy reinforcement."

And,

"Man!" Itadori stays on the ground, balefully looking at the sky. All lingering color from dawn has faded. "How do you know all this anyway!?"

"My technique almost by nature has required me to hone my martial arts ability," Suguru answers, gently nudging Itadori's stomach with his shoe. "Especially at the beginning, when I didn't have any strong curses, I've needed personally to fight opponents at close range."

Itadori makes a

hnn

noise, eyes flicking to meet Suguru's. The first year sits up, leaning on his palms. "Do

you

have any weaknesses?"

I freeze up if I get too emotional

, Suguru immediately thinks.

It's momentary, but there. And if I can't process the issue quickly, then my offense becomes impulsive and borderline reckless.

And of course, he's thinking of Toji.

A beat.

"Of course I do," Suguru says. "I still have a way to go."

Itadori looks up at the sky, seems to chew that for a moment, then 'his face dawns with casual curiosity. He looks back at Suguru. "What about Sensei?"

Suguru pauses, breathes in, and out.

"Yeah," Suguru finally says, "Satoru also has weaknesses."

Itadori blinks at him. "Like what?" And it's not even sarcastic or bitter, it's an earnestly genuine question.

A year ago, Suguru would've easily been able to say sensory overload and general exhaustion, but neither of those apply now that Satoru has learned reverse cursed technique. Hypothetically, you could

try

to stimulate him at a faster rate than his technique could keep up with, but that's impossible in any sort of realistically applicable sense. No, now...

"His weakness is other people," Suguru hears himself say. "In a fight, they'll automatically drag him down, no matter if they're fighting alongside him, or bystanders. Or hostages. A careful planner could take advantage of this."

"...Huh," Itadori looks back at the sky, and Suguru watches the way his chest stops rising so drastically. Hears the quiet sigh, sees the slight downturn of his lips. Feels a prickle of concern.

"Something wrong?"

"No!" Itadori rubs the back of his neck self consciously. "No, it's just," his hand drops, "Sensei feels so out of reach, I guess. Y'know he thinks we 'me and other students, too 'can reach his level? It's just..."

Something thick presses against the walls of Suguru's throat, gross and spherical, like a curse. "Don't put yourself down too much," he decides on saying, and he's not sure if he means it as

you'll never reach his level; no one can, so don't be hard on yourself about it

or as,

keep trying, it's a hard journey, but I'm sure you can

.

"You're right," Itadori says, laughing a little. He smiles, bright and genuine. "I shouldn't."

That's enough of a break, Suguru decides.

"C'mon," he says, stretching out a hand, "back to it."

So they do. Itadori goes back into fruitlessly attempting to knock Suguru off his feet, and Suguru guides him through, catching his ankle, giving a pointer, throwing him halfway across the training ground '

A whistle interrupts his attention.

Suguru snaps around. On the edge of the training ground, just above the stone stairs, is the nonshaman student. Her weight is leaned against a tree trunk, one hand against her jaw, the other holding her elbow. There's a grin splitting her face, sharp and determined and challenging. The hand drops from her jaw and ghosts along the covered spear across her back.

"Maki!" Itadori is already bounding across the clearing, wide smile.

"Yo," the nonshaman answers, lifting from the tree and stepping fully into the sunlight. It makes the dark edges of her hair look almost green. Her eyes flick from Itadori to Suguru, and back. "You know," she says to Itadori, "Fushiguro was looking for you earlier. He's by the dorms, I think. You should probably go."

"Megumi's looking for me?" Itadori's expression pulls. He looks at Suguru worriedly, and almost looks puppyish. "Sorry, I '"

"Don't worry about it," Suguru answers, leaning back on his heels, giving a smile and a lazy wave. "It was fun. Try not to forget what I pointed out. See you around."

"See you too!" Itadori waves to them both and disappears down the stairs in an echo of loud footsteps.

Suguru almost for-real smiles, but doesn't. Instead, he adjusts his posture to face Maki, stance deliberately casual, and tilts his head, slipping on a pleasantly curious face. "So," he drawls, "I heard you frequent this training ground?"

She shrugs. "It's my favorite."

"What a coincidence," he says, words slipping thick and slow from his tongue. That knife's-edge sensation from only a couple hours earlier is back, less uneasy, but just as buzzing and full of unreleased energy, "It's mine, too."

"'Guess we'll just have to share."

Suguru tracks the flexing of her fingers. "'Guess so."

"Y'know, you're pretty good," the nonshaman says, slinging the spear down from her back and abandoning it on the clearing's edge with a dull thump, "but I'm better."

And that,

that

is definitely a challenge. Direct and blatant. It's a mocking, too.

His lip almost curls. This nonshaman really thinks she can challenge him, huh. "Oh? You're sure about that?"

"Why don't we find out?"

He eyes her. The nonshaman's stance isn't blatantly for battle, but like his, it can very easily slip into one. She's more outwardly aggressive than him 'it shows in the tension of her muscles, the hard set of her jaw when she stares him down, the way her shoe leaves a rough indent in the hard earth when her posture shifts minutely.

"If that's how you want it..." he lets the words drag, lets his smile turn almost-mocking as he shifts his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet, "then why not? I'll indulge."

This is all the agreement she needs to launch forward, fist first, kick coming from the side '

Suguru dances left, strands of loose hair whipping against his temple. She's not quite so fast as Itadori, but she has more technique. She's far more finely honed. It's not hard though, not yet '

Her fingers graze his wrist, and it almost throws him. Her knee is coming as a follow up, and Suguru pivots away from that easily, but hand is already there waiting, and she manages to grab him for real this time. Revulsion surges in the pit of his stomach, heavy and loathsome. As a nonshaman, she's constantly leaking cursed energy, which is now dribbling onto his

skin

, and 'he wretches his hand away, retreating one step, two, three.

"What's wrong?" Her expression is taunting. "You're just running away!"

She isn't even

wrong

.

Something sour coats his tongue. He's being entirely avoidant, not even

defensive

, just

avoidant

. He doesn't want to touch her, and it's holding him back, and seriously, what the fuck? He won't even

touch

a nonshaman? How fucking stupid.

"'Just giving you time to warm up!"

Abruptly, he twists his momentum, slamming an almost uneven amount of weight into his left leg and letting it carry him into a subtler series of movements, aimed more to unbalance than harm. She takes it easily, her real problem lies in the way she attempts for moves that she simply doesn't have the power to carry out.

Suguru catches her fist, the power of it rattling his bones, and advancing the grip to her shoulder, lifting, and '

The nonshaman hits the ground none-too-gently. Her real problem...

"You're too used to fighting with a weapon."

She snarls, swinging back to her feet. "I don't need you to tell me that!"

He smiles, thin and entirely fake. "No need to get to worked up over it. I haven't had an actually decent sparring partner in a while; I don't have any high expectations for you."

The nonshaman's jaw visibly clenches, and her glare is molten. When she comes back at him, though, her form has adjusted. There's a harsh anger to the linear swing of her fist, but it's more calculated, now.

"The strongest sorcerer isn't good enough for you?"

Suguru snorts, then almost winces when her kick catches the bone of his hip in a way that will definitely bruise purple. "Nah. Everything else aside, Satoru's shit at hand-to-hand."

"Poor you," she responds, sarcastic.

Her movements are quick but not impulsive. Suguru has to steal his breaths, and she's viciously satisfied when she notices. Apparently, she's the kind of fighter who only becomes sharper with emotion. And she has a lot of emotion 'unusually so. It's not normal, he thinks, she shouldn't be so riled up just from a couple taunts.

"You don't use Zen'in techniques much." Not that she doesn't use them at

all '

she does, and is smart for it, because it's not a bad style, but her form is a patchwork of styles. It's a cheap jab at her status as a family reject.

"Not my fault that style isn't good enough to use more," she scoffs, redirecting the weight of his left hand and attempting for a moment to grapple with the right before giving up and jabbing an elbow to his rib cage.

"So you use mixed martial arts, hmm?"

"So do you."

He retreats one step, two, nape warm and palms tingling. It's true, Suguru is a completely mixed martial artist, but he hasn't displayed that yet, not really. So

why...

"Refusing to mix styles based on old notions of stylistic pride is for people that want to die in real combat," he replies.

By now, the fog has cleared, its small remnants curling around the nonshaman's shoes. Bright sunlight catches on her pulled-back hair when she uses the distance to build momentum in a series of circular movements.

It's 'not bad. It's not bad.

The nonshaman isn't that bad.

His chest knots, teeth grinding down. It just doesn't feel

right

. He catches her wrist, attempting another takedown by shoulder, but this time she gives up on fighting the move and takes the fall with a roll, using the new position to make a go for his ankles.

"Say..." He jerks out of the way. "What grade are you?"

She bares her teeth, surging up towards his jaw. "First."

Oh, seriously? A nonshaman? A

first grade?

"For real?"

"What," she sneers, "hard to believe?"

Yes, actually. Or maybe not. She's actually keeping up with him. It's not logical, Suguru recognizes, this acidic rejection at the notion. But for so long as he remembers, there has been shamans, and nonshamans, line of strength and knowledge cleanly dividing them. But

she...

"It's impressive," is what he says, not untruthful, but still curdling like poison on his tongue, "congratulations."

"I don't need your approval."

It

really

isn't normal, this level of aggression. This feels 'personal? It feels personal.

"Of course not," he placates, smiling. The fabric of his clothing feels rough on his skin, and one of his socks is beginning to bunch uncomfortably in his shoe. "Who were you taught by?"

That's clearly not the best inquiry, though, because she curls her lips and attempts a particularly nasty twist on his arm. "Until I came to Jujutsu Tech? Entirely self taught!"

Suguru is a little preoccupied with avoiding the sudden dig for his side, but he manages an: "Oh?"

"You think anyone wanted to teach the

monkey?

"

Suguru looses footing abruptly, stumbling a step, two, before regaining balance. It's such a cold shock to hear that term in reference to nonshamans outside textbooks and his own mind, and to hear her spit the word with so much

hatred

. It's like how he thinks it, except she doesn't hate her kind, she hates people that call her kind that.

Fuck.

And she says

until I came to Jujutsu Tech

, but he's sure she means

until Gojo became my teacher

, and of fucking course Satoru 'Gojo '

whatever

would accept a student like her wholeheartedly. He'd be delighted at the break of tradition, curious to see how far she could go. Because that's the kind of person he is.

Sweat slicks Suguru's palms and he feels oddly unsteady in his footing, but that doesn't hold him back from managing to trap the nonshaman in another throwdown. The difference this time, though, is that Suguru doesn't leave it at there. He follows the throw with a heeled kick, sending her slamming against the ground a few steps away with a strangled choke.

The sound, along with the sickening sensation of something in her chest

cracking

under his heel 'it douses the burning, acid thing that possessed his limbs and head. Something freezing pools in his stomach and twists tightly through his chest. He forgot himself. Spars are supposed to be

controlled

. Something like that '

It's not something he should break out against someone like her, someone he's supposed to be protecting as a shaman; it's not something he should do to any sparring partner at

all

.

"Fuck," he hears himself say, rushing over with gnawing concern, "I'm so sorry." He's already extending a hand. "Are you al '"

Her grip on his wrist is iron and bruisingly tight when she pulls herself up and slams him down in her place. His back hits the ground

hard

, air knocking from his lungs, and under her grip, something in his wrist audibly fractures.

She drops his wrist, sneer on her face. "Getting concerned about your opponent in a fight?"

Suguru narrows his eyes at her, purses his lips. Slowly, he raises to his feet. His wrist throbs, skin hot, fingers tingling. That hand is out. "Are we fighting?"

Maki

doesn't answer, shoes digging deep into the hard earth. Her chest must be hurting like hell, but she holds herself straight and ready.

He matches. "You know," he says, slow, when it becomes apparent that she won't continue, "being a shaman, as a job, as the one that carries out exorcisms... It's not exactly an

ideal

line of work. First grade, you said? You didn't have to choose this."

Because Maki

is

a nonshaman,

does

have freedom from the iron chains of duty. And it just... It's not jealousy that's thickly slicking the back of his throat, but it is... curiosity, he supposes. The burning, itching, bubbling kind.

Why would you choose this, why would you choose this, why would you choose this

.

"Spite," Maki answers, short and blunt and it doesn't make any fucking sense. It sets him off balance, but she doesn't care; she's already surging forward.

Suguru clicks his tongue, struggling to defend against her blows with only one hand. "Spite?" Something like

that?

It tastes sour on his tongue. "That's a weak reason."

"Not everyone needs delusions of righteousness!"

She aims specifically for his newly harder to defend side, and he has to jump back. That odd feeling is back, the pointed aggression towards

him

. Spite, she said. It reminds him, vaguely, of Toji. Spite towards the Zen'in clan, spite to this society of shamans, spite... and there's spite in her face when she looks at

him

.

Abruptly, it occurs to him, that if his counterpart died last year, then Maki would've been a first year. They could've met.

Nausea briefly touches his throat.

"Delusions of righteousness," he manages to repeat, finally finding a better rhythm in his footwork. It doesn't quite fill the void of his left hand being out of commission, but it compensates. "I think you're the crazy one if you're doing this shit for something petty as

spite

."

"So? Crazy is needed as an exorcist. Besides," Maki's shoe slams into the ground, leaving a deep mark when she pivots, "my girlfriend doesn't have some grand reason either! Neither of us could care less how many people we save on this shitty job! It'd be exhausting if we did!"

And Suguru 'isn't sure what to say to that.

A year ago, maybe he would've said something about

taking it more seriously

and

people are dying

, but he can't, not now, and especially not to

her

. Who might've met his counterpart, who might've fucking 'what 'he doesn't even want to think about it. He lets their talking drop off, and tries to concentrate entirely on their spar. He can't quite do it.

Maki and Kugisaki 'no grand reason, huh? They're not eating the gold-leaf platitudes that the shaman world spins.

It'd be exhausting if we did!

He grits his teeth. What, so he's just been a fool since the very start? No. He could never live like that, without purpose or meaning. Suguru knows himself well enough to understand that. Exhausting? Who cares.

Maki sends him off balance, and he cuts the train of thought. He truly '

The placement of steps, timing of blocks, the hum and rhythm of blood and bone, blocking and attacking. For a moment, there's no space for anything else. A hot feeling builds under his skin, coursing and molten, but not unpleasant. Not angry, or even irritated, really. No it's '

A feeling he hasn't felt during combat in a while, actually. It takes him a moment to place.

Excitement

. It's exhilarating! She's keeping up with him! He doesn't need to worry, though, because this isn't life or death!

She's '

"You're strong," he recognizes, realization cold and warm all at once, but not

wrong

, and it takes him a moment to realize that the feeling on his face is a ghosting smile.

Maki's expression morphs 'surprise, bemusement, and then, vicious satisfaction. "I know."

Suguru huffs a breath. "Hey," he says, briefly catching her leg and pulling her close, off balance, "have you ever had a schoolmate die?"

Her brows draw for a moment, eyes squinting, before regaining her balance and making a go for his knees. "A schoolmate? No."

Wow.

Probably Gojo's influence. Can't let his students die, huh?

"Or just 'a shaman you knew, in general," he says, meeting her attempt to destabilize

him

by pressing into it and grappling with her. He's careful to keep his voice steady. "In my first year, half the third years died, and the only second year got maimed so bad they dropped out. My kohai died earlier this year. Additionally, before entering the college, I worked with a few senior shamans, of those, two died last year. Death is the norm in the shaman world."

"You think I don't know that?" Maki hooks her leg with his and presses, digs her elbow into his stomach, and they both tumble to the ground. His skull knocks against hers in the fall, and when they part on the ground, dirt in both their hair. She scowls at him, hand hovering over her ribs.

He scowls back. This close, he realizes that he wasn't wrong yesterday morning in the kitchen 'Maki's cursed energy really does taste hot and pepperish. Gross. "Have you or have you not?"

"

Obviously

I've had shamans I've known

die

."

"Took you long enough to answer." In an impulsive move of excessive pettiness, Suguru reaches out and undoes Maki's ponytail.

"Oh

fuck you

," she snaps, inelegantly shoving him away and pulling up to her feet. "Do you have a

point?

"

He also stands back to his feet, and his wrist throbs, white-hot and swelling. When he glances at it, the skin is blossoming an ugly purple.

"My

point

," he replies, lightly dancing out of the way from Maki when she attempts to grab back her hair from where he's slid it onto his wrist, "is that none of this is

petty

, the shaman world isn't something you can just..." He can't quite find the words, and frustration gnaws at his tongue, at his chest, pulses hot through his veins, and he just wants to fucking ' "You can't just act like none of it

matters!

People are

dying!

This world hates shamans!"

Maki's expression contorts, and the look she gives him is positively scathing. "Big words from

you

."

Suguru is going to respond with 'something, but she hits him with a too-quick series of movement before he can. Right hand, left foot, knee, elbow, palm, palm, right step 'the moment of delay lets the words chew in his mouth, and he bites them back. Because, right, the Zen'in clan

is

infamous for their mistreatment of nonshamans, and perhaps saying something like that to

Maki

wasn't the most tactful, but '

It's just '

he doesn't

know

.

Left leg, right step, fist, kick, left side, ribs, stomach '

A wave of nausea churns in his stomach, and he falters. She doesn't slow in the slightest. Her hand grabs his arm, grip advancing to the shoulder, and he can't quite twist out. The angle is too sharp, and his ankle won't make the turn. A sharp pain flares in the muscle, and for the second time today, his back hits the ground.

For a moment, Suguru just lays there, looking at the blue sky, the too-bright sun, small wisps of cloud. The fabric of his clothing feels sticky, and morning chill still clings to the air, but hit blood is still running too hot for it to matter. He closes his eyes and waits patiently for his heartbeat to slow, but it won't quite calm.

Something nudges his stomach.

Lazily, his eyes open a crack. Maki blocks the sky. One brow is raised, and her hair is spilling over her shoulders. "'You getting up?"

Inexplicably, he feels like laughing. Would it be strange if he told her that she's the best partner he's had in 'what 'a year? Much better than dancing with Toji's memory, at least. Even if, in some ways, but not the ones that really matter, she reminds Suguru of him. It would definitely be strange to say so, though.

"Nah," he says. His ankle throbs. He tries to curl the hand that's wrist is fractured, and the fingers feel numb. It's not the worst kind of pain, he thinks. "Twisted my ankle."

Maki clicks her tongue, and looks almost disappointed. "I'll get someone, I guess." And she turns around, leaving Suguru's field of sight, footsteps sharp and brisk, and Suguru just '

"Wait."

The footsteps pause. Suguru turns his head and watches her turn around, looking at him expectantly. "What?"

He clears his throat, almost dismisses it and tells her to go on, but doesn't. Because, because he thinks he already knows, but he has to be

sure

. He has to be sure. "You met my older counterpart, right? The one that died last year."

Maki's weight shifts between her feet, and her jaw sets. "And? What about it?"

"What was '" he stops, swallows again, mouth feeling dry, and for a half moment, Suguru regrets bringing it up at all. But he already knows the answer, doesn't he? He just has to be sure. He has to. "What was he like?"

That gets a scoff. "Total piece of shit," Maki answers, no hesitation. "Human garbage."

Breath catches in Suguru's throat, tight and choking, and he has to close his eyes and breathe it out in a slow, even sigh. He already knew, he already

knew

. She just 'she puts it so bluntly.

"...I see," he murmurs, noncommittal. And, mostly out of some morbid curiosity, "...And I?"

Maki takes longer on this one, one beat, two, and he cracks his eyes back open. Watches her study him, the small way her brows furrow, before she clicks her tongue again.

"Less of one," she decides, and Suguru laughs for real this time, small and more air than sound.

"Flattering."

"I wasn't trying to be."

A beat, two. She doesn't move, and neither does he. Finally, his heartbeat has calmed, if only a little. There's wind in the leaves. Everything smells like turned earth and mountain forests. The rise and fall of his chest feels awkward in the way he feels it so fully. His wrist pulses achingly. Nonshamans, nonshamans, nonshamans...

Do you hate nonshamans, Geto?

No, because how could he hate someone for how they were born, yes, because they're weak and ignorant and there's a yawning split that can't be bridged, no, because...

Maki isn't weak, though, and maybe she's not ignorant, either. And maybe she's a bridge, too. And maybe Suguru hates that, or maybe he doesn't, or maybe he just wants to.

"Hey," he says, eyes wandering to her face, "do you hate shamans?"

It would make sense if she did, he thinks. He's read enough on the Zen'in clan to know she has all the reason to. Even if he hadn't, he's good at reading people, and she's far from subtle.

"Of course not, are you fucking stupid?"

Lazily, his gaze returns to the blue expanse above. "It would be fine if you did," he says, testing how the words feel on his tongue, and they don't feel right, necessarily, but they don't feel wrong, either. "It's fine to hate that which hates you, I think."

"Did I say I don't?" Irritation lines her voice.

"You do?"

"I'm not some sort of

saint

."

"Ah." It takes him a moment to place it, but 'right, he's thinking of people as groups, again. Thinking of them as monotonous blobs. "I guess."

"Any other stupid questions, or can I go now?"

"...Nah. No more questions." Suguru pulls himself into a sitting position and uses his good hand to gingerly help lift himself onto his feet. The sharp pain from his sprained ankle makes him wince. Maki eyes him dubiously. "It's fine," he says, making a vague motion with his bad hand, and wincing again. "Shoko hates having to go to patients instead of the other way around, anyway."

"...Right," Maki says. "I'm not carrying you there."

"That's fine." Not like walking halfway across campus on a sprained ankle is the most painful thing he's done.

"Don't blame me if you collapse halfway there." Maki's voice is hard, but she waits by the stone stairs for him. Stays patiently when he gingerly picks his way across the grounds, awkward and unstable like a newborn fawn. When he finally catches up, she reaches out, and before he's even realized what she's doing, she slips her hand into his hair, and steals his hair tie.

God, the sheer

pettiness

.

For a moment, he just stares. Heat curls around his neck where his hair has spilled down in a loose mess. "

Really?

"

"What?" She twists the tie around her fingers, smirk on her lips. "Problem?"

A beat.

"No," he says, pushing hair out of his face, and laughs. He can't help it, really.