Awareness comes back in pieces. First is touch: tingling in his fingers and warmth under his palms, an ache in his neck and faint tickling on his jaw. Second is sound: rustling leaves and steady breaths. The smell of old fabric and a rotten-strawberry iced-cucumber taste. He cracks his eyes open, blinks once, twice, and realizes the warmth under his palms is Satoru. His hair is tickling Suguru 's jaw. Ah '

His mind fits everything together sluggishly, thoughts all syrup-slow and pleasant for it. Suguru blinks again. 'They must have fallen asleep. Inky darkness blankets the room. Nocturnal light spills in through the open window, all celestial and night-thin. It clings to the edges of Satoru 's form like the heavens themselves can 't help but worship this boy, the early-autumn-moon laying him in her silver silks and the stars kissing his hair, his long lashes.

Breath catches in Suguru 's lungs, 'and he averts his eyes. Looks back. Averts his eyes. Clenches his jaw.

It 's not fair it 's not fair it 's not fair it 's not fair it 's not '

He should go.

Quietly, movements 'unobtrusive as he can manage, as to avoid jostling Satoru awake, Suguru untangles himself and climbs off the bed. He slips on his shoes and tentatively opens the door, fearful of a creak. It doesn 't creak, though, and Satoru doesn't stir, and Suguru is hit suddenly with the recollection of the morning after they arrived here. Satoru pressing himself into Suguru 's side, voice loud,

I woke up alone, you jerk!

Pause. 'Hesitation.

Suguru closes the door behind him, gentle.

The wood is cold and hard against his back when he leans onto it. Breathes in, and out. Pushes himself off. 'Exits the dorms, stepping out into the cold night air. It 's no longer raining, but everything is wet, grounds drenched in the thick scent of mountain petrichor. Had it not just stormed, he would climb onto the rooftops and stay there a while, but the tiles are cold and slippery and his throat is uncomfortably dry anyways, so Suguru makes his way to the closest kitchen.

Except, when he steps in, it 's already occupied.

'Ah, ' he says, hovering at the doorway, 'sorry for 'interrupting. '

Maki glances at him, face setting into a bland frown, elbow on the counter, legs crossed on the barchair. Low light reflects over her glasses. 'Kugisaki, though, she hones in on him with something almost hawk-like.

'Hey, ' she says, 'you. '

Suguru shifts weight between his feet. Resists the urge to fiddle with his earlobe. Raises a brow. 'Yeah? '

'Taste test! ' Kugisaki points sharply at a bowl on the counter, filled with cubed jelly slathered in cream. 'Maki says it 's good, but I need another opinion. '

Suguru blinks. He just wanted water. But '

He tilts his head at Maki. She shrugs. Okay, then.

'Sure, ' 'he agrees, abandoning the doorway and getting a cup of water before settling at the counter, one chair away from Maki. The cup clinks when he puts it down. Nobara pushes a small plate towards him. The cubed coffee-jelly looks almost amber in the kitchen 's warm light. He hesitates, almost frowns. Doesn 't Kugisaki not eat '? 'What 's it made from? '

'Agar-agar powder instead of gelatin and coconut base for the cream. ' Kugisaki 's voice is impatient and her shoe taps rapidly against the kitchen floor.

'Interesting. ' Suguru picks up a cube between his fingers, looks for a moment, and slips it past his lips. Coffee. Thick cream 'he can taste the coconut 'but not too thick. Smooth texture. Sweet, but not to sweet. It 's ' 'It 's good. '

Kugisaki hums and squints at the large bowl containing the rest of the coffee jelly. 'Really? I thought I put too little coffee... '

'No, ' he says, 'I think the balance is fine. 'Where 'd you learn to cook? '

Kugisaki shrugs, motions vaguely with her hand. 'Self taught. My grandma 's old and it 's not like I could ever go out to eat after elementary anyway. At least, not in the countryside. '

The 'coffee-aftertaste is bitter on Suguru 's teeth. 'Rural areas can be tight knit, ' he says, instead of bringing up rural discrimination against shamans. He glances at Maki from the corner of his eye. Her expression is bland and she 's leisurely eating at her own small plate of coffee jelly. She seems content to stay out of it. 'Was it hard to leave everything behind? '

'Nah, ' Kugisaki says, 'no way. Staying in that fucking village in the middle of no where, not doing anything 'I mean. It 's not like I have grand ambitions or anything, but there? Ugh. It didn 't feel right! I couldn 't be who I wanted to be! Staying there ' '

'Death of the soul, ' Suguru mutters, pauses, realizes he 's spoken, and morphs his face into something sheepish and apologetic. 'Sorry, sorry. Didn 't mean to interrupt. '

'No, whatever, ' Kugisaki says, seeming almost taken aback. 'I guess 'yeah. Something like that. '

A beat, two. Suguru eats another cube. 'Doesn 't chew it fully before swallowing. Suguru left his own hometown because he was tired of pretending to be something he wasn 't and there was no purpose in staying, no meaning in stagnation. Now, he 's stagnating again, pretending

again

, in this endless pattern of

exorcise

-

ingest

. The lack of purpose in it all clings to his skin, to his plastic face.

Inability to be who you want to be is a death of the soul, huh.

Suguru wants 'Suguru wants to be a good person. Wants to be correct and moral in a way that crosses into fixation. It 's a burning need, this hunger for meaning, this searching for purpose. And this 'college with its gold-leaf platitudes, this infinite motion machine that runs on shaman blood, this fucking place that bends itself to the whims of a cursed world, this place awful system that Suguru is

complacent

in,

perpetuating

'

'What about the college? ' His nails click against he glass of his cup. 'Would you leave if you wanted? '

'I mean, ' says Kugisaki, 'I 'm happy here, but yeah, if I wasn 't then I would. '

Suguru resists the urge to fiddle with his piercing. Thinks of Satoru, still asleep in the dorm room. 'And leave everyone behind? '

Kugisaki glances at Maki, but still says, 'Yep. '

Maki hums, but doesn't appear offended. Suguru watches her. His skin itches, pricks. The air in his lungs feels stuffy.

Breathe in, and out. The air smells faintly of coconut and sugar and stormy weather. He shifts himself to face Maki. 'What about you? '

She squints at him, frowning. 'What does it matter? '

He smiles, thin and entirely fake, but not noticeably so. 'You don 't have to answer if you don 't want. '

Maki clicks her tongue, halfway scowls. Her right index finger digs into the back of her left hand, and Suguru tracks the movement. Her shoulders go lax. 'It 's not like I haven 't left people behind before, ' she says, after a moment.

'So, yes? You would leave if you hated it here? 'Fundamentally? '

Her eyes narrow, 'and for a couple moments, she just stares at him. He meets the glare evenly. Finally, a scoff, and: 'I 'd hate myself if I didn 't. '

'I see. ' Suguru thinks, again, of Satoru.

Not fair

echoes in the back of his head, and he can 't stop thinking of

Satoru

. He grits his teeth, and downs the rest of his water. Slips from the barchair. His cursed energy feels raw in his veins. 'I should get going. '

The goodbyes are short 'practically nonexistant. Kugisaki waves him off and Maki seems intent on pretending he didn 't come at all. He 'walks the college 's hallways and thinks of Satoru in his dorm room, and Satoru waking up alone tomorrow morning.

It 's just '

Maybe it 's selfish, this desire to

leave

, but he can 't help it. Everything about this place embodies a cycle he hates and every thief-light footstep makes him feel alien and it 's just too much. His childhood was a world of lies and now this is a world of lies, too. This place is

too much

. Suguru 's face settles uncomfortably on his skin and he just wants to

drop it

, but can 't, because he 's

here

, and '

maybe it 's selfish, but he

has

to leave, if only for a little while.

-

Moonlight coats the stairs in silver, and Suguru hesitates at the top. Around him, night drenches the mountains in writhing shadows filled with unknowns. He has walked these steps hundreds of times, but right now, their familiar path stretches like a foreign thing, daunting where it recedes out of vision.

He can imagine, vividly, a version of himself that walks down these steps one final time, and never returns.

But Suguru is going to return, he

will

, by noon tomorrow at latest. He will.

Breathe in, and out. 'It 's fine. Just a quick break. His shoe hits the first step, and '

' 'Going somewhere? '

Gojo 's voice cuts the 'cold air like a knife. Despite the playful lilt to his words, Suguru flinches badly, jerking around, heart jumping to his throat, loudly slamming against the cage of his ribs. Cold shock churns into cold dread, and when Suguru tries to figure out which face to wear, he can 't find the right one. All that comes up is images of his abandoned room and Shoko calling his counterpart 's death

Gojo 's mess

and '

'What, ' he says, realizing he 's gone too long without responding, 'are you gonna stop me? '

It 's the wrong thing to say, he knows. Too confrontational, too challenging, too

distrustful

, but he just wants to

leave

and now he

can 't

and the tired frustration of it is eating at his tact.

Gojo cocks his head. He shapes starkly 'against the dark, all hard, bright edges. Starlight kisses his hair and the early-autumn moon lays him in silver. An otherworldly thing, he looks, a creature of sharped steel and sorrow. His hands are in his pockets.

'You tell me, ' Gojo says, and Suguru is impressed by how nonchalant and flippantly curious he manages to shape his tone, 'but ' 'do I have a reason to? '

But Gojo 's hands are still in his pockets and Suguru can

feel

the intense scrutiny of those Six-Eyes. It pricks his skin, all thorny and pressing. And Suguru thinks of the library, of Maki who met his counterpart, of '

Suguru raises a brow, and relaxes his posture. Steps off the staircase and leans back on his heels. Cold air bites at his ears, and he 'suppresses a shiver. For a moment, the words stick in his throat,

do you really wanna do this?

but he

has

to. A small smile tugs at his face, and it would be teasing, but there 's no joy in it. It 's a mocking smile, he thinks.

'Do you trust me to answer that truthfully? ' 'A beat, two. Aha. ' 'Something wrong? '

'No, ' Gojo says, ' 'course not. '

'Okay, ' Suguru says, and doesn 't entirely mean for hardness to slip into his voice but it

does

, 'then answer the question. '

Gojo shifts ever-so-slightly. The movement is hard to make out from six steps away in the dead of night, but it shows in the reflection of light against the fabric of his uniform. Gojo 's lips press. No answer.

Fuck.

Cursed energy coils tightly in Suguru 's stomach, around his shoulders, in his fingertips. Hyperawarness centers on every bit of himself, 'the pulse of blood in his ears, the rattling beat of his heart against his ribs, the hard press of flat stone through his shoes. Cold breeze brushes the back of his neck. His breathing is forcibly even.

'Okay, ' he hears himself say, 'and forces himself to watch Gojo 's face instead of looking away. This is such a bad idea but he 's so

tired

of not being told anything and he 's tired of pretending he can 't put it together himself. 'So... ' he could still take it back ' '...who did I kill? '

The first of two truths that Suguru does not technically know: his counterpart made his decision, and it set him against the college; he took the murder route.

Gojo tilts his head. A hand lifts from his pocket and scratches his hair for effect. 'I 'm not sure I know what you mean? '

'Never mind, ' Suguru says, smiling, tone mocking. If he 's going for it, might as well commit, right? He can 't let Gojo avoid this one. His skin feels too tight. 'Don 't answer that. I didn 't kill someone, did I? I know

what

I killed. '

The visible hand twitches, fingers flinching. Gojo 's posture straightens, 'stiffens. It 's confirmation enough. Hah.

'You 're so

easy

, ' Suguru laughs. It 's mean, it 's

so

mean to say things like that, things that Suguru doesn't even

agree

with, just to provoke Gojo 's reaction, but it got what he was looking for. 'So, how many was it? '

A beat.

Gojo 's shoulders forcibly relax. His hand shoves back into his pocket. 'What gave it away? '

'I know myself, ' Suguru says. 'Besides, you guys are so fucking obvious. 'Subtlety isn 't a good look on you, and I 'm half convinced Shoko isn 't even trying. I mean, just look at my room!

Seriously

. ' Pause. Suguru 's smile drops. It 's a relief, honestly. He swallows, shifts on his feet, and ' 'Now are you gonna

answer the question?

'

'...A hundred and twelve, ' Gojo finally answers after an apparent moment of deliberation, not smiling, and the number sends Suguru reeling. Then: 'Initially. '

Something thick chokes in Suguru 's lungs, mountain petrichor all of a sudden too rich.

A hundred and twelve

. More than a hundred and twelve. He knew it would have to be a decent amount, because if it were only a couple, he 'd be able to get away with it because of his special grade status and importance to the shaman world. But '

A hundred and twelve people.

That 's a lot of people, he thinks, that 's a lot of people.

He swallows. Nausea tugs at his stomach. 'And non initially? '

The wet, puddly stones reflect the 'night sky above, and Suguru tries to focus on attempting to pick stars out of the reflections instead of on Gojo 's face. It 's shame, this feeling building in his stomach, he realizes. It 's guilt for something he hasn 't even done, but

would

have.

' 'You really wanna know? '

No.

'Do you wanna tell me? '

'Not really, ' Gojo freely admits. 'You 're not the one who did it, not yet, maybe not ever, so it 's not your burden. '

'Bold assumption, ' is what Suguru says, halfway-glaring, because apparently he just has to make this hard. 'I broke Maki 's ribs this morning, you know. '

'Oh I know, ' Gojo says, tone light, and for some absurd reason, a smile tilts on his lips. A

genuine

one. 'But you just called her 'Maki ', you know?

He

only ever called her monkey-girl. '

Suguru winces, 'and he 's sure it shows, because he 's barely wearing a face right now and Gojo 's smile gains teeth.

'Don 't be so happy about it, ' Suguru mutters, looking to the side and back. And then, because Gojo

knows

, and Suguru can be

honest

(!), 'I 'm still 'it 's not like me knowing her personally

means

anything. It 's immoral and irrational to let personal connections get in the way of one 's morality. '

Gojo 's smile flattens. 'Honestly, ' he hums, 'it 's sort of an interesting ethical question whether to kill

you

and I mean this version of you. The one I 'm talking to right now. Obviously it 's a hypothetical question, 'cause mini-me wouldn 't let that happen n ' I don 't want to anyway, but it 's an interesting hypothetical. '

Suguru pauses. Swallows, shifts weight between his feet. The cursed energy under his skin feels like a swarm of buzzing locusts. '...A thought experiment in preemptive defense? '

Gojo lifts a hand from his pocket and snaps his fingers. Grins. 'Precisely! First year Suguru would disagree that it 's acceptable to kill someone like you in 'preemptive defense, I think, probably. But you? No idea! Hah. ' And then, when Suguru doesn 't respond, 'My Suguru when batshit insane and killed countless innocent people on the premise that nonshamans inevitably kill shamans, you know? So tell me ' ' and Gojo pauses for breath, here, shoulders lax and head cocked, 'is it inevitable that

you

kill? '

There 's now one truth that Suguru does not technically know, a truth that he has avoided directly thinking, one that he 's left unspoken, as if that would make it any less true: Gojo killed his counterpart.

He thinks of speaking it, of letting something sharp and poisonous bite from his tongue. Maybe

what, asking so you know whether to kill me, too? One of us dead by your hand isn 't enough?

But he 's not truly angry over it, he isn 't angry over it at all. Can 't be. And he can be dishonest, can be cruel, but that 's too much even for him. The comment slips soundlessly down to his lungs.

Instead, mockingly: 'What? You don 't know? '

'Now now, ' Gojo tuts, 'no need for that tone. '

Suguru scoffs, looks away briefly. The fabric of his clothing feels too rough, too tight, too harsh against his skin. 'Acid hits the back of his throat. This whole trip to the would-have-been future, Suguru has been lying to Satoru, has been harboring his own suspicions and not letting Satoru in on them. He 's so afraid to see the other look at him with disgust, of shedding his faces and letting Satoru peer into the festering rot beneath, and of Satoru being repulsed by it. Because Satoru '

'Of course you don 't know. I guess I should expect it. You

can 't

know. '

'Oh? ' Suguru imagines Gojo raising a brow under his blindfold.

How to even explain it?

Gojo Satoru is so unconsciously

kind

. He 's just that type of person. And he watches the world go by from the sky, from the clouds, from the position of a God. The storm does not touch him. From the moment he opened his eyes, he 's been groomed as a human weapon, and he still carries out the role for ungrateful masses and ungrateful elders. He granted Fushiguro Toji a quick death and took in his son. Gojo, Satoru, they

both '

'You don 't know hatred, ' Suguru spits, tight feeling coiling in his gut, his fingertips, 'if you don 't know hate then you can 't know me. '

A half beat, and '

'You don 't know hatred,

really?

' Gojo 's voice is unimpressed. 'You 're such a fucking drama queen, you sound like some half rate supervillain from a cheap theater play. '

That tight feeling snaps.

All

of it snaps. The stupid fucking build of everything. The way nothing important has

changed

at

all

but Suguru 's counterpart is still gone. Suguru 's stupid abandoned dorm room, uncleared like someone was hoping his counterpart to come back, Satoru 's stupid human-weapon eyes glaring at him to say they both can live, Gojo still

here

at this stupid hell-school, Gojo

standing

here,

talking

to him, like that 's gonna make anything better '

'You want me to play a supervillain? ' Suguru 's voice is loud against the night, harsh and biting. He closes the distance between them easily, stopping barely half a step away, something ugly contorting on his face. 'Fine! Let 's do some monologuing psycho-analysis! '

'Ah, ' Gojo says, stepping back, 'Y 'know, actually ' '

'Don 't know don 't care, ' Suguru snaps. There 's static in his ears, and his blood feels molten. 'I think you 're really fucking tired of this, too. You 're not a god and you know that, even if this world wants,

needs

you to be. So here you are, eleven years later still trying to hold up the liquid sky, but it 's not enough, and it 'll never be enough, because you 're not a god. You 're raising up strong and reasonable people to try and share that burden, to stand with you at the peak of this world so you don 't have to bear it all alone 'and that 's great, you know? I 'm happy for you. I 'm truly, truly happy that you have people that will stand by your side. You deserve that and so so so much more. But it 'll never be enough, you know? No amount of men can hold up the sky; the sky needs to stop falling in the first place. '

Gojo 's lips have pressed into a flat, thin line. 'Actually the plan is to cultivate the next generation so that systemic change is possible. '

Suguru rolls his eyes. His blood feels too hot, pulse too fast, too loud. He 's working himself up, he knows.

'It 's been

eleven years

, ' he spits, 'and

nothing

has changed. And you know, lets give you some benefit of the doubt. Let 's say change

does

happen 'then what? It 'll be temporary! It 'll only last

maybe

a lifetime! This cycle has existed for millennia, you 're not gonna change it like that! It 's pointless! There 's no purpose in futility! And you 're not stupid, you must know this too, at least a little. I wouldn 't be able to stand it, I could never stay here so long like that, or in general 'my soul would die. '

'Then why not just

leave

, ' Gojo says, tone short, snappish. 'You could ' ' a vague motion, 'I don 't fucking know, retire and run a flower shop or something.

Whatever

. Nanami went and became a salaryman for a while. '

God

.

'

Why don 't you just retire and run a flower shop

, ' Suguru mocks, voice pitched high and thick with sarcasm. He sneers. 'I don 't fucking know, why

don 't

I just turn a blind eye to all this suffering just like

almost every other fucking person that has capability to do anything about it?

Why

don 't

I just turn my back and fuck off to the nonshaman world where I can 'what 'overdose on antipsychotics again? Sounds like a

great

plan, thanks for your insight! '

Gojo winces. Good.

'That 's not the only option, ' Gojo says, and there 's a tone of sympathy in his voice that Suguru can 't

stand

. He feels barren, exposed. Like he 's lay himself down and dissected himself for the viewing, and he

hasn 't

, but it 's still too much. It 's too raw. 'You could ' '

'This isn 't about me, ' Suguru interrupts, 'this is about the world, and it 's about

you

. ' It 's about the way this corpse-strewn shaman world hasn 't

changed

. It would be okay, Suguru thinks, or at least it would be better, if only the shamans that believed these gold-leaf platitudes fought, but instead these lies are legislated in shaman code. It kills

sincere

people, too. Suguru grits his teeth. 'It 's about your

stupid

plan and how

nothing is going to actually change

and ' '

'So

your

plan is better? ' Gojo finally snaps, voice so full of raw frustration and hurt and

betrayal

that Suguru feels off kilter under the force of it. 'What was it again? Oh, right, silly me! How could I forget 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? '

Suguru flinches back like he 's been struck.

That 's not

, he thinks, but can 't complete the sentence, because it was and it is. The raw emotion of Satoru 's tone runs loops in Suguru 's head, and

fuck, FUCK

.

Suguru knows himself; maybe he and Maki are similar in the way that they will both leave people behind for the sake of comfort with themselves, although she has no grand ideal, and Suguru wouldn 't be himself if he didn 't hold his grand beliefs so close that they become his blood. Perhaps he 's selfish in this, in that he will hurt even the dearest to him so long as he can be right with himself, with his morals.

Stupidly, he wants to cry. Something hot and stinging pricks his eyes and it 's so hard to speak around the awful lump in his throat.

It 's not fair it 's not fair it 's not fair it 's not fair

Suguru hates this.

'Can I just, ' he finally manages, 'staring hard at the wet ground, and he can 't hide the tremble from his voice, 'can you just 'are you going to let me leave or not? '

A beat.

'Shit, ' Gojo says, 'edge of disbelief, and Suguru looks back. 'Are you about to

c

r

y?

'

'I am

not

, ' Suguru says, but his voice cracks on the last word and with it a hot rush of shame floods his skin and it 's all just

awful

. Everything is too loud, the curses in his cursed energy are too

loud

, and Gojo 's silence is too

loud

, and ' 'Shut

up.

'

A sigh. '...Are you sure you wanna leave right now? ' And something in Gojo 's tone, in the slope of his shoulders and set of his hands in his pockets, is inexplicably awkward.

'

Yes

, ' Suguru says, grateful for the change in subject. 'It 's not 'it 's not for long. Just for a bit. I need to clear my head. '

Gojo 's lips purse. 'I can 't let you leave 'unmonitored. '

'What, afraid I 'll

kill

someone? '

'Yes, actually. '

An awkward beat. Suguru 's stomach churns sickeningly. He imagines having to walk down these steps and wander Tokyo with an

escort

because apparently he 's

volatile

and can 't be trusted just to go on a

walk

, and the nausea intensifies. His sight blurs, a mess of darks and moonlit puddles whose silvery sheen smears his vision in a disorganized mess.

'If someone needs to

accompany

me like I 'm some sort of

rabid animal

then I 'd rather just stay. '

'I said you 'll need monitoring, not necessarily a supervisor, ' Gojo says, then lets out a somewhat frazzled sigh. 'Hold out your arm. '

Suguru watches him for a moment, two, before outstretching his arm wordlessly. Gojo 's fingers are icy when they push up his sleeve and wrap firmly around his exposed forearm. His other hand lifts from his pocket, and between his middle and index finger, there 's a thin slip of paper. Suguru can taste the cursed energy.

'What does it do? '

'It 's a location tracker, ' 'Gojo says, 'it 'll react strongly and alert me if you release too much cursed energy. And if it 's removed or destroyed. '

'I can kill people without using cursed energy. '

'I know, ' Gojo replies plainly. 'But your cursed energy goes crazy when you 're riled up. It 's something you never fixed, even into adulthood. And, ' small pause, 'you right now, you wouldn 't kill someone without being riled up, I think. '

You right now

, as in

this version of you

. Because Suguru 's counterpart would, apparently.

'...Fine, ' Suguru says, 'just hurry up. '

Gojo presses the 'cursed object to his arm, wrapping it smoothly around his skin, just above the wrist. A hot flare of not-quite pain embeds itself into the area when the slip activates, connecting with Suguru 's cursed energy. He doesn 't wince. Gojo 's hands drops from his arm, and Suguru shoves down his sleeve. It just barely conceals the paper.

Suguru wants to rip the thing off already.

'Can I go

now?

'

'Yeah, ' Gojo says, something tired in his tone, 'you can. '

Suguru huffs a breath and turns back to the staircase. He doesn 't look back when he finally begins the descent, but it doesn 't matter; he can see clearly in his mind Gojo 'atop the staircase, hands in his pockets and lips unsmiling. He can see, too, Satoru in the dorm room, fast asleep and curled up alone. Suguru 's step doesn't pause in its rushing pace, but it does falter.

It 's not long before he 's running down the steps, skipping half of them, lungs burning with a familiar breathlessness. The curses whisper to him the whole way down, garbled nonsense through the static radio of his cursed technique, 'and when he finally reaches the bottom, like always, he pauses at the last torii gate.

The first time he made the climb up these stairs, he had paused 'at the gate, had wondered if he would be recognized as more curse than human and trip the alarms.

You are what you eat

. Three years later, and the same irrational anxiety still plagues him, uneasily slipping down his spine and pooling in his stomach, making his toes tingle when he crosses the threshold of the torii gate; next time he crosses this line, will it reject him?