The handover was simple.
The assistant supervisor had been waiting downstairs at the apartment building, and the relief on his face when he saw them emerge was visible from across the street.
He took the child, murmuring “you’re okay now” and “it’s over” in a low voice.
The child lay against his shoulder, eyes fixed on Himmel the entire time , until they were lifted into the car, and the window rolled up.
Nanami Kento filled out the mission report form.
Thirty seconds, maybe.
His handwriting was neat.
Tap.
He handed the pen back to the assistant supervisor and turned to leave.
Himmel was still waving at the car window.
He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, spun around, and jogged to catch up.
— Six in the evening.
Tokyo.
Himmel had never seen so many people in his life.
They surged from the subway station exits like an underground river breaching the surface , flooding the entire street in an instant.
Suits, suits, suits.
Black, navy, gray.
White shirts.
Dark ties.
Faces that expressed nothing at all.
All moving in the same direction.
Like the walking dead.
[Beep beep beep beep] The setting sun stained the whole street orange-red.
Glass facades threw harsh reflected light across the crowds, glinting off all those pressed lapels and polished shoes.
An alarm tone at the crosswalk urged pedestrians across.
They moved, shoulders brushing shoulders, elbows bumping elbows.
Himmel was carried along with the current.
Nanami was somewhere ahead.
A few steps separated them.
“Nanami-san~,, ” He called out, hoping Nanami would glance back.
Just so they wouldn’t get separated.
Old people are terrified of getting lost, you know.
But it was impossible not to bump into someone.
Every few steps, Himmel’s elbow or shoulder clipped a passing stranger.
“Ah, sorry,, ” He turned on instinct to apologize.
Nobody paid him any attention.
“Nanami-san, slow down a little.” “Are you angry?” “If you’re angry, you can just say so~!” “Ah, sorry.” He could vaguely sense Nanami was carrying something , some wound he didn’t want touched.
But if the man refused to talk, there wasn’t much Himmel could do.
He was a hero, not a therapist.
So he kept calling out, and kept apologizing to everyone he bumped into, and kept walking.
Eventually, Nanami turned off into a side alley.
It was narrow.
The back doors of small shops lined both walls, framed by stacked cardboard boxes and garbage bags.
Overhead, power lines tangled thick as vines above rusted air conditioning units.
Finally, fewer people.
Their footsteps echoed in the alley.
Pat.
Pat.
Pat.
Himmel could actually hear himself think.
Nanami stopped.
Himmel caught up and let out a breath.
“Are we taking a break?
Tokyo really does have a lot of people…” Nanami’s hand, hanging loose at his side, twitched.
Then,, He spun, swung.
SHHHK.
A blur cut the air.
Manga-fast.
No wind-up, no warning , stillness to detonation with nothing in between, just speed lines streaking from his waist and arm.
CRACK!
Himmel’s raised arm absorbed it completely.
Hair flew.
Nanami’s fist was forced off-course and punched into the wall, but his other hand was already in motion.
SLAP!
SLAP!
An open-palm strike toward Himmel’s shoulder and neck.
Himmel was half a beat faster , he caught Nanami’s wrist in a reverse grip.
But,, (If I actually squeeze, I’ll break it.) So he made the motion.
Didn’t apply the force.
Nanami drove his elbow up hard, forearm locking across Himmel’s throat, and used the leverage to slam him into the alley wall.
THUD!
Even Nanami had a few centimeters on Himmel.
Pinned like that, Himmel was nearly dangling.
An ordinary person would’ve been wheezing out an “I can’t breathe!” by now.
“Nanami…
what’s this about?” He wasn’t panicking.
He wasn’t even that surprised.
Mostly, he was curious.
“You’ll thank me when it’s over.” Cold.
Flat.
And then, , A punch to the stomach.
“Ugh.” It didn’t hurt.
Himmel made the sound anyway.
“You should quit being a sorcerer.” “Eh…
that’s what this is about?” “You’re sixteen, right?
I’ve been watching since we left.” CLK!
Nanami held the posture, Himmel still half-lifted against the wall, but something went out of him all at once.
Not relaxed.
More like a puppet whose strings had been cut, gone heavy and slack.
“First: your name.
Master Tengen’s barrier technique funnels most of the world’s curses into Japan.
Outside this island, powerful curses are nearly nonexistent, and powerful sorcerers even less so.” “Second: your conduct.
You only recently learned what a Kekkai is.
You are not a veteran.” “Also your conduct.” “Going after that curse to protect the child , it worked out, but sorcerers cannot accurately gauge the gap between themselves and their opponent every time.
If that curse had been in a womb state, or deliberately suppressing its energy, you’d already be dead.” “Those things can be fixed.
But the last issue is your reason.
You said you became a sorcerer because someone called out to you.
Right?” Nanami spoke at length , more words strung together than Himmel had heard from him all day.
His pace quickened toward the end, and something cold crept into his voice.
“That means you cannot change your pattern.
So don’t.
This profession isn’t for you.” Himmel finally managed to speak, still pinned against the wall.
“Then why did you hit me?” “Call it goodwill.” Nanami’s voice didn’t warm even slightly.
“You don’t want a senior making your life hell every day, do you?
If you don’t , leave now.” Up to this point, Nanami hadn’t lied about a single thing.
He’d clocked that optimistic, sunlit quality radiating off Himmel from the very first moment.
Had quietly issued his verdict right then and there.
Nanami Kento.
Seventeen years old.
When he first enrolled at Jujutsu High, he’d had a classmate.
A boy named Haibara Yu.
Warm by nature.
Helpful.
Polite.
Bursting with energy.
In every way the opposite of someone rigid and dull like Nanami.
When they’d started, the school was nearly empty.
The third-years were almost all dead.
Teachers were scarce.
Their second-year seniors were Geto Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, and a third one named Gojo Satoru.
All three had terrible personalities and delighted in tormenting their juniors.
Nanami didn’t respect them.
But he trusted them.
Because they were terrifyingly strong.
Against them, Nanami and Haibara were ordinary.
Just ordinary.
It was disheartening, at first.
But Haibara never seemed bothered by it, not even a little.
That rubbed off on Nanami more than he’d admit.
He kept going.
Then,, A year ago.
Toward the end of the semester, those unshakeable seniors failed a mission.
Someone they were supposed to protect died.
It hit all three of them hard.
After that, Gojo Satoru completed his technique awakening and was promoted to Special Grade.
Shortly after, Geto Suguru passed the Special Grade assessment too.
And then the bitter summer arrived.
Cursed spirit sightings surged.
Missions multiplied.
The casual gatherings that had occasionally broken up their first year vanished completely.
Everyone was running from one battlefield to the next.
At first Nanami just complained, resenting his own weakness , and resenting, embarrassingly, that he actually missed the times when Gojo-senpai and Geto-senpai had ganged up to tease him.
Then he understood what being a sorcerer actually meant.
[No reliable intelligence] [No safety guarantees] [No effective training pipeline] [No coherent chain of command] Sorcerers raised in those conditions , even high school sophomores , could be sent against enemies far beyond their level because of a single bad report.
And if they were also expected to protect civilians on top of that,, They could only die.
Haibara Yu died.
Nanami Kento’s only friend.
Gone in the bitter summer, one month ago.
Nanami had taken a long leave after that.
He’d only come back a week ago.
He’d considered dropping out entirely.
But thinking of Haibara, he settled on a different plan: finish high school, then walk away and find a real job at a real company.
Being a sorcerer is garbage.
This line of work, unless you were built like Gojo Satoru, you owed it to every bright-eyed idiot who wandered in to talk them back out.
That was Nanami’s logic.
Complicated.
But,, “I see.” Himmel had more or less worked it out.
“So Nanami-nami is just worried about me?” “Don’t phrase it like that.
And who’s Nanami-nami?” “Huh?
Did I use it wrong?” Himmel’s internal catalog of social customs had told him that giving someone a nickname meant you liked them.
It was a sign of closeness.
Well.
Something to refine later.
For now,, “Watch out.” “Hm?” Himmel said it lightly, with a smile, and lifted his knee.
CRACK!
“HOOOPH——!!” Nanami’s composed face went purple.
Every feature crumpled inward simultaneously.
His legs snapped together.
His backside shot out.
Then,, “You…
you——!” He let go.
Himmel dropped back to the ground.
Nanami went to his knees, both hands cradling his corn cannon.
Himmel was grinning.
He hadn’t used that move in ages.
He’d learned it as a kid back in the village, fighting boys bigger than him.
Once he became a hero, demons never bothered being afraid of a groin kick.
“You know,” Himmel said, hands on his hips, looking down, “I actually think everything you said was right.
You’re kind.” Once he had his balance back, he turned to face the wall Nanami was kneeling toward.
“Cursed energy feeds on negative emotion.
This profession is built on a rotten foundation, and if you stay in it long enough, almost no one comes out whole.
That’s exactly why I say: it’s not something children should have to bear.” “But don’t worry.” He looked at Nanami, whose expression said, plainly, what is this man even talking about.
“There was one major flaw in your argument.
You had my strength wrong.” “Nanami-nami.” Himmel jabbed a thumb at himself.
“I’m strong.” Nanami: “……” He said nothing.
Slowly, painstakingly, he straightened back to standing.
Left hand still pressed to his lower abdomen.
Right hand rising in a martial arts guard.
He squared up.
His face was pale blue.
His eyes said everything.
“Haha!” Himmel laughed.
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“That curse was really that much trouble?” Jujutsu High.
Main gate.
Yaga stood with his arms crossed, frowning, scanning both students as they returned.
Himmel looked perfectly clean.
Bright-eyed.
Not a scratch.
Nanami looked like he’d lost a fight with a door.
Bruised purple, eye swollen shut, lip puffed to roughly the dimensions of a Cantonese lap cheong.
Nanami raised one finger and pointed sideways.
“Can you transfer him out of my class?
Put him with Gojo-senpai.” “Denied.” ➤ Next: Yes,
The story is already written.