“Yes, exactly.” “He says he’s…
Teacher Yaga, have you ever heard of a situation like this?” “Ah — no, I’m not looking down on you, Teacher.” “…Understood.” Eight o’clock at night.
At the village entrance, Suguru Geto finished his call.
His slender fingers held the flip phone loosely.
The moment the conversation ended, he pulled it away from his ear and snapped it shut with the practiced ease of someone who’d been doing it for years.
(Principal Yaga sure doesn’t waste words.
Getting to that age, is he.) He filed the thought away and turned around , to look at the two people behind him.
Three people?
Himmel stood with Mimiko on his left and Nanako on his right, each small hand tucked into one of his, like an older brother taking his sisters out for the afternoon.
When he caught Geto’s eye, he spoke first.
“All sorted out?” “More or less.” Geto tucked the phone away.
“From here I’ll take you to a place called Jujutsu High.
There are people there better qualified than me to evaluate your situation.” The Hasaba sisters didn’t like the sound of someone else’s turf.
Their grip on Himmel’s arms tightened, though neither said a word.
“Is that so.” Himmel, for his part, looked completely unbothered.
His smile was bright and easy.
“Then I’ll leave it in your hands.” There was something about that smile, warm and utterly without edge, that made the furrow between Geto’s brows ease just slightly.
“Let’s move.
We can talk on the way.
I still have questions.” .
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“Ohhh!” The moment Himmel stepped through the station ticket gate, his head went up and the sound came out of him , pure, unfiltered awe, not a drop of self-consciousness.
Fluorescent tubes lined the ceiling as far as the eye could see, flooding the entire space with clean white light.
He’d spent a lifetime lit by oil lamp and campfire.
This was something else entirely.
Thick concrete pillars rose through the center of the hall, every surface buried under layers of bright, colorful posters.
Incredible.
“What’s this one?” He pointed.
Geto glanced over.
“Travel agency.” “And this?” “Suntory.” “And this?” “That’s AKB48.” Personally, I think Mayu Watanabe is pretty good.
“Huh…” The [Common Sense] Aqua had given him let Himmel piece the context together well enough , but seeing it in person was something else.
Actually standing here, surrounded by it all.
He’d always had a weakness for things he’d never encountered before.
“…None of this existed in your time?” Geto asked, watching Himmel take it all in.
He’d learned a few minutes ago that Himmel wasn’t a modern person at all, but a [Heroic Spirit].
Nothing to hide there , Geto was treating the whole thing as a technique effect.
Unusual variant of Necromancy, maybe, but nothing he couldn’t categorize.
“Not a trace of it.” Himmel ran a hand through his bangs, preening just slightly.
“We had famous poets.
Renowned singers.
But the closest thing to what you’d call an idol?
That was probably me.
The Hero.” He flashed a grin.
“By that logic, I’m the industry’s founding senior.” “Himmel’s the best!” “I want to buy a handshake ticket for Himmel!” “Huff — hah!
Hah!” Nanako and Mimiko threw themselves into it wholeheartedly, and Himmel’s grin went full theatrical.
He let them have their moment, then glanced sideways.
“What about you, Geto-kun?” “I prefer mature.” What Geto meant by mature was mature content , specifically, the kind of glossy magazine that featured supermodel beauties in various states of undress.
As for AKB48, he’d had more than one heated debate with a certain close friend over the relative merits of Atsuko Maeda versus Mayu Watanabe.
But there were two small children present, so he let it stay vague.
Himmel, for whatever reason, nodded along with great conviction.
“Yeah.
Yeah, I agree.
Mature women really are better.” This man has completely misunderstood.
Between the pillars, a large electronic board flickered above them, green LED numbers scrolling through the train schedule in a steady, patient loop.
“Tickets.” Geto held them out , one for Himmel, one each for the girls.
Himmel rubbed the back of his head.
“I’m sorry.
I don’t have any money on me.
Can I pay you back later?” “Don’t worry about it.” Geto shrugged.
“Can’t exactly expect a historical figure to be carrying cash.” (He really is a good person.) The thought arrived without warning, and behind it came another , older, half-forgotten.
The memory of a stingy king who wouldn’t spare their party two extra copper coins, even on the day Himmel had first been named Hero.
He blinked.
Why am I drifting back there again?
…Is this what getting old does to a person…
He thought, without quite meaning to, of his old companions.
A faint tremor ran through the platform.
High beams cut through the darkness at the far end of the track, and the silver train slid into the station in a long, smooth glide, brakes sighing softly as it slowed.
SHOOSH!
The doors parted.
A gentle chime sounded from the speakers, voice calm and automatic.
The four of them boarded.
The Hasaba sisters had never been on anything like this , their eyes went everywhere, drinking it all in , but they kept their movements small and careful, still not quite free of the shadow that had been following them.
Nobody stared.
Himmel had no such restraint.
“Ohhh!” He turned in a slow circle, eyes lit up, examining every corner of the carriage with open delight and peppering Geto with questions at regular intervals.
A few of the other passengers , the kind of Tokyo commuters who wear their city like a badge , looked ready to sniff at the obvious country folk.
Then they got a proper look at Himmel’s face.
More refined and finely made than any top talent at a major talent agency.
The scorn dissolved without a word.
Geto had bought a facing four-seater.
They settled in, two by two.
“May I ask a few more questions?” “Go ahead.” Geto took a moment to organize his thoughts.
“A Heroic Spirit, as I understand it, is what a great hero becomes after death — their deeds become legend, their legend becomes faith, and from that faith a spirit is born.” He paused.
“But I’ve never heard of a hero named Himmel.” “Ah.
That would be because I’m a Heroic Spirit from another world entirely.” No reason to hide it.
No point in it.
According to his [Common Sense], the jujutsu world had its own framework for this kind of thing , summoning shikigami from other realms wasn’t unheard of.
They could follow the concept well enough.
Still, Himmel was an unusual case.
Most worlds had no alternate version of him to draw from.
When he had been summoned, he’d arrived wearing a Saint Graph built from pure fantasy sublimation , shaped around the concept of [Hero] itself rather than any specific historical record.
The technical details were things [Common Sense] had provided.
Himmel himself didn’t give them much thought.
He was busy patting both girls on the head, one hand for each.
As long as they’re happy.
That’s enough.
“I see.” Geto turned that over in silence.
Different from the Cursed Spirits he’d spent years cultivating.
They were born from human misery , fear, grief, hatred given shape.
Himmel was something else.
A great man, dead and gone, and yet , risen.
Not from negative emotion, but from something almost opposite.
The conclusion left him with a feeling he couldn’t quite name.
And then there was the matter of Himmel’s sheer strength.
Neither of them had pushed to their limits today.
But Geto had been doing this long enough to read a person’s ceiling, and what he was reading from Himmel gave him pause.
At pure fighting capacity , right now, as things stood , Himmel was not below him.
Rivalling him.
Possibly exceeding him.
And once again, standing at Himmel’s back, Geto glimpsed that shadow he couldn’t shake.
His brow pulled tight.
But…
A human.
A man with no Cursed Energy whatsoever , and he’d sublimated into a Heroic Spirit capable of exorcising Cursed Spirits.
Geto stared out the window at the lights sliding past, one after another.
Mere monkeys.
His eyes went still and flat.
He didn’t notice that Himmel, seemingly absorbed in the girls’ chatter, had turned to look at him.
The Hero watched him quietly, and said nothing.
The story is already written.