"Oh, God. Did Maki kill you?"

You open your eyes. Gojo is standing above you, extra large Starbucks in hand. You squint at the mountain of whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles decorating his drink, and idly wonder what sugary concoction he's decided to order this time around. You haven't seen him in a while, and you'll willingly admit that you're relieved to see him alive and unhurt. As annoyingly bright as ever, with a spring in his step and a smile on his face.

The whole school has been on high alert since Getou's attack, which has now been called "The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons". Which means that classes have been indefinitely canceled until the school has more or less been rebuilt, and the Elders have deemed that the situation has been appropriately dealt with.

Still, it hasn't stopped you and the others from returning to the school field, training religiously every day. No one is particularly keen to talk about it, but you know that the weight of their own weaknesses must be weighing heavily upon them. Getou had easily swatted your friends aside, as if they were nothing more than annoying flies buzzing in his ear. And no one is more furious than Maki, who throws herself into training with a single-minded determination. You're almost as determined to get stronger; though for entirely different reasons. You've endured Maki's brutal training with minimal complaining and ━ wonder of wonders, you've even managed to remain conscious for most of it.

You raise your head an inch, decide that it isn't worth it, and flop tiredly back onto the mound of snow that forms your temporary bed. "Adjklsjkfjsf."

". . . How did you manage to say that out loud?" Gojo actually sounds impressed as he flops down beside you.

"It's a talent." You say, tiredly. Your lungs hurt, but it's a vast improvement from the blood you'd coughed up the other day. You'd hastily wiped it away, thankful that none of your friends had seen. It would surely have resulted in a one way trip back to the infirmary. Ieiri's been shunted back and forth from Kyoto to Tokyo, and you've noticed the deep blue shadows under her eyes, how tired and wilted she looks, the scent of alcohol surrounding her like a cloud of the most poisonous perfume. You wouldn't have wanted to trouble her any further. "What's up?"

"Just checking in on my favorite child!" As always, he has been observing. Gojo turns to face you, and you squirm under the scrutiny of his gaze. "What's this I hear about you training with Maki?"

"It's nothing."

"You hate exercising. The only thing I've seen you run from are your emotions." Gojo says, and cackles at the indignant look on your face. "So? What's with the sudden exercise obsession?"

"It's just. Well." You wonder how much to tell Gojo, and because he'll find out anyway, you opt for a half truth. "I just want my friends to smile. And I want him to ━ I want them to be happy. Really, truly happy."

"I see." Gojo says, and instead of the teasing you're bracing yourself for, you realize that he sounds wistful, almost a little sad. But as quick as your realization comes, it's gone, replaced by the false cheer in Gojo's voice. "But you're doing it all wrong! It's a wasted effort!"

The casual dismissal of your efforts stings. Furious, you sit up. How could he say such a thing? "Excuse me?"

"It's a wasted effort." Gojo repeats, with a more forceful intent. "You must have realized that no matter how hard you work, you'll never catch up to the rest in terms of physical ability alone."

You do know. Even through reinforcing your body with Cursed Energy, it's become glaringly obvious that you simply aren't skilled in physical combat. Your body isn't suited for the rigorous demands of throwing punches and evading blows. A generous assessment of your skills would rank you as an average fighter; but someone as tactless as Gojo would laugh at your so-called "skills". Case in point, as Gojo is now demonstrating.

"So what?" You snap, trying to block the anger simmering in your veins. Blinking rapidly, you can only pray that your eyes won't swell with tears, brought on by a potent mixture of anger and frustration. "You're saying I should just stop and go crawling back to the infirmary where I belong?"

"Nope." Gojo says, drawing out the word like an entire conversation. "All I'm saying is that you should work smart, not hard."

You stare at Gojo as if he's grown a second head, and that head has started speaking German. "Huh?"

For a second, you're overcome by the urge to stomp your foot on the ground, hating how calm Gojo appears. It's a childish urge, but you strongly think that the situation would be improved if you could do just that. He must see the confusion written all over your face, for he takes pity on you and stops speaking in complex riddles.

"D'you know that Shoko kept passing out in her first year?" Gojo says, thoughtfully. "She kept wasting her Cursed Energy. She couldn't focus it enough to be useful."

You stare at him in mild alarm. You can't picture a before, when Ieiri was smaller and younger and struggling ━ and apparently in the same boat as you. She's always been so confident, so capable of doing anything she sets her mind to. "Okay, and this concerns me how?"

"Well, after she passed out and I lugged her to the infirmary, I called her a deadweight and told her to pick up a biology textbook and learn some anatomy." Gojo smiles, even laughs a little at the memory. Though it doesn't take an idiot to guess that Ieiri's recollection of the event won't be quite so positive. "It took her a while to figure out how to pinpoint her Cursed Energy, but she got pretty damn good at it. As you can probably tell."

I'm surprised she didn't try to kill you before she figured out how, you think, but manage to bite back a sarcastic retort. "So you were just as insufferable as a student. Good to know. Again, what does this story have to do with me?"

"That's for me to know, and for you to find out!" You glance at Gojo, his face a study of secrets and stubbornness. His smile widens at your scowl, brought upon by the realization that he doesn't intend to help you any further beyond that cryptic bit of information. "What kind of teacher would I be if I gave you all the answers?"

"Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome!"

For a moment, you allow your mind to wander as a breeze moves over your body. You look at your chest, rising and falling, and simply savor the feeling of the unfettered air entering and leaving your lungs. You aren't fully well, and you never will be ━ but it's a definite improvement from being confined to your bed, a hair's breadth away from death's door. Yuta had done the impossible, broken through the malaise of darkness and loneliness, and dragged you back into the world of the living. For better or for worse, he's saved your life. Again and again and again.

"Yuta wasn't here this morning." You say, trying to ignore the nearly imperceptible flutter in your chest brought on by just the mere thought of him.

Loudly and obnoxiously, Gojo slurps down a mouthful of sugar and whipped cream, humming in satisfaction as the sweetness hits his taste buds. "He's probably still reviewing the security footage with Yaga and the other teachers. They'll want to go over the incident with everyone before they report back to the Elders, but it makes sense they'd want to speak to him first."

Confusing much? You wonder if the look on your face is still frightfully blank. It must be, for Gojo raises an eyebrow. "You did know that we have recorded footage of what happened?" He lets the question dangle.

"Footage. Footage?" You stop breathing for a stuttering second. You can't possibly have heard correctly. "There's security footage of the incident?"

"There are cameras all over the school." Gojo says, and no freaking way, you've been here your whole life and this is the first time that you've heard of this.

Hysteria and panic lifts your voice as you scramble to your feet, almost tripping in your haste. You probably sound as though you're a minute away from a breakdown. Maybe you are. "You can't let him see that!"

You know what Yuta will see. Mangled limbs, a river of blood. A feral smile, guttural and terrifying laughter. And perhaps most damningly of all, a confession made in the heat of battle. You can still recall the brightness of your own voice: "What are you saying? This is true love."

"What's up?" Gojo asks, watching the flurry of movement with unabashed curiosity. "It's not like you confessed during the fight or anything ━ Holy shit. Did you?" It would be hard to miss the barely contained glee in his voice.

Your only reply is a muffled, anguished wail.