Chapter Text
Suguru manages to retrieve Riko’s body before things can escalate further. It does little to fill his hollowed out chest. Around every corner he expects a familiar face to suddenly jump out, grinning and demanding to know why he’s making such a face. It’s bone-jarring each time it doesn’t come true.
He hands the body to an auxiliary manager, declining the offer of driving him back to the school. The thought of staying in the same car as the corpse of the young girl they had tried to save nauseates him. It felt all so pointless. The promise echoes inside his head, protecting her to live the life she deserved. Senseless, meaningless killing. She wouldn’t have merged with Tengen and yet had still been murdered for the sheer possibility.
Suguru wasn’t stupid. He’d always known the world was a vile and cruel place. The point wasn’t that Riko was the first person to die under his watch, but because she was the first that actually mattered. They were supposed to be the strongest and if even the strongest couldn’t accomplish the most challenging tasks, how could there be any hope of achieving change, of saving those in need of it?
Oh, but of course, it’s not them anymore.
Suguru’s steps halt, realizing the distance he’s covered, almost caught in a trance. The destruction just beyond the barrier is immense. It practically bore Satoru’s trademark. Always exaggerating, too lazy to adjust his technique to their surroundings and causing damage in the process. In his mind Suguru hears Yaga berating Gojo for such carelessness, hears his friend downplaying the disaster.
The thought would usually make him smile with fondness. Today he breaks down. His knees buckle and gracelessly he slumps, just a few feet away from the large pool of blood painting the ground red. The area is littered with residuals, shining in the distinctive glow Getou has become used to. There are none of his opponent. Suguru fought the man himself and can’t really comprehend why the sight shocks him regardless. Perhaps it’s the uncertainty. He doesn’t know how Gojo fared, doesn’t know if he came close to winning or was merely desperately defending himself. The traces suggest the latter, but it’s impossible to be sure.
He stares.
And stares.
And stares.
Failing to make sense of the horrible scene in front of him.
The amount of destruction… the amount of blood and yet nobody in sight… what’s going on? The assailant had claimed to have killed Satoru and even Suguru himself knows Gojo wouldn’t have let him pass – ‘over my dead body’, as he’d sometimes liked to joke, a twinkle in his eyes, secure in his invincibility.
But if there isn’t a body, perhaps their opponent had lied? Perhaps Satoru was still alive and now lying somewhere, seriously injured. Suguru stumbles to his feet and searches the whole area. By the time he returns to the starting point he only confirms what he already knew, he’s alone. But then, after a moment of rest, he begins to feel paranoid. What if he missed a spot or failed to notice an important detail? So he circuits the area again, follows residuals and debris, lifts beams and lets a few low level curses inspect the trees up to their tops.
The longer he remains empty-handed, the worse the shaking in his limbs becomes. Nausea crawls up his throat, which is odd since he hasn’t ingested any curse to warrant it. Something feels off and fundamentally wrong with his body, yet he can’t focus on anything else but scanning the area frantically. Satoru has to be somewhere. He can’t have vanished into thin air… or maybe he could, considering how often he liked to experiment with teleportation. But if that was the case, where should he start looking next?
Suguru’s breathing becomes faster and erratic. The sudden fear of being in the wrong place, wasting valuable time while his friend needs him, wraps around his throat like an unyielding hand, squeezing until he can neither speak nor breathe.
Where could he be? Where should he go?
Suguru flinches violently, when someone suddenly touches his shoulder. He whirls around, shocked to have missed the intruder, and meets Haibara’s concerned gaze. Nanami is standing just a few feet behind his classmate, whereas Yu reluctantly withdraws his outstretched hand.
Since when were they here? How could Suguru have missed them?
His thoughts are screaming at him, running in circles – frantic, accusing and helpless.
“Suguru, we were-,” Haibara halts, catching a glimpse at the pool of blood in the distance.
He pales, understanding dawning on his features. Nanami follows his gaze and freezes, obviously coming to the same conclusion. His eyes widen minimally, hardly noticeable if Suguru’s gaze hadn’t narrowed in on them, but otherwise remains stoic. Yu swallows with visible difficulty, eyes wandering between Suguru and the empty spot, clearly unsettled.
Suguru can’t deal with this, with their eyes piercing him in a mixture of pity and empathy. His vision becomes hazy and he almost trips, when he attempts to put distance between him and them. His chest feels tight. A strange wheezing sound accompanies his next breaths, worsening his sight.
“We were looking for you,” Yu’s voice cuts through the ringing in his ears, locking his gaze with his fellow student. A wry smile pulls up the corners of his mouth. It’s joyless and forced and doesn’t fit the optimistic boy. “You need to get some rest.”
He shakes his head at the order. If both of them are here it means someone sent them out to fetch him. Yu had no qualms about seeking him out. The other student soaked up his attention, sometimes even to Satoru’s dismay – just at the thought of his name, his slightly improved breathing morphs back into quick, desperate pants. But in such a case Nanami wouldn’t have accompanied him. While him and Kento got along well enough, the other would never willingly look for Gojo if not coerced beforehand.
“I… I have to look for Satoru,” Suguru stammers. “He… he has to be here somewhere… or maybe he’s somewhere else… I’ve got to find him first.” He’s aware he’s started rambling halfway through, yet he doesn’t care. His mind is empty, not asking for politeness or appropriate behavior. His friend is missing. Does nobody understand?
“I get it,” Yu replies and the sound of his voice is so kind and honest that Suguru believes him. “But you’ve been through a lot today. You need to rest up. Just for a little. Let’s go back together. Kento will keep looking and once we’ve met up with sensei, I’ll make sure he sends others to search as well.”
It’s a testament to how well his two underclassmen work together that the blond doesn’t even hesitate, but confirms Yu’s claim with a determined nod – later… so many months later, Getou will realize this was just for show to convince him.
Suguru blinks, trying to make sense of Haibara’s words. They seem reasonable. More people could cover more ground in a short period of time and the unsteadiness of his feet would merely hamper his chances of success. Perhaps… if he took a short break it would be alright?
Getou doesn’t know if he nodded or if he just stood in the crater of destruction and stared off into the distance with empty eyes. The next time awareness creeps back into his mind he dutifully trails Haibara, looking straight ahead and guiding Suguru, the strong grip of his hand enveloping his own slack one. It feels wrong. His hand is too small, his fingers just a little too short and his grasp in the wrong place.
The shaking has subsided a little, but now Suguru is numb, a mindless puppet not caring about what happens to it.
He drifts again, sees Satoru’s grinning face, the tiredness growing on his carefully controlled expression, his surprise and shock at being stabbed and hearing his reassurances. He’d be fine. Suguru should go on without him. There was no reason to worry. Satoru was strong. He’d deal with the enemy and follow them shortly.
But if all those things his mind’s eye showed him were true, then where was he now?
Would it have made a difference if they had fought together? Suguru’s heart pounds rapidly, screaming the answer at him he’s dreading. Yes, of course it would’ve! It’s your fault! You left him. How dare you call yourself his friend?
Suguru presses his hands to his ears, rocking back and forth, as if this motion could silence the reproachful voice.
Gentle fingers draw them away before he can burrow them deeply into his hair and pull to the point of hurting himself. Suguru flinches, realizing he’s sitting down. Not in his dorm room, but a bed in the infirmary. It should scare him, not remembering how he got here, yet everything seems strangely muted, save for the immense guilt spreading through his being.
Shoko’s grip around his hands remains firm and somehow also soft. Suguru doesn’t know how she manages, to be so strong and careful at the same time. This isn’t like her. She isn’t kind or understanding. She teases and mocks and talks trash and puts them in their place. This new sight is startling, yanking Suguru from the prison of his own mind.
“Are you with me, Suguru?” she asks so calm and steadily, suggesting this wasn’t the first time she addressed him.
“Satoru… have… have they found him yet? Is he okay?” Suguru inquires hoarsely.
If at all possible, Shoko’s expression softens further. It stabs his heart with a new sense of fear.
“Suguru, you were the one telling me what that man did to him.”
“But there is no body! He could’ve lied! Satoru is still out there somewhere and-,“ he trips over his own words, frantically drawing in air. He’s getting light-headed all over again.
“Calm down. Try to match my breathing,” she guides him gingerly.
He does his best to follow her instructions. Inhale when she does, hold, exhale. It takes longer than he thinks is appropriate, but his sense of time seems off. He’d like to look at the clock he knows hangs on one of the walls. But every time he attempts to, he can feel his mind slipping again with Shoko pulling him back.
Satisfied, once he has calmed down again, Shoko continues: “I’ve been at the scene. You know he couldn’t have survived losing such an amount of blood. It indicates a hit to a major artery, perhaps in the neck or thigh.” She says it matter-of-fact like this is what he needs to hear. She couldn’t be further from the truth.
Suguru shakes his head. “There would be a body! Maybe it’s not as bad as it-“
“He would’ve left a bloody trail for you to follow.”
“No! You don’t understand!” he growls. “There is no body! He has to have made it! There is no reason for-“
“Suguru,” the gentleness in her voice halts him. “You know as well as I what his body is worth.”
She doesn’t specify. She doesn’t have to. Suguru connects the dots immediately, despite everything inside him struggling against the truth.
The bounty on his head. Ever since he was born and altered the course of the universe, Satoru has been a thorn on many people’s lives. Curse user, sorcerer and cursed spirits alike hate and fear him and would love nothing more than to get rid of him.
So it wasn’t a far-fetched notion, of a man hired to eliminate Riko to steal Satoru’s body to increase his income further. Who would be the biggest bidder? Would they pay for him in full or in parts?
Suguru processes this information for no more than ten seconds, pushes Shoko away and promptly throws up.
Shoko smokes. It’s the fifth cigarette in a row and there are no signs of stopping. Her hands shake harder whenever she attempts to cut back. It’s the only hint the incident is affecting her too. Suguru lies on the bed in the infirmary and watches her. They don’t exchange words, she stays, offering him someone to talk to should he need to, but he can’t. The words get stuck in his throat until eventually he just feels numb.
His gaze travels sluggishly between her and the barren wall of the infirmary. The only thing Suguru notices right now is the exhaustion. If he tried to close his eyes now, however, he’s certain he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep. Despite how muted everything feels and the emptiness spreading through his head, he’s still strangely alert. It should annoy him, but the notion is so insignificant it evaporates before it can reach him.
Suguru isn’t sure how long he’s already been here. It’s dark outside, so at least a couple of hours. This late at night he doesn’t expect any visitors, is instead ready to spent the night here, with Shoko chain-smoking and him drifting, not even caring that the opened window isn’t enough to dispel the harsh smell of smoke. In the end, it’s better than having to deal with the stench of his own vomit that Shoko cleaned up without complaining.
So he’s mildly surprised when the door opens and Yaga enters. Suguru glances at him briefly, before returning his gaze to the wall.
“Have you found Satoru?” Suguru finds himself asking quietly. A strange sensation rises inside his chest. He simultaneously dreads and yearns for the possible answer.
“No. He is not on school grounds,” Yaga replies carefully.
“Oh.” As fast as the spark of emotion appeared, it vanishes again. Leaving Suguru drained.
Out of the corner of his eyes he notices Shoko staring at their sensei relentlessly. He must disapprove of the cigarette smoke inside the infirmary and usually she wouldn’t get away with such misdemeanor, but today seems to be the day of abnormity. Two of the strongest sorcerers the school occupied failed an immensely important mission, Satoru died and Shoko is allowed to smoke in close proximity to a patient.
All these facts should’ve sliced Suguru’s chest open with anguish. Instead he merely blinks, letting his eyes fall closed for longer moments, without being granted any relief. He doesn’t wake up in the bed of his dorm room, reassured the events of the day were nothing but a bad dream. This is reality, a heavy, hopeless and ugly truth.
A sigh reaches his ears and a shadow descends upon him, blocking some of the glaring bright lights.
Yaga stands next to his bed, expression submerged in regret and compassion.
“Suguru, I know the timing is abhorrent, but the people in charge have summoned you to debrief on the status of your mission,” he informs Suguru carefully.
The chair Shoko has been resting on topples over when she springs to her feet.
“Absolutely not! Are you out of your damn mind?” she exclaims in angered disbelief.
“Believe me, I don’t like this choice either, but-,“ Yaga begins to explain, sounding oddly apologetic.
“No but! He’s in no condition to-,“ she halts abruptly, probably shocked to see him struggle into a sitting position.
She is looking out for him, Suguru knows this and under different circumstances he’d be grateful for it. Right now he doesn’t care about anything. So the higher-ups summoned him? They would want to hear his version of the incident sooner or later anyway. He should simply get it over with.
“Suguru, you don’t have to do this right now,” Shoko appeals to him urgently, clearly upset on his behalf. “I will gladly talk some sense into them!”
“It’s fine,” he mumbles and climbs to his feet. Any other day the image of Ieiri, chewing out these stuck-up old men for classmates she likes to make fun of, would’ve warmed his heart or amused him greatly. As it is however, he merely sends her a half-hearted smile. The motion feels strange, like he’s stretching a rubber-band too thin, to the point of snapping. It slips off as fast as it came. “We can meet up afterwards.”
She frowns, lips twitching with confliction, as if she wants to add something but manages to hold back at the last second. Suguru is relieved, he doesn’t think he’d have the strength to argue with her further.
With another deep sigh, sensei guides him out of the room. His hand remains between Suguru’s shoulder blades, either to ground him, to catch him should he stumble or to keep him from bolting. It’s unnecessary, but Getou keeps quiet, too tired to address the unusual signs of concern.
For the first time Suguru meets the people in charge. Although ‘meet’ is a strange word for men hiding their appearance behind doors in a dimly lit room.
They greet him formally once Yaga and him enter and ask him to report the events of the mission. Next to him Yaga gives him an encouraging nod. Suguru ignores it.
Tonelessly he tells them about the last days. Of finding Riko and her maid, the repeated attacks, the ambush once they passed Tengen’s barrier and how he retrieved Riko’s body from the Star Religious Group once he’d been healed. The members had been clapping, happy that their god could remain pure. Suguru remembers vividly how they hadn’t looked like people then, but mindless drones, buzzing with instruction, no questions, just blind acceptation.
Life must be so easy like this, naively believing doctrines someone preaches. To view a young girl as the means to an end, denying her any sense of agency out of ignorance for connections and the world surrounding them. Suguru supposes that’s what humanity looks like – ugly and cruel, seeking strength in numbers, offering power to the egoists and smothering everybody not fitting their own agenda and in turn stifling their potential.
Resentment stirs in his throat, attempting to spill over while he recounts each painful detail of the day. He swallows it down so forcefully until only a bitter taste remains in his mouth – at least this is a feeling he knows how to deal with.
The higher-ups follow his report with questions, asking him to describe their assailant and so forth.
At first he wonders why they are so interested in the man, but soon feels hope bloom in his chest. They must have an idea who attacked them and if they knew, then there was a chance they also knew what he might’ve done with Satoru’s body.
“Are you going to look for Satoru’s body?” Suguru dares to ask, when the men in charge eventually dismiss him.
The answer is so straightforward it pulls the rug out from under him. “No.”