The next afternoon, 14:15.
When Soujun arrived at the main gate of Jujutsu High, Mishima Utako was already waiting in the car.
Her face was written with hesitation and worry.
She looked up, spotted Soujun, and her expression brightened. But right away she asked the thing bothering her:
"Last night, you didn't reply to my message. Were you mad at me?"
Soujun froze. You brooded over that all night?
"No, I just fell asleep." He waved a hand casually.
"But… it showed you read it and didn't reply."
Huh?
Soujun raised a brow and studied her. "Please don't dwell on things like that. Helping you is the same as helping myself. We're colleagues. If it were me who got hurt, you wouldn't stand by and watch, right? Right?"
She nodded, muttering softly, "Actually… I wanted to thank you for what happened when I got drunk too."
Soujun pretended not to hear.
Don't bring that up again.
Mishima felt relieved—so long as he wasn't angry, it was fine. She'd finally found a sorcerer she could get along with. The last thing she wanted was him filing a complaint that got her booted.
Goodwill doesn't always get goodwill in return. She'd long since learned that. That's why she always responded to kindness with her whole heart.
She started the car, steady at first, then shifted gears and went into racing mode. Soujun sat firmly, already used to it.
At the mission site, she put down a veil, then glanced at Soujun.
He nodded.
As before, she went in first.
The Fly-Head shot out to clear small fry.
Soujun was testing its performance. By nature it was weak, cursed energy scarce, barely the size of a palm.
A curse's size was usually a decent indicator of its strength—unless it had stepped into another tier.
Fly-Head was one of those exceptions.
After assimilation, its power had surged, from nothing to Grade 3. If Soujun fully controlled it, it could even reach Grade 2.
He watched it carefully, occasionally interfering to correct its sloppy movements. It was like training a dog—knock the food bowl before meals and, over time, the dog learns the reflex.
That's what he was doing with Fly-Head. The problem was, its intelligence was below a dog's. Though it showed slight growth, to compare it with a real dog would be an insult to the dog.
Meanwhile, part of his attention stayed on Mishima.
She charged the Grade 1 curse head-on.
Even within the same grade, there were gaps. This one lacked the overwhelming presence of the last one, and it had no particular resistance to her style.
After a tough fight, she managed to exorcise it.
Though badly wounded—using her katana as a cane just to walk—her face was lit with joy. She didn't care about the blood or pain.
Of course. As a Grade 2 sorcerer, exorcising a Grade 1 was normal.
That's how it should be!
She kept shooting Soujun looks, as if to say: See? This is my real strength.
Soujun did study her technique. But each time he watched her fight, she seemed utterly manic.
Living only on the edge. No life without madness.
She didn't care about her own life or death, nor the curse's, nor even a human curse user's. None of it mattered.
All that mattered was whether her strength improved.
Soujun couldn't match that mindset. Anyone who's killed knows—kill enough, and emotion drains away. But for him, exorcising curse users still made him so keyed up he nearly vomited.
If he ranked the things he loathed most, it would go: Balance Mechanism > Curse Users > Curses.
—
After cleanup, Soujun helped Mishima along.
On the way back, he had to play chauffeur again.
He didn't like these little sedans.
Too tall for them, he looked crammed in like a giant in a kiddie ride. The steering wheel felt like a toy in his hands.
He glanced at Mishima, lying in the passenger seat. She giggled stupidly now and then, only to wince in pain when her wounds pulled, her smile twisting, but her joy was obvious.
Soujun shook his head inwardly.
And then—bad luck. Police checkpoint.
With no choice, he borrowed Mishima's face and her license.
She turned to look—and froze. The man beside her now wore her exact face.
It was seamless. No mismatch at all. Yet as she studied him more closely, a pang of inferiority hit.
His proportions were better. Her face didn't suit his body—it was more like his body could suit any face.
And… his chest muscles. Even those beat hers.
Damn it!
Just then the officer leaned in, peering inside. Mishima quickly ducked her head and pretended to sleep, hiding her face in shadow.
She listened as her own voice bantered smoothly with the cop, and a strange emotion welled inside.
Soon, the checkpoint was behind them.
Soujun quietly exhaled and restarted the car.
Good thing it wasn't a strict inspection. Even if caught, it wasn't serious—but the hassle alone, he hated.
The car fell silent. They hadn't gone far when—
"Pfft."
Mishima burst out laughing.
Soujun dropped the disguise and pressed the accelerator, expression blank.
Back at Jujutsu High, the two split up without fuss, each going their own way.
—
Time slipped by.
After some trial and error, Soujun and Mishima settled into their best mission rhythm.
Three to four a week. Enough to build experience, not so many as to slow training.
And the two of them were getting more familiar.
__________________________________________________________
To read more advanced chapters and support me, go to:
patreon.com/ArchSovereign