Inside the underground assembly hall, it was so silent that one could hear a pin drop.
The domineering heat, intense enough to set the air ablaze, continued to rage through the space.
Suguru Geto stared fixedly at the back of the blade resting on his shoulder, which emitted a dull red glow. His fingernails dug deep into the flesh of his palms.
Droplets of blood hit the cold concrete floor one by one.
"Is my blade... pointed in the wrong direction?"
Suguru Geto's voice was as raspy as sandpaper, carrying a sense of despair and resentment suppressed to the absolute limit.
"Yoru, look at these monkeys!"
He suddenly jerked his head up. His once-gentle eyes were now bloodshot, like a beast driven into a corner.
He pointed at the members of the Star Religious Group trembling in the corner; some had even lost control of their bladders out of sheer terror.
"Not only do they feel no guilt for Riko's death, but they're even here worshipping that disgusting monster!"
"They treat a monster's predation as a blessing from the gods!"
"We risk our lives and even swallow Cursed Spirit Orbs that taste like vomit... Is it all just to protect this irredeemable trash?!"
Suguru Geto's emotions had completely collapsed.
He roared at Yoru, as if trying to vent a year's worth of grievances, confusion, pain, and self-loathing through this single scream.
The cultists scrambled in terror, desperately trying to push toward the exit, but they were pinned down by the residual sword intent of Shiranui, unable to move an inch.
Yoru said nothing.
He watched the crumbling Suguru Geto quietly. In those deep eyes, there was no reproach, only calmness and acceptance.
Clang!
With a flick of his wrist, Yoru sheathed Shiranui instantly.
The suffocating heat and pressure dissipated along with it.
"Put away the Rainbow Dragon, Suguru."
Yoru's voice wasn't loud, yet it carried an indisputable sense of stability.
Suguru Geto froze.
He had thought Yoru would refute him with grand principles or lecture him about a sorcerer's responsibility.
He had even braced himself for a full-blown fight with Yoru right then and there.
But Yoru said nothing.
Those clear eyes were like a mirror, reflecting Suguru Geto's current distorted, hideous, and even somewhat pathetic appearance.
Suguru Geto's clenched fists slumped open.
The black cursed energy within him receded quickly like an ebbing tide.
The Rainbow Dragon circling in the air let out a low growl before turning into a mass of black mist and returning to Geto's body.
Without its support, Geto's body swayed violently. Like a deflated balloon, he seemed to age ten years in an instant.
Just as he was about to collapse to the ground.
A powerful arm firmly caught his shoulder.
"Let's go."
Without giving him a choice, Yoru slung an arm around Suguru Geto and turned toward the basement exit.
"Where to?"
Geto asked instinctively, his voice hollow and filled with exhaustion.
"I'm taking you somewhere."
Yoru replied without looking back, not sparing even a glance for the cultists.
"As for this trash..."
Yoru paused for a fraction of a second, his peripheral vision sweeping over the shivering crowd.
"The police and the law will deal with them. Their lives aren't worth dirtying your hands over."
With that, he moved on.
Yoru led Geto straight out of the musty, malicious underground bunker.
An hour later.
Far away from the oppressive Tokyo city center.
Yoru brought Geto to a late-night food stall in the suburbs.
It was a roadside stall lit with warm yellow lights and red lanterns, still bustling with people.
"Boss, fifty skewers of yakitori! Two cold ramune sodas! And two orders of your signature yakisoba!"
Yoru found an empty table by the street and shouted his order without hesitation.
"Coming right up!"
The nimble owner, wearing a headband, responded warmly. His spatula danced over the iron griddle with a sizzling sound.
The aroma of sauce and charcoal fire filled the air.
The surrounding tables were filled with construction workers just off the clock, weary salarymen, and young couples out for a late-night snack.
They gulped down draft beers, laughing and boasting loudly, sometimes even getting red in the face over a petty argument.
There was none of the oppressive silence of Jujutsu High, nor the nauseating cursed energy residue of the sewers.
Here, there was only the purest, most vibrant atmosphere of everyday life.
Suguru Geto sat awkwardly on a plastic stool, taking in his surroundings with a vacant expression.
It had been a long time since he had been in a place where ordinary people gathered.
In his eyes, ordinary people were either weaklings in need of protection or selfish, ignorant monkeys like the Star Religious Group cultists.
Yet looking at these people now—those who toiled for their livelihoods but could still laugh heartily late at night—he felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of unreality.
"What are you dazing out for?"
Yoru grabbed two bottles of chilled ramune. He expertly popped the glass marbles with a sharp pop and set one bottle down heavily in front of Geto.
Cold bubbles overflowed from the rim, bringing a sweet, refreshing chill.
Soon after, the owner arrived with a large platter of sizzling yakitori skewers.
"Eat them while they're hot! These are our specialty!"
Yoru picked up a golden-brown chicken and leek skewer and shoved it directly into Geto's hand.
"Stop thinking about the disgusting taste of cursed spirits. Try this instead."
Suguru Geto looked at the skewer in his hand, oil still dripping from it, his throat tightening.
He hadn't had a proper meal in a long time.
After every time he swallowed a Cursed Spirit Orb, the nausea—resembling the taste of a rag used to wipe up vomit—stripped away his interest in food.
But under Yoru's insistent gaze, he took a tentative bite.
Instantly!
The crispy skin, tender meat, and the rich aroma of the sauce exploded in his mouth like a storm!
This wasn't the nauseating taste of a dirty rag.
This was the pure, vibrant aroma of real food!
Geto's eyes widened.
Like a prisoner starving for three days, he began to tear into the meat on the skewers.
One skewer, two, three...
He ate so fast he choked on the hot juices, coughing violently.
Yoru said nothing, simply pushing the chilled soda closer to him.
Geto grabbed the bottle and tilted his head back, gulping down the icy liquid.
The intense carbonation mixed with the savory spice of the yakitori washed down his throat, forcefully suppressing the year-long accumulation of nausea in his stomach.
"Cough, cough..."
Geto set down the bottle, his eyes red and tearing up from the physical exertion.
He looked at Yoru, his lips trembling, unable to find his words.
Yoru picked up a skewer himself, looking out at the noisy crowd as he spoke calmly.
"Suguru, I know what you're thinking."
"You think the people in the Star Religious Group are beyond saving. You think the non-sorcerers you risk your life to protect are nothing but ugly monkeys."
"I admit, there's plenty of trash and scum in this world."
Yoru turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto Geto's.
"But you can't decide the whole world stinks just because you've seen the rats in the sewers."
Yoru pointed to a young couple feeding each other at a nearby table, then to a construction worker in the distance who was exhausted but still smiling while on the phone with his daughter.
"Look at them."
"They can be jealous, greedy, and weak."
"But they also love, they work hard to live, and they give their all for the smallest bits of happiness."
"This is the real world, Suguru."
"We sorcerers exorcise spirits not to judge who lives or dies, and certainly not to play some high-and-mighty savior."
Yoru raised his soda bottle and lightly clinked it against Geto's.
"We draw our blades just so these ordinary people can keep eating yakitori, drinking soda, and laughing out loud in this shitty world."
Clink!
The crisp sound of clinking glass rang out clearly against the bustling background of the stalls.
Suguru Geto stared blankly at Yoru.
The phrase 'you can't decide the whole world stinks just because you've seen the rats in the sewers' struck him like a massive bell, shattering the paranoid and fanatical thoughts in his mind.
It was true.
He had been pushing himself too hard.
He had treated protecting the weak as an absolute dogma, yet he had forgotten to look for the sparks within them that were actually worth protecting.
Blinded by the shadow of the Star Religious Group, he had almost personally destroyed the faith he had held for so long.
Geto looked down at the empty bamboo skewer in his hand.
A warm tear fell silently onto the back of his hand.
This time, it wasn't because of the pain of swallowing a cursed spirit, but because of a long-lost warmth belonging to the world of the living.
"Yoru..."
Suguru Geto took a deep breath and looked up. Though his eyes were still red, the deadness and madness within them had vanished.
"Thank you."
Right as he uttered those two words.
An imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of Yoru's mouth.
He grabbed two handfuls of yakitori and slammed them down in front of Geto.
"Enough talk. You're paying for dinner tonight. No one leaves until these fifty skewers are gone."
Looking at the mountain of yakitori, Geto gave a helpless but genuine wry smile, his first in a long time.
"You... you're really unreasonable, aren't you?"
This simple, human meal finally filled the void in Suguru Geto's heart.
Yet beneath this brief peace.
The gears of fate began to turn once more with the impending arrival of a certain Special Grade Sorcerer.