The next morning, the sky over the abandoned town was gray. Thin clouds rolled slowly above, muting the sunlight. Kusakabe walked with his usual slouched posture, sipping from a canned coffee he'd picked up before the mission. Beside him, Arata walked straight-backed, eyes scanning the surroundings without haste.
There was no tension in his steps. If anything, he looked steady, unshaken by the silence of the town.
"You're unusually calm," Kusakabe remarked, side-eyeing him.
Arata gave a small shrug. "I've already fought something stronger than this once. A special grade."
Kusakabe snorted softly. "Right. Forgot you skipped the baby steps and went straight to the final boss." He shook his head. "Still, don't get cocky. Semi–special grades aren't weak. Sometimes, the weird tricks they use can be harder to deal with than brute strength."
"I know," Arata said simply.
That tone—unmoved, grounded—made Kusakabe glance at him again. The kid wasn't bluffing. He believed in what he said. That kind of confidence wasn't arrogance. It was the calm of someone who had already looked death in the face once and didn't flinch.
They made their way back to the school building from yesterday. The cursed energy still hung heavy around it, coiling in the air like smoke only sorcerers could sense.
Arata stopped a few meters away, narrowing his eyes. He let cursed energy flow evenly through his body, sharpening his awareness.
"…The waves are stronger today," he said.
Kusakabe raised a brow. "You can tell?"
"Yeah. It's like… the energy is pushing out in bursts. Yesterday it was faint. Today it's clear."
Kusakabe nodded slowly. "Good eye. That means the curse is getting restless. Might mean it noticed us poking around yesterday."
Arata tilted his head slightly. "Then it'll probably make a move soon."
"Most likely." Kusakabe finished his coffee and tossed the can into an empty trash bin. "Until then, let's check the perimeter."
They circled the school, keeping careful distance.
The walls were cracked, paint peeling. Windows were black, as if the glass itself had been burned. Cursed energy seeped from the cracks, faint but steady.
As they walked, the sounds began again.
Tap.
A footstep from the left. Then from above. Then from behind.
Arata didn't tense. His expression remained calm. "Same trick as yesterday."
Kusakabe glanced at him. "Not spooked, huh?"
"No." Arata scanned the rooftops. "If it wants to scare me, it'll have to try harder."
Kusakabe almost smiled at that. Almost. "Good. You're learning faster than I thought."
They reached the back of the school, where a broken playground stood. Rusted swings swayed lightly even though there was no wind. A slide leaned to one side, its metal frame twisted.
Arata's gaze sharpened. "There."
One of the swings moved again, but not in rhythm with the others. It jerked sharply, as if something invisible had brushed past it.
Kusakabe narrowed his eyes. "…Not wind."
Arata stepped closer, reinforcing his legs lightly with cursed energy. He crouched near the swing, examining the ground. Dust had been disturbed, like something heavy had pressed into the dirt but left no proper footprint.
"Looks like it was here," Arata muttered.
Kusakabe scratched his head. "Figures. Semi–specials love hiding in plain sight. Probably circling us right now."
He looked around lazily, though Arata could tell his senses were sharp. "Don't bother chasing it. If it wanted to show itself, it would've already. Best thing we can do is force it out."
"How?"
"Pressure. We make enough noise in its nest, it'll come running."
They decided to enter the school.
The doors creaked loudly as they pushed them open, the sound echoing unnaturally long down the hallways. Inside, dust coated the floors. Old desks were stacked against walls, and faded posters clung to bulletin boards.
Arata walked with steady steps, eyes sharp. His hand brushed against the wall once, cursed energy humming lightly at his fingertips. He was marking, testing, feeling how the curse's energy reacted.
Kusakabe noticed. "…You're adapting fast. Didn't think you'd be this composed."
Arata gave a small smile. "You taught me not to waste energy over nothing. So I won't."
Kusakabe let out a low chuckle. "Kid's got guts. I'll give you that."
They moved classroom by classroom. Each one was empty, but the silence pressed harder with every door they opened. The deeper they went, the heavier it got.
Halfway down the second floor, Arata stopped.
"…The echo changed."
Kusakabe frowned. "How so?"
"It's… closer. Not bouncing around anymore. More focused. Like it's watching from one spot."
Kusakabe's eyes narrowed. "Good catch. That means it's getting ready."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Alright. We don't push too far today. We'll map out the layout, then pull back. Tomorrow, we flush it out for real."
Arata nodded calmly. "Understood."
On their way out, the curse made one last move.
The hallway stretched. Literally stretched.
Arata blinked, watching as the exit doors at the end of the hall pulled farther away, like someone had grabbed the building and tugged. The walls warped, windows bending, shadows crawling unnaturally.
Kusakabe muttered under his breath. "Figures. Spatial tricks."
Arata didn't panic. He simply reinforced his legs, crouched, and slammed his fist against the wall.
Crrrk!
The plaster cracked, cursed energy rippling out. The warped effect shimmered, then snapped back—the hallway shrinking to its normal length again.
The exit was back in front of them.
"…Nice," Kusakabe said, genuinely impressed.
Arata brushed dust from his knuckles. "Cheap tricks won't work twice."
For a moment, Kusakabe stared at him. Then he let out a dry laugh. "Kid, I think I'm starting to see why Gojo dumped you on me."
Arata tilted his head. "Why?"
"Because babysitting you might actually be fun."
As they stepped back into the fading daylight outside, the faint distorted laugh rippled through the air again, louder than yesterday.
But this time, Arata didn't flinch. He only narrowed his eyes, gaze sharp and steady.
"Tomorrow," he muttered. "It'll show itself."
Kusakabe shoved his hands in his pockets, sighing. "Yeah. Tomorrow."