Chapter 26

"102.2 degrees. A high fever; we need to go to the hospital." Fyodor removed the thermometer from the mouth of Suguru Geto, who was lying in bed, his cheeks flushed, struggling to stay conscious.

"Geto, you're really too fragile. You can't even compare to Fyodor," Satoru Gojo remarked, arms crossed as he stood by the bedside, clucking his tongue in amazement.

He was met with a helpless look and a note of disapproval from Fyodor. "It is because Suguru gave me his coat. Besides, we are all classmates; isn't that a bit harsh, Gojo?"

Gojo choked, muttering resentfully, "That's not what I meant..."

"No need for the hospital," Geto said, his voice raspy and pained as if his throat were being sliced by a blade. "I'll be fine with some medicine."

Fyodor thought for a moment, then turned and walked out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Gojo’s puzzled voice followed him.

"I have medicine for colds and fevers with me. I'm going to get it," Fyodor replied.

Gojo blinked, lost in thought. "Why does it feel like all my classmates are sickly?"

If he weren't so weak, Geto would have rolled his eyes.

...

Because of Geto's fever, their Sunday plans had to be canceled—the three had been planning to explore the surrounding area while eating barbecue the day before.

"Stop rummaging through my things."

"I'm not, I'm just looking. Wait, why are you so agitated? Are you hiding some unspeakable little secret?"

"What nonsense are you talking about!"

The two overgrown children were bickering again. Gojo certainly had a talent for it, though Geto was equally persistent; even as sick as he was, he strained his voice to trade barbs with Gojo. Perhaps the medicine was helping? It had only been a short while since he took it, though. The effects wouldn't usually kick in that quickly, so it seemed more likely driven by Geto’s sheer willpower.

Fyodor sat to the side, watching silently, gaining a deeper understanding of the relationship between Geto and Gojo:

They were truly best friends, as officially fated.

Others would only drift further apart through arguments, but when these two fought, it was like a couple having a lovers' spat. On the surface, they seemed like oil and water, heavy with the scent of gunpowder, as if they might break into a fight at any moment—which they often did—but they never held a grudge. They acted like lifelong best friends, despite having known each other for only two days, having even come to blows on the very first day.

Fyodor held a glass of water to his lips, the rim obscuring his vision and shielding his eyes from the others.

If Gojo and Geto were to look at Fyodor’s eyes at that moment, they would likely suspect they had misseen.

How could one describe eyes that usually appeared clean, pure, and gentle? They were dim, gloomy, and deathly still. They were like a bottomless abyss or a stagnant pool without a ripple, void of any light, so heavy they were unsettling.

Anyone who locked eyes with that gaze would feel a tremor in their soul.

Lunch and dinner were packed from the cafeteria by Gojo and Fyodor to eat with Geto.

The technical college’s cafeteria remained open during terms—as long as at least one student was on campus.

This was a high level of treatment, but considering the mortality rate of sorcerers, it was not unreasonable. One couldn't expect people to bleed and weep without support.

Sunday passed quietly. It is worth noting that when Gojo and Fyodor went to the vending machine for drinks, they ran into Shoko Ieiri, who was hiding in a corner smoking.

The short-haired girl and the two boys stared at each other. The former expressionlessly tossed her burning cigarette butt to the ground, stepped on it, and offered a smiling greeting: "Hello."

"The air is full of smoke," Gojo noted. He wasn't saying it because the smell bothered him, but because the girl’s effort was clearly futile; if a teacher had really seen her, she wouldn't have been able to hide it.

"Ieiri, it is best to smoke less," Fyodor said kindly. He and Ieiri had exchanged names the day before and had a brief conversation.

Ieiri nodded perfunctorily, muttering "reflex" as she moved her foot, bent down to pick up the extinguished butt, and walked to a nearby trash can to dispose of it.

"You two came back quite late yesterday," Ieiri said, searching for a topic. As for how she knew... Ieiri was a night owl, and since the men's and women's dorms were in the same building, she naturally heard the commotion downstairs.

At the mention of this, Gojo immediately boasted loudly, "Let me tell you, you'll never guess how we got back. Have you ever hitched a ride on a cursed spirit?"

Ieiri paused, looking at Fyodor with confusion.

Fyodor nodded. "It was Suguru's technique. Due to some unforeseen circumstances, we couldn't hail a taxi, so we flew back on a cursed spirit that Suguru had subdued."

"Ah... I see. Well... that's nice." Ieiri fell silent for a moment, perfunctorily playing along with Gojo's bragging.

Then, her ears were subjected to a noise attack from Gojo that didn't stop for ten minutes, save for the occasional breath.

Ieiri felt a buzzing in her head. Unlike the original story, her first impression of Gojo had shifted to: a classmate who talks entirely too much.

Her impression of Fyodor: a sickly-looking foreigner.

Her impression of Geto: the first person to invent a cursed spirit shuttle service.

In summary: her peers all seemed rather abnormal.

Monday arrived, and classes resumed as normal.

Geto had a good night's sleep, his fever had mostly broken, leaving only a slight cough.

The three left right on time, and on the way, they met Ieiri, who had left earlier but walked at a slower pace. After a brief round of introductions, they picked their seats.

The classroom at the college was about the same size as a regular school room, with more than enough space to fit four desks in a row.

From the door to the window, they sat in the order of Ieiri, Geto, Fyodor, and Gojo.

Before long, Masamichi Yaga arrived. He looked at the students already seated and didn't bother changing the seating arrangement—with only four of them, there was no need.

Yaga started by laying out his rules and the goals for the semester, then had the students stand up for self-introductions and explanations of their techniques before beginning the lesson.

The morning was entirely theory, followed by a two-hour lunch break, and then practical training and analysis in the afternoon.

In the blink of an eye, half a month passed.

Fyodor and Ieiri were doing fine, and Gojo was fine as well. Only Geto was starting to feel restless.

The former two were 'support' types and had little interest in combat. Gojo had earned his Special Grade qualification at a young age, and with the recent surge in both the number and level of cursed spirits, the authorities faced increasingly difficult situations. As the only Special Grade, the responsibilities on Gojo’s shoulders were heavy; sometimes, in emergencies, he even had to request leave from class to head out.

Geto, however, had only recently been discovered by the jujutsu world and had just enrolled in the college. He needed to undergo strength assessments and complete promotion missions to earn his qualification, and until then, he had no assignments.

Hearing Gojo talk about his mission experiences once again, Geto finally couldn't sit still and went to ask Yaga when he would be able to go on missions like Gojo.

Yaga pondered for a few seconds and said, "I have observed your strength over the past half-month. As it happens, there is a mission that isn't particularly urgent, so it hasn't been assigned to anyone yet. It is perfect for you. Oh, and have Fyodor go with you."