[From the moment Satoru first awoke on the train, he sensed Suguru's energy. He knew, as he sat up to look at the other passengers around him, that there was no mistaking it, just as there had been no mistaking it back when Suguru made his first move toward his inevitable demise: the cursed energy woven throughout the car meant that Suguru's body was on the train. It meant that somewhere within reach, it was seeing, feeling, breathing — and avoiding him.
What Satoru did not know as he casually scanned through the brochure and began his journey, annoying his way through passenger after passenger in an attempt to catch up with the bearer of that cursed energy, is whether it was the real Suguru — or whether his mistakes had been dragged into this train car with him, his one and only true misstep to be lorded over him by a conductor who might as well be a higher-up, with how he summoned Satoru here to deal with two very big problems from his world.
Because only a short time ago, Satoru was staring at Suguru's body, sensing his cursed energy, and knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that the person staring back at him was not truly Suguru.
So as Satoru engaged in antics, as he smiled and laughed and ate whatever sweet treats the train provided — as he made his way through people and robots and dogs — he pursued, in his own way, the answer to that very important question: who is it that won't let him within reach?
Hindered without some of his more convenient, but less necessary, abilities, Satoru's progress was slower than it should have been. But there was more holding him back than his inability to teleport or hover in air — more than the necessary conservation of his energy and his inability to heal himself.
Even now, with the weight of his mistakes and their consequences on his shoulders, with Suguru's life ended and his body taken from him, with Satoru successfully captured, once an unthinkable feat — even now, there is only one person who has ever made Satoru hesitate.
And with no victims piled along the back of the train cars, with no network chatter about a dangerous monk, with no sign of Suguru using his curses to cause trouble — Satoru hesitates.
Without the prison realm in play, Satoru can easily take care of whoever holds Suguru's body hostage. But if it's Suguru, really Suguru, there is no easy that fits into Satoru's equation. There is only an if statement, followed by the weighted word again.
So when their game of cat-and-mouse draws to a close and Satoru plants himself on the museum floor, he is not only tired because he can't refresh his energy, nor because he's kept his barrier up since his arrival in anticipation of this encounter. Satoru is tired because he's still, after all these years, chasing a ghost. He's still looking for Suguru in places where he shouldn't be: outside of jujutsu society, in a bloodied alleyway, in a train station, and here, aboard the Existential Express.
Eyeless as he may currently be, Satoru isn't without his other senses. He lacks the ability to perceive cursed energy, but he can still feel it when it approaches. He can still identify it, though there is only darkness before him, a Suguru-shaped space carved into it by memory alone.
Maybe it's the distance that Suguru wisely keeps between them — one that reminds Satoru of a rainy day years ago, where they stood on opposite sides and spoke of remembering — or maybe it's the sentence he speaks, the answer he gives in the form of another question —
Or maybe it's just that Satoru has never needed eyes to know him.
But as Suguru stands there, Satoru knows the truth.
This confirmation brings with it a wave of memories still fresh from their last resurgence, a heavy feeling that settles on Satoru's chest, and a doubling down on a resolve that Satoru thought he would never have to muster again.
Not that he allows any of this to show through his casual sprawl. He is still Satoru — still prepared to meet this situation with as much levity as he would afford a conversation about the weather or a discussion about lunch.]
You count.
[Because as far as interesting goes, his once-dead best friend ranks higher than his eyes. As vital as those organs may be, he's had them his whole life; he's only had Suguru for a fraction of that time.
He faces Suguru as he says this, following the sound of his voice and the impression given off by his cursed energy. He pretends he sees him, because though Satoru could take Suguru in his current condition, the knowledge that his eyes are somewhere to be claimed is dangerous in the hands of any curse user — especially one that Satoru killed.
(And it has been so long since Satoru communicated any vulnerability to Suguru, no matter how small; to go down that path again would be more dangerous than acknowledging his missing pieces.)]
I didn't expect you to give up the game so soon.
[Nor to seek him out here, like this, on his own accord; even if Suguru knows that he is without his eyes, he of all people is aware that Satoru is still incredibly dangerous. This is a risk.
But maybe it's because he knows Satoru that he chooses to take it — because Satoru's next move is not that of a sorcerer facing an opponent.
He grins, as though there isn't all this time and space between them — as though the last time he looked upon Suguru, the real Suguru, he wasn't deathly still beneath his hands.]
I win.
[(Yo, he might have said once. It's been a while. But those words are no longer theirs.)]
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What Satoru did not know as he casually scanned through the brochure and began his journey, annoying his way through passenger after passenger in an attempt to catch up with the bearer of that cursed energy, is whether it was the real Suguru — or whether his mistakes had been dragged into this train car with him, his one and only true misstep to be lorded over him by a conductor who might as well be a higher-up, with how he summoned Satoru here to deal with two very big problems from his world.
Because only a short time ago, Satoru was staring at Suguru's body, sensing his cursed energy, and knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that the person staring back at him was not truly Suguru.
So as Satoru engaged in antics, as he smiled and laughed and ate whatever sweet treats the train provided — as he made his way through people and robots and dogs — he pursued, in his own way, the answer to that very important question: who is it that won't let him within reach?
Hindered without some of his more convenient, but less necessary, abilities, Satoru's progress was slower than it should have been. But there was more holding him back than his inability to teleport or hover in air — more than the necessary conservation of his energy and his inability to heal himself.
Even now, with the weight of his mistakes and their consequences on his shoulders, with Suguru's life ended and his body taken from him, with Satoru successfully captured, once an unthinkable feat — even now, there is only one person who has ever made Satoru hesitate.
And with no victims piled along the back of the train cars, with no network chatter about a dangerous monk, with no sign of Suguru using his curses to cause trouble — Satoru hesitates.
Without the prison realm in play, Satoru can easily take care of whoever holds Suguru's body hostage. But if it's Suguru, really Suguru, there is no easy that fits into Satoru's equation. There is only an if statement, followed by the weighted word again.
So when their game of cat-and-mouse draws to a close and Satoru plants himself on the museum floor, he is not only tired because he can't refresh his energy, nor because he's kept his barrier up since his arrival in anticipation of this encounter. Satoru is tired because he's still, after all these years, chasing a ghost. He's still looking for Suguru in places where he shouldn't be: outside of jujutsu society, in a bloodied alleyway, in a train station, and here, aboard the Existential Express.
Eyeless as he may currently be, Satoru isn't without his other senses. He lacks the ability to perceive cursed energy, but he can still feel it when it approaches. He can still identify it, though there is only darkness before him, a Suguru-shaped space carved into it by memory alone.
Maybe it's the distance that Suguru wisely keeps between them — one that reminds Satoru of a rainy day years ago, where they stood on opposite sides and spoke of remembering — or maybe it's the sentence he speaks, the answer he gives in the form of another question —
Or maybe it's just that Satoru has never needed eyes to know him.
But as Suguru stands there, Satoru knows the truth.
This confirmation brings with it a wave of memories still fresh from their last resurgence, a heavy feeling that settles on Satoru's chest, and a doubling down on a resolve that Satoru thought he would never have to muster again.
Not that he allows any of this to show through his casual sprawl. He is still Satoru — still prepared to meet this situation with as much levity as he would afford a conversation about the weather or a discussion about lunch.]
You count.
[Because as far as interesting goes, his once-dead best friend ranks higher than his eyes. As vital as those organs may be, he's had them his whole life; he's only had Suguru for a fraction of that time.
He faces Suguru as he says this, following the sound of his voice and the impression given off by his cursed energy. He pretends he sees him, because though Satoru could take Suguru in his current condition, the knowledge that his eyes are somewhere to be claimed is dangerous in the hands of any curse user — especially one that Satoru killed.
(And it has been so long since Satoru communicated any vulnerability to Suguru, no matter how small; to go down that path again would be more dangerous than acknowledging his missing pieces.)]
I didn't expect you to give up the game so soon.
[Nor to seek him out here, like this, on his own accord; even if Suguru knows that he is without his eyes, he of all people is aware that Satoru is still incredibly dangerous. This is a risk.
But maybe it's because he knows Satoru that he chooses to take it — because Satoru's next move is not that of a sorcerer facing an opponent.
He grins, as though there isn't all this time and space between them — as though the last time he looked upon Suguru, the real Suguru, he wasn't deathly still beneath his hands.]
I win.
[(Yo, he might have said once. It's been a while. But those words are no longer theirs.)]