Chapter Text
SEVERAL WEEKS LATER
Lukas handed Satori a drink. Coca-Cola. Satori took it, and after popping it open and taking a swig, he simply held it and looked at it.
Lukas sat down beside him, a dewy can of sprite in his hand on soujourn back from his lips.
“What’s up?”
“I don’t really like Cola. It’s too sweet.”
“You shoulda told me before I got started on the sprite! But really, who doesn’t like Coca-Cola.”
Iori spoke up from the bench beside the low stone wall. “Don’t shove your own opinions on other people, Lukas. Let him enjoy what he wants.”
Lukas raised his hands in surrender. “Oh no no, I didn’t mean it like that!” He turned to Satori. “You didn’t think I meant it like that, right? I just meant it as a joke!”
Satori took another swig of his coke. “S’alright. I knew what you meant.”
”Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask you- do you dye your hair or sumthin? That color is sick!”
“It’s natural. Couldn’t tell you why, a freak of genetics, I guess. Itadori-sensei’s hair is also this color.”
”Is his natural too??? I thought for sure he dyed it.”
Iori turned, his head swinging to look at them, eyelids lowered skeptically. “You really thought that? Don’t you know anything about him?”
”I’ve met him a few times, and I always got the ‘punk-who-pretends-to-have-grown-out-of-it’ vibe from him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he dyes it.”
A feminine voice. ”I heard he dyed it blue back when he was in school.”
Iori’s head swung back the other way. Satori’s eyes shifted from Lukas to the newcomer from behind his can of coke.
Lukas raised his hands high above his head in an enthusiastic welcome. “Hi! Who are you?”
”That didn’t happen, Kachiko. You can’t just lie to people like that.” Iori scolded.
”You dare to doubt your upperclassman, Iori? I’ll box your ears. Or, better yet, I’ll tell your dad that I saw you gettin’ with a girl behind the gym.” Iori balked.
Satori studied the girl. She was short. As in, tiny. She could probably fit in a Fiat’s trunk. She was an upperclassman? Really?
”Iori, tell us who she is.” Lukas demanded.
”Yeah, Iori. Introduce me to pinkie and blondie.”
Iori’s eyes rolled. “‘Pinkie’ is Satori. ‘Blondie’ is Lukas. Lukas, Satori, this is Kachiko. She’s a second year.”
Lukas sat up straight. “What grade are you?”
“It’s funny you should ask…”
She leaned in, a mischievous look in her eye, and waited a proper amount of time for a suspenseful silence.
The boys sat up. Iori relaxed back, his eyes shut.
”I’m grade four.”
It is commonly known that teenage boys are the most violent in their physical displays of frustration. Lukas stood, leaned back, clutched his hair, and screamed. Satori’s face contorted and his Coca-Cola can was crushed into nothing in his fist. Iori laughed cruelly at the other’s reactions from his bench, and Kachiko spun merrily away.
When the turmoil died, the silence was tangible.
A green leaf fell from the ginkgo.
The summer breeze blew it gently across the courtyard.
The blue sky glimmered cheerfully upon them.
Lukas and Satori sat steaming.
”Should I tell you what her technique is? Would that make you feel better?”
”No.” A definitive answer from Satori.
”Well alright then. Want to spar?”
Lukas brightened up, his eyes sparkling. “Yes.”
Satori shrugged. “Sure.”
Iori stood and stretched. “Nice. Just be prepared to get your butts whooped.”
Lukas lept up, flashing a grin and a thumbs up. “Ain’t no butts getting whooped today but yours, bucko.”
— — —
On the field, Satori addressed Lukas. “Why did you freak out when Kachiko said she was grade four? You’re grade four yourself.”
Lukas spun the staff he was holding into the ground. “Why shouldn’t I be disappointed when someone older than me is weak?”
Iori approached, also holding a staff. “Being grade four doesn’t make someone weak. It just means nobody’s reccomended them for a higher grade.”
Lukas scoffed. “Or, you could look at an actual grade four and see that we are weak. Personally, I think I would know best.”
”You’re not weak.”
”Sure I am. Support techniques are weak. If you threw me into a ring with a bunch of cursed spirits, I’m dying. That’s a fact.” Iori opened his mouth. “Do NOT argue with me. I’m sure you wouldn’t know about this. Just because I can keep up with you in hand-to-hand combat does NOT mean I wouldn’t be smeared on an actual job.”
Iori acquiesced. “Alright then. You’re right. You’re weak. Is that what you want to hear?”
”I don’t want to hear anything. I know my place, and don’t need to be told who I am by other people.”
His staff fell at Iori, who easily blocked it. Satori, still standing a couple meters away, took the opportunity to flee the scene, and went to sit down on the steps to watch from a distance. Both Lukas and Iori were raised as sorcerers, and Satori had quickly noticed that his physical prowess was far lacking to give them any good competition. Sparring frequently resulted in Lukas and Satori going at each other, with Satori observing from the side.
It was painful. He thought he was strong. He knows he is strong. He is grade one, after all, and he knew that his technique could probably take care of Lukas and Iori easily. But still…
Satori was no competition for them. He personally found it ridiculous that Lukas considered himself weak, but he supposed he and Lukas were two ends of the same spectrum- gifted in physical feats versus gifted in cursed energy.
The clack of the staffs on the field increased as Lukas and Iori abandoned their discussion, and a polished black shoe tapped down onto the step beside Satori.
Okkotsu Yuta kneeled and sat down with a soft groan.
Satori waited for him to say something, but he never did. He just sat with him, watching the other students practice with an absent, faraway look.
It was nice, not having the pressure to talk. He found that in so many places he had to yell to be heard. Even at the school, with only the three students. So, he sat quietly enjoying the late summer weather.
Eventually, a question came to him that he had to ask.
”Okkotsu-sensei?”
Okkotsu hummed an acknowledgement.
”You’re special grade, right?”
A distant ”Yes.”
”Why?”
Okkotsu’s eyes cleared and he returned to the present, looking gently at Satori.
”Just bad luck, I suppose.”
”Bad luck? Don’t people want to be special grade?”
“Being truly strong always comes with a price, and one can only become strong if they pay that price. It can break a person.”
”And you paid that price?”
”I did not. But I did face it.”
”Why couldn’t you pay it?”
“It was something I couldn’t bear to part with.”
”What was it?”
”I wish I could tell you, but it can mean something different for every person. I am sure you will face it yourself someday, Satori. And when you do, you will have to decide whether or not it is worth it to you.”
”I still don’t understand how you’re so strong, then. I mean, you’re special grade.”
Okkotsu laughed. “Not every label requires a clear-cut definition. An individual is meant to be judged by their own merits, not on a classroom grading scale drawn up by a committee.”
Satori was beginning to feel that he was being pulled into a circle of philosophy that he had not signed up for. He couldn’t really think quickly in allusions and figurative speech, and desperately wanted simple, black-and-white answers for all his questions.
It seemed he wasn’t going to get that from Okkotsu-sensei.
— — —
NOVEMBER
When Satori entered the classroom twenty minutes late with a groveling apology fully prepared, he was surprised to find no teacher and an extra student.
Except the boy wasn’t in uniform and was perched cross-legged on the teacher’s desk. His dark hair stood on end, and he was glaring daggers down at Iori, who, in return, had his jaw set stubbornly crooked in annoyance.
Satori stopped short.
”Inari??”