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If someone had told her a month ago that she would soon be teary-eyed over the death of a classmate, Nobara would have laughed right in their face.
The plan wasn’t to get attached. Enrolling in Tokyo Jujutsu High was just a means to an end, a free ticket to a new life far away from the countryside. She would spend four years honing her skills among peers, practicing and making a name for herself before entering the wider world. She would live in Tokyo after graduation, obviously, or maybe Chiba until she could afford Shinjuku. Everyone knew that curses were dangerous; there was no use caring about people who might not come back someday.
Now, staring at the cracks in the stone steps between her feet, she cursed her past self’s ignorance. Itadori had wormed his way into her heart by virtue of being annoying, and loud, and cheerfully shoving food towards her. He had insisted that cooking and baking were easy, and forced Fushiguro and her to help roll dough and bean paste into balls for mochi on more than one occasion. He was irritating, and before the whole curse womb debacle, Nobara would have stubbornly denied liking him at all.
The guilt now sitting leaden in her stomach proved just how untrue that was.
“This sucks,” Fushiguro said suddenly. Nobara turned slightly to look at him. He sat to one side of her, lanky legs stretched out over two stairs, a respectful distance away. Nobara wasn’t sure if he was talking about Itadori, their lack of summer uniforms, or sorcery in general.
“Yeah,” she agreed.
The cicadas sounded awfully loud in the silence between them.
“You’re an idiot,” Nobara told Itadori after he popped out of a box like some cursed children’s toy.
“What was that for?” Itadori complained, rubbing his arm.
“For being stupid,” she said, and met Fushiguro’s eyes. The relief she saw there mirrored her own.
Itadori pouted. “That’s not fair. You never punch Fushiguro!”
“I will if he acts stupid,” Nobara retorted, unable to stop the smile that rose to her face.
“So why’d you let us think you were dead for so long?” Nobara asked, closing in on Itadori.
Itadori didn’t drop his guard, but his eyes went wide and innocent. “Gojo-sensei told me to!”
Nobara scoffed, and lashed out with a kick. Itadori twisted away from it, and then swung back with a fist. It was the move he defaulted to in nearly every spar, and Nobara smiled triumphantly as she neatly ducked the blow and got up close to Yuji, pulling his upper half over the leg she stuck out to trip him. Yuji hit the ground face-first with a squawk.
He was back up again in an instant. There was dirt on his face. His eyes were sparkling. He looked ecstatic. “That move was so cool! Who taught you that?”
Nobara pointed to their classmate, observing from the sidelines. “Fushiguro.”
“You use your fists too much,” Fushiguro called, looking typically unimpressed. “There’s more to hand-to-hand than punching.”
Itadori laughed self-consciously, rubbing the back of his head. “I know. I guess I have a lot still to learn.” He turned to Fushiguro with puppy eyes. “Will you teach me how to do that too?”
“Guess so,” Fushiguro said, stretching his arms. “We can ask the second-years for some tips later.”
“Come at me then, Fushiguro,” Itadori challenged, and Nobara settled in to watch them go at it.
The cicadas were still singing. The wind rustled the branches of the forest gently. Itadori yelped as he once again found himself in close contact with the sparring field. Nobara saw Fushiguro smile, just a little.
It wasn’t so bad.