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There are too many beds but Hoshi can’t figure out why.
One, two, three.
The room is bare other than the futons stacked under the window. Blank walls, weathered tatami mats, boring view of a generic cityscape. The hostel is cheap but at least they have a private room this time around. Last month, Gojo had set them up, dorm-style, with a bunch of normies.
Hoshi, Kinji, and Okkotsu.
Three of them, three beds. This is, by all accounts, correct. So why such disappointment?
“Nice,” Okkotsu says, brushing past Hoshi in the doorway with his katana trembling in a white-knuckle grip. “Thought we’d have to double up the way Gojo-sensei was talking.”
“Yeah,” Kinji grumbles at the tatami mats. “Me, too.”
Oh, Hoshi realizes. That’s why.
It’s meant to be Okkotsu’s mission, Gojo made that clear on the way up to Tochigi.
In the rustier bits of the prefecture, where there are more warehouses than storefronts, an abandoned parking garage had accumulated several cursed spirits, preventing demolition. A Grade One, near the top, never wandering below the third floor. Some Grade Twos and Threes, mostly keeping to themselves too. Then a handful of weaker cursed spirits milling up and down the structure according to whatever counted as whims for such things.
The assortment was odd enough to ping Gojo’s radar but not dire, so immediate attention was hard to justify—the perfect assignment for a student in his mind. And wouldn’t luck just so have it? Gojo has a student in desperate need of both training and connections; he enjoyed drawing asterisms, too.
Enter Hoshi and Kinji. They’re here for support. Backup. Hoshi’s job is to keep the curses from swarming and Kinji will jump in if things get gnarly, but only Okkotsu thinks it might come to that. This is one of the simpler jobs Gojo could have given Okkotsu to test his mettle. No victims or witnesses to worry about. No moral dilemmas thick on the horizon. The building doesn’t serve as a nest so much as a layered headquarters; they won’t even have to struggle for an opening.
Start with Imai on Okkotsu, then Acrux on the first floor. Mimosa on the fourth—something in the way of overlapping zigzags should keep them all locked down. Some maintenance will be needed but cursed spirits can’t navigate out of Hoshi’s constellations on their own. All Hoshi needs to do is blockade the easy routes and keep the strongest cursed spirits isolated, so Okkotsu can take care of business.
“God, I hate babysitting.” Kinji slumps on the park bench to Hoshi’s right, all seething gloom and unkindled flames.
Across the street, Okkotsu questions a security guard with gaudy gestures while Nitta adds some prods here and there to keep them on track. Learn by doing—just how Gojo prefers. Past Okkotsu’s nervous arms, the parking garage looms like a skeletal monolith.
“It’s not so bad. Not like that guy’d talk to us.”
Most people find Okkotsu to be smooth around the edges. Demure, polite, able to perfectly strike a balance between helpless and if you just pointed me in the right direction. Hoshi hasn’t met another sorcerer quite like him but then again, it’s unlikely more than a handful have ever existed. Leave it to Gojo to snatch up and nurture every out-of-pocket case study he can find, but then again, that’s how Hoshi found Kinji so they’re not going to give Gojo too much shit for it, even in the privacy of their own head.
Kinji snorts and taps Hoshi’s labret with his too-familiar fingertip. “For sure, you’re way too scary.”
“Like you’re not a monster truck on legs.” Hoshi mostly says it because they know Kinji will preen—the compliments stoke him. And maybe they’re both hideously bored with this round of babysitting duty.
“Still nowhere near as scary as you though,” Kinji speaks around an ear-to-ear grin that sets Hoshi’s chest shivering for warmth. He jerks his chin towards the parking garage across the street. “What’s your take on this?”
“’Bout what Gojo said. There are a few and they’re pretty strong. Even if Okkotsu whiffs it, you could take them.”
Kinji’s grin relaxes under a wave of fondness. “Wanna try? Just you and me? Bet we could be done before he’s even through talking to that security guard.”
“Probably.” And it is tempting. “Supposed to let Okkotsu have his shot, though.”
“Fine.” Kinji’s grumbling again, but at least this time, he’s more accommodating to the task. “Makes for an interesting arena at least,” he says, eyes ahead, tone saturated with subtext. “The floors, the open structure. The roof. We can start there and work our way down the fire escape to keep an eye on things while Okkotsu lights up the inside.”
Five, two, four, one, three? It doesn’t flow so neatly but it is the smarter play. Kinji hates playing safe odds. “What about us? We gonna help or just watch?”
“Gojo said we need to let Okkotsu try to handle it alone.”
“Since when do we listen to Gojo?” The joke is wan; Gojo is one of the few people Kinji listens to at all.
Kinji’s hand lands on Hoshi’s thigh and squeezes. He could play it off as casual if he moved it afterwards, but he doesn’t, and the warmth of his touch sets every exposed hair on Hoshi’s arms to attention. There aren’t many opportunities for affection among sorcerers but Kinji still seizes every one he comes across. Hoshi’s not sure what it means but it’s hard to care with fire tickling their leg and chest in alternating bursts.
Kinji is an incredible person and an even more amazing sorcerer.
It sounds superfluous to use such gaudy language but anything smaller feels insulting. Kinji is too massive for paltry and weak adjectives. He’s a supernova—larger than life. His gravity is so strong, Hoshi can’t help but twist the stars to suit him.
And if Hoshi wants more? More affection, more moments, more flames devouring them from the inside, out? Kinji’s never let them feel alone in that.
“The security guard said there’s been trouble for almost a month,” Okkotsu explains, drawing a finger along the front edge of the schematics spread out over the floor of their room. He lays on his belly, weight all on one elbow as he traces the edges of the parking garage again and again.
Kinji sits cross-legged next to Okkotsu, content to let Okkotsu spew his nerves out by complicating a relatively simple matter. Like Kinji, Hoshi does not believe any of this is necessary at all. But there’s no harm. They could get this done without Nitta’s help but she’s wise to Kinji and Hoshi’s shenanigans by now and took the car with her on an errand. They’re supposed to be resting up in the meantime—curtain drops at midnight—but it’s already a tall ask for them to stay put.
“They all sound so strong,” Okkotsu says with a nervous shiver. “Does it ever get less scary?”
“Not really. If you’re scared now, you’re always gonna be,” Kinji says before throwing a preemptive shrug Hoshi’s way as if to say, ‘What? Your fault for letting me do the talking.’
Okkotsu mutters, “Great.”
“Don’t like it? Learn reverse curse technique. Shit gets lots less scary then.”
“Maybe for you,” Hoshi fires back, because if there’s one thing Kinji is terrible at, it’s nuance.
Okkotsu doesn’t seem fond of that answer, either, but who would? Learning RCT on purpose isn’t even possible the way Gojo tells it. Shoko says differently, but since she can’t say how, exactly, one can accomplish this feat, Hoshi struggles to believe her. Kinji is team Gojo on the matter. It just happens, he says. It’s instinct, automatic, subconscious.
Terrible explanations, every one of them. But Hoshi’s never sure if it’s because Kinji grew up with sorcerers—like Gojo, like Shoko—or if RCT users are just crazier than the rest of them. Okkotsu will be an interesting case study from that perspective.
Okkotsu runs hot, even if he is underdeveloped. It’s why Gojo wants Kinji to show him the ropes; it’s a surefire way to get those embers aflame. Kinji’s no better teaching concepts than Gojo, but what Kinji does have is an intrinsic ability to lead by example, adjusting his stride to let even the slowest of charges keep pace. Okkotsu will struggle to keep up, but Kinji will make sure he does. And when Okkotsu struggles for the confidence to put his examples into practice? Well, that’s what Hoshi brings to this table.
“Don’t worry so much,” Hoshi says, trying to mold the intangible into a soothing shape. “Those cursed spirits are going to be however strong they are. We just have to be stronger or smarter.”
“Go for brawn,” Kinji suggests, snagging Hoshi by the waist and hauling them closer. “Got the brains covered.”
Okkotsu’s eyes slide between them, landing on Hoshi with a subtly quirked eyebrow. His lips quirk too, like he’s noticed something entertaining for the first time but doesn’t dare call it out. “I see.”
Hoshi draws their Southern Cross through the parking garage under cover of Nitta’s curtain, with Kinji’s flames warming their skin. It’s their favorite way to apply their technique. Kinji is an anchor point—the sun among all the stars. So bright, Hoshi never has to worry about finding their way back.
The three of them stand in a loose circle on the roof of the parking garage; fire escape gate swinging loose because Kinji didn’t bother latching it. Overhead, the moon bends into a sharp crescent. Hoshi doesn’t know if it’s on the way to full or empty, but idle curiosities don’t matter much with cursed spirits roaming below.
It’s a good night for a fight. Subtle breeze, the temperature hovering not far above zero. Back before Gojo picked Hoshi up to add to his ragtag band of future insurgents, Hoshi had stocked the freezer and fridge at their grandfather’s grocery after school and the sense memory creeps up with every chilly breath. Not cold enough for fog, but enough to invigorate the muscles and keep them alert.
“Are you sure you don’t want to fight a little?” Okkotsu asks nervously, like the entire point of this threesome isn’t to let Rika destroy a parking garage. The moonlight paints ghostly shadows across his face and all around them, Rika chitters with excitement.
Before Kinji can grumble that he’d love to, Hoshi jabs an elbow and says, “We’ll get our share, don’t worry.”
Okkotsu nods.
“Chill out, Tantan,” Hoshi leans their shoulder into Okkotsu’s until the tension starts bleeding out of his posture. “Gojo-sensei wouldn’t have asked you to try if he didn’t think you could do it.”
“Yeah. Right. You’re right.” Okkotsu lets out a long breath and nods, drawing his katana. Rika’s presence magnifies tenfold as he strides towards the ramp leading to the top floor of the garage.
“We’ve got your back, too,” Hoshi reminds him. “And Kin won’t let it get dire—promise.”
Okkotsu glances back over his shoulder and grins Cheshire like the moon. “I’m counting on it.”
“You’re sweet to him,” Kinji says lowly, watching Okkotsu descend the ramp with his sword drawn and Rika looming, waiting, salivating for prey. She’s unnerving even from afar but this close, Hoshi can feel her writhing with violence. Nearly everyone has an opinion about Rika. They say she’s too disturbing, or that they don’t know how Okkotsu can stand having her tethered to him, but none of them comprehend love in quite the same way as Okkotsu and Hoshi do.
Kinji steps close and props his chin against Hoshi’s temple, cheek smooshing their hair into tangles as his arms come around for a bear hug.
There’s no pressure for a response but Hoshi’s not jealous of their emotions like most sorcerers tend to be. “I just remember what it’s like. Not knowing what’s going on. Going off vibes. Knowing you have to learn to swim or drown trying. It’s hard, so I want to help if I can.”
An answering hum vibrates along Hoshi’s back.
Kinji likes to play both sides. He’s playing at them being friends, playing at them being more. Testing waters and sussing out the specific gamble he wants to bet on—Hoshi’s going to let him take his time.
A swelling of cursed energy erupts below their feet. Rika has fully manifested. Hoshi wriggles out of Kinji’s embrace and leads the way towards the fire escape. A crash echoes and one of the cursed spirits trolling about, marked by Hoshi’s stars, disintegrates.
“Kirara-senpai?!” Okkotsu frantically calls, his voice lofting up from the floor below on the pitiful breeze. “Kirara-senpai, I think I’m lost!”
Stuck in the web; Hoshi figured it’d happen at least once. Moments later, Rika bellows for attention.
Hoshi rushes down the fire escape just in time to see Rika smash a hole through a cursed spirit, taking a chunk of the wall with it.
“Atta boy, knew you could do it!” Kinji yells back just before the ceiling collapses.
The garage survives. Mostly.
Okkotsu survives, too, but that isn’t much of a feat with Rika shielding him from debris and cursed spirits alike.
Nitta offers them a “well done” and takes them for slushies afterwards, shrugging at the flummoxed convenience store worker staring at the dirt and concrete dust slathered over Hoshi and their friends. Nitta flings out a “teenagers, am I right?” in explanation, like she’s got decades on them instead of just a few years.
By the time they arrive back at the hostel, everyone is exhausted, desperate for a bath and sleep.
Which is, of course, when Gojo chooses to blink into existence, souvenir bags dangling from his fingers, low whistle coasting out of his mouth with the leisure of a Sunday drive in the countryside. He’s in uniform but wearing his glasses instead of the blindfold. Ready to fight, Hoshi notes, even if he doesn’t intend to.
“Y’all look terrible,” Gojo says, shaking his head with a slow, sarcastic disappointment.
“Happens when a parking garage roof collapses on your head.” Kinji reaches for the ceiling to stretch, fingers lacing together over his head with his palms up. He nods at Gojo’s bags. “What’d you get?”
“Skyberrys,” Gojo preens, bouncing on his heels with excitement. “I wanted to get some Tochihimes, too, but you finished up too fast, none of the farms are open this early.”
“Sorry?” Okkotsu offers, traces of bewilderment lingering in his voice even after two months under Gojo’s instruction.
“I’ll forgive you this time, just take it easier when the stakes are low. Not like you had a building full of civilians—it was just an abandoned parking garage.” Gojo sets his bags down and lays out one of the futons by the window, then tilts his head at the remaining two. “Aw, only three beds? Too bad.” He tilts his head to shoot an entirely too obvious wink in Hoshi’s direction. “Guess two of you’ll have to cuddle up and share.”