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“I’ll take down the two out front, while you climb through the window from behind and start in the basement,” Maki instructs. “I’ll help you with the big one once I’m finished.”
“Why can’t we both go inside and take those two after?” He asks, fiddling with the chain around his neck. “I’d rather stick together.”
“God, you’re like a puppy with separation anxiety.” She rolls her eyes. “If you read the report, you’d know that the window is too small for my spear, and it’ll be easier for you anyway since you’re still a twig.”
“Hey…” He frowns. “I train with the rest of you…”
“Uh-huh.”
“It also poses less risk to Maki if you decide to use Cursed Speech,” Ijichi pipes up. “She can’t reinforce herself with cursed energy.”
“I thought that much was obvious,” she replies pointedly, glaring at him.
“Sorry!” He steps back, gripping his clipboard tightly like he may have to use it as a shield.
“Let’s go,” Maki decides, turning toward the old house. “I’d rather get this over with. The drive out here took long enough.”
“Right.” Yuta nods quickly, jogging to catch up with her since she’s already a good distance away.
She kicks down the front door in one blow, revealing a couple of second grade curses in the entryway. She grins and shows off her tool with a quick spin, then gets to fighting.
Yuta keeps his gaze over his shoulder as long as he can, if only not to take his eyes off her, as he runs around the perimeter of the building, until he finds the opened grate over a square well beside the back of the house.
He carefully sits on the ledge, then slides down, vaguely expecting his ankle to snap, but it wasn’t actually that far down. There’s spring pollen and dust on his pants now though, which he brushes off, then confronts the cellar window.
Maki was right about it being small.
Only the tips of his fingers reach it, but that’s enough to dislodge the frame itself.
He gasps and leaps backward as the glass panel falls forward. He narrowly dodges it, avoiding an armful of shards, before using the thin remainder of the sill to do a cursed-energy-assisted pull-up and squeezing through the opening.
“Aah-” He gracelessly falls to the floor and inadvertently somersaults, or something like that. It’s a twisted move that leaves his arm sore, but he rolls out his shoulders and gets back up anyway.
That’s what Maki would do– Well, she wouldn’t have been so clumsy in the first place, but it’s the spirit that counts.
And speaking of spirits… The room is littered with tiny ones, scattering and flocking together as they zip around; bat-like.
“Okay,” he breathes, lifting his ring without taking it off the necklace. He slips it over his first knuckle, then forms the tent hand sign Gojo suggested, which also serves to keep it from falling below that point.
“Rika?”
Only her arm manifests, which he’s still surprised by. The binding vow system is pretty cool, even if he’s not totally sure of how it works.
“The megaphone?” He softly requests.
She hums and it appears in her grasp out of thin air. She hands it to him, then disappears before he can thank her.
He should have about thirty seconds, then a ten minute cooldown, if Gojo was correct. Techniques he performed before his copy was conditional and still have not had the new conditions fulfilled require a number of extra stipulations to use.
So he’ll make this count.
He exhales slowly, then… “Melt.”
The flurry of small curses liquify in an instant. He scans the space just in case, but even in the dark, he’s pretty sure there’s no stragglers.
“Mmph.” He rubs his throat discontently once the megaphone vanishes. He’s not sure how Toge puts up with that sting every time.
But there’s no time to dwell on it, since the larger curse lurking in the shadows is practically untouched.
He draws his sword as calmly as he can, grateful it can’t be very strong, since it seems to be cowering from his cursed energy reserve. That effect is great against enemies, just socially unfortunate when it works on people too.
Before he can confront it, there’s a loud crash from upstairs. He glances up at the ceiling, then suddenly at the steps as there’s a commotion and series of thuds, then an angry snarl.
He’s not sure if it came from Maki, who’s crumpled at the foot of the stairs, or the curse lunging over her.
She lifts her spear as it tries to tackle her, exorcising it on impact. The wound spouts a gush of purplish guts, and there’s a number of smaller drips leaking onto her as well. She grimaces and wipes her face with her sleeve, which does little but spread it around.
“Maki!” Yuta shouts. “Are you-”
“Focus!” She barks, getting to her feet and shaking the disintegrating body off her tool. “Behind you-”
“OH-” He spins around to cut the thing trying to take advantage of his distraction. It’s only a shallow nick since he was caught off guard.
“Just let me do it,” Maki growls, nudging him out of the way, even though she’s got blood running down the side of her face.
“Wait-”
“Shut up.” She strikes downward with her spear with the force of an executioner before he sees her raise it, partially bisecting the curse between the eyes.
“Here-” Yuta slices perpendicular to her, which seems to get the job done, since his blade loses all resistance as the corse turns to mush.
“You need to be on high alert,” she scolds, shoulder checking him as she turns around. “You’re too easily distracted. It could’ve gotten both of us killed.”
“Sorry,” he murmurs, sheepishly following her. “I was just worried about you…”
“I’m fine,” she says, yet her gait is the slightest bit unsteady and her grip on her staff is loose. For anyone else, it wouldn’t be definitive evidence, but she’s always on-kilter.
“Let’s just go back to the car,” she mutters, grabbing the handrail on the stairs. “This was more work than I thought- Shit-”
“Whoa-” Yuta only manages to grab the back of her shirt before she falls flat on her face. “Maki?”
“Shut it-” She groans, extending her arms to brace herself on one of the steps. “Just- Give me a second.”
“Yeah- yeah, it’s okay.” He gently lets go of her, then places his hand between her shoulder blades.
“I know,” she spits. “I’m fine.”
“I believe you,” he concedes. “But what hurts?”
“My head,” she admits, dropping to her knees and clutching the base of her skull with her elbows bent at her temples.
“Oh.” Yuta crouches beside her. “Like a concussion?”
“Maybe.” She inhales sharply. “Can you just help me up… It’ll heal in a couple of days.”
“You can heal from a concussion in a couple of days?” He asks, wrapping his arm around her waist. “That pact must be really strong.”
“You can heal yourself instantly,” she reminds him. “It’s nothing special.”
“I still don’t really have the hang of that whole Reversed Cursed Technique thing yet.” He smiles, pulling her to her feet. “So it’s special to me.”
“Thanks,” she says dryly.
Yuta just hums and lets her put all her weight on him as they trudge up the stairs. It’s less weight than carrying her along with two kids, but that was on flat ground, so he’s struggling by the time they make it outside. Although, he tries not to let it show.
“Here.” He lowers her to the ground on the front porch, then takes off his jacket and balls it up. “Press it against the bleeding.”
“Bleeding?” She blinks slowly, then winces at the sunlight.
“On the side of your head.” He guides her hand to the spot. “I’m going to ask Ijichi to bring the car closer so you don’t have to walk that far.”
“Okay,” she whispers, burying her face in the fabric.
He squeezes her shoulder. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
And a minute later he returns to find her curled on her side on the floor.
“Maki! Maki-” He kneels to shake her, but she slaps him away before he can jostle her too much.
“Shut up,” she rasps. “I’m fine. Just dizzy.”
“Sorry.” He quickly bows his head.
“Do you need to stop by the hospital?” Ijichi asks, materializing behind him. “We’re far from Ieiri, so if your injuries are urgent, we should go to the nearest clinic.”
“I’m fine,” Maki repeats as she sits up. “Let’s just go straight back.”
“Are you sure-” They say in unison.
“Yes,” she hisses. “I’m sure.”
“Okay,” Yuta surrenders, even though it feels irresponsible. “Do you want me to carry you?”
“Do you want me to carry you-” She mocks. “No, I don’t want you to carry me.”
“Sorry, I’m sorry-” He offers his hands instead and pulls her to her feet. She stumbles, and he pretends not to notice, placing his palm a little lower on her hip than he usually would, which she jabs him in the ribs with her elbow for.
“You can be more careful with me, you know,” she critiques as he almost knocks her against the roof of the vehicle.
“I’m sorry!” His hands hover awkwardly once he sets her down, stopping just short of actually touching her. His instinct is to apologetically cup her head and pat her hair, but that feels like the wrong thing to do, so he just stands there.
Maki slides across the backseat row and gestures for him to get in, and thank god she does, because he was about to trap himself in an awkwardness loop that would’ve kept them here all day.
He shuts the car door hard, which makes her tense. He opens his mouth to apologize again, but what comes out instead is a rushed “are you okay?” when she drops her head on his shoulder.
“Mm.”
“Okay…” he acquiesces.
“Do you mind if I– Here…” He sweeps her hair out of her face and pulls off her glasses, which now have a crack in one of the lenses. “That’s more comfortable, right?”
“Thanks…” She says softly, hiding her eyes against his collarbone as Ijichi turns the keys in the ignition.
“Of course.”
“Actually…” She exhales heavily, flopping onto her side in his lap with her face against his stomach.
“Do you not have your seatbelt on?” Ijichi suddenly asks, glancing at them in the rearview.
“Um.” That’s when Yuta realizes he was too distracted to put his own on.
“I’ll hold onto her,” he promises, trying to discreetly buckle up himself.
“That’s not safe–”
“Drive, paper pusher,” Maki snarls.
Ijichi caves, and Yuta can’t blame him. He would too.
“That’s not very nice,” he tells her quietly. “I don’t think we want him to make us walk back.”
“He should be thanking me…” She mumbles. “The dark helps… And do that thing with your hand…”
“What thing?” He tilts his head.
“On my shoulder…”
“Oh.” He replaces his palm on the site and slides his thumb back and forth. “This?”
“Mhm.” She relaxes slightly with the touch, then grabs a stiff fistful of his shirt when the car passes over a bump in the dirt road.
“It hurts that much?” He asks with a small frown.
“No…” She swallows. “Just dizzy… nauseous…”
“That really sounds like a concussion,” he determines.
“Yeah,” she rasps. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure-”
“I’m fine,” she says for the umpteenth time. “Just shut up until we get home.”