“You’re wearing this. Keep it. I bought the wrong size,” Shiori said, tossing the garment onto the bed.

  From the neck up, I’m regal: my face adorned with cosmetics—deep red on my lips, a smudge of black on my eyelids, kohl lining my eyes—and my hair is coiled around a small silver hair pin.

  But from the neck down, I feel bare. This dress is beautiful, but it’s more revealing than anything I’ve ever worn.

  I run my hands along the shimmering fabric. Floor length, dipped at the neckline into a v that plunges below my breasts. A beaded belt cinches at the waist, before the skirt falls into the slit up the right leg. Deep purples fade into pitch black.

  Sheer chiffon overlays it, diamonds sewn into the fabric.

  Dorm light catches the precious stones and they sparkle like stars.

  I curse Shiori under my breath. I know I want to get laid, but I don’t want to come off as desperate. I’m so far out of my comfort zone and I’ve not left my room yet. It’s too late to change.

  Misaka and Sakura are due to knock any second. I slip my black combat boots on. If I have to be this exposed I’m wearing my boots so I can run or kick if I need to.

  A rapt knock on my door slices through the silence followed by Sakura’s soft voice and Misaka’s giggles through the solid wood. I flatten my palms against the dress, willing my shaking hands to still.

  “It’s open.” I call.

  Sakura shoves the door open and it bounces off the solid wall with a loud bang. A black leather jacket slung off her shoulders, royal blue dress stretched tight against her muscular frame, she looks like she’s about to crash a party and have a better time than everyone else. Misaka follows, and she’s the opposite—pale pink fabric flowing around her, gold sequins catching the light across the sheer fabric at her chest, a white satin bow holding her ponytail in place. Strappy heels clack against the floor.

  They both stop when their eyes land on me. They wear the same sly grin.

  “And who are you trying to impress dressed like that, hm?” Sakura smirks.

  I glance between them. Somehow, stood next to this, I don’t feel half as exposed as I did five minutes ago.

  “I’m not trying to impress anyone. Shiori gave me this dress,” I rub the back of my neck as my shoulders tense. “She said ‘you’re trying to get laid. Not find a husband. Wear this.’”

  Misaka snorts, leaning her elbow on Sakura’s shoulder. Her olive-green eyes dance with amusement.

  “Damn, Ren. I think you’re the only person getting fucked tonight,” she gestures between her and Sakura. “We don’t stand a chance stood next to you.”

  Fire rushes to my cheeks. I don’t want to be the centre of attention. I want an outlet for my frustration. Tonight is going to be a long night.

  “If someone shows interest then I might take them to bed. But I’m not counting on it. I’m still a Sazama and a target.” I grimace.

  Sakura waves a dismissive hand.

  “You’d be surprised,” she drags her eyes over me. “Most things with a dick don’t care about your name when you look like that.”

  She’s not wrong. The amount of guys that have offered to take me home from a bar before asking my name is astounding, and also—gross.

  I pick at one of the stones on my dress and keep my eyes glued to the waxed floor. I have to be careful whose attention I draw, I can’t take just anyone to my bed.

  I certainly won’t be asking Aki or Satoshi.

  That leaves Shinji.

  I don’t know who I can trust to not try and slit my throat while I sleep. It’s not like I have Infinity to protect me. I might know reverse cursed technique now, but if they’re smart they’d slice me in two while I’m caught off guard.

  Even the strongest sorcerers can’t heal from that—and since Satoru Gojo’s death, that’s public knowledge.

  “I’ll see how tonight goes.” I reply to Sakura, with a crooked grin. “But my hopes aren’t high.”

  “Well. I’m hoping to grab a man or two tonight.” Misaka chirps, spinning so her gold sequins catch the light. “If I’m lucky anyway. If not, I’ll take some free drinks.”

  “Yes, we’re aware that you manage to entice men into your bed with no remorse.” I bite back a laugh. “You didn’t bring your own alcohol?”

  “Fuck no.” she cackles. “I never provide my own drinks.” She rests her hands on her hips. “Besides, I’m a lightweight.”

  Sakura shoves her lightly, Misaka stumbles and grabs my arm for support. “I’m all for getting wasted, fuck the men. It’s not often we get to have fun.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “We’re normally outrunning death.”

  She wraps an arm around both me and Misaka, hand resting on the small of my back. “So let’s get fucking moving.”

  She steers us out of my dorm and through the halls. Moonlight illuminates the bare walls. They make this place look so empty and dead inside.

  My dress trails behind me, swaying against the floorboards that creak every other step.

  We reach the entrance to the dorms and Misaka pushes the door open with her shoulder. As we exit the building the winter chill laps over my skin, but it does nothing to cool the heat that rises to my face when a group of third years catcall us as we pass beneath the weathered sanmon, beams creaking loudly against the stillness of the night at the base of the abandoned temple in the foothills of Mt. Mushiro.

  Sakura rolls her eyes and Misaka glances over her shoulder wiggling her fingers in the guys’ direction, with a sweet smile. I keep my chin lifted and continue forward up the stairs.

  A year ago my thighs would be burning and my chest heaving by the time I reached the temple. Now I can climb the steps with ease.

  The wind howls, the air heavier up here. I should’ve brought a jacket.

  “Someone remind me to murder Shinji for picking the temple at the top of a fucking mountain.” Misaka wheezes, clutching her side as she leans forward, bracing her hands on her knees.

  “Thinking of killing me, Misaka?” A smooth, low voice calls from our right.

  Shinji stalks forward from the trees, hands in his suit jacket. His black dress shoes crunch over the pebbled path. Misaka whirls on him, holding up a shaky finger.

  “Abandoned—temple—two-hundred steps.” She chokes. “I am throwing—you from the—peak.”

  He throws his head back and laughs, the sound is rich, sending heat rushing between my thighs. My stomach clenches, and my cheeks flush. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m getting excited over a laugh. I rake a hand through my bangs. Shaking my head like I can dislodge the thought.

  I wish I invited Shiori—she would’ve stopped me from spiralling like this.

  Shinji’s hazel gaze finds me. He inclines his head, a half-smile playing at his lips.

  “Ren, you look stunning.” He takes my hand and presses a kiss over my knuckles. When he straightens, I catch the flash of desire that rushes over his face, and I rip my eyes away from his, pulling my fingers back with a polite grin.

  Sakura grips Shinji’s shoulder and his eyes widen.

  “Shin, don’t hit on my friends.” She says dryly. “It’s bad enough that we share the same blood.”

  Same blood.

  They’re related—but she’s not a Kamo.

  My brow arches as I glance at her.

  “Third cousin, once removed,” she answers before I can ask. “Somewhere in our family tree the Kamo and Yashiro lines crossed, and now I’m stuck being related to this idiot.”

  “Wow. Okay. Love you too cousin.” Shinji grumbles.

  “Don’t call me that.” She snaps.

  He rolls his eyes, scoffing quietly. “I wasn’t hitting on her. I was being a gentleman.” He flashes that slanted grin, I’ve learned means he’s trying to worm his way out of a problem by being charming.

  “That won’t work on me, dumbass.” Sakura reaches up and flicks his forehead. “I saw that look growing up. Try again.”

  Shinji is the most charismatic man I’ve ever met, and I hate to admit that his act works too well on me. A sour taste coats my tongue. He’s friends with Satoshi, I shouldn’t get close.

  “Come on, the second and third years are already inside.” Shinji rests his hand on the curve of my back, ushering us through the heavy timber gate of the temple, flashing a cocky smirk over his shoulder at Sakura, who flips him off in retaliation.

  My mouth goes dry. The third years. Satoshi.

  “The third years are here?” I look up at Shinji.

  Amusement flickers in the green flecks of his eyes as he stares down at me.

  “Mhm. Hoping to run into someone?” The corner of his mouth twitches upwards.

  “Absolutely not,” I reply. I don’t want to run into the man who tried to kill me just so I’d learn reverse cursed technique. I’d rather chew on glass. His plan may have worked and I’m grateful that I know how to use positive energy to heal myself, but that doesn’t excuse that he terrified me.

  Shinji holds out a hand to help me up the stone steps to the entrance. I take his offer and rest my palm against his, hitching my dress up my shins.

  As we crest the final step, the heavy scent of rotting wood and incense hits me, followed by the tang of sake and expensive perfume. The temple’s main hall is a cavern of deep shadows and flickering light, illuminated by spotlights that have definitely been stolen from the tool shed.

  The vibration of bass thrums through my bones. Sakura grabs my hand and drags me to the middle of the hall—where a large group of third years are swaing in time to the beat.

  “Come on! We’re dancing. Misaka’s grabbing drinks from the pop-up bar.” She beams at me. A quiet huff of laughter bubbles up my throat and I let my arms hang loose at my sides as I twirl with the tune. Sakura leans down to my height, her leather jacket skimming against my arm.

  “Fuju is here. He’s gawking at you,” she shouts over the music, tilting her chin to the corner of the temple.

  Ice wraps around my stomach. Aki is the last person I need staring at me like I just declared my undying love for him. I can feel his gaze tracking every swing of my hips. It’s the same look he had the morning I fled from his bed.

  “Fuck Aki Fuju. He can wipe the dribble from his chin and run with that cursed cock of his detached.” I yell back, praying that my words were loud enough for him to hear. He continues to drag his eyes over me, undressing me mentally with every buck of my hips. The arrogant prick has the audacity to bite his lip.

  I raise a middle finger to him slowly, snapping him out of whatever vile fantasy he concocted in that backwards brain of his. He struts towards us, glass in hand, grinning shamelessly.

  Misaka slides against the ancient wooden floorboards, hip-checking Aki and knocking him off course. He stumbles sideways, spilling sake over his white shirt, staining it amber.

  “That’s how you deal with Fuju,” Sakura barks a laugh, taking the drinks from Misaka that somehow survived the power move intact.

  I take the drink offered to me, a deep red liquid, and I sip it lightly, testing the taste on my tongue. Damn, that’s good. Really good. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had alcohol in months or maybe it’s because the burn down my throat is a welcome distraction from the shitshow known as my life.

  The problem—that was thrown off course—won’t stop grinning at me like he didn’t just get shown up by a girl.

  This might go down as the most annoying thing he’s done to date and that’s saying a lot considering it’s Aki.

  “The alcohol is good right?” Aki asks, snatching the drink from my hand and gulping it down like it’s a source of water in a desert. “Kind of tastes like the stuff from our night together, remember?”

  I stare at him. He just stole my drink, and now he’s bringing up our one night stand. Again.

  This is so typical of him. I’m not sure why I bother thinking he might act like an adult at any point in his life. He does look different than earlier though—his sandy-brown hair styled in loose curls that fade into a crop close to his skull, instead of the messy ‘fresh out of bed’ look he usually goes for. His face is softened into something that might be fondness. Why is this prick looking at me like that?

  “I don’t remember,” I lie, gritting my teeth. “I destroyed that memory for my own sanity.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  I pluck my glass back from his grasp, throwing back the rest of the drink. If I’m dealing with Aki following me around like a fly round shit, I’m going to need so much alcohol I can barely walk.

  “It’s hot when you pretend you don’t like me,” he taps his chin thoughtfully before gasping loudly. “Is this our enemies-to-lovers story?” He pokes the end of my nose, his mouth curving.

  “Fuju. Fuck off.” Sakura grabs him by the collar of his shirt and drags him to the edge of the hall. I turn to Misaka with a pleading look.

  “Can you take him to your bed again? I really don’t want to end up drunk fucking him and regretting it. He’d never let me live it down.”

  She blinks, bursting into a fit of laughter.

  “Hell no. One night with him was more than enough,” she rests her hand on my shoulder. “Just throw yourself onto another man, he’ll get the hint. He’s confident but not stupid.”

  “You’ll change your mind by the end of the night!” Aki bellows across the temple with a wide smile, wriggling under Sakura’s grasp. Every head flicks between us.

  I wordlessly grab the drink from Misaka’s hand and swallow it down in one go, staring into the void. I spin on my heel and head over to the bar. Misaka gapes after me, shaking her head.

  I lean over the plastic table and pour myself a concoction of the strongest spirits available. A hand rests on between my shoulder blades. Shinji leans over me, “You’re the only person who he’s wanted to go back with.” He murmurs close to my ear, breath ghosting over my cheek. I glance sideways at him, ignoring the rush of heat that threatens to consume me.

  “It’s not happening.” I reply, voice more anchored than I feel.

  “Someone else got your attention?” he pulls back, dimple flashing on his cheek as he grins, sending a fresh wave of redness to my face. My traitorous body betrays me at the worst times. I’m not sure how Shinji has this effect on me.

  I twist to face him, and he looks down at me, reaching a hand out to tuck my bangs behind my ear and trail a finger along my jaw.

  My pulse races, and I lock onto his hazel gaze, breath hitching.

  “Perhaps I could grab your attention instead?” he purrs.

  My lips part.

  A large hand clamps down on his wrist. Stilling the finger tracing my face. His eyes widen.

  My head snaps to the side. Satoshi stands like a statue, Infinity down, sunglasses off. Shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, muscles twitching in his forearm.

  “Kamo,” He says icily.

  He’s pissed.

  I’m not sure I want to be caught between a Special Grade and Grade Two if a fight breaks out. I don’t want to die. My eyes flick to the hold Satoshi has on Shinji. I’m surprised his wrist doesn’t snap from how tight Satoshi’s gripping him. I need to get back to Misaka and Sakura, so these two can measure their dicks far, far away from me. Satoshi will probably kill Shinji for hitting on the enemy and I refuse to become collateral.

  I’d been too focused on the two brick walls that identify as men in front of me to notice the hall had gone dead silent, no thrum of bass, even the hum of the spotlights had dimmed. Every eye in this temple—which is around a hundred—is glued to the three of us.

  I warily take my cocktail of spirits and back away.

  “Well, I’ll let you two deal with whatever this is,” I gesture between them with my free hand and all but sprint back towards Misaka and Sakura.

  The crowd parts like the red sea, half keeping their gazes on me, watching every hurried step I take, the other half too fascinated to see the impending violence about to happen.

  A hand snags on my arm, pulling me into a crowd of second years. An arm locks around my neck from behind. I nearly drop my drink from the quick motion.

  Every muscle tenses as I focus on the energy in my core. Ready to send a Pressure Cut into whoever grabbed me.

  “Relax,” a voice whispers, close to my ear. “You need to get away from Toshi when he’s like this. If he loses control, every single person in this temple is dead.”

  Hiro.

  “Can’t you calm him down?” I breathe, twisting to look at him.

  “Nobody can.” He replies as he releases me. “Take your friends and get out.” He glances over at Satoshi and Shinji—who are now face to face readying themselves into fighting stances.

  I take a deep breath and storm over to the both of them. Placing myself between the two solid walls of muscle.

  “If you two are going to kill each other. Do it away from my fucking friends—and the rest of the school—I don’t know or care why you’re suddenly against each other,” I seethe, pressing a shaky hand to each of their chests. “But take it somewhere else.”

  I stare up at Satoshi. “Asshole.”

  “You’re lucky I wouldn’t kill everyone in this room, Satoshi.” Shinji straightens to his full height. “Walk it off, or risk getting branded a traitor by the Higher-ups for flattening the school.” He shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets, turning away.

  Satoshi snatches my hand and rips it from his chest with a snarl.

  “Don’t involve yourself in my business, Renegade.” He bares his teeth at me and flicks his fingers—Infinity shimmering around him in subtle blue glow.

  His eyes darken as he looks down at me. “Next time, don’t get between me and whoever pissed me off.” He drags in a deep breath. “Sorcerers die. From the hands of other sorcerers or curses. It’s the nature of this world. What makes you strong is what you do after they die. You’re still alive because I allow it. That tiny part of me that’s still human.” He glances away. “But if you want to die, then by all means step in front of me when I’m about to unleash hell. At least I won’t feel guilty because you choose it.”

  “I give a shit about everyone here unlike you.” I hiss, not caring if anyone hears.

  “You shouldn’t.” He turns and walks away.

  Fuck. Him.

  The chatter of the room snaps back into focus as I gawk at his retreating back with furrowed brows. I’m so caught up in trying to understand his words I don’t see Misaka, Sakura, Shinji and Aki gathering behind me until they speak.

  “What the fuck was—“

  “He was losing con—“

  “Are you okay? Did he hurt—“

  “So when are you two fu—“

  A resounding slap against skin yanks me from my thoughts. I turn to see Sakura’s handprint blooming across Aki’s cheek. His hand comes up to touch his face, then he bursts out into unhinged laughter.

  “Holy shit. You’ve got one hell of a slap.” His half-lidded eyes roam over Sakura like he’s starving.

  “Masochist.” I mutter.

  “Aki, can you think with your brain instead of your cock for once?” Shinji interjects, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Sakura could fold you like a pretzel before you knew what was happening.”

  Sakura huffs in agreement and cracks her knuckles, smirking at Aki with a look that I’m quickly learning means run or die.

  “I’m not one to back down from a challenge. Bring it, beautiful.” He drops to one knee before her.

  I stare at him like he’s lost his mind. Aki Fuju is kneeling to a woman who could snap him like a twig. I knew he didn’t care about consequences but this is new even for him. He’s really laying it on thick, and Sakura looks less than impressed with his sudden act of chivalry.

  “Fuju.” She tilts her head, hair falling over her face as she nudges his chin up with her foot. “Run.”

  Aki taps two fingers over his heart, and offers her a cocky wink before he rises, forcing her to crane her neck to look him dead in the eyes. “You’ll be chasing me?” he asks.

  She glares at him, curling a hand around his pale green tie, yanking him down to her height. “I won’t tell you again.”

  Misaka nudges me with her elbow. “You think he’ll actually run?” she murmurs.

  “With Aki, it could be either,” I reply. “Depends on how much he values living today.”

  “I’ve known him for two years,” Shinji adds from my left. “He’ll run—but if she doesn’t chase, he’ll come back for more.”

  Sakura shoves Aki back and he stumbles before breaking into a sprint. Sakura turns to us and pulls us into the crowd of students who have returned to their circles after my standoff with Satoshi. My hand grips my glass and I neck the mix of whatever the fuck I threw together. The brown liquid, trying to claw its way out of my throat as I swallow. My mouth goes dry, and I force back a gag.

  “That should get him out of our way for at least five minutes.” Sakura shrugs, coming to a stop between two groups of third years. She eyes my drink and raises a brow at my twisted expression. “Next time you want a cocktail, ask,” she says. “I know which alcohol mixes well—and which ones could be classed as a biohazard.”

  “Oh thank fuck,” I gasp. “Please make me something that doesn’t feel like it’s setting my insides on fire.”

  She snorts and heads over to the pop-up bar—if it could even be called that—a white plastic table, covered in drinks with names I can’t even pronounce.

  Shinji places an arm around my waist and pulls me into his chest, other hand closing around my open palm. I blink.

  “What are you doing?” Two lines form between my brows.

  “Dancing,” he replies, voice low. “Unless you have any complaints?”

  I lift my chin and let go of his hand, taking a step back. The action startling me. I thought I found him attractive but his palm against mine felt wrong, like holding hands with a sibling. To his credit, Shinji’s face doesn’t change, he doesn’t look shocked or upset. He bows his head to me and smiles, turning to Misaka instead, offering her his hand.

  “May I have this dance?” He asks, smoothing his hair with casual confidence.

  She glances at me and I nod..

  She likes him. The softeness in her eyes when she looks at him gives it away.

  If she’d told me from the beginning, I would’ve pushed him away sooner. Regardless of how he made me feel, her friendship means more to me than a quick fuck.

  Sakura returns carrying two colourful drinks. One, a bright blue that fades into a green, and the other a dull orange—looking more like flavoured snow than a drink. She holds out both glasses.

  “This is a Bluewater Breeze,” she holds out the blue one. “Vodka, rum, coconut water, blue cura?ao, cream of coconut and pineapple juice.” She offers the other glass, “This is an Orange Creamsicle—fresh orange juice, gin and almond milk.”

  My eyes dart between the drinks, settling on the Bluewater Breeze. I take the glass from her, sipping through the straw. The array of flavours coats my tongue and I suppress a groan. Citrus blends into cream, followed by a tang from the pineapple. I point at her with the hand holding the drink.

  “You are officially the group’s bartender,” I take another mouthful. “This is heavenly.”

  She takes a long swig from her drink, eyes dancing with mirth. “My brother is a bartender. He taught me how to mix drinks.” Her rose gaze flits to Shinji and Misaka, brows rising. “You turn him down?” she tilts her chin towards Shinji.

  “Yeah,” I reply, a grin tugging at my lips. “Felt like I was about to dance intimately with a brother.”

  She flicks her eyes up and down, nodding. “Good,” the corners of her mouth curving. “He wasn’t a good fit for you.”

  I turn to face her fully, taking another gulp of the delicious cocktail. “No?”

  She shakes her head, blue and purple hair slaps against her cheeks. “Nah, you’re too caring for someone like Shin.” She glances back to Shinji and Misaka. “Misa, on the other hand? A perfect fit. She’s the right balance of chaotic and protective. She’d soften him in a good way.”

  The slow song playing in the background fades into something more upbeat. The bass vibrates through my boots on the rotting floor. Misaka steps back from Shinji and walks over to us, beaming.

  I loop my arms through hers, stumbling slightly as the buzz from the alcohol finally hits me. She supports me with an arm around my shoulders, laughing.

  “Easy, Ren,” she says, taking my drink from my hand and chugging the last of the liquid. “Fuck. This is amazing!”

  I scowl at losing my drink, but it doesn’t last. I can’t stay mad at her when she’s smiling like she couldn’t be happier. I can’t remember the last time I got to just be in the moment. No curses. No politics. No danger.

  It sends an unfamiliar wave of warmth crashing into my chest, and my smile grows wider, eyes sparkling with joy.

  The music thumps violently against my eardrums as the beat reaches its peak. Bodies around me jump and sway in time with the tune. I grab Misaka’s hand; Sakura slides into my other side, grasping my spare hand. We twirl, bounce, and wave to the sensual sounds. We bump against each other as groups of third and second years surround us moving in time as we do. I look to the girls through half-lidded eyes.

  “I’m going to grab another drink.” I shout, untangling myself from between them. They nod and wave me off as they continue to dance.

  My foot slips against the wood of the floor, and I steady myself throwing my arms out to either side.

  I trail my gaze down, noticing the puddle beneath my feet. Figures. Someone spilled their drink and I’d almost eaten the ground because of it. I straighten and continue heading towards the makeshift bar, weaving in and out of second and third years, like I’m working my way through a maze.

  What feels like an eternity later I slump against the bar, reaching for a bottle that looks—and smells—like red wine. Good enough. I snatch a glass from the table, sloshing the deep maroon liquid around the edge.

  The heat from the mass of people in the temple overwhelms me. I glance towards the exit; the starry sky looking both inviting and peaceful. I brace a hand against the cold stone of the temple walls for balance, the other holding the wine glass. My fingers skim over the cracks in the bricks, moss tickling my fingertips as I follow the solid stone out into the brisk ice of the night wind.

  My boots crunch over the hard ground. I spot an old rundown bench near one of the Nyorai statues placed near the sacred soil of the abandoned Zen garden and carefully step towards it. One foot in front of the other. Inhale. Exhale. Don’t fall on your ass.

  Miraculously, I manage to make it to the bench without tripping. I plant myself unceremoniously onto the frozen limestone, draining my wine, the warmth from the drink spreads through my chest. I set the glass by my feet, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, smearing the deep red lipstick over my knuckles. I’m too buzzed to care. I’ll fix it before I head back inside.

  I tip my head back and watch the stars twinkle above me, reminding me of the ridiculous dress I’m wearing. The corner of my mouth hooks upwards, damning Shiori under my breath for picking it out. My breath escapes in short puffs of white mist.

  The last time I felt like this was my eighteenth birthday, and I’m not drunk enough to want a repeat of that night.

  Memories of that day surface; Dad gave me Kinbaku—artistic rope tied into intricate knots—he’d told me Mum had made it on my fifth birthday, and that he’d found it tucked away in his desk drawer. I still have it—hanging over my bedpost. That was the last time I remember seeing him genuinely care about something.

  Shiori had managed to get someone to cover her sweeps in the dead zones and she’d taken me to a local bar, buying every kind of drink I could see. That’s how I found out my preference for fruity spirits over bitter alcohol. It led to me meeting Aki and ending up in his bed.

  I shudder at the memory. I was thoroughly humbled that night. Never again.

  I bring my chin to my chest, my head spinning as I slowly scan the empty area. I huff a breath and stand, holding onto the bench to steady myself. My foot catches the wine glass, and it shatters as it smacks against the stone of the Nyorai statue.

  “Shit,” I mutter, crouching to sweep the shards into my hand, careful not to disturb the sacred ground.

  I flinch as a large splinter slices into my palm.

  “Dumb bitch,” I breathe, holding my hand up to the moonlight, blood wells, trickling down my arm. Great. I’m bleeding over abandoned temple grounds, squatting in a revealing dress like a fucking damsel. I rip a piece of fabric from the hem of the skirt and wrap it around my palm. Enma—the ruler of the underworld who judges the dead—is absolutely about to drag me into the depths of hell for spilling impurities on sacred ground.

  A hard shove in my back sends my face crashing into the stone bench. My skull cracks as my head connects with the solid limestone, spraying crimson in an arc. My head lolls to the side and I slump forward, bangs obstructing my view. A hand clamps down into my hair, ripping my head upwards.

  “I told you I’d make you pay, Sazama.” Sora crouches in front of me, with a cruel smirk curving his lips.

  I mumble something incoherent, and his smile widens into something sadistic. My vision blurs as I my head sways in his grasp.

  “Imagine my surprise when I saw the newest Special Grade stumbling and cursing to herself. All alone,” He yanks on the strands in his hand and I hiss in pain, trying my best to glare up at him. “I couldn’t believe my luck; the gods must’ve been smiling down on me.”

  He pulls a lighter from the pocket of his black jeans and clicks it until a blue flame flickers to life, highlighting the harsh features of his face.

  “You—want to—kill—me,” I rasp, fighting the darkness that threatens to steal my vision.

  “Not yet,” He sneers, holding the flame close to my lips. “This is revenge for the incident in training earlier. Nobody gets away with humiliating me.” He shakes my head and releases my hair, standing and twisting to look behind him.

  “Come, hold her down.” He snaps. Two shadows turn into his friends that follow him everywhere—Chujo, I think Nakamura-Sensei called one of them in class. The other—I haven’t bothered to learn his name.

  Two pairs of calloused hands grip my biceps. My body goes limp. I can’t run if I wanted to. I can’t access my cursed energy when my hands refuse to cooperate with my brain. I’m a sitting duck in the hands of three men who want me fucking dead.

  “Fuck you.” I choke out, voice hoarse.

  Sora crouches down again, holding the white-hot metal to the soft flesh.

  My throat throbs as a scream tears out of my chest

  He pulls back, rubbing his thumb over the burn. I whimper. A fresh wave of agony courses through me. My eyes slide shut as I fight to keep my head upright.

  “Did you know, even sorcerers who can use Reverse Cursed Technique struggle to heal from burns?” quiet footsteps crush against the gravel; Sora must be pacing. “They’re usually left with scars.”

  My arms fall limp at my sides as his lackeys drop me onto the ground, the pebbles digging into my thighs. Fingers brush my temples forcing my eyelids open. “Don’t go to sleep yet, I still haven’t revealed my technique.” He whispers against my cheek. His grey eyes lock onto my sky-blue ones as he tilts my chin upwards.

  “The secret about my technique is that, whoever I touch becomes marked.” My scalp burns as my hair goes taught in his grip. “Once they’re marked they take more damage. I touched you on the day of enrolment trials,” My mind whirls, that’s why I died twice on the way to medical. Not because I used my technique, because Sora shoved me and marked me. “I touched you outside Nakamura’s class, marking you once again. I was positively delighted to find out that you were made to spar against Satoshi Gojo.”

  Everything clicks into place, the broken ribs, and the dislocated hip. It was all because of Sora’s technique. “And now with this burn … But we haven’t gotten to the best part yet, Sazama.” He searches my face for any sign of fear, but he won’t find any. If I’m about to be killed or maimed further, I’m not giving him the satisfaction of seeing my terror.

  “Chujo, show her.” Sora stands. Jerking his chin in my direction.

  Chujo steps forward and brings his hands up to create a mudra. Whatever his technique is, is about to make my night worse. I know it.

  My heart hammers against my ribs. This is it. I’m about to learn what real pain is, and be left to bleed out. My fingers twitch against the sides of my legs. Please. Work. Give me something. Anything.

  Chujo advances and aiming for my face; I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself for searing pain.

  But it doesn’t come.

  Everything is silent.

  Did I die?