Snow falls in a thick curtain outside the frosted windows. I blink and furrow my brows. Why am I in my dorm? The last thing I remember I was in Fushiguro’s lesson and—

  Satoshi.

  My neck snaps up as I jolt my body upright. Fear holds me with an icy fist, and my hands tremble as I reach up to rub my eyes. What could’ve possibly happened for me to wake up hours later? The only logical explanation sends a chill up my spine that has nothing to do with the cold air seeping into my room from the gap in the open window.

  My legs swing over the edge of the bed. I freeze.

  “I did what had to be done,” Satoshi’s eyes bore into me.

  My fingers fly to my clothes and I let out a shaky breath. I’m still in my uniform. Relief floods through me.

  “What the fuck did you do to me?”

  “Really, Renegade?” He steps towards me, cocking a brow. “I prefer my women conscious and screaming my name.”

  Women. Plural. He’s got multiple. I lock away the fire that wraps around my heart at that information. I yank on my jacket from where it’s folded neatly at the end of my bed as a stifled cough sounds from the doorway of my toilet. My head whips to the darkened corner.

  “You were killing everyone, Ren.” Hiro walks forward, arms crossed over his chest, dim lighting catching on the red of his hair. Standing from the mattress, I move to the desk, away from both men, with increasingly uncertain steps, and jump at the letter placed on the slick surface. Wait—

  My eyes widen as I turn slowly to Hiro. “I was killing everyone?” I ask, hand flying to cover my mouth. “But… how?”

  My chest clenches and a fresh wave of endless tears blur my vision, threatening to prickle my stinging eyes. I wouldn’t. I’d never. I wasn’t angry. Cursed energy only reacts to anger. Fear dampens it, makes it harder to access your reserves.

  “You were crushing the air pressure in the room after Fushiguro announced that you were in charge of the Grade Twos and lower grades.”

  My next breath shakes and I force everything I can’t handle into the already overflowing box of emotions deep in my core.

  I almost killed my friends. My classmates. My mentor.

  “You couldn’t have known,” he continues, gently as I slump into the soft fabric of my computer chair, gripping my bangs tightly.

  “That’s why you knocked me out.” I spin the chair to face Satoshi and he glances down at me.

  “Yes.” He replies, reaching for his sunglasses and sliding them into his hair. “I’m all for killing people, but you would’ve hated yourself if you’d harmed your friends. I can’t afford to babysit you.”

  Babysit? Excuse the fuck out of him. I don’t need coddling. He saved my friends and everyone else. Granted, I’m grateful for that but does he have to be such a dick about it?

  My lips part but he cuts me off with a sharp glare.

  “You eventually need to learn that you will be responsible for the death of someone. Whether that be someone you know or someone you can’t save. You will be the reason someone dies. The sooner you accept that, the easier your Special Grade status becomes.”

  Hiro closes his eyes and drags a hand down his face, wincing at the icy tone in Satoshi’s voice.

  “Toshi—”

  “No. She needs to hear the truth whether she likes it or not.” He advances on me. Hiro steps aside as I glance at him, shaking his head.

  Satoshi stands in front of me, a wall of hard lines and packed muscle. Leering down at me, those electric-blue eyes whispering into my soul.

  “Death in this profession is a fact. You know that better than most. Kindness makes you hesitate. It’s you or them, Renegade.”

  Forcing myself to stand, I ignore the wobble in my knees. My head tilts back, up and up and up. Gods he’s so fucking tall. My chin barely reaches his chest. I won’t back down. I’m sick of fearing everything. Sick of people looking down their noses at me like I’m weak. I survived my trials. In zone four. I am a Special Grade. This close, I can see the silver threading through his white hair. Count the tiny blemishes on his cheeks. Feel the heat radiating from his core. I inhale deeply and the scent of chocolate and leather overwhelms my senses. Delicious. I squeeze my eyes shut, letting the tears finally fall, before I snap my eyelids open narrowing my gaze as I lift my chin.

  “I’m aware. But I’ll be doing everything in my power to stop myself from becoming a murderer.”

  My stomach twists tighter as a flash of surprise flickers over his face. What would Shiori do in this situation? She’d stand her ground. Always.

  What little food I’d had this morning threatens to reappear. I muster every ounce of arrogance I can gather, fake or not and straighten my shoulders.

  “I won’t become you.”

  His lips twitch as he stares at me for a heartbeat. I fold my arms like I’m about to reach for my cursed energy. Hunger pulses in his eyes, before he steps back, hands raised and a smug grin lining his mouth.

  “Have it your way,” he holds my gaze, bending his back into a bow. Then he turns and flicks his sunglasses from his hairline back to the bridge of his nose. He grasps Hiro’s shoulder on his way out, murmuring into his ear, glancing back at me before sauntering out the door, leaving me and Hiro in silence.

  Hiro sighs deeply, gesturing to the letter on the desk.

  “Fushiguro left that for you, said it was important.” I rip my eyes away from the now empty doorway and reach for the envelope. Tearing the paper open.

  Ren,

  Burn this letter after you read it.

  Satoshi had to knock you unconscious.

  I told the class you were angry at being made to look after the lower grades. We both know you weren’t angry.

  DO NOT let the Higher-ups or you father know that fear/panic caused your technique to malfunction.

  Trust your friends.

  Trust Gojo.

  —M

  Is he fucking joking? Trust Gojo? After that? My free hand curls into a fist, nails leaving crescent shapes in my palm. I hold the letter out to Hiro. He takes it and scans over the words, lips quirking into a wry grin. I glare at him.

  “No. Whatever you’re thinking. No.”

  “You can fight it all you want, but you’ll have to trust him if you want to work together.” He heads to the open window, pulling a lighter from his jacket pocket and sparking it. He shoves the window with his elbow and lights the corner of the paper.

  I knot my hands together, preventing the tremble trying to break free. The last time I saw a lighter; it was held to my lip, leaving me with this cursed scar.

  The ash floats away in the icy breeze, leaving behind the stench of burnt paper. Hiro glances back at me as a bead of sweat rolls down my temple. He looks to the lighter then back to my face again and pales. Shoving the sparker back into his pocket, he reaches for my hand.

  “Shit.” He pries my fingers apart and cups his palm around mine. “I didn’t think. You’re okay.”

  Darkness threatens to steal my vision as my heart races, thumping loud in my ears. Hiro’s mouth moves, eyes darting to the door and back. He snaps his fingers in front of my face. My mind whirls.

  Sora. Lighter. Scar.

  The walls splinter and I sink lower to the floor.

  “TOSHI!” He rasps, hand flying to his throat.

  I’m killing him.

  I can’t stop.

  Fire. Lip. Burn.

  My chest heaves as strong arms wrap around my collarbones from behind, bracing my weight before I collapse.

  “Renegade,” Satoshi breathes in my ear. Air floods my lungs, burning as I inhale. He flicks his wrist and Hiro is thrown away from me, a red glow flickers in my peripheral. Hiro’s head cracks against the plaster. “Breathe. You’re safe.”

  Chocolate. Leather. Ice.

  I gasp and fall against him.

  Hiro rises from his position on the ground, dusting himself off.

  “You didn’t have to throw me with that much force, asshole.” He flexes his fingers and rolls his neck, bones popping. “You’re lucky I knew to reinforce my body with cursed energy.”

  I choke on a sob. Tears spilling from my eyes. “You’re okay?”

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He huffs, smile playing at his lips. “It’ll take more than a wall slam and losing oxygen to get rid of me, Ren.”

  I become hyper aware of whose arms are holding me upright and my eyes widen. I swipe the tears from my cheeks and clear my throat, stepping away from Satoshi.

  There’s anger in his gaze, but there’s a touch of worry too as he clenches his jaw.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, unable to meet his eyes.

  “I didn’t do it for you.” He crosses the room and lifts my chin with his fingers. “But since we’re on the subject—I can’t trust you to not kill one of the very few people I care about. I’ll be taking Hiro’s place.”

  My blood turns to ice. I already have to go into the dead zone with him tomorrow. Now, he’s refusing to leave me alone. My breath stutters at the invasion of privacy, the shock.

  “You can’t—”

  “I can, and I will. It’s not up for discussion—”

  “I want to discuss—”

  “I don’t care. Talk all you like. I don’t have to listen.” He drops my chin and twists to look at Hiro. “You can leave, I’ve got it from here.”

  Hiro holds his gaze for a second before nodding curtly and walking out the door, letting it click shut softly behind him.

  The next morning, during what should’ve been a simple debrief and planning for the Grade Twos and lower grades to survive, Satoshi stands next to me with every sorcerer assigned to the dead zones. Nearly a hundred of us crammed into one tiny meeting room. Bodies packed together tightly like sardines in a tin. Voices rise over each other in quick succession. Ringing through my ears, echoing off the thin wooden walls.

  I’m not a leader, ninety-five percent of the people in this room would rather see me rot than listen to my command. The other five percent would follow me to the death.

  I clear my throat. Not a single head turns towards me. Fuck my life. Satoshi glances sideways at me and smirks before placing two fingers in his mouth and whistling loud enough to vibrate through my teeth. Every pair of eyes snap to him and gods if it isn’t fucking hot. He commands attention. My knees threaten to buckle as heat rushes to my cheeks. I send that thought and every other dirty fantasy involving him into the pits of hell.

  “Whether you like it or not, Sazama is your commanding officer. You will listen to her. If you don’t, you’re likely to die.”

  Holy shit. Did he just defend me? Warmth spreads under my ribs and I’m not sure what to do with that feeling.

  My fingers tremble as everyone focuses on me. Satoshi subtly nods from the corner of my eye. I square my shoulders and lift my chin. Taking a deep breath.

  “What techniques are we working with? Who’s the best Grade Two we have?”

  A few sorcerers shuffle their feet, avoiding my gaze. A group of second-years nudge one of their friends with their elbows, snickering. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I need to demand their attention. We don’t have time to act like children. I refuse to let anyone else die in these dead zones.

  The muscle in my jaw ticks and I swallow. Hard.

  “If you’d rather die then be my guest. I can’t save those who don’t want saving.”

  Lie. I would try to save anyone, even if they begged for death. But these students don’t care about compassion. They care about power, who can be used as a weapon. And I happen to be one of the strongest on campus, besides Satoshi.

  Dead fucking silence. Not a single person dares to speak or move. It’s like someone hit pause, then a tawny skinned, short guy steps forward, and bows low before me.

  “Sazama-san. I may not be the strongest here but my technique will be useful in keeping people alive.”

  My brow curves as I peer down at him. I’ve never seen him before. He probably kept himself hidden in the crowds of sorcerers during breaks and lessons. He’s not in my year group. I know that much, I’d recognise him from class.

  He straightens his spine and gives me a lopsided smile. Flashing his canines.

  Satoshi leans in close to me, “Second-year, Yuto Inoue, Unbreakable Defence technique.” He murmurs into my ear, his breath ghosting over the shell of my ear and sending a bolt of fire into my core. Gods, how does he have this effect on me? I need to listen to him, not imagine that perfect body—I need to get fucking laid.

  “Unbreakable Defence?” I tilt my head to the side, gesturing for Inoue continue, with my hand.

  “My innate technique allows me to form barriers made with my cursed energy. The durability of the barrier depends on how much cursed energy I use to form it. I can project the shields onto allies, so far I’ve managed to create barriers strong enough to tank a hit from Grade One curses before they shatter.”

  I tap a finger over my bottom lip. That’s an extremely useful support role, and he would keep most if not all the sorcerers in his assigned group alive. I eye him carefully and nod.

  “How would you feel about leading a group of Grade Threes and another Grade Two?”

  His brows raise and his deep brown eyes widen. Murmurs spread like wildfire around the sea of sorcerers packed together, but I pay them no mind as my gaze stays locked on his. His mouth opens and closes wordlessly before he jerks his head forward and salutes me.

  “It would be my honour.”

  Aki, who has been ducking his head to blend in with the shorter sorcerers barks a laugh and covers his mouth, agate eyes crinkling as he gawks at the ridiculous act of someone saluting me.

  “Well, command.” Aki throws his arms out gesturing to the room, with a wicked smirk curving his lips. “Everyone’s attention is on you now.” The mocking tone in his voice makes my eye twitch.

  If I make it out of the dead zone in one piece, I’m killing him.

  “Don’t fucking start.” My lips vanish into a thin line before turning to face the group again.

  A hand flies into the air and my eyes snap to the girl who—for fuck’s sake. The girl who Satoshi seems especially close with, waves her arm frantically, glossy black hair bouncing with the motion. I dip my head to her, allowing her to speak.

  “Emi Komatsu, third-year, Grade Two.” She glances to Satoshi and something unspoken passes between them.

  I don’t care.

  I don’t.

  He can fuck whoever he wants.

  “Technique?” I swallow, grinding my teeth.

  She raises a brow at my tone, but prattles on at full speed, listing every in and out of her technique.

  “Venom Trace. I use these,” she lifts her jacket and flashes a belt lined with six blackened tanto daggers, hilts wrapped in bandages, marred with seals. Then she lifts her skirt showing two more daggers strapped to her thigh. “I dip them in my blood, which acts as a poison—and no, I’m not part cursed spirit or a cursed object.” She smirks at Satoshi, who raises a brow in reply, barely pausing for breath as she continues.

  I didn’t know people could talk this fast.

  “Any cut I make with my daggers leaves a trace, and the more cuts I make the quicker the agent acts.”

  I blink and she’s in my face, holding one of the tanto daggers to my throat, the blackened edge glints against the artificial lighting of the meeting room.

  “One shallow slice and you won’t be able to move whatever area I strike.”

  Fuck this. My hand clamps down on her wrist—the one holding the blade—and I apply enough pressure to make her hand spasm and the weapon clatters off the hardwood floor.

  “First rule. If you’re attacking an opponent. Kill or be killed.” I bend and pluck the dagger from the ground, holding it between two fingers. It’s light. Perfectly weighted to be thrown. I yank my hand back and flick my wrist, sending the blade hurtling towards her shocked face. I manipulate the air around the weapon and halt it directly between her eyes.

  Confusion mars Emi’s face for just a second—long enough for me to grip the hilt of the floating dagger, flip it mid-air and catch the blade before holding it out to her, handle first. My fingers scream in pain as the sharp edge nicks my fingertip, but I swallow down the agony. No weaknesses. Not here.

  Satoshi’s gaze flicks over me in open assessment. Was that respect?

  “Em, release the technique before your supervisor—because that’s what she is—loses the feeling in her hand.” Satoshi commands from my right.

  Emi huffs, rolling her eyes before waving her hand and the numbness that started creeping up my palms vanishes.

  I eye her warily. She’s a good fighter; she may only be Grade Two but that means fuck all, just that she cleared Zone Three. She could climb the ranks if she had a recommendation from a higher grade. Although that knowledge isn’t well known since the trials started and an influx of non-sorcerers joined jujutsu society.

  Her technique could be lethal if combined with Yuto’s, but pairing two strong techniques means that the lower grades don’t have as much strength. The dead zones are chock-full of Grade Two curses and above. It’s already a death sentence for those graded at three and below.

  “Emi, you run the Shinjuku dead zone with Misak—”

  “Misaka is Grade One, Renegade. I command her, not you,” Satoshi butts in, his lips quirk upwards.

  Asshole.

  My eyes slide shut as I pray to any deity that will listen for patience.

  “Fine,” I exhale, opening my eyes. “Emi, you will run the Shinjuku dead zone with a group of Grade Threes.” I scan the room until my eyes find Yuto. “And you’ll run the Kyoto dead zone, with another group.”

  He dips his head in acknowledgement.

  The weight that’s settled in my chest eases slightly. I don’t have pushback from everyone at least.

  “Hiro,” I call across the room until his head pops up from the crowd, wearing a crooked grin. “What grade are you?”

  “Two.”

  Oh thank fuck. I’ll be able to bring someone I trust into Shibuya with me. I know Fushiguro told me to trust Satoshi, but that’s not an easy task. Some days I can tolerate being around him—albeit I can’t stop the thoughts of him running his hands over every inch of me. Other days, I question my morals of not killing anyone.

  “You’ll be in Shibuya with me.”

  “Of course,” he smiles, dimple forming on his cheek. He speaks with way more confidence than I feel. He turns back to Aki, Sakura, Misaka and Shinji.

  Satoshi rests a hand on the small of my back as he steps into space beside me and I stiffen. He’s touching me in front of everyone. Whatever game he’s playing I want no part in it. The muscle in my jaw spasms, twice, as I shuffle away from him. Swallowing down the adrenaline that rushes through my chest and into the tips of my fingers.

  My brain melts into a puddle like I wish that I could, instead of staring down a hundred or so curious faces. A few glances spread around the room as he removes his hand from me and crosses his arms across his chest instead.

  I clear my throat, praying that my face isn’t as flushed as I feel. Don’t touch your cheeks. Do not give them any reason to study your face.

  “How many Grade Fours are in the room?” The shake in my voice betrays any false confidence I managed to muster. Gods all fucking mighty.

  Hands scatter into the air and I scan the crowd. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three. Twenty-three Grade Fours. Four dead zones. My eyes almost bulge out my skull as the twenty-fourth hand raises tentatively. Sakura is a Grade Four. Yet she dominates in the training room. The only person she hasn’t sparred against is Satoshi and she hasn’t lost a fight yet.

  She gives me a tight smile as I meet her rose coloured gaze. Why in the godscursed world is she a Grade Four? I furrow my brows but don’t press the matter. She can tell me when she’s ready.

  “Sakura, I don’t care what your grade is. You’re strong as hell and you are going to lead a group of Grade Threes and Fours in the Ginza sector.”

  Sakura blinks. Then looks to me with wide eyes.

  “But I’m Grade Four.” She cocks her head to the side as she folds her arms over her chest.

  “So? You’re stronger than most in this room. You’re leading your own team.”

  Satoshi curves a brow at me in my peripheral, and huffs a quiet laugh.

  I fail to see what’s funny in this situation but unlike him I’m not about to call him out in front of most of the school. A knot forms in my chest as I study the rest of the room.

  Sakura’s jaw drops and she holds my stare until she finally nods and turns back to Misaka and Shinji.

  I need to arrange the rest of the sorcerers into teams, but the multitude of glares meeting me might prove that task difficult.

  “Those of you under my command—who has a support technique? Raise your hand.” I instruct. They will listen to me.

  Twelve hands slowly raise into the air. Mostly first-years that I can’t name. I’ve seen them in class but they keep to themselves.

  I gesture to a group of four first-years who all have their hands raised. Glancing at the boy around my height who looks like he could commit murder at any given moment. A shiver runs down my spine when I meet his piercing green eyes and it has nothing to do with the way he stares through me.

  “You first.” My mouth dries up quicker than I can swallow.

  He narrows his glare at me, and grits his teeth. Well we’re off to a fantastic start. Fuck me.

  “Bandage bond,” he says finally. “I use cursed energy infused cloth to prevent a wound from worsening, but it’s limited to ten small scraps. I can’t stop massive bleeding.”

  I nod slowly, rubbing my chin. “I can work with that. What’s your name?”

  He exhales sharply through his nose. “Riku Ito.”

  “I’ll pair you with Emi’s group.”

  He rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest. Progress.

  After nearly an hour each of my teams have been assembled. Most of the Grade Four support roles involved minor healing, slight attack boosts or defence boosts. The Grade Threes had a lot of aggressive attacking techniques, so they were scattered throughout the teams and the Grade Twos had the most defensive techniques. I did the best with what I had until Satoshi decided to scatter all the Grade Ones throughout my teams and ruined the hierarchy I established.

  No time to deal with it now though. We head out to the dead zones in five minutes.

  17th November 2049

  I can’t believe I’m writing this.

  I can’t believe they’re gone.

  They should’ve survived.

  What happened?

  What did I do wrong?

  Fuck.

  —Recovered journal entry of [REDACTED]