"Oh, God. Did Maki kill you?"
You open your eyes. Gojo is standing above you, extra large Starbucks in hand. You squint at the mountain of whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles decorating his drink, and idly wonder what sugary concoction he's decided to order this time around. You haven't seen him in a while, and you'll willingly admit that you're relieved to see him alive and unhurt. As annoyingly bright as ever, with a spring in his step and a smile on his face.
The whole school has been on high alert since Getou's attack, which has now been called "The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons". Which means that classes have been indefinitely canceled until the school has more or less been rebuilt, and the Elders have deemed that the situation has been appropriately dealt with.
Still, it hasn't stopped you and the others from returning to the school field, training religiously every day. No one is particularly keen to talk about it, but you know that the weight of their own weaknesses must be weighing heavily upon them. Getou had easily swatted your friends aside, as if they were nothing more than annoying flies buzzing in his ear. And no one is more furious than Maki, who throws herself into training with a single-minded determination. You're almost as determined to get stronger; though for entirely different reasons. You've endured Maki's brutal training with minimal complaining and ━ wonder of wonders, you've even managed to remain conscious for most of it.
You raise your head an inch, decide that it isn't worth it, and flop tiredly back onto the mound of snow that forms your temporary bed. "Adjklsjkfjsf."
". . . How did you manage to say that out loud?" Gojo actually sounds impressed as he flops down beside you.
"It's a talent." You say, tiredly. Your lungs hurt, but it's a vast improvement from the blood you'd coughed up the other day. You'd hastily wiped it away, thankful that none of your friends had seen. It would surely have resulted in a one way trip back to the infirmary. Ieiri's been shunted back and forth from Kyoto to Tokyo, and you've noticed the deep blue shadows under her eyes, how tired and wilted she looks, the scent of alcohol surrounding her like a cloud of the most poisonous perfume. You wouldn't have wanted to trouble her any further. "What's up?"
"Just checking in on my favorite child!" As always, he has been observing. Gojo turns to face you, and you squirm under the scrutiny of his gaze. "What's this I hear about you training with Maki?"
"It's nothing."
"You hate exercising. The only thing I've seen you run from are your emotions." Gojo says, and cackles at the indignant look on your face. "So? What's with the sudden exercise obsession?"
"It's just. Well." You wonder how much to tell Gojo, and because he'll find out anyway, you opt for a half truth. "I just want my friends to smile. And I want him to ━ I want them to be happy. Really, truly happy."
"I see." Gojo says, and instead of the teasing you're bracing yourself for, you realize that he sounds wistful, almost a little sad. But as quick as your realization comes, it's gone, replaced by the false cheer in Gojo's voice. "But you're doing it all wrong! It's a wasted effort!"
The casual dismissal of your efforts stings. Furious, you sit up. How could he say such a thing? "Excuse me?"
"It's a wasted effort." Gojo repeats, with a more forceful intent. "You must have realized that no matter how hard you work, you'll never catch up to the rest in terms of physical ability alone."
You do know. Even through reinforcing your body with Cursed Energy, it's become glaringly obvious that you simply aren't skilled in physical combat. Your body isn't suited for the rigorous demands of throwing punches and evading blows. A generous assessment of your skills would rank you as an average fighter; but someone as tactless as Gojo would laugh at your so-called "skills". Case in point, as Gojo is now demonstrating.
