22. The Last Party

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an: this chapter contains sexual content just an fyi. 

April 2006
3 Weeks Later.

"Do you, "I peek into the room, voice meek, "Think you could help me get ready?" At her desk, Mariko is curling her hair on a hot iron. When she looks at me, we're both keenly aware we haven't spoken since Fushiguro Toji's attack. None of us have been speaking to each other much these days. "I don't really know how to fix myself for these sorts of things."

"Sure." She gets up from her seat. "Sit down."

The feeling of her fingers combing through my hair, the makeup she faintly brushes across my cheek, the thought of a party entirely, it all draws me towards sleep.

"What are you going to wear?"

"The dress you bought me."

"The black one?"

"It's the only dress I have."

She laughs faintly, "Gojo-san will lose his mind."

I rub the hems of my shirt aggressively, feeling the friction burn the pads of my fingers. "I doubt he cares." He can hardly think of anything these days besides training, working on his—"our" he mistakenly calls it—newfound power.

"I'm sure he will."

My fingers stop, balling my shirt up into tight fists. "I'm sorry."

"Huh?"

"For what I said before." I lower my head in shame. To think I nearly died and that would have been our last conversation. A pointless argument over strength that doesn't matter. "It was uncalled for. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine. You weren't wrong, technically. I'm not like you, I'll probably be a semi-first grade at best. Nobody would notice if I disappeared."

My chin draws up immediately, grabbing Mariko's hands before their next move. "I would care. More than you know."

"I'm not angry," she squeezes back and smiles, "Tonight is a celebration, for you and the boys, you should let yourself enjoy it."

What are we celebrating, really? The promotion of three special grades who couldn't even save one kid? Who walked around like arrogant brats, acting like they couldn't fail. What am I doing, dressing myself up as if something good has happened?

"Smile," Mariko nudges me as we travel down the stairs, step by slow step. Her arm is interlaced with mine should I stumble from the uncomfortably high shoes, and even higher skirt of my dress. We arrive inside of the function hall, and immediately I feel like a caged animal on display. "Smile, Kaede," she tells me again. "You look so pretty right now."

The corners of my mouth are forced upward, pretending for every principal, teacher, student, and other Jujutsu from both Tokyo and Kyoto who bothered to show up. They try to be inconspicuous with their glances, but I still notice. "Uematsu Kaede," they're probably thinking. "The girl who failed horrifically at being the strongest. The girl who killed the Star Plasma Vessel, who killed her own family."

The room's decorated in golden streamers and balloons, an entire wall lined in luxurious platters of food. All the guests are wearing formal attire, sparkling jewelry. So many shiny things to cover up reality.

Deep within the gathering, dressed in neat suits and ties, I spot the only two who can make a night like this bearable. They're not looking at me, though. They're rather captivated by whoever is standing between them, back draped in a thick sheet of silky, golden hair. A shapely red dress hugs her body, one that doesn't seem to make her uncomfortable as mine does. She's smiling a great deal, laughing earnestly. This environment makes her glow. Satoru sees that too, watching her intently, laughing along.

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