Toge Inumaki point of view...
I didn't go back to my room.
I didn't return to the training hall either.
I walked instead.
I passed through corridors still damp with silence, climbed the side stairs — the ones everyone had forgotten.
I opened a door that led to the back of the north garden.
There, hidden away, was a small shrine.
It looked a lot like the one in Kyoto — our first time.
A stone alcove, half-buried beneath a dried-out cherry tree, where the names of the fallen were carved into wooden plaques.
It was the place everyone avoided, except when they were forced to say goodbye to someone.
I had never been there.
Until then.
I sat on the low steps.
Knees to my chest, notebook in hand.
I stayed in silence for long minutes.
Then, as if writing was the only way to keep breathing, I began.
To those who've lost something they can no longer see…
To those who've died, but keep walking every day.
To those who love and cannot touch.
To those who left out of fear of destroying what they loved.
To me.
The wind threaded through the leaves, unravelling time.
I wrote.
Not for her.
Not to explain myself.
But to confess.
I hurt you. I didn't want to.
But the truth is, inside me… there are shadows even you couldn't fight.
And I was afraid. Afraid I'd become your ruin.
Afraid I loved you so much, I'd turn into your poison.
I closed the notebook.
Left it there, on the stone of the shrine.
Among the plaques etched with names.
As if it were an offering.
Then I stood.
I didn't cry.
But inside, everything was broken.
And in that moment, I was no longer a boy who loved.
I was a boy who had loved wrong.
And who was finally beginning to understand what I had lost.
Not to go back.
But to learn how to stay alone.
To stand inside the void I myself had created.
To stop looking for her every time I breathed.
***
The discordant letter...
I walked back into my room with a heart still heavy.
The fight with Toge buzzed in my head like an old wound that never truly stops aching.
I had walked for a long time, aimlessly, hands stuffed in my pockets, lips sealed.
I hadn't cried.
Not a single tear.
And not out of strength — but by choice.
I closed the door behind me.
The room was still, untouched, as if no one had stepped inside in hours.
I took off my jacket, tossed it onto the chair, and threw myself on the bed.
That's when I saw it.
An envelope.
White. Plain.
Resting on the nightstand.
My name written in pen, neat but slightly trembling handwriting.
Rebecca.
I picked it up between two fingers, like something I didn't quite understand.
I opened it slowly, unfolding a page folded in four.
And I began to read.
I don't know if you'll ever read these lines.
And I don't even know if you'll figure out who wrote them.
But I see you, Rebecca. Always.
Even when you pretend you're not really there.
Even when you seem far away from everything.
Even when you smile at someone else.
I see you walking, tired in posture but with eyes still searching for something.
I see you biting your lip when you're nervous.
I see the way you hide sadness behind a silence that's never truly empty.
I love you. I say it like this, without shame.
I love you from afar, because I can't come close.
Because I've never known how to talk to you without stumbling over words.
Because you always seem a little untouchable, even when you're only steps away.
I don't ask for anything.
I just wanted you to know —
That someone out there looks at you the way you look at something fragile —
Not to break it, but to protect it.
— Your silent admirer.
I read it to the last word.
Then I read it again. Slowly.
At first, I didn't know what to think.
Then… I burst out laughing.
A short, dry laugh — almost hysterical.
I brought a hand to my mouth, as if laughing were wrong — but it was too late.
"Who the hell…" I murmured.
Immediately, a name flashed in my mind.
Kaito.
That creep with his slithering voice, the way he used to stare at me when he thought I wouldn't notice.
I had slapped him in the van. I had thrown him out.
And now, what?
A romantic letter? A plea for forgiveness dressed in stationery and black ink?
The smile vanished.
I frowned.
My hands tightened around the paper.
Then, without thinking too much, I tore it.
One piece. Then another.
I did it in silence. No outburst of anger.
Just a lucid, cold calm.
I let the pieces fall to the floor.
One, two, three.
I didn't care.
Not in that moment.
Not after everything I had been through.
Not after Toge's sharp words, his silence, his absence disguised as love.
Whoever had written that letter… didn't know me.
They were looking at me like someone looks at a beautiful shadow from afar — not like a real person.
And now, I only wanted to be one thing: real.
Even wounded. Even angry.
But real.
----In the heart of the curse...---
The industrial zone was wrapped in a thin mist — the kind that doesn't block your sight, but makes everything feel muffled, suspended.
The sky hung low, the color of lead.
The pale light from broken streetlamps flickered over the crumbling warehouses, as if the city itself had stopped wanting to see.
We walked slowly.
Yuta already had his hand resting on the hilt of his katana.
I gripped my kunai tightly, heart silent but body tense.
"It's here," he whispered.
"You feel it too, right?"
I nodded.
It was a whisper, a pressure at the nape of the neck.
Not a sound… but a presence.
As if something was watching us from within the very concrete.
The floor was stained with dried oil and shattered glass.
Peeling walls.
An abandoned container cart looked almost like a rusted carcass.
Every step echoed too loudly.
Every second felt stolen.
Then we saw it.
First just a vague shadow behind a pillar.
Then it stepped out.
The curse.
At least eight feet tall.
A stretched-out body, skin glossy and torn in places, as if it were rejecting itself.
But most of all: its eyes.
Dozens.
On its arms, chest, head, back.
They all moved in unison, opening and closing like silent mouths.
And one — just one — stared directly at us.
"You take the left," Yuta said softly, already moving before I could answer.
He was fast, a blur among the shadows, sword already drawn.
I darted to the other side, circling the creature.
It was watching both of us.
Or rather, it was seeing us from every possible angle.
Yuta struck first.
A clean hit to the shoulder, but the curse's flesh split open only to seal back up instantly.
An eye appeared where the cut had landed.
And from that eye... surged a wave of black cursed energy.
"Back!" I shouted.
The energy hit us like a soundless explosion.
I felt the floor quake, a buzzing in my ears, a burn just beneath my throat.
The curse didn't fight with strength.
It fought with sight.
Each eye cast a different effect.
Confusion.
Illusion.
Paralysis.
I dodged two, but the third — one near the creature's lower flank — hit me.
And for a moment, I saw… a memory.
Toge.
Sitting beside me in the school garden, smiling in a way I hadn't seen in ages.
"No…" I whispered.
I shook my head, drove the kunai into my own thigh — not to wound, but to shatter the illusion.
Pain grounded me.
Yuta was doing his best to distract the creature, leaping between pillars, yelling at it, slashing to draw its attention.
Each time he cut, a new eye opened.
"It's not working!" he shouted. "It regenerates!"
"Then we have to find the real one!"
I searched with my eyes.
A still point.
An eye that didn't move.
That didn't try to scare us.
A core.
Then I saw it.
On its right palm.
A smaller eye, unmoving.
Still.
The only one not darting around.
"Yuta! The right palm!"
He nodded.
"Cover me!"
I moved without hesitation.
Charged the creature, slashing rapidly at its flank.
Thick black blood oozed out, but didn't burst.
I knew I wasn't hurting it.
But it was enough to distract.
Yuta leapt.
A jump filled with cursed energy, blade gleaming.
The curse raised its arm to strike — but too late.
Yuta drove the blade straight into the eye on the palm.
A scream erupted, this time audible.
It echoed off the walls like a choir out of tune.
The creature began to collapse in on itself, eyes closing one by one, flesh pulling back like a skin that no longer wanted to be worn.
The energy vanished.
The air became breathable again.
And silence… returned.
We looked at each other.
Shoulders heaving, breath short.
"Is it over?" I whispered.
Yuta nodded with a tired smile.
"Yeah. This time, it's over."
He rested his sword on the ground.
I sat on the nearest step.
My hands were trembling.
But I was still whole.
And for the first time in a long time…
I didn't feel lost.
I felt alive.
---The step I can't take...---
The sun was low, resting on the line of rooftops like a tired hand.
The clouds had cleared, leaving behind a pale, washed-out sky that seemed to have lost its voice.
We walked slowly along the gravel path leading to the institute.
Yuta and I.
The silence between us wasn't empty, but intimate—filled with the steady rhythm of our steps, with a slow heartbeat returning to normal.
My hands were still trembling slightly.
Not from fear.
But from release.
Because when you survive, your body always understands it a little later.
Yuta glanced at me from time to time with that kindness that asks for nothing, but says everything.
He smiled.
I smiled back, at times.
But inside, the words hadn't yet found the courage to come out.
The institute's gate appeared beyond the last bend.
Grey. Still.
Home.
Or something like it.
And that's when I saw them.
Toge and Maki.
Sitting on the steps that led to the west garden.
The light was sliding diagonally across their profiles, brushing them softly, as if time itself had stopped to listen to what they were saying.
Toge had his phone in hand.
He was writing.
His fingers moved slowly, precisely, as if every word had been chosen with surgical care.
His gaze was low, shoulders slightly hunched.
He looked… focused. But fragile.
When he finished, he handed the phone to Maki.
She took it and began reading.
Her face serious. Still.
Then—as if she'd sensed something—she slowly lifted her gaze.
And met mine.
My breath caught in my throat.
My steps slowed.
My heart, heavier.
Yuta didn't say anything.
He understood.
And that was enough.
He walked ahead a few steps.
Toward them.
Toward the conversation that was beginning.
I…
I didn't.
I stopped.
Just for a moment.
Then I looked away.
Turned.
And began to walk away.
Steady pace.
Almost quick.
But I didn't run.
I pretended not to hear.
Pretended not to hear the name Maki was calling out.
"Rebecca! Wait!"
Her tone was strong. Honest.
But I didn't turn back.
I didn't slow down.
I didn't answer.
Because I knew.
I knew that if I stopped, if I looked into Toge's eyes again, everything would fall apart once more.
And I had only just learned to stand.
Gojo-sensei's office was half-drenched in twilight.
He stood by the window, arms crossed, that usual amused smile painted on his lips.
When I entered, he tilted his chin slightly.
"There she is, my favorite fighter."
I stopped at the threshold.
"Mission accomplished, Sensei. Everything went according to plan."
"I knew it."
He took a step closer.
"But hearing it from you? Way more reassuring. And better looking, too."
He laughed softly, with that slow, velvety voice of his.
I gave a faint smile. Exhausted.
"Thanks."
"No, thank you. Truly."
He came within a step.
"For telling me... personally."
***
When I returned to my room, the silence was heavy.
Not the kind that soothes—but the kind that scratches, that amplifies every thought.
I changed into pajamas, looking for a little peace. I needed to unplug everything, to be alone.
But the moment I turned off the lights, the moment I slipped under the covers, my mind started spinning like a vortex.
Toge.
The letter from the secret admirer.
Toge.
Toge.
Always him.
And now even an admirer? A line crossed, a word too far, a gesture that made me fall apart.
He hadn't been violent, no. But he had been… too much.
I turned on my side, then the other. My heart was pounding, my forehead slightly damp.
I felt hot, but I was shivering. Cold shivers.
I pulled back the covers and searched for the thermometer in the drawer.
Fever. 101.3°F.
I sat on the edge of the bed. Hands on my temples. Headache. Nausea.
My body giving in after days of built-up tension.
I took a pill and crawled back into bed, clenching the sheets.
My head throbbed faintly.
My eyes opened and closed.
There was no sleep.
Only a deep restlessness, something rising from within.
The next morning, I didn't go to class.
I sent Yuta a quick message to let him know I was sick.
No need to say more.
I stayed in bed, my forehead still warm, my stomach upside down.
The ceiling seemed to move slowly, as if the world itself swayed with me.
I wanted to truly rest.
To shut it all off.
But the thoughts—those—never turned off.