The hallways of the Tokyo school seemed quieter than usual that afternoon. The air, thick with a mix of summer humidity and traces of barely exorcised curses, clung persistently to the walls. The joint mission had ended a few hours ago, but the tension lingered, as if the echoes of the battle were still seeking a conclusion.
Naoya walked alone down one of the interior corridors, his steps light, his hands in his pockets. He had left Hozuki, Riku Igarashi, and Ayame Sasaki behind with a trivial excuse. He didn't like being surrounded by voices that didn't contribute. He preferred silence, the space to think... or to mock what he considered pathetic.
Turning a corner, he didn't expect to find anyone. But there he was.
Suguru Geto, also alone, with his back to the camera, staring at an old bulletin board covered with completed missions and school notes. His silhouette was erect, his shoulders relaxed, but with that dangerous stillness of someone who thinks too much.
"Hmph..." Naoya smiled arrogantly. "Well, if he isn't the 'saint' of the Tokyo team."
Geto turned his head slowly, without surprise or annoyance. His calm gaze fixed on Naoya with a mixture of recognition and distance.
"Zen'in," he replied simply. "I thought you'd already left with your subordinates."
"And miss the chance to see how Gojo Satoru's 'protégés' live? No, thank you. This place is... peculiar. Arrogance oozes from every brick," Naoya said, casting a mocking glance around. "But I suppose you're comfortable here."
Geto crossed his arms.
"You are too. More than many of us expected. Your ability is real, although your attitude... quite noisy."
"Noisy?" "Don't be a hypocrite," Naoya retorted. "There's no one here who isn't arrogant. Yours included. Or are you going to tell me you help others just out of compassion?"
Geto frowned slightly. It wasn't anger. It was thoughtfulness.
"Not all of us seek power for the same reasons," he said. His voice was calm, but heavy beneath it. "Not all of us believe that strength determines someone's worth."
Naoya stopped in front of him, his smile narrowing to his eyes.
"So what determines it then? Compassion? Sacrifice?" He snorted. "In my clan, that's useless. I'll tell you something: I have a cousin. Her name is Maki. She's four years old. Do you know what's so special about her?"
Geto shook his head, intrigued.
"Nothing. She doesn't have cursed energy. She was born with nothing. In the Zen'in Clan, that makes her trash. Scum. And you know what? They're not wrong."
The statement left a heavy weight in the air. Geto didn't respond immediately.
"That... is disgusting," he said finally.
Naoya took a step forward.
"No. That's reality. Do you want to know why? Because monsters aren't born. They're created. They're forged. And she... will never be one. She doesn't even have the tools to begin with. I was born with power. I train it. I perfect it. Because I know what happens if you're not strong."
Geto regarded him with a mixture of disgust and bewilderment.
"That logic only fuels hatred," he said. "And you, Zen'in, seem to enjoy it."
Naoya shrugged.
"I don't enjoy it. I accept it. Or do you think someone like you, who protects non-sorcerers like puppies, understands any of this? Weakness isn't a fault. It's a sin."
That sentence did touch him.
Geto narrowed his eyes. He stood still. Something in his thoughts stirred, like a stone dropped into a dark well. Silence stretched.
"A sin...?" he repeated softly.
Naoya nodded firmly.
"Weakness is a sin. Because it contaminates everything. Because it drags down the strong, forces others to bear their mistakes. And then they complain about being called useless. No. Weakness should not be protected. It should be eliminated... or corrected."
Geto looked away for a moment. Images flashed through his mind: failed missions, preventable deaths, the faces of innocent people. And yet, a rift formed.
"What if the world doesn't work that way?" he asked, almost to himself.
"Then the world is wrong," Naoya replied, without hesitation.
Silence.
Finally, Geto took a step back. His voice was less certain.
"Not all of us are born into clans that make power a religion. Not all of us are fighting machines."
Naoya looked at him, his expression almost compassionate. Almost.
"Not all of us will survive, then."
The two of them stood there, in the middle of the empty hallway, like two lines that momentarily intersected before drifting apart forever.
Suguru Geto didn't know it yet... but that conversation had wounded him. Not with violence, but with a seed. An idea. And ideas... are the most dangerous thing that can germinate in a sorcerer.